Loitering on the Ghats of Benaras and around the Stupas of Sarnath

At the New Delhi Railway Station

The waiting room of New Delhi Railway station was full to the brim. Trains were running late for hours. Even platforms were filled with passengers held up by those late arrival and departure of trains. Its the 1st of January, 2015. 8:30 PM.I had my dinner. I found a quiet place in front of a closed book stall. I satt on the platform, with the least thought of what others will think. I dog sniffed beside me and then left. I was reading a book of Ruskin Bond. My train which was supposed to arrive at 8:15 PM was already late by a couple of hours. At around 9:30 when I was about to collect my baggage from the locker room, I saw a youth, all wrapped up in shabby thick cloth, came close to me, underneath the book stall and lay down. It seemed this is the place he sleeps on each night. A part of the platform was getting cleaned. By 10 the crowd had thinned.

Once on the train, I did not have the most polished look. My hair, devoid of oil or shampoo, resembled a bird's nest of sorts. My black trousers have been taken care of by the platform dust. My creased T-shirt complimented my looks, not to mention about the unshaven beard. When I boarded the train, my co-passenger, who I later learnt worked as electrician in New Delhi, must have been very confused about my identity. Aged around twenty-five and originally from Bihar, he wanted to strike a conversation with me:

"So, where do you work?", he asked.

"Bangalore!". I tried to give the shortest possible reply

"In IT?" The fame of Bangalore being the IT hub in India has reached to every corner of the country.

"Yes", I replied with a cosmetic smile on my face.

"And what type of work?" His questions seemed never-ending.

"Some computer repair".  He will not understanding this ERP and Cloud Computing things. So I tried to keep things as short and as simple as possible.

"You must be earning a lot. I know of friend of mine who earns lakhs in IT. Of course, he is in Delhi only. How much do you earn?"

Thats the real India for you! I was travelling alone this time and so booked a sleeper non-AC coach for the trip to Benaras or Varanai, whatever you want to call. If ever I hesitated that I should have booked a ticket in the comfortable AC compartment, this question reinforced my decision. I was in search of India which is beyond the sophistication of the modern society, where the people do not hide behind a veil of artificiality. And here I was in conversation with a stranger...who within five minutes of meeting popped the question which people do not ask even after five years of interaction!

The train started after a total of three hours late. I was tired and the compartment was dimly-lit. I was fast asleep.

A morning in the train

I woke up in the morning by the babble of voices all around. Things were getting interesting in the journey. As the train, already late by a couple of more hours, entered Uttar Pradesh and limped and hopped into different stations, the passengers (of course, unreserved!) got on the train and were making there way among us - the reserved passengers. Soon, I found someone sitting on the corner  of my seat. A small jerk and he would be on the floor. I woke up. It was around eight. Someone pointed to the tents near Allahabad. "That is the place for the famous Kumbha Mela", he said.
I would definitely love to come here during the largest gathering of mankind in the history of the civilisation. But the very thought of the uncontrolled crowd makes me hesitant. And yet, I know, my journey through my motherland is incomplete without checking  the Kumbh Mela check-box.

I peeped out of the window. It was cloudy. The roads and villages were wet, testimony to the night-long shower that the area received. Soon, people in the compartment started discussion and argument on varied topics, ranging from the winter to Delhi to the damp climate there, from the recently  released movie PK to the foreign policies of our PM Mr. Modi. These passengers, like most Indians, had opinions on all that was happening under the sun.

The scenery outside was pretty dull. There was no sunshine, that one would typically expect in this region during this time of the year. But the dullness of the outside was complimented by the interesting topics being discussed inside by the enthusiastic passengers. From time to time the hawkers made brisk business, especially the ones with tea, coffee and snacks (reminds me that when in TCS we used to jokingly say that the company is the abbreviation of Tea, Coffee and Snacks).

