Touring Varanasi with Babu

Babu and his brother on the ghats.
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The day we left Delhi we had both been feeling crummy with sore throats, but I (Michael) was definitely getting feverish and had sore joints by the time we got on the train. Erin proved herself resilient to this bug, and overcame it with minimal medical intervention. I however experienced cold sweats and high fevers for about 5 days, during which time we went to the Varanasi hospital about 3 times for blood tests, xrays and consultations. The doctors were very good to us, and I had the diagnosis of chest infection which was treated with antibiotics, a pain killer, and 2 additional pills 3 times a day. The doctor couldn't really describe the purpose of those pills, but I was willing to take them because he said they would help my body absorb the medicine better. We were relieved to know it wasn't Malaria (similar symptoms) as we did not start taking Doxycycline (antimalarial) until after we arrived in India.

Crowds getting ready to watch the evening puja.
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So my impressions of Varanasi are through the haze of a fever, in the height of the summer heat. Please forgive me if the descriptions sound harsh.

When I felt a little better we ventured to the famous ghats along the Ganges. The ghats are steps that lead into the river, and are where various religious ceremonies take place. There are daily morning and evening pujas where Hindu devotees make flower and incense offerings to the Ganges. People cleanse themselves in the water, and carry containers of it away for use in shrines and at home. There are also the burning ghats, where people are cremated and their ashes placed in the river. The river is lined with temples just off the ghats, and the streets are so narrow that cars and even motorcycles are restricted.

Waiting for the puja to start.
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We arrived by cycle rickshaw and were swarmed by touts and children when we set foot on the ground. A barber grabbed my neck and twisted my hand as he started giving me a massage that I did not ask for nor did I want since my joints hurt. I told him a few times to stop while trying to fend off the children who wanted to be our guides, and trying to put my hands on my bag and over my wallet to protect them from pick pockets. I released myself from the barber as he was trying to push me onto a sheet of cardboard that his apprentice had placed on the ground behind me. He demanded 20 rupees for the neck rub and shoulder twisting he had done, and I paid him 10 rupees (25 cents). I realized I had overpaid when he accepted it and suggested that when I come back I should get more.

Platforms for the Puja.
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We agreed to let a 10 – 12 year old boy named Babu tag along with us as an unpaid guide and in exchange he would stop pestering us. It sounds like a naive proposition, but it was actually good because his presence helped reduce the number of attacks we received from other guides and touts. He and his 8 year old brother accompanied us for the next 4 hours or so, and in exchange we let ourselves be led to his uncles shop where they lived ever since their mother passed away in a fever about 2 years ago. There we bought a piece of silk or silk-like material labeled as silk, as a wedding gift for our friends in Louisiana Dana and Carrie.

Preparing the platforms for the puja.
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Babu liked to check what we paid for various items we bought, or what we tipped other guides during the day, and would pass his worldly judgement: That was a good price, or more often we would suck his lips and say: You paid too much. He didn't say anything about the price we paid for the silk though, and at the end of day with them, Erin and I felt happy that we had chosen him and his brother to spend the day with.

His brother tried to impress us with the set of paint jars and 8 different metal stamps he was selling. Using the stamps, we painted our foreheads and hands with lightening bolts, tridents, crosses, and Hindu symbols. We refused to buy a set, but he enjoyed the stamping, so we all got covered in paint over lunch. This was not the first nor last time we saw young kids working the streets to make some money either through direct sales or follow through by directing us to family members' shops. I'm glad though to have found Babu and his brother were not hardened peddlers, and they actually enjoyed asking us questions about home. They had a lot of respect for their uncle, who was a very devote Hindu, and a strict vegetarian. Although the roundness of his big belly made me wonder just how slimming a strict vegetarian diet actually is. He wore sandal wood paste smeared across his forehead 3 fingers wide. He seemed kindly, and had large family and extended family living in his shop.

