Paradoxical and Enigmatic ... Varanasi
We are once again in the city of paradoxes, of stark contrasts and contradictions - calm and chaotic at once. Here, the pursuit of the routine, modern, materialistic and mundane, effortlessly blends with the ancient, sacred, spiritual and philosophical. In this Land of Shiva, sympathies and antipathies on the emotional plane easily co-exist as parallels. The tug of Varanasi is irresistible, compelling us to visit it multiple times and discover on each occasion, a new facet. The city of salvation with its distinctive sights, sounds and smell, sews itself into a seamless tapestry that kindles the spirit and the spirituality in me. I am no longer the compulsive tourist seeking to sate certain senses on this explorative sojourn, but an intrepid traveller, willing to journey to hitherto unchartered territory - inwards, inside of Me, the core being.
In the ashen darkness of pre-dawn as the stars dislimn from the sky to make way for the solar giant, we make our way to the city's most famed ghat, the Dashashvmedh. Once called Ghoda Ghat, derives its name from Brahma having sacrificed ten horses here.
The devout and pious, tourists and travellers are already there, waiting to witness the first streaks from Surya strike the sacred Ganga and suffuse her waters with his golden-orange hues. As a coppery glow pierces the inky sky to usher in another day, kaleidoscope of sounds rents asunder the air. The music of drum beats, the clanging of cymbals and chiming of bells from innumerable temples that flank the Ganges and the ghats, the fervent chants of Jai Bhole Nath, Har Har Mahadev and the Gayathri Mantra, shouts of vendors calling out their merchandize - they are all in rhythmic synch with the flow of Ganga Maiyya, considered Samanyadhatiri, the Mother, Nourisher and Sustainer of life.
Varanasi has reverberated with the sounds of mellifluous music from the vocals of Girija Devi, woken up to the soothing strumming of sitar maestro Pandit Ravi Shankar, and the stirring strains of Ustad Bismillah Khan's Shehnai. Here, in the city of legends, myths, sacred scriptures, literature, and the fine arts, the unceasing earthly drama of life and death plays out. It is thronged as much by sadhus and seers, as by simpletons, seekers - foreigners among them, in quest of nirvana. Even today, internationally acclaimed musicians and dancers reside in Kabir Chaura, a locality named for the poet saint who grew up here.
Varanasi boasts the first institution of its kind in India when the Sampurananad Sanskrit University was established here in 1791. It was joint initiative by Jonathan Duncan, the then Resident of the English East India company, and Lord Cornwallis who was India's Governor General.
Having watched a breathtaking sunrise, we are ready to begin our tour of the spiritual capital of India, the holiest of the Saptapuri or seven sacred cities as enumerated in Hindu and Jain scriptures. Varanasi is a curious canvas of labyrinthine alleys that are surreal and rise from the sacred ghats of the revered Ganga. A swollen sea of humanity, cows, goats and tame canines greets us as we take a stroll along its snaking streets and soak in its fathomless faces.
We first pay our obeisance to the Lord at the Vishwanath temple the nucleus of the city which is built on a cliff that rises 100 metres from the river level. Legend has it that it was here that the first Jyotirlinga broke from the earth's crust and flared heavenwards. With this, Lord Shiva unequivocally established his supremacy among the pantheon of Hindu gods, the Trinity in particular. This original Shiva Lingam, it is claimed, lies hidden in the Well of Knowledge next to the main shrine.
We emerge from the Vishwanath temple and weave our way through the veins of Varanasi which is dominated by a maze of narrow galis crammed with outlets that sell an assortment of wares. While the spiritual vibrancy that is synonymous with Varanasi is difficult to ignore, equally enticing are its gourmet delights and the banarasi silk.
The famed Banarasi paan with its particular mix of ingredients, the betel nut, tobacco, mint and spices, sprinkled atop the kattha or catechu paste and wrapped in the trademark Banarasi betel leaf, is partaken with much gusto, especially after a hearty meal.
