The Ganges: Life & Death Soup

Varanasi, the spiritual epicenter of India, certainly delivers an explosion for the senses. As I said before, I think it’s that which makes the difference between an anticipated (and possibly) disappointing image and one that vividly comes to life. This place is bursting with energy: one part life, one part death, and one part somewhere in between. At the heart flows the murky brown life transforming river Ganges.

I spent four full days here. Still brief to some but to others quite long (like me for instance, slowly learning to reduce the pace). It was a good decision. Anything less and I wouldn’t have been able to appreciate the subtleties of India’s holiest city - a place that will accost your senses before falling into a rhythm and charming you with its mysterious peace.

The old town, Goudalia, is a maze of narrow alleys and streets. Only a few fierce motorcycles squeeze through creating a wonderful escape from the noise and pollution of the big cities. I find I’m immediately fond of anywhere that offers that luxury. There’s a constant hum in the distance - chanting, bells, music, birds. In the morning the air is fresh and cool and sunrises attract a large crowd. Tourists descend on the river in droves and the orchestra seats are found aboard small boats that cruise up and down the Ganges. I’ve done this twice and both occasions prove stunning in many ways. Sunrise is beautiful. It’s a relaxing way to see the ghats (the large palaces and buildings with stairs leading into the river that line the banks). Hundreds of Indians bathe, swim, drink, pray, wash clothes and even pull live flopping fish out of it’s completely septic waters, which I find a true testament to our different constitutions. This is a place of pilgrimage and the joy of arrival and accomplishment is obvious. The gold morning sun intensifies the bright sarees and glowing faces.

In contrast, the somber tone of death hangs heavy in the air. A baby, maybe 3 months old, floats face down in the river - its skin grey and plastic-looking. Even now, I can only process that this image represents a toy baby doll though I know was an infant corpse. A ragged old man balances on a the bow of his boat trying to tie to it the huge bloated corpse of a buffalo, perhaps to use its hide for leather.

Like no other place in India, it is believed that dying in Varanasi is an absolute way to attain enlightenment. There are homes along the river dedicated to the sick and dying as they wait for their spiritual gift and escape from this world. For believers, disposal of one’s mortal remains in the Ganges of Varanasi is the ultimate release from this life.

The most famous “attraction” for foreigners is the burning ghats and we can’t seem to help our morbid curiosity about this ritual of public cremation, where bodies are being burning on open pyres on the cement banks of the river. Fires are burning 24 hours a day. Families pay for the wood, which is piled in stacks several stores high behind the ghats. The minimum required is 200 kilos and at 200 Rs per kilo for the cheapest kind (about 1000 USD), this represents a significant expense to most. In addition, the families supply butter (the help bodies burn more efficiently) and sandalwood powder (to eliminate the smell, surprisingly completely effective). A few more dirty details, because I’m foreign and fascinated… Two to three hundred bodies are burned per day. It takes about 3 hours for one body to burn. The chest of a man and pelvis of a woman will not burn, they’re too strong. Those who handle the bodies are still openly called “the untouchables”, the lowest of castes. There are certain people who are not burned - children under 10, pregnant women, saddhus (spiritual seekers or leaders) and a few others, as there’s a perceived element of purity that does not require cremation. instead a rock is tied to their body and they are thrown directly into the Ganges. Dead bodies do not sink; only those who have drowned (hence, the baby doll). It is a government ordinance that photography is not allowed. I like this display of respect that is strictly enforced. However, leave it to the entrepreneurial Indian, who offers his services like he’s selling crack - when no police are around, he’ll take your money and hide you while you steal a few snapshots! A mourning family member shaves his head - the first son if father dies, husband if wife or mother dies. I watched a boy getting his head shaved, his legs and face covered in tears, while his family sang, danced and rejoiced.

So shock and awe is the first response and it does last a while. Having a cloth-covered corpse carried overhead by a family pass you on the street or seeing a lifeless arm or leg dangle from the beneath the cloth while waiting on the riverbank is startling and unfamiliar. Watching the process one evening from a quiet corner I felt a surprising flood of emotions. It was no longer some distant storied ritual or string of facts but very real, somber and right there. Heat on my face from the close dancing pyres, embers burning my eyes, wood and human remains cracking in the heat, families watching and mourning. Engulfed in the experience, the shock wears off. I realized that it’s just a flesh and bones and that death is simply the final stage in life, forever entwined.

There is way more life in Varanasi than death. Seeing it all coexisting so openly and closely together is an amazing, deeply moving experience. Everything seems amplified. Colors brighter, sounds clearer, senses more acute, life more present. Despite the chaos, noise and commotion, I left more invigorated than exhausted.

Posted in India