Pilgrimage to Varanassi

VARANASSI: It is the time of the Pilgrims, and the footpaths on the Ghats are lined with Hindu Pilgrims from all over India, who have come to make their worship at the banks of the sacred Ganga River. Sitting in various positions, all ages and sizes, they hold their metal bowls out to be filled with rice. It is their physical sustenance in an otherwise spiritually sustaining environment. It is that time of year because it is not monsoon-when the rains come and the waters rise and drown out half of India.

At 5:30 AM before the sun rises over the Ganga, they start their chanting, and as the sun comes up it rises to a crescendo and then descends. There is never a quiet moment, because then the bathers come to the bottom of the Ghats and wash themselves in the sacred waters.
We are floating down the Ganga watching all of this from a few metres in the river beyond the Ghats. We started around sunrise- though not really, this is Indian time, and we were supposed to start at sunrise, but made it about 20 minutes later[India time].....we float past each Ghat-there are squillions of them- our boatman, laconically sucking on Pan- this hideous red stuff that is some sort of stimulant and makes the Indian smile a ghoulish/reddish affair- especially when blended with blackened teeth- more common than not.


I have been meeting with Jim and Janet and Kate Woodworth from the Mtns, and we have had a jolly time. Kate who has been living in Varanassi for a while, leads us through snaking alleyways filled with a variety of shops, phone services, internet outlets, butcher shops, cows, motorbikes etc. I do not know how she finds her way. And I worry that if I had to do it myself, I would be lost in the maize for days. It is hard to realise all this commercialism lies just above the highly stylised spiritual ritual going on the Ghats below.

Kate has arranged for a private concert with Jim's sitar teacher, Tarik, and a famous Varanassi tabla player, which didn't happen last night- there was a long 40 minute discussion about it- and it came to nothing, but is happening tonight. We walk down to an isolated Ghat at the end of the line, and wind our way up a steep staircase lit by candles to hear an amazing concert played by two people who obviously play together a lot. It is absolutely delightful. They have made my trip to Varanassi something special.



Varnassi is the start of my Pilgrimage to Buddha, which is about to begin. Even though Varanassi is not a Buddhist town, we are experiencing the Indian expression of spiritual obsession at it's height. Small children and mothers abound along with families -both poor and middle class. It is a cacophany of sight and sound which I will not forget.


My tour guide and only companion- we pick up a Tibetan Buddhist monk in Bodhgaya, our next town- decides to swim the Ganga with an old friend...I wait on the shore-wary of the germs in the river. I am told by another Aussie that the Ganga is self cleaning, but I think I will wait for the scientific report. We convince them to swim half way- rowing over and swiming back. Another friend stands up in the boat and photographs the event. I am sitting on the Pandey Ghat steps drinking the ubiquitous glass of Chai and have gathered about 15 Indian men on the ariund me. We are all following their progress with lots of editorialising along the way and tons of talk of cricket....which I have spoken more about since I have been in India than the whole 35 years I have lived in Auz.

Tomorrow, we head off to Bodhgaya and to catch up with Palden- a Tibetan monk, and are driven by the delightful Mr Lal Singh, who drives like a Sunday driver through Northern India, and who I am besotted with. He doesn't say much, but when he does it's is priceless. He also takes us on a tour of roadside eating spots. Some are his favourites and he parades us to his cafe society friends.
This is Mr Singh and I at one of his haunts where we have been eating along the way....an interesting experience. The food is actually fresh and lovely though I am not game enough to drink the water which is served in big metal jugs. We waited here for an hour or so, til the fog lifted and so Mr Singh can find his way. He does not do that well under adverse road conditions. Being a cautious person by nature, he becomes over cautious slowing down to 30k's/hour explaining that he has the safety of his clients at heart, and I know this is true, because above all, he is a kind man. He tells me that his clothes-consisting of dhoti wrapped around his lower torso and legs, a long cotton shirt with the obligatory shawl draped over his shoulders, is the real Indian dress. He reminds me of Mahatma Ghandi in both dress and looks, which is probably why I am besotted.


Stay tuned for me Buddha bound.....Bodhgaya, Kushinigar and Lumbini. It is a pilgrimage of its own and we just happen to be following other Buddhist pilgrims from Thailand, Burma and Tibet-but more on that later.