Arriving at Benaras 

When the train dragged itself to the Benaras railway station after a couple of hours of delay, the weather was no different. From my previous experience with Benaras I knew that Benaras is not at her best in this type of cloudy and damp weather. But I had little option. I off-loaded my luggage in the railway retiring room. The initial one I had been provided was pretty shabby. After raising my concern with the authorities I was shifted to a very comfortable room, which had much more than I would have required for the days in Benaras. Then I took a rickshaw and through the narrow lanes of
the age-old city went to the "ghats". The roads had puddles and were water logging at places. It was still drizzling. People carried umbrellas and made their way through the not-so-clean streets. Despite the rain, there was no dampness to the energy level of the people. I had a very late lunch in one of the road-side shops. I did not care about the oil they cooked in and the dishes they served on. Sometimes its great not to bother about the things that may or may not have any impact in future. Its a great feeling to live life in its present form. You dont worry about the cholesterol and sugar and BP when you feast on those delicious sweets and hot kachoris cooked right in front of you. You just enjoy the moments for they will never return again.

Benaras makes me philosophical!

I made my way slowly to the Dasaswamedha Ghat, where the evening aarti is performed. People poured from all over to the road. They were the common man from different caste, creed and colour from all over the country. I found a group of widows hurriedly rushing towards the ghats. The widows of Benaras have their own painful history, some who lost their husband in their early teens and have been leading a restricted life since then for decades. Among the crowd you could often spot the saffron-clad sadhus, wondering around without a defined motive. The ox in Benaras is famous and its not difficult to find them on the streets and people touching them and then placing the hand on their foreheads as a sign of seeking the blessing of the animal, who is oblivion to the honour he has been receiving. And then there are the foreigners with cameras who seemed like the kids lost in Disneyland. They didnt know what moments to capture and what to leave. Some local "guides" tried to impress the foreigners with their two cents on Benaras in exchange for a couple of dollars. There were some who were busy eating whatever they found on the road-side stalls, while some bargained hard for the odd saree or salwar. Some shopkeepers, realising the fact that "make hay while the sun shines", got out of their shops, on the streets, pleading the customers, at times nearly holding their hands and dragging them inside, to showcase the array of products they lined only for them at the maximum possible discount.
I walked with these people. I just walked with the crowd, observing the colourful and diverse world around me. And yet I was feeling a sense of solitude inside. Its a solitude that does not pain you but give you the peaceful thought of being able to connect with your inner soul. There were people from all over India. It was  a mini India in itself. It was the India that was very different from the India you find anywhere else. My discovery of India would never have been complete without Benaras and her people. I got a strange feeling as I walked with the crowd. The feeling of the maya or everything so temporary all around. Nothing is permanent. For centuries people have walked down the road, for centuries they have offered their prayers to the holy temple of Baba Viswanath and worshiped the Ganges. Reminds me of the famous lines from the gifted A.L. Tennyson "Men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever". How true is it for Benaras and the river Ganga that washes the city's feet every moment. The whole set of people I am walking with  will be replaced by a completely new set in a hundred years from now. The world will change a lot. But , perhaps, Benaras wont. And the devotion of the people will not.

I reached the ghat before the aarti had started. I had just the time to take the boat ride to the famous Manikanika Ghat. It is the funeral ghat. Stacks of wooden planks were placed on the walls of the ghat. A funeral pyre was burning. As the day ended the smoke from the lifeless body filled the air. Some people who surrounded the pyre were crying and sobbing. I told the boatsman to stop rowing. I saw in front of the last few moments of the life of a mortal being. I do not know who the person was - male or female? Whats the age? Whats the background? How did he/she die? Who are his/her family members? And I shall never know the answers. What I saw was the end of his/her journey called life. He/she must have had a childhood, must have been mischievous, must have fallen, must  have laughed and cried. The person surely has undergone the roller coaster of life. He/She had emotions, feelings, thoughts. And today everything becomes meaningless. Its just the mere body, which has mostly turned to ashes and lost to smoke. All that we hold too tightly during our lifetime seems so fragile on this day. All that we fiercely claim as ours - our land, our property, our egos, our prestige, our honour, our money, our LIFE - has been reduced to ashes and smoke. Is the life worth fighting for the trifle matters that we magnify manifold?

