Yes, the headline rhymes, and it was intentional. Poetry flows freely in Varanasi.
By Kavita Chandran
Imagine this. You are a tourist in India’s oldest city, walking around with a Lonely Planet in hand, searching for a “tiny yogurt shop” called Blue Lassi that has been serving “Varanasi’s freshest, creamiest, fruit-filled lassis for over 90 years”.
You end up in front of a door-less shop with shaky benches on the floor and thousands of passport-size photos stuck on blue walls.
An old man squats outside, diligently crushing dry fruits, chopping fruits and whipping up yogurt shakes for a long line of customers; some share bum space with strangers on benches while others lean against imaginary walls.
What happens next chills you to the bone.
No, it’s not the taste of the blue lassi—which, you will be relieved to know, is not blue.
It’s the corpse that passes by just when you yell out your choice of a mouth-watering concoction to the busy young man taking orders.
‘Oh my God! Did you see that?,’ you want to cry out to the others who are nonchalantly relishing their drink in an earthen kulhad, oblivious to the morbid chants of ‘Ram Naam Satya Hai’ (Lord Ram’s name is the truth).
Blue Lassi is located on a narrow lane that leads to Manikarnika Ghat, an open cremation site on the banks, or ghats, of the sacred river Ganges, or Ganga. More than a hundred bodies burn to ashes on wooden logs every day in the ghat which is open 24/7.
Another corpse, wrapped in a shiny orange cloth, follows shortly thereafter, the body effortlessly balancing on a bamboo stretcher held tight on four corners by four young men chanting the same four words melodiously and matter-of-factly.
Three more stretchers pass by before you get your frothy lassi with slices of pistachios swimming on top. You shut your eyes (and ears) and take a sip—and forget about life (and death) for a while—seamlessly integrating with the yogurt-loving crowd.
“Why would you be scared of a dead body? You will be one too, someday,” says my auto driver in pure eloquent Hindi the next day during a bumpy ride to Sarnath, an archaeological wonder where the Buddha gave his first sermon. “Those that carry the corpses have the privilege of dipping in the holy Ganga and later enjoying a good meal sponsored by the family.”
When I share my experience with Brian Carpenter, a professor of psychological and brain sciences at Washington University in St. Louis, we discuss how Varanasi depicts a different attitude and environment than the usual death-denying scenes that unfold in most places.
“Faith can be a remarkable framework to help people understand and accept the significance of mortality in how life unfolds,” he says. “Many writers over the centuries have commented that the key to happiness is an awareness of our mortality; that without death, eternal life would have no real purpose or meaning. The inevitable end of life forces an appreciation for life while living.”
“The city of learning and burning” is how some refer to Varanasi because it houses the largest residential university in Asia, the Benaras Hindu University (BHU), and because of its cremation sites. Varanasi has been vying to be included as a UNESCO world heritage site.
Also called Benaras or Kashi by the locals, Varanasi is slowly transforming into a culturally rich and holy tourism destination, shedding its age-old reputation of being an unclean place ‘where people go to die’.
Cleaning Benaras became a mission for India’s Prime Minister Narendra Modi few years ago, garnering him votes and a God-like status, including a ghat named after him. The NaMo Ghat is a $250 million project by Modi’s government which includes three large sculptures of folded hands offering salutations to the holy river.
Politics aside, it is hard not to marvel at the calm that exists amid the crowded chaos, where strains of classical music fill the air and remind visitors that this is the birthplace of two world-famous music maestros, Bismillah Khan and Ravi Shankar.
Fresh street food is a delicacy as tourists walk around with a list of ‘must-go-to eateries’ and restaurants sell out within hours of cooking their Kachori-sabji, Baati-chokha and Malaiyo.
As half-naked soapy men and women dip in murky waters before scurrying off to worship, the homeless line up outside temples with begging bowls, sometimes sending their children to nudge worshippers and tourists. On starry nights, you see these children cuddling with mothers on the rocky steps leading to the temples.
Despite the overwhelming sights, smells and sounds (the honking from vehicles can hurt your ears!), the residents of Varanasi don compassionate eyes and perpetual smiles on their faces.
Even the salesman who coaxes you to buy the world-famous Benaras silk sarees responds with a “no problem” and immediately clears the way when you refuse. While the area around the temples is strictly occupied by Hindus, there is a large Muslim community in Varanasi, many of whom are weavers, or Ansaris, who have been handweaving intricate silk drapes for generations.
“Benaras has an important ingredient that other cities lack, and it’s called anand,” says a storekeeper when I finally succumb to buying a Benarasi saree. Anand is a Hindi term that loosely translates to inner peace and happiness.
“There’s a saying here that the same man who punches you will also take you to the hospital and drop you back home after the doctor stitches you up.”
The daily morning and evening prayers, or aarti, on the banks of the Ganga are extravagant cultural performances by young priests who synchronise their movements while holding lit lamps.
As I return by boat after watching the aarti, mesmerized by the reverberating sounds of the chants, I pass a few logs with blazing flames on Manikarnika Ghat and marvel at the sight of fire, water, flesh and soul poetically and placidly co-existing as relatives bid goodbye to loved ones.
“What unfolds at Varanasi is an example of how the presence of death, being surrounded by it in the context of support and comfort, can be an incredible balm for people,” says Carpenter, the psychologist.
Death truly is a part of life in this city of 1.6 million people.
“People come from far and wide to cremate their loved ones here so their souls can be free and attain moksha (salvation),” says Amrish, my hotel guide, who watches the aarti with me on the boat.
“Some people who know their death is near come here so they can get rid of fear.”
Kavita Chandran is a journalist, professor, and wellness enthusiast based in Singapore.
