I always wanted to visit this city for fundamentally two reason,
first I am a Hindu and second that it is one of those cities in the world of
which I have heard so much. I have read accounts of westerners going there and
getting spiritual inspiration, I read about 19th century Bengali history
about widows being sent there for various unscrupulous reasons, I have read
that it is the oldest living city in the world and so much, so many things.
Yes, with all these stuffed in my mind, one day I decided and boarded the plane
to see the city.
At least initially, I was not impressed at all, there was nothing
that I saw or felt could have validated all the baggage that I had in my head,
I did not feel enlightened nor was I blown away by the sheer
sincerity of purpose of the city’s existence. The city itself is very ordinary.
Like any other Indian city, it is a mess, a plethora of people, traffic, cows
entangled and all living together. The local administration is nonchalant,
ordinary people struggling day over day to scrape out a living. The demarcation
of rich and poor are as usual and their habitat different.
What is different are the Ghats, the River and all that goes along
with it. It seemed to me that the focus of the city is the Ghats. The city spirit
is centered there. Yes it is a Hindu city and is emphasized by the sheer number
of temples it has. Almost every corner has a temple or shrine. Big or small.
Ancient or recent. Hinduism being an unorganized religion, all these temples,
except the big and ancient ones are instituted and maintained by individuals.
I was at Varanasi during the rains. Ganga was full and flowing. It
was beautiful. A strange mesmerizing beauty. I knew the geography, that Ganga
hit the plains in a major way at Varanasi. I knew the myth, that Shiva
thousands of years ago was there. I knew all the stories, myth, history and
everything. Yet everything apart there is something, which I do not know,
attracted me to the river. I did not see the sunrise on the river nor was I
lucky to see the sunset as there were clouds. Today when I think about it I
don't care. I feel content, I feel that whatever I have seen is enough but yet
I had to see it at least once in my life.
The Ghats were dirty, incredibly dirty, considering the fact that
the city is supposedly one of the holiest places for Hindus’. Can you imagine a
dirty Vatican or Mecca? But Hinduism being what it is, you hardly see any
organized endeavor around it. If any individual come out with the money and
resources to do anything, then something will be done, else things remain as it
is. Yet it will never die, Varanasi will never die, it is the Hindu thing. That
is the way of this religion.
The Ghats are alive from morning to night. Always there is
something going on, kids frolicking in the water, burning Ghat, people taking
bath, doing Ganga puja, buffaloes getting washed, fisherman with nets. There is
no end to it. The Ghats are living, very vibrant, vivacious. It seemed that
they have a life of their own with Ganga providing the backdrop, eternally
flowing alongside. Growing up in Kolkata, India I am no stranger to
Ghats. During my childhood on various occasions I went to burning Ghat (
near Kolkata), I swam and played in banks of the river (Hoogly part of
Ganga) at various points during our annual childhood vacation, but I have never
seen so much activity in such a short span of the river. The banks on Varanasi,
at least the well known parts are maybe about two to three km yet it seems that
a whole cycle of life’s activities have been compressed there. Probably that is
why it is so intriguing.
The boat ride that I took, like every other tourists, along the
banks, bought me much closer to Raja Harsihchandra Ghat and Manikarnika Ghat. Those famous burning
Ghats, that are alive, active, and busy for thousands of years. While floating
gently on the river with soft, wet breeze flowing through my hair, from a
distance, I looked at the burning dead bodies on those Ghats. I felt a primeval
mysterious feeling to think that , there have been always a body burning
continuously every day , every year for thousands of years.
The city itself is old, and as we all know is the oldest city in
the world. Like any old city the growth has been organic, with its numerous
lanes and alleys, like the old parts of Kolkata, or Delhi but for Varanasi this
is at a much larger scale, it is like a giant maze. This we are talking of the
whole city rather than parts of it. As I walked around the city and
wandered around its lanes and by lanes with the knowledge and feeling of
history on my head I felt a strange lightness. I felt a disappearing time
mixing into the past and present. This is the place from where history started,
legends started, myths started or maybe older than all them put together.
I decided that I will come again, not because I am a Hindu, not because I
am curious, but just to get that eternal feeling once again. Once again I would
like to take boat ride along the banks of the river; once again I would like to
walk along the alleys and lanes.
Maybe I will go there not in a year or five years, at least a
decade or two later. Will the city be same as it was during all these thousands
of years? I wonder, I want to know. For that alone I need to stay alive
and revisit.