One evening in Benaras

When the aarti started we were all hypnotised by the electrifying atmosphere. Those who have not seen it, its impossible to describe what it is like. Counch shells blowing, the small diyas illuminating the ghats in their own small way, the sweet aroma of the incense sticks, flowers and camphor, the halogen lights flooding the ghats, the chimes from the hundreds of bells and the ritual performed by the priests weave magic. The ritual is worshiping the river Ganges, who has cradled the Indian civilisation. It is an ultimate way of showcasing our gratitude towards her. It lasted for about an hour. When the ceremony was over they distributed blankets to the poor and needy that are aplenty in

Benaras. They jostled to be among the first in queue, lest the limited number of blankets gets over. I should have clicked a few smiles of those who received the blankets. We take so much things for granted. And by "so much" I mean SO MUCH. We take our comfort, our relationships, our freedom, (in fact) our life for granted. If I might feel "unlucky" when offered a middle seat in the flight, what about these people - my countrymen? These people have so much to crib about and feel utterly betrayed and frustrated in life. They have thousand and one reason to curse GOD or , in the first place, not believe in GOD at all! And yet, on a cold winter night, when I am wrapped from top to bottom, they come running half-naked from nowhere, grab a blanket and give the most satisfying smile and , above all, thank the Almighty! I shudder to think about their dinners.  These are perhaps among those millions around the world who go to bed without having a square meal a day.

Once the aarti is over, in half an hour the ghat was almost empty. The actors were missing from the stage. It had a deserted look. Some diyas have died as they soaked up all the oil. Flower petals were strewn here and there. Some people floated small diyas on the river...and they moved stealthily along the river current. But overall, the place was quite. A few foreigners with camera were busy capturing the "Incredible India". The place was so crowded some time back and now its so desolate. I sat on the ghat for some more time. I could see a couple of flickering lights far off. A faint  "Ram nam satya hai" from far off land echoed in the heavy atmosphere of the Dasaswamedha Ghat.

Sitting that night on the ghat I remembered by late father, who had passed a few months from then. As the ghats became even more quiet, I could hear my heart beat and hear my soul. The phenomenon of life and death is as natural as the falling of the dry leaves in winter only to be re-born in the following spring with renewed energy and vigour. And yet we mourn death. I would have spent hours sitting just like that on those sacred ghats of the city, had the bone-chilling wind not compelled me to return to my shelter. Ah! Shelter....something that comes so easily to me. Something that means a warm four-walled room under a ceiling to me. And something which means some place on the footpath under the cold and cloudy sky to the road-side beggars.

One morning in Benaras

The next day next day I woke up to another foggy morning. It was cold as the sun was still playing hide and seek. I took a boat and completed the river cruise. Its not like the river  cruise on Thames or Seine river where you pass by the sophisticated buildings of London and Paris. Its of a different kind, where, old buildings, now seems haunted, skirts the river banks. They were residences of some zamindars and rich merchants. They are gone, now. When in Benaras, I had that constant feeling of the short life that we all have; the short time we all spend as actors on the world stage. And so the obvious questions haunts me - Do I live for myself or for others? Do I want to achieve something because I want to achieve it? Or do I do that to show others? Do I write a blog because I feel and love writing blogs or do I do so in the hope that someone praises me for it? Do I do a work because I love and enjoy it or is it in the selfish hope of getting rewarded and appreciated for it? Do I play for myself or for the crowd, expecting applause all the time?....

Migratory birds flocked around. As I threw grains they swooped towards me. Migratory birds are another wonder of Nature's creation. On the ghats people bathed in the cold and not-so-clean water. Only devotion can bring such acts in humans. As I passed over some other ghats, I saw some more were being cremated. The cycle of life and death never ceases to stop. The boatsman had some tales to share with me - his life, his relatives life, his childhood. It was drizzling at times. Bells rang in some temples. Barbers shaved the heads for some. Even the most scientific minded person might just think about GOD when in Benaras. Such is the atmosphere.