Predominant among the shops are the eateries, the flavours from which waft through the air, luring us to binge on delicacies, unmindful of the piling calories and weight gains. We walk the 3 km-long Tola Gali, the city's longest gali, supposedly established by Bengalis. It is dotted with several restaurants that whip up thick lassi frothing to the brim in earthenware kulhads, crisp and crunchy jalebis, milk sweet made from the best khoya in town and spicy kachoris. A plethora of lanes fork out on either sides from this street with shops peddling medley objects. Jostling for space in this midst are some of the oldest and majestic havelis of Kashi.
In one of the alleyways into which we stumble, we come upon the two-storeyed Moksha Sadan, also known as Kashi Labh Mukti Bhavan. An ashram of sorts that was established in the late 1950s by the family of Dalmia, the industrialist, this is haven for people from across India who spend the last days of their life, and patiently await their time to obtain Moksh.
Kashi or Kashika, 'the luminous one', the land where the Lord of the Universe, Vishwanatha grants Dharma, Artha, Kama and Moksha - has acquired multitude sobriquets over centuries.
According to carbon dating, Kashi enjoys recorded history that goes back to the 6th century BCE and its earliest reference is made in the Jatakas or stories of Buddha's birth. Buddhist texts refer to it variously as Mahajanpadas, Sunrandhan, Sudarshan, Sasinagar and Kasipur. Varanasi, the city mentioned in the Mahabharata derives its name from its geographical location, lying ensconced between the Varana and Asi rivers. Its several other names include Banaras, named after Raja Banar who renovated its several citadels, Avimukteshvara, the land never-forsaken or land that Shiva did not let go, Anandavana the forest of bliss, Rudravasa, the abode of Rudra or Shiva, and Mahashamshana, the great crematorium. As late as in the 17th century CE when Mughal emperor Aurangazeb ravaged large parts of the city and held sway over it, he renamed Banaras as Muhammadabad.
According to legend, Sage Vyasa is believed to have come to Kashi, then called Anandvan, with 18,000 sages after the Kurukshetra War. But for three days, he and his people did not get any alms in this land of Annapoorna. Livid with rage, Vyasa termed Kashi daridra or penniless. Lord Shiva who took umbrage at this, objected to Vyasa seeking to stay in such a place. The sage left Anandvan, crossed River Ganga and reached Tapovan in Ramnagar. The place later came to be referred as Vyasa Kashi. It was here on the banks of the sacred Ganga that Vyasa wrote his epic Mahabharata, and also classified the Vedas into four divisions on a certain Guru Purnima. This lead to his being called Veda Vyasa.
One of the oldest, continuously inhabited cities in the world with thousands of years of history, Varanasi has been ravaged several times by marauding invaders who sought to take control of it, not least for its abundant wealth. Under the ancient Aryan settlers who occupied the middle Ganges valley as early as in the 2nd millennium BC, the city became a seat of learning and a commercial and industrial hub, especially known for its sculptures, ivory work and silk and muslin fabrics.
Kashi's importance as a religious hub continued to grow in the 8th century when Adi Shankara established the worship of Shiva as an official sect of the city. In fact, a marble tablet in the Kedareshwara Temple at Kedar Ghat bears an inscription of Shankara's Panchakshara verse. The city declined and many of its temples were laid to waste when the Mughuls held sway over the region. The city in its present avatar, is largely the handiwork of 18th century Indian rulers including the Maratha, Bhumihar, Scindia, Gaekwad kings and Indore's Ahilyabai Holkar.
While the Ganga is Varanasi's nerve centre and lifeline, it traverses only a few kilometers along the city skyline in its long 2,510 km jaunt that begins at Gaumukh in the Himalayas to finally tumble into the Bay of Bengal. Close to a 100 ghats, each of which have large symmetrical steps with distinctive architecture, flavour and purpose, flank the river.
My parents and I, take a leisurely boat ride along the Ganga from Dashashvmedha Ghat which bustles with activity from dawn to dusk, and is the site of the spectacular evening aarti. We proceed north towards Manikarnika Ghat.
