intertwined her memories, her hopes and fears, her songs of triumph, her victories and her defeats. She has been a symbol of India’s age-long culture and civilization, ever changing, ever flowing, and yet ever the same Ganga.

- Jawaharlal Nehru, First Prime Minister of India, born in Allahabad on the Ganges.

Known as the goddess Ganga Ma (mother river Ganges), she winds 1,560 miles across north India from the Himalaya Mountains to the Indian Ocean, the Ganges River is a sacred entity. The river is revered as a goddess whose purity cleanses the sins of the faithful and aids the dead on their path toward heaven.

Everyday, thousands of pilgrims, sadhus and tourists come to Varanasi from all over the subcontinent to worship the Ganges. Bathing in her, drinking from her is still the lifelong ambition of Hindus, which counts 75% of the 1 billion population of India. It is utmost privileged if one can be cremated on the Ganges, which guarantees a fast track to Nirvana; the eternal enlightenment beyond the endless reincarnation suffering.

There are many myths associated with the birth of Ganga. One says she came as result of lord Shiva and Parvati, his lover goddess, practiced love-making tantrics for a hundred years long. Though more convincible theory suggests that Hindusim creation god Brahma sent Ganges, a fast track, from heaven to the Earth and further to nether-world (under-world) to save King Sagara’s sixty thousand lost souls, so they could go to heaven and rest in eternal peace. Everyday, lord Shiva graces the river banks, the closest soil to heaven and saves the suffering souls.

As a tourist, one needs a few days to acclimatize to the heat and dust, to the impact of Hinduism and to the proliferating pestering touts of Varanasi. Only when settled in, brushed away the frantic surface of chaotic India , would one start to observe the surrounding microcosm, the holiest of all holy places; would one start to appreciate of the meaning of live and being.

As Roger Housden in the book Travel Through Sacred India puts ‘All the great sacred sites in India have their smaller counterpart in Banaras (Varanasi), so that city is the microcosm of all India. Make a pilgrimage there, and you are everywhere.’

Our hotel (Scindhia Guest House) is located at the river bank of Scindhia Ghat, next to the main burning ghat – Manikarnika ghat. There is no better way to pass the burning pyres to go into town, unless one opts for losing oneself in the sewage piled labyrinth alleys for two or three hours. Passing the burning ghat at different time of the day offers us more opportunities to watch the open cremation.

morning bath, from my flickr:Ganges

Blending in the chaotic ocean of cows, heavy trucks, buses, cars, light trucks, scooters, rickshaws, bicycles, handcarts, dogs and pedestrians, comes a light yellow jeep. Dust and mud patches suggest an arduous journey it must have been through. On the roof, a luminous red silk covered bamboo stretcher loaded. Spotless red silk embodied with auspicious motifs and golden lace trim. A corpse laden, slightly sunk in the stretcher. Covering by the silk bedding, it seemed smaller than who actually is. The jeep floats in the traffic and squeezes towards Manikarnika Ghat.

Bamboo stretcher carefully unloaded from the roof top, lifted by two pallbearers, most likely nearest male relatives. Chanting, they make way through the dingy alleys to the river bank.

Under the red silk, reveals a body wrapped in layers of white band. The body is accompanied by the relatives to the Ganges for a final bathing. From what we can see, it still felt soft. He (she) was probably a maharaja, maybe a peasant, or even an anonymous beggar. But that is not important anymore.

continue to part 2

Hamish Smith (London) contributes invaluable input on proof-reading and revision, thank you.

[tags]Varanasi, Benares, the Ganges[/tags]