Varanasi
We were up early as usual and skipped breakfast to avoid any further tortuous time in this horrendous hotel. Ganache’s smile and excellent driving saw us safely to the airport where we bid him a very fond farewell and tipped him graciously for his most excellent service. Today we were heading to Varanasi as part of an optional 3 days extension facilitating a need to fly. Thank Buddha. Any further time in that car would have shed more years from us than our vicarious lifestyle already has.
As anticipated, Indian airports are paralleled to everything else in the country - chaotic. Given we were traveling on a cheap arse domestic carrier someone, not saying who, but it wasn’t Fatpap, was required to stump up some extra rupees for excessive baggage. That sorted, we proceeded to what was possibly the most invasive and thorough security check we have ever experienced. Literally every piece of electronic equipment had to be removed and as travelling photographers, that meant our bags were scanned empty, with a procession of batteries, cords, lenses and drones following dutifully along the conveyor belt. 10 minutes to repack everything and we were cleared.
With a week in India behind us we were perhaps just a little over curries and rice for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Don’t get us wrong, the food was simply spectacular, but we craved some Western familiarity and ashamedly snacked at the airport KFC. But to be fair we opted for a pair of Tandoori Chicken Zinger Burgers which were definitely tandoori and most certainly zinged. A coffee and a wander and we were soon on our way.
Varanasi city located on the Ganges river in northern India has long been the centre of pilgrimage, death, and mourning in the Hindu world. It is one of the world's oldest continually inhabited cities with Kashi, its ancient name, a kingdom over 2,500 years ago. Since those times the city has been an important destination of Hindu devotion, pilgrimage, mysticism and poetry contributing to its cultural importance.
We touched down early afternoon and met our new guide and driver before being whisked off to our hotel for a quick refresh. 30 minutes later we were again in traffic heading for evening prayers on the Ganges. The roads down to the river are closed to vehicles so our driver dropped us about 1km away and we walked through the crowded markets selling flowers, saris and plastic containers to bring home some of the sacred river water. The place was pumping, people everywhere, but luckily everyone was headed in the same direction.
Emerging from the narrowish streets are scores of ghats leading to the river frontage, essentially staircases used for bathing and puja ceremonial activities. Through a barrage of pilgrims we reached one and saw for the first time the mighty Ganges, the holy river of India in all its glory. It was not so much the size of the waterway more the significance and its surroundings that made it awe inspiring. Yes, it’s different, perhaps less sanitised than we are used to, but a jumble of syncretic mayhem that worked and bustled full of life in the last of the afternoon sun.
As the holiest of the seven sacred cities in Hinduism, it is believed that if cremated in Varanasi and the ashes released into the sacred and purifying water of the Ganges, then the departed’s reincarnation cycle will end and they’ll have reached Nirvana. Visiting Varanasi awareness of death is unavoidable. In fact it is the cities main economy over tourism. Every day of the year at Manikarnika Ghat around 100 bodies are cremated around the clock with the eternal flame feeding the fires said to have been burning for centuries.
This is a powerful place of ritual, equally graphic as mesmerising, and not for the faint of heart. Bodies are brought on stretchers and bathed and prepared at the water's edge then through ceremony burnt on pyres of wood for several hours for their ashes to be scattered upon the Ganges. There were no women when we were there...only men and tourists....who are asked to refrain from photography. Our shots are taken at distance but when standing only feet from a burning body, large particles of ash landing on our head and shoulders, we wished for more photographic freedom. The smell and sound of a body ablaze is something we may never experience again.
Surrounding the ghat are death houses where people wanting to die in Varanasi stay in crowded conditions. Many spend their last days begging on the streets to save money for funeral costs. The spirituality of the Hindu's is thick in the air but nothing will prepare you for this experience. To some it may sound like a grim and macabre place, but Varanasi is actually full of life and celebrations.
Every night along the banks of this magnificent waterway the Aarti Ceremony is performed to honour the river goddess Ganga with a highly choreographed ceremony over a series of 7 stages overlooking the river. We were guaranteed this would be an Indian experience like no other and followed said advice to secure a prime position the better part of an hour before the ceremony actually started. In fact, for only 500 rupee we were escorted to a viewing position on top of one of the local apartments for “the very best vantage point”. During that waiting period thousands of people, and hundreds of boats descended on the dias in which the ceremony would take place. Like bees to honey they gathered and we accelerated our otherwise dismissive view of the ordeal. Draped in saffron-coloured robes and raising huge brass lamps in honour of the river goddess, young pandits evoked cheers and chants from the literal thousands amassed on every conceivable square inch of vantage point. Beginning with the blowing of a conch shell, believed to eliminate all negative energy and heighten senses, the waving of scented sticks in complex patterns and the circling of huge flaming lamps soon followed. It was pretty good. But not enough to inspire us given we are neither Hindu, Buddhist, or any religion greater than Jedi. It wore thin well within the hour and we suggested to our guide we make our way back through the 2 million Varanasians to our waiting car.
Varanasi, India
We returned through a seething mass of Indian people seemingly in no hurry, nor respectful of those who were, to our car and home to the hotel. For we would be doing this again in less than 12 hours. We found the hotel bar to relax where on the big screens Australia were playing India in a 20/20 international. Renowned for their love of cricket, some very interesting cross stool banter was exchanged until Lyndall revealed her home town and its connections with Sir Donald Bradman. She quickly became the new river goddess of Varanasi. For the record, Australia won that evening.
