Varanasi, on the western bank of the Ganges in the northeastern plains of India, has been continuously inhabited since before 3000 BC. The more modern sections of the city sprawl westward away from the river, but the old city is firmly rooted in ritual Hindu traditions tied to the Ganges. All activities seem to revolve around the ghats, which are the concrete and stone jetties that stretch for about seven kilometers along the riverbank. A deviously complicated network of twisting, narrow alleys leads up from the ghats through temples, hotels, shops, and residences to the main thoroughfairs. The complex gives the impression of a living organism growing opportunistically up the riverbank.
I arrived in Varanasi at noon after a fifteen hour overnight train ride from Delhi. Autorickshaws are not allowed in the old city so I got a ride to the edge and started walking in search of the hotel I had picked out. A tout picked me out almost immediately and would not be disuaded from showing me around. He lead me through the city, along the walkways, up and down staircases to bring me, completely disoriented, to my hotel, which was full. At first I thought that the path he chose was deliberately convoluted to make me more reliant on his service, but as I explored later, I realized that his route was actually quite direct. He wanted to take me to his hotel once I discovered that the first was full, but I insisted on trying another I had chosen. I found a decent room there and paid him 'baksheesh', a small payment in gratitude.
After settling in, I set out to explore the ghats. After getting a bit lost in the alleys, I found a main street but soon saw a funeral procession that I followed down to the riverbank, emerging at Manikarnika, the main cremation ghat. The procession consisted of six or sevel pallbearers holding a wooden stretcher with a body wrapped in a bright purple shroud, trimmed in gold. The chanted as they walked quickly to the river.
Hindus believe that a soul cremated here goes straight to heaven, instead of being reborn back on earth. The procession first immersed the body in the Ganges and then set it on the bank, waiting for the fire tender to build a pyre. There are several types of wood from which a pyre can be constructed: sandalwood (2000 Rs/kg or 20 USD/lb), banayan wood (180 Rs/kg or 2 USD/lb), and another that I forgot. A pyre requires about two hundred kilograms of wood, which is weighed out from the huge stacks on crude balances above the cremation area.
Once the pyre is prepared, the body is laid on top and lit from a perpetual flame kept alight in an small alcove to the side. The fire tender keeps the fire burning, roughly shoving the wood and body around with a long stick for the two or three hours it takes to be consumed. The fire is put out when only a small bit remains: the hip bones for women and part of the ribcage for men. When it is finished, a line of men from the deceased family forms a line from the river to the cremation spot. Five times, they pass a pot of water from the river up to the remains, where it is tossed over the last mans shoulder onto the smouldering remains. Afterwards, the remaining bones are thrown into the Ganges and the ash is placed on a communal pile that is later sifted for jewelry. Only the men from the family are allowed at the cremation site, as women are considered too emotional to be present.
I watched several cremations in their various stages from a slightly elevated platform until the smoke shifted and engulfed me. The lower cremation platform has room for about sixteen simultaneous ceremonies for the lower castes. Brahmins, are cremated on a smaller platform that sits above.
The ghats seem most crowded in the morning and evenings, but the afternoon was fairly quiet, except for the crowds of boatmen that offer rides about every thirty seconds. The structures at the edge of the ghats are tall, split by steep staircases leading back into the city. I came upon several groups of children playing cricket, often hitting the ball into the river. There is a large evening ritual in the evening at Dasaswamedh Ghat, which I missed because I got lost for a harrowing hour in the old city. The landmarks in the alleys are all so indistinguishable from one another that I ended up a full half mile north of my hotel and had to walk along the river after dark to find my way back. Most of the alleys had normal Indians walking to or from their homes, which felt safe, but some of the darker alleys had shadier characters and angry dogs.
After reaching my hotel at eight o'clock, I was hesitant to go out and look for the evening ritual, so I settled for dinner at the hotel. As I was preparing for bed, I heard chanting outside and saw a long procession of boats stretched across the river, their occupants holding candles.
In the morning I got up at sunrise and walked the ghats again. Groups of people gathered to bathe and wash their clothes in the river. The market at Dasaswamedh was in noisy full swing when I arrived as the sun was rising from behing the bank of clouds to the east. Just as the sun started to clear the clouds, a storm rolled in from the west. The sky darkened again and lightening struck all around the old city. As the first fat drops of rain started to fall, people started packing their things are running back up for cover in the city. I just made it to a restaurant as the storm broke and had a pleasant breakfast until the rain stopped and the sun shone through the remaining haze about an hour later.
I continued walking exploring the city for a few hours until mid-afternoon when I went to pick up my luggage and head to the train station for another overnight ride back to Delhi.
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