floating dreams

Varanasi is magic. Energy winding down narrow stone alleys, all the way down to the ganges river where one can find the holiest Hindu area in India. For hundreds of years, hundreds of thousands of people have been sent off to the afterworld on the banks of this sacred river. And contrary to what one might think, this place where the dead are mourned and let go is as alive as can be.

Took a boat at dawn and floated down the river lazily, half asleep and in a contemplative mood. Passed the ghats, one by one, stone structures,dilapitated, majestic and keeper of secrets. Passed steet dogs wandering the shores, looking for some breakfast. Garbage is on the menu, free and plentiful! Passed groups of men in their multicolored wrap around speedos, readying themselves for a swim. Cleaning themselves, bathing in the river. Brushing their teeth with the holy water. Jokes and canon balls into the ganges. Passed people working on their boats, and weathered fishermen and other wood row boats with tourists floating along. Passed elderly Sadus on a morning walk. Passed yoga practitioners on the banks in deep reflection.

Passed the small burning ghat. The big piles of wood and the heat and the fire and the smoky air and the surrounding groups of men circling their loved one, silent and protective, assuring a right passage for their dead loved one. Silent and heavy and yet light. Completing the rituals carefully. The importance of which can not be described or understood but only felt by us, sitting in the little boat. A feeling of sacredness and timelessness and heavyness and lightness. Of balance.

Passed the smaller burning ghat is the main area for ceremonies and the nightly rituals, held at sunset. At 6 in the morning, this is a place of communion with the river. Families gather to bath together. Women in their saris slowly merge with the water, chatting amongst themselves. Naked children laugh easily and play. They run around teasing goats and each other, playing in the muddy banks. So many people, early risers. Celebrating life together. Offering their prayers together, enjoying simple peasures.
Such life.

Hinduism is a kaleidoscpe of caracters. O the drama! Reflective of India's all around organised chaos. One needs a lifetime to get these stories straight. Temples on the ganga banks are for specific gods. There is hanuman temple, the monkey god for eample. Durga temple, Shiva temple etc... Ways to worship are many. One of these is puja, which is to offer something in thanks to a sacred statue or tree or in this case, a river. Flaoting boats made from banana leaves in which fragrant flowers and a small candle to be lit and offered to the river are sold for 5 ruppess. Floating one of these boats at dawn is good karma. My boat immediatly capsized and swallowed by the river while my friends prayers happily floated away. Maybee the ganga wants a bigger sacrifice from me, one I have yet to figure out.

This is a place where life and death are perfetly balanced. Where both have equal importance and are unified in the fabric. A fabric so tight, impossible to unravel for someone like me, a foreigner. But a fabric that can be admired and appreciated. I take a small piece to carry with me as I leave.

Leah