As our boat lolls by alongside a flotilla of several others that ply the Ganga, the scene that unfolds before us is like a montage of frames frozen in time. The garland of ghats are dotted with gargantuan stone steps, monuments that exhibit aesthetic architectural beauty, gilded temple spires, pillared pavilions, dilapidated mansions and minarets of mosques. While I enjoy my surrounds, my mother is busy chanting shlokas from the Bhagvad Gita and other scriptures.
Each of the ghats has its own unique
tale to relate. For believers, the Ram Ramapati Bank, begun by a certain Das
Channulal ji around 1926 near Dashashwamedh Ghat, is another attraction in
Kashi. The devout bank thousands of times over, the name of Lord Ram, scripted
on sheets of paper, in the hope of attaining salvation.
Cremation takes place only at the Manikarnika and Harishchandra Ghats. As the story goes, River Ganga swept away the precious pearl earrings of Shiva and Parvathi when they were bathing at the Manikarnika Ghat, which incidentally gave the ghat its name. Infuriated by this, Shiva cursed the ghats to be used for the sole purpose of consigning the departed to flames. According to yet another legend, when Shiva danced his Rudra Tandav with the body of his consort Sati who set herself ablaze following the insult of her husband by her father Daksha, Devi Sati's ears with earrings fell on earth at this spot; hence the name Manikarnika. It also became one of the Shakti peeths. A third story attributes the name of the ghat to Vishnu who once dug a pit here for penance, with his disc or Sudarshan Chakra. In the process his earrings fell into the pit, giving the ghat its name.
We are privy to another interesting anecdote associated with the Scindia Ghat which borders Manikarnika to the north. The Shiva temple here which lies partially submerged in the Ganga, is considered to be wish-fulfilling. It is believed that the Fire God Agni, rose from a holy pit here.
Acharya Sushrutha, considered as the Father of Surgery, is believed to have performed his first plastic surgery and postmortem of human bodies on the cremation ghats of Varanasi.
It was at Sarai Mohana, the confluence of the Ganga and Varuna that Gautama Buddha pondered over his first sermon which he subsequently delivered at Sarnath, about 10 km away from this hub.
The Ravidas Ghat, perhaps just about a decade old, honours the poet-saint and son of an untouchable leather worker, who is held in great veneration by Sikhs as evidenced by his verses which find a place in their Holy text, the Guru Granth Sahib.
We see Assi ghat throb with life, particularly in the evenings when revellers throng it to enjoy spicy chats and wash them down with sips of the quintessential steaming brew. We also spot several foreigners here, seeking to specialise in Indian arts and languages. We also get to watch a mini version of the spectacular Dashashwamedha Ghat aarti, here in the evening.
The 17th century poet-saint, Tulsidas is said to have penned his Ramcharitmanas at Tulsi Ghat, named for him. Palpably, today the ghat is a wrestling arena where aspirants learn and practice the skills and sport of wrestling.
The icing on the cake in Varanasi is the evening Ganga Aarti at Dashashwamedha Ghat. We witness this awe-inspiring spectacle from a boat. A bevy of priests worship Goddess Ganga, swaying huge pyramids of blazing oil lamps in rhythmic motion to the accompaniment of music, gongs and drumbeats. Floral showers, especially of the yellow and orange marigolds, rain upon the now-dark and placid Ganga. The atmosphere is electrifying.
As I watch the skyline ablaze with the lights from the lamps one the one hand, and the dying embers from the pyre of someone's dear departed, elsewhere in the middle of the river, I am forced to reflect on the paradox of life. Life continues to be as enigmatic as ever. This is undeniably the way of all flesh - from dust to dust. Flames both, but contrasting again - the one, an expression of gratitude to the Almighty for showering light upon us to guide us on our lifepath; the other, perhaps guiding the departed soul to its destination.
Veritably, Varanasi is a city that celebrates life in all its hues from the cradle to the grave. The caravan of everyday life is rhythmic to a providential routine in the region, where life and death play out to keep its denizens and visitors in an eternally stoic mode and mood. Accepting of the eventual, those coming here, bid adieu to a dear departed, only to walk into one of its many food outlets and partake with gusto the specialties and delicacies they whip up.
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