Varanasi Days pt3 13-23 March ’18
“Beeeehh”
Photo by me with Canon7D
I was advice by one of the lovely boat-person (one of those people who, for living, organise “boat tour” -which fundamentally consist in taking any paying customers on a small boat out on the river to have a different view of the ghats. Clearly during Puja-hour and sunset-time fees substantially increase). I was advice by this lovely character to keep my mouth shut once at Manikarnika Ghat, aka the Burning Ghat. “If you open your mouth, you lose money.”
Essentially anyone around there who’s not involved with the cremation is either a tourist or a person who, skilfully, is trying to snatch some change from the aforementioned tourists.
Firstly they strike up a conversation by providing some interesting informations about the place: “that temple was built 300 hundreds year ago”, “there is where George Harrison’s ashes were scattered at 3am on the first Tuesday of December 2001”. Then they want to transmit a feeling that you’re dealing with a local guide: “my grandpa had started our family silk shop many many years ago”. Finally they make you do the talk: “which country do you belong?”, “how long have you been in India for”, “how long you’re intended to stay here”, and so forth. Their friendliness and willingness will undoubtedly lead to some “special offer only for you my friend”.
There’s who owns a “guest house” and can give you a cheap rate for the night (or the following days if you already have booked a bed for today) [now, these are basically people who have a spare room in their house, maybe because their kids moved out, and want to rent it to make some extra money, it’s not an offical hotel or hostel]. Who can take you for a rickshaw ride around the city and show you the best places for very little money. Who has a boat and can take you on the river for a very cheap price. Who has the purest silks and is ready to sell it for an incredible good price only for you, because you’re a nice guy; and who, very politely, inquires if you might be interested in some of the finest hashish ever made.
And then there are the mysterious Sadhu/Babas; who, usually, don’t like to speak with tourists (so they said) but would be happy to take you around some secret places nobody know because you’ve a special energy within you. Naturally by a proper compensation.
Therefore it is paramount to remember the wise advice of the boat-guy: “If you open your mouth, you lose money.”
Keeping his teaching in mind I peacefully stride towards my destination.
Respectfully you’re not allowed to take pictures to the funeral pyre. “Yep! No selfie with a roasted stiff.” It seems like I hear from somewhere. Nowhere specifically.
A few yards before arriving to the cremation ground on Manikarnika Ghat, I can’t miss an immense stack of woods; many many kilograms of woods. “What did you thing they ablaze the fire with? Prayers?” A nearby ruminating goat seems to inquire after noticing a puzzlement on my face.
“And how did you think they’d weight and price all that wood?” She continue, snarling at me, after I spot an adjacent scale. “Baaa” she bleats, leaving me at the very least confused.
True thou! Here dead bodies are turned into ashes non-stop: 24 hours a day 7days a week, 365 days per year (or 366 if it’s a leap year).
Somehow they need to fuel that fire, and someone has to make some profit by suppling that raw material.
“And that’s the job of the Dom; the only persons allowed to perform cremations and touch the gone”. She informs me. Death is viewed as polluting and contagious, ergo whoever is involved in this profession belongs to a caste know as Untouchable.
“No! Don’t think about that mafia movie. They are quiet literally not touched by anyone from a different caste. Even doctors refuse to treat them. They have a pretty tough life. But on the other hand they make a good deal of money out of this business. They are among the richest and wealthiest group here in Beeeeeranasi”
A bitter smile cracks up on my face.
Despite of what I had imagine, not just a single pyre functions here, but rather three or four are alight all at once, consuming multiple soul-less carcasses.
“My dear friend, circa 100 cadavers get incinerate here every day, and each one of them takes anywhere between two and four hours to fully turn into powder. The whole commemoration for a single individual can last up to 6 hours. Are you that thick? Did you really expect to find a single fire in the Holiest City in a country that host roughly 1.3 billion people, the majority of which being Hindi, therefore believing that to die, get toasted and have the remains spread here is the highest form of devotion and the best path to liberation? Shouldn’t you being study some basic mathematics and logical thinking instead of roaming around doing nothing with your life?” Says the goat. “😳” I can’t be wrong this time. The goat is addressing to me. “Beeeehh” she seem to sight.
“Occasionally even six bonfires can be alight all at once”.
“Are you talking to me?” I have to ask. “Baaa” she adds and off she goes. Maybe the suggestion of this place makes me hallucinate, or maybe are the fumes from these mortal remains that are driving me crazy.
On the background, blackened with soot and ashes from the constant fire stands out the Baba Mashan Nath temple.
Inside Shiva’s Fire, a fire that has been lit 3500 years ago, has been preserved and constantly fostered by the Dom; and it’s from it that their priests draw the sparks to ignite the fire used to start the rite down here.
At least that’s what the goat tells me.
#404 ciao
Cribo Vagabond 