Most of the afternoon I spent on the ghats and visiting the famous temple of Baba Viswanath. The temple is reached through narrow alleys, bordered by small shops selling anything from pins to souvenirs to clothes to flowers. Evening I had some lip-smacking snacks, followed by the aarti. I can watch the aarti for days together with the same curiosity and amazement. And everytime it seems to have something new to offer to me. In front of me on the desolated ghats was the darkness and behind me the world talked, walked, ate, slept. All I could hear was the soothing sound of the river Ganga flowing stealthily. I was lost in myself.

One morning in Sarnath

On third day my flight was in the evening. I had heard about Sarnath, the holy place of the Buddhist thats around 12 km from Benaras. The Buddha went from Bodh Gaya to Sarnath about 5 weeks after his enlightenment. I hired an auto-rickshaw who would take me to the airport via Sarnath. Sarnath was a city that had something special. As soon as I was around the city, I felt peace inside. It was quiet. It seemed that the sound pollution is unknown to the city. I am not keen on visiting temples or
other religious place. Neither am I too interested on the historical buildings and monuments. And Sarnath was a combination of religion and history. But having seeing  Chaukhandi Stupa, Dhamekha Stupa (a solid, cylindrical, brick structure which is 43.6 m high and 28 m in diameter), Dharmarajika Stupa (which contained the bones of the Buddha and was constructed during Ashoka’s reign) and the remnants of the Ashoka Pillar, I was once more reminded of the rich cultural heritage of my motherland.

There lay before me two ancient religions of the world, probably whose epicentre is the Varanasi-Sarnath region. Outwardly the two places are poles apart. Varanasi is crowded,  not-so-clean, beggars aplenty and there is always a babble of voices anywhere you go. Sarnath, on the other hand is tranquility personified. Its quite and peaceful. Roads are clean and you dont find beggars around.
(And all when the two cities are just ten kilometres apart.) And yet both are considered among the holiest cities of the respective religion. In Sarnath I saw lots of foreigners from the ASEAN region, whereas Varanasi had predominantly Indians. If I was overwhelmed by the enormity of Benaras, I was humbled by the greatness of Sarnath. If the energy in Benaras was vibrant and visible all around, the energy in Sarnth was more subtle, but no less!

A deeper observation, however, will reveal that all these differences are only on the outer surface. You dive deep and all you find is the underlying current of devotion of human - young and old. The devotion I saw in the eyes of the Hindu devotees  is no different from those in the eyes their Buddhist counterparts. While one goes to show his gratitude at the Baba Viswanath temple, the other walks around the stupas to offer the homage. While one reads out slokas from the Vedas, the other recites the sutras from the Tripitaka. While one says "Om", the other chaunts "Buddham Saranam Gacchami".  Its just how we, nickel-and-dime mortals, manifest and express ourselves to the Creator, calling Him Allah, Iswar, Buddha, Jesus or by any another name.

The Late Arrival at the Airport

Due to huge traffic jam I arrived at the airport in the nick of time. When I had handed the ticket print out to trade with the boarding pass, my eyes fell on the booking date. I had booked the tickets to Benaras when my father was still undergoing his chemo therapy.He knew I would be in Benaras during the first week of January. But, by the time I made it to Benaras he no longer needed those medicines anymore. He had started his journey for the heavenly abode a few months back. He always wanted to come here, but kept on deferring the decision. Ultimately, he never made it here. And yet, when in Benaras I always felt he was somehow there with me - walking beside me along with the crowd or sitting beside me in the desolated ghats till late evening. Sometimes death means only a physical extinction, the essence of deceased never fades. Just like the fragrance of a incense stick stays long even after the stick has been burned to ashes or you a see a star twinkling even today while it may have died a few million light years ago!

The Story of the Middle Seat!

"Sir, here is your boarding pass. I am sorry to inform that the flight is full and we dont have any window or aisle seats for you today. We have only middle seats. Have a pleasant flight! ", said the lady at the airport ticket counter.
I took the boarding pass from her with a smile, not even daring to think how "unlucky" I was not to get a window seat.