Note: The bi-weekly schedule has been suspended to bring you this special edition sequel to last week’s issue. Before diving into this issue, do consider reading Part 1 of Weekend at Benares (click here).
Our first order of business upon reaching Benares - once we had checked into the hotel and freshened up - was to plan the pilgrimage. My parents were scheduled to arrive the following afternoon but my wife and I couldn’t bear to wait for them. We were in Benares and desperate for darshan1.
We mapped the route and set off on foot. (The best pilgrimages have to be undertaken on foot. It builds anticipation and affords more time to contemplate what awaits at the end of the journey.) The streets were packed with people. Many seemed to be heading in the same direction as us and as we drew closer the growing fervour became palpable; the air crackled with it. When our destination came within sight, we gasped in spite of ourselves. A sea of humanity roiled around the narrow entrance as unending streams of men, women and children kept adding to its numbers. We joined one such stream and finally, after minutes which felt like hours, we stood before our goal. We had made it.
Dozens were crammed into tables meant to seat four, elbowing each other good-naturedly while trying to catch the server’s eyes. The latter task was nigh impossible for the server’s eyes (as well as their bodies) were in perpetual motion. In the fraction of a second when their gaze fell upon you, you had to scream out your order and hope it registered. Within moments, your plate of chaat would arrive2. We ordered half the things on the menu and as soon as we had finished, we were unceremoniously ushered to the exit. In the sanctum sanctorum, one is expected to pay obeisance and move along - there is no cause to linger.
The next morning we headed to the Ramnagar Fort, an 18th-century building on the eastern banks of the river. Notwithstanding its name, it appeared to have been constructed with palatial rather than martial needs in mind - it continues to be the place of residence for the royal family of Benares.
It had an imposing arched gateway, beautiful open grounds (with defunct fountains) and a museum housing an impressive collection of colonial-era armaments and - bizarrely - a fleet of antique American cars. I could spot a Cadillac, a Plymouth and a Ford, each in ramshackle condition. The entire museum, in fact, had a woebegone, neglected look. A sad but unsurprising state of affairs in a country where monuments protected by the Archaeological Survey of India can go missing.
A somewhat unsettling route of tunnels and steep stairs - the kind of place that is the perfect spot for the first death in a horror movie - led to the riverfront terrace. There were an array of rooms (off-limits for tourists) and a couple of temples in the Fort compound. On clear days, the terrace must offer spectacular views of the river and the cityscape on the opposite bank. Unfortunately, a thick fog had settled on the scene that morning and all we could see was the grey river disappearing into a grey wall of mist.
Later that evening, I would be sitting in a boat on that same river looking at the renowned Ganga Aarti being conducted with pomp and vigour and be disconcerted by how I could feel so - empty.
In a city brimming with ancient places of mythical provenance, Dashashvamedh Ghat gets star billing. Legend has it that it marks the spot where Brahma performed the intricate ritual of ten simultaneous horse-sacrifices and now, one can reap the rewards merely by bathing there3. According to some tales, Dashashvamedh is older than the Ganga itself and was already in existence when King Bhagiratha led the river - which had descended from heaven to the Himalayas - across the plains of India4.
Unfortunately, I would learn these fascinating stories about Dashashvamedh Ghat much later. At the time of my visit, on the evening of December 31, its heritage was unknown to me. All I could see were slippery, rubbish-strewn stairs filled with an impossibly large number of people. The crowds were legion. Bodies pushed at us from all sides and we were compelled to keep moving, to find the next pocket of air to breathe. Eventually, we reached the riverbank and stepped into a rickety boat, in which the number of occupants far outstripped the number of available lifejackets. And then, we turned our attention to the ceremony - the Ganga Aarti - that had attracted seemingly thousands to occupy a narrow strip of land.
I am not religious and hadn’t expected the ritual to trigger an awakening. Yet, as I noticed the devotion it invoked in those around me, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Some were entranced by the chanting and couldn’t take their eyes off the hypnotic patterns traced in the air by the firey wicks of the oil lamps wielded by the priests; others had closed their eyes in prayer. In the midst of this outpouring of piety, I felt nothing. Indeed, that moment served as a microcosm of the entire trip.
The ritual - much like the city - which appeared to inspire awe and impress multitudes, had left me unmoved. Yes, I had enjoyed pockets of Benares - the chaat, the Ramnagar museum, the Sarnath monuments - but for the most part, I had been unable to glimpse the ancient and magnificent heart of the city. I had only seen an overcrowded, unkempt urban centre, whose reputed antiquity has been obscured by the modern and the mundane. Perhaps it wasn’t the city, I thought despondently, perhaps it was me.
I was, as it turns out, quite right.
During my stay in Benares, I’d bought a book (Benares City of Light by Diana L. Eck) which offered a historical and mythological account of the city. It was a wonderful read and I only wish I had read it before my visit. In it, Ms Eck refers to the two forms of Benares. One, the earthly and obvious aspect which is visible to all; the other, the metaphysical, subtle form that transcends reality. “It is for the darshana of this luminous Kashi,” she writes, “that pilgrims come.”
It is no wonder then, that my trip to Benares had left me feeling uninspired. I had spent the entire weekend looking at the former manifestation of the city while being completely unaware of the latter state. But how exactly, does one get to see this metaphysical form, this “luminous Kashi”? I suppose I shall find out on my next trip.
For the benefit of non-Hindu speakers, the Collins Dictionary defines ‘darshan’ as “the meeting of a devotee of Hinduism with a holy person or guru” and “a vision of a deity”.
Unless you ordered Tomato Chaat, which is served in the quaint earthen cups you typically find in roadside tea stalls. I was sceptical but it was quite tasty.
This episode is part of a larger mythological account of Shiva’s departure from Benares and his yearning for the city. He sends Brahma to Benares and the elaborate horse sacrifice ploy is a bid to wrong-foot the incumbent ruler, King Divodas, as any mistake would disrupt dharma (order) and allow Shiva legitimate grounds to return. The good king, however, aces the test and Shiva is foiled. (Historical accounts also refer to a similar ritual having been performed in the 2nd century by rulers of the Bharashiva (Naga) dynasty.)
This story and other remarkable lore relating to Benares can be found in Diana L. Eck’s wonderful book, Benares City of Light.
Good to know there's someone else out there who felt no spiritual energy or awakening in Kashi! Haha. Benares is an interesting place but for reasons very different from what it's most regarded for. I feel this way about Rishikesh and many other spiritual places as well. Thanks for being honest about your experience and sharing it via such a lovely write-up.