The puja begins with the blowing of a conch.
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We visited the golden temple, which is not the same as the Sikh one where the violence occurred that lead to Madame Gandhi's death. This one was named for the 800+ Kgs of gold used on it's roof. Quite a spectacular idea, although because of the closeness of the city, the only place to view it is from the second step of the front door in a tourist shack across a lane. We were surrounded by machine gun guards on entry and were screened in a metal detector and patted down. There are pockets of violence in India, as all these castes and religions sometimes just don't get along. We viewed the well in which Shiva's lingam was placed, after the original temple that held it was razed and a mosque was created over the site. Security was high following the 1992 and 2002 violence in nearby Ayodhya where Hindu extremists tore down a mosque and erected a temple to Rama on the remains. A fire in 2002 near that site killed many Hindus, and incorrectly believing that this fire was started by Muslims, rioters killed thousands in that region.

Waving incense at the beginning of the puja.
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A sadhu sitting on the well blessed Erin and then demanded money, we were out of small change, and she gave him the 500 rupees he demanded. I tried to escape him, but he insisted and then demanded money from me. I said that my wife had given. He said that 500 was a normal amount for each person. I blame my fever and unwillingness to argue with a holy man at a temple, and I paid him 500 rupees too. He then suggested that that was only a normal amount, didn't I want health for my family name too? Maybe I should give more? I wanted then to take back the 500, but it was too late. Ridiculous. Widows will be paid a cup of rice and 2 rupees for each 4 hours of chanting they do at an ashram in the name of sponsors for those ashrams, and yet this man got 1000 rupees and wanted more.

Choreographed waving of the oil lamps.
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I couldn't stomach telling Babu how much we paid, and he gave us a scolding look, and admonished us to be more careful. We went on to a hospice, where people came from all over India to await their death. Varanasi is one of those auspicious places in the Hindu religion where one attains moksha, or liberation from the cycle of life and death, by dying there. As such, many people come in their old age to await death with a possible liberation waiting on the other side.

Stacked against the walls of the hospice are the chords of firewood used to cremate the bodies. Next to that is the burning ghat. There was space to burn 6 bodies at one time, and it only took about 2 to 3 hours per body. Two fires were burning while we were there and a body was waiting in the Ganges, receiving it's last bath in the holy water, while the eldest son squatted over a drain having his head shaved prior to lighting the pyre. Half a leg fell out of one of the fires and I watched one of the low caste fire tenders toss it back in before I had to turn away. It was too much to watch. Even in the most intimate and emotional moments, there is no privacy there, no space. One can not escape the hagglers and touts, tourists and thieves. In death your body is weighed and a scale is used to measure just the right amount of wood needed. Sandal wood costs the dearest. I suppose you must haggle and bargain here too to get the right rate for your family member's fire wood. Children under the age of 10 and sadhus have clean spirits and so they are not burned before placing their bodies in the Ganges.

Near the end of the puja.
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We were overwhelmed, and had to wonder about the other travelers we met that claimed they loved Varanasi. Indeed we were awed by the spirituality that surrounds the city and the realness and omnipresence of the religion. Hinduism is not pent up in a temple in Varanasi. But we could not say we loved the city, it was too crazy, too dirty, and too many of the sadhus were not genuine. We felt that everywhere we turned there was death and decay. And that death and decay were accepted and recognized by everyone else as a part of every day life.

Lunch with Babu and his brother.
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On the last day we visited Sarnath, just outside of town. Sarnath is the site that Buddha gave his first lecture after gaining enlightenment. A very holy place, it is filled with temples from all the Buddhist countries and sects. It was bloody hot that day, in fact we had sweat shooting out of our pores, it can be seen in mid air if you look close enough at the pictures. The ruins of the old temples and city were quite exciting. Missing is the famous pillar of Ashoka, capped with 4 lions on an abacus, which was taken from here to a museum. Ashoka had converted to Buddhism in about 250 BC, and made it the state religion and was responsible for a lot of the spread of Buddhism across Asia at that time.

Erin and Babu's brother.
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Despite being soaked in sweat, we hopped on another overnight train going Northeast, to NJP, Siliguri, trying to get to Darjeeling where we hoped to escape from the heat and madness on the plains.