Series
Getting off the overnight train from Bikaner to Delhi, my cell phone able to place outgoing calls again, I was happy to find out that Noa and Keren were still in town. They were as surprised as I was by our sudden regrouping, and keen to head to Varanasi. Within a few hours we had organized the logistics of the trip: overnight train to Varanasi... My third night in a row on public transport. The train actually dropped us in the town of Mughalserai, barely 12km from Varanasi. Overbooked trains constrained us to arrive in the small outpost and make our way by rickshaw to the city. What a ride! It took over an hour in traffic and potholes to cover the distance. We had planned to go stay at Yogi Lodge and told so to the rickshaw driver. Only after we were settled there did we realize that we were in fact at the OLD Yogi Lodge, a typical Indian trick to attract the tourist by riding on the success of the better establishments. The OLD part of the name is in very small print above the door and went unnoticed. Its only when we tried to reach a nearby restaurant according to our map that we realized that we were altogether in a different part of town. The difference in the quality of the lodging rested partly in the fact that they lacked blankets to keep the cold away at night, partly in a scheme where it was impossible to get a bill for the (overpriced!) fod until checkout.
Varanasi is busier, louder and more crowded than any other place I have visited so far. At every pace you are solicited by people: Sir, boat ride. Massage. Barber. 10 Rupees. Let me take you to my silk factory. 10 Rupees. Rickshaw. Boat ride. Sir, sir. Its unescapable. Even if its not apparent, there is order in the middle of this chaos. The hagglers recognize the tourists and know what they respond to. After a few days of consistently refusing all that was offered things calmed down a little.
The main attraction of Varanasi are the Ghats by the holy river Ganga — the Ganges. The river is unfortunately in such a sad state that I even looked into whether the etymology of the word gangrene could be traced back to the river's name. It can't. All the sorts of activities happen along the river: people bathe in it, wash their clothes, relieve themselves. City sewers are emptying themselves there. Dead bodies are washed in the river before cremation, and in some cases thrown in there. The result is that the coliform count is 3,000 times higher than the level considered safe for bathing; the water is septic — it contains no dissolved oxygen. But this is holy water, and it is more important to take care of spiritual issues than physical ones in India. Still it is so bad that I made sure that I didn't need to get any laundry done in Varanasi.
At 6PM every night a public puja is performed down on Dasaswamedh Gath. People gather there to pray while six sadhus — holy men — perform the holy rituals, and a large number of people try to extract money from the tourists. The schemes are many, but the intent is always the same: rip you off. Usually it is quite easy to brush people off, but some are harder to deal with. When a begging kid come to you and says that he is hungry, it is very hard to refuse: they don't want money they say, just food. But if you take the kid someplace to eat you will be charged 10 times the cost of the meal. It's just endless. We were warned about this one; the best way to deal with the situation is to make a donation at one of the various temples that feed the poor.
The cremation ghat, Manikarnika, is one of the most auspicious places for Hindus to be cremated. The bodies are first cleansed in the Ganges water before being put on a pyre. The wood used for the cremation is quite expensive and comes in a variety of qualities, sandalwood being the most expensive. The outcasts that handle the bodies, doms, also collect the ashes and sift them for melted gold jewelry. As a result, they have become extremely wealthy over the centuries; even though they are from the lowest caste of Indian society. Which goes to prove that caste and income are two separate issues. But not everybody gets cremated: children under 10 years of age, pregnant women, lepers, sadhus — who are pure — and people dying from snake bites — a sign from Shiva — are all dumped in Ganga wrapped in with a heavy stone. If the wrapping is not done properly, the body is sure to rise to the surface and be dragged by the current, only to add to the general crap that floats in the river. Dead animals are also often seen floating on the water, surely only adding to the pollution problem of the city.
As Noa and Keren started fierce negotiations in yet another silk factory, I was amazed to find out that Hebrew has got to be the second foreign language of India. The negotiating was done entirely in Hebrew and the girls seemed much happier with the results than in Jaipur. It is incredible the number of people I have met that buy articrafts in India and bring them home to sell. There sure is a lot of business going that way: gemstones, jewelry, beads, musical instruments, smoking paraphernalia, cloth and clothes, etc.
The five days spent in the charming company of Noa and Keren turned me into Maharaja of Varanasi... The three of us riding in a cycle rickshaw required one girl on each of my knees. As I paraded around town in such an arrangement, hmm... I mean, as we rode down the street to the hotel, all the locals were looking at me with admiration and envy. And everyone gets to know all the tourists, if only by sight.
In a possibly unrelated incident, a man came to ask me, matter-of-factly, if I wanted an arranged marriage with his daughter. Not having seen the young lady I could only decline with my largest smile and the right hand on my heart. I never mentioned my earlier investigation in the subject. Salman Rushdie probably said it best in his novel Shame: I dislike arranged marriages. There are some mistakes for which one should not be able to blame one's parents. Ironically, within two minutes of me declining the offer, a wedding parade (the same wedding that had kept me awake for the two previous nights) walked by. The men are all in the front, celebrating, and of course they dragged me into the dancing in front of a video camera. The women are all together, following the men, in their best apparel. Still under shock from all the marrying, and its not even spring yet, the three of us walked across the street only to stumble on a large alter dedicated to Saraswati (same one as in Pushkar). She is the goddess of learning and education, but by extension of all the arts as well. The puja was to be the next morning, and the dancing in the street by next evening but by then we were already set to return to Delhi...
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