April 2007
"Benaras is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend and looks twice as old as all of them put together." Mark Twain

Varanasi is to Hindus what Mecca is to Muslims or the Vatican City to Catholics. It is also the site of one of the twelve greatly revered Jyotirlingas of Lord Shiva; the shrine of Lord Kashi Vishwanath, which was built in 1780 by Maharani Ahilyabai Holkar of Indore, is on the banks of the Ganges. This makes Varanasi particularly propitious for Hindus. According to legend and the pundits’ grapevine (whose survival depends on propagating the myth) very few can tell apart these jyotirlingas from other lingas. The jyotirlinga manifests itself into a fiery column that pierces the earth; but this grand inverted volcanic spectacle is reserved for the enlightened. 

Varanasi has been a centre of learning and civilization for over two thousand years; this ancient city finds mention in many Indian epics. Activity prevailed here when Greece and Rome did not exist; it was a flourishing centre of trade when Buddha came to Sarnath, some 10 km away, to preach his first sermon in 500 B.C. The city continues to draw Sanskrit scholars and students from all over the world. 

According to Hindu belief, Varanasi is at the cosmic centre of the universe, this confers the Ganges which flows past it with potent sin washing powers. It is believed that a holy dip in Varanasi results in the remission of sins, and dying here circumvents rebirth. This belief has encouraged the establishment of geriatric homes and hospices in the city, and has led to the disposal of half-burnt corpses into the river. This practice continues to cause immense damage to the river's ecology.

Raw sewage flows directly into the Ganges at Benares from at least thirty open drains along the ghats. The current sewage treatment plants cannot cope with the burgeoning needs of the city. The absence of toilets on the ghats and the ever-proliferating temporary settlements only add to the problem. Add to this repugnant religious beliefs that no political party dares challenge due to the politico-religious ramifications of such a move. Decomposing, partially burnt bodies in the river are not uncommon – particularly female ones – who have apparently died at childbirth. Other bodies are children and older men; young children and holy men are rarely cremated.

The name Varanasi is derived from two tributaries of the Ganges; one in the north end of the city called Varuna and the other in the south end called Assi (now reduced to a malodorous drain). The city is overcrowded, unplanned, and boisterous. Holy cows being a protected species take advantage of the fact that no vehicle or human can dare interfere with their lazing in the middle of a crowded street. Vehicles, cows, pedestrians, and peddlers share the same street with little or no malice. Cantankerous bus drivers rumble down the narrow roads like thunder; honking furiously, swearing at pedestrians and other motorists, but swerving skilfully to avoid the guilt and trepidation of hurting overfed cows and corpulent pundits. 

The Ghats on the riverfront provide an assemblage for an unparalleled human drama that unfolds every morning involving thousands of pilgrims who come to bathe in the river. The silence of the waning night is shattered by threnody and hymn, smoke from funeral pyres and incense sticks hangs about the air like an inescapable mantle. The pundit and pilgrim try to outwit each other, but the pundit always wins. Ubiquitous beggars give an opportunity to the pilgrim to do their karma some good. Actors walk past dressed as gods; the many Hanumans, Shivas, and Rams, often have squabbles over territorial rights. 

When the sun hoists itself into the zenith, the ghats become quieter, and then the drama unfolds once again towards the end of the day. As the sun withdraws into the realm of another hemisphere, the aartis on the ghats commence. Electric lamps compete with the countless wax candles that are set afloat on the Ganges. Musicians vie for attention, each group trying to drown the sounds of the other. The chant reaches a crescendo; pilgrims sway to the music as if in a hypnotic trance and then as the reverberations fade, the crowds disperse and an aphotic hush descends on the ghats, the silence of the night is only shattered by the occasional song of a pototary boatman—the voice of the profluent Ganges.

The Ganges draws millions of pilgrims every year. The old and ailing, the young and boisterous, all converge on her banks to partake in her promise of eternal salvation. She has been a cradle of human civilization since time immemorial. She continues to be benevolent and she could still continue to support future generations, if the pious stop treating her like a garbage bin.

Sunil Vaidyanathan is a photographer and travel writer. Visit his website at www.riveryatra.com

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