We retraced our steps the following morning only this time in pitch black, and if at all possible, with more Indians. Emerging at the apex of another ghat the familiar predawn glow was beginning to show but today with an air of authenticity indicating it would be extremely special. First to grab our attention was a white painted Yogi hidden in an alcove metres back from the ghat. He was pretty creepy on reflection however for a few rupees allowed photographs and even blessed Lyndall with a white dot on her forehand. Fatpap returned the favour by thus blessing the Yogi. He looked more European than Indian, and most likely some hippy lost on his pilgrimage discovering ways to make a few bucks off his dislocated ankle bone oddity. Regardless, it was an exciting way to start the day.
We were to enjoy a cruise down the Ganges which all visitors to the city will know is an extremely moving experience. After purchasing a pair of aartis for later use we hobbled over the masses of waiting dingys to find our vessel. Now cruise might be a generous word, it was more a row boat but very comfortable and one our young captain managed to manoeuvre deftly. Beginning at the ceremony point from the night before we rowed south for a long time before turning around and heading north to the crematorium which was of course still ablaze contorting life with death.
Sunrise on the Ganges, Varanasi, India
It was an extremely peaceful, at times cathartic experience and with the sun making its way over the horizon we couldn’t help but photograph, and photograph and photograph. The colour was amazing and when touching the red and tan stone buildings on the banks supplied some of the best imagery we took all trip, in fact during our photographic lives.
On the shore bathers, worshippers and washers went about their routines unabated by any of us as our oars continued to gently lap at the calm waters. We lit our aforementioned aartis and ceremoniously let them loose upon the tranquil waters with all surety our wishes would come true before leaving Indian soil. Sadly they haven’t but that didn’t distract from the most wonderful, purifying and mystical few hours either of us have ever spent.
We reluctantly left the banks of the Ganges to wander through the many back alleys and walkways of Varanassi City. Naturally it is a rabbit warren with no discernible means of navigation without a guide, but like all touring, was best done on foot and we immersed ourselves in the sights and smells of the town. We were offered a spot of shopping at “the most reputable dealers in the city” but knew the code by now and graciously declined. Rather, we just strolled, looked and absorbed. Fatpap rolled out a well used technique in street photography, one of his favourite styles, of “shooting from the hip”. He dialled in the settings and kept the camera low at his hip to avoid rejection as is often the case in street photography. He got lucky and some of the portrait images are now among his favourite.
Backstreets of Varanasi
It was certainly an eventful and eye opening morning so we returned to the hotel for breakfast, a quick change of SD cards and clothes ready for another session of sightseeing Varanasi style. First scheduled stop was a tour of the Muslim district famed for its weaving. Here we were taken behind the scenes to see the time honoured machinery and methods in which so many of Indias marvellous garments are made. As always it was extremely interesting but we knew the catch. Taken into a well air conditioned showroom the owner, and only after insisting his wares were far better than those in Jaipur, proceeded to unwrap we guess 50 different coloured and designed pashminas. Lyndall smiled politely commenting at every opening as to the quality and beauty. Fatpap though quickly intervened and informed said owner that while beautiful, and confident the greatest of quality, madam had no interest in purchasing at this moment. Madam was thankful but left before seeing the look of disdain on the vendor’s face, and that too exchanged with our guide.
We did though stumble upon a charming courtyard within the precinct and joined the local children in a game of cricket. As the only unbiased white man in sight Fatpap ruled the roost and quickly became a new Steve Waugh among the gathered. Primarily because he told the kiddies he was.
We were next headed to the Bharat Mata Mandir Temple. Another freaking temple. One we almost passed on until our guide explained what it was. Instead of traditional statues of gods and goddesses this temple has a huge relief map of undivided India carved into marble. It’s dedicated to Bharat Mata, Mother India, and is the only one of its kind in the world. Constructed in 1936 it was absolutely fascinating. The standout though was the scale of the Indian sub-continent. With a red laser pointer in hand our guide highlighted the major cities, tourist attractions and boundaries within the map rattling off the numbers that went with them. Without going into too much detail the standout was India is as long as Australia is wide but about half the entire land mass. Population wise there are 45 x more of them than us but that’s not including 7-11 employees.
Soon enough we moved a little north to Sarnath where in 528 BC at the age of 35 Gautama Buddha taught his first sermon after gaining enlightenment at Bodh Gaya. It is claimed he spent 4 years alone in the forest reaching this enlightenment then came to Sarnath to preach his first sermon to the devoted. It sounds lovely and most probably true, but really now only a pile of old red bricks with monks walking among them endeavouring to be as attuned as the Buddha himself. Scattered among the garden are the remnants of stupas both small and large. Generally considered to be a sepulchral monument a stupa is a dirt burial mound faced with stone. In Buddhism, the earliest stupas contained portions of the Buddha’s ashes and as a result began to be associated with his very body.
As godless heathens some of the things learnt here were taken with a grain of salt, others romantically conceived to be possible, regardless, many more than us have travelled these paths believing all to be true. We wish for that faith but will only accept the faith our fellow man has in their own. Sarnath was inspirational and yet another knot in the rich tapestry of Indian culture. We spent our final hour meandering the adjacent gardens devoted to Buddha but from other parts of the world. As gifts, many nations have contributed to this sacred place and among flower and water beds stood perhaps every deity we more commonly accept as Buddha. The collection was a culmination of faith at the very epicentre of the faith itself. We took photographs.
Our final day in Varanasi presented a difficult choice. The Prime Minister was visiting and the crowds anticipated were to be significant so we could sleep in, relax by the pool, or fight the crowds. We agreed it was time for a rest and did the first two. We had a mid afternoon flight meaning a midday pickup which left us with the best part of 4 hours relaxing by the pool and becoming a little more aquatinted with our new friend the Kingfisher.
