3 LIFE ALONG THE HOLY RIVER - MA GANGA

The Holy River, Ma Ganga is sacred all along its length from its source in the glaciers of Mount Kalais in the Himalayas to the river mouth in the Bay of Bengal east of Calcutta. But of all its 2,560 kms length it is here at Varanasi that it is considered even more holy.

Stretching for almost ten kms along the western bank is a series of ghats, wide steps or terraces, where the Hindu pilgrims come to worship and immerse themselves in the muddy, languid stream. It is languid, slow moving and muddy because it is the natural drainage for a very wide and flat flood plain. Once an important trading route, irrigation has robbed the river of much of its water and is only commercially navigable on its lower stretches.

I happened to be in Varanasi on 13 and 14 January when the holy festival of Makar Sankrant is held. It is one of the most important festivals of the Hindu calendar and celebrates the sun's journey into the northern hemisphere.

On the evening of the 13th a ceremony takes place on stages at two of the main ghats. On each stage the ceremony takes place simultaneously with seven young men performing dances and making a wonderful light show with fire torches. The whole show was viewed on location by thousands and by millions on a live nation-wide telecast.

I was fortunate to watch most of the ceremony from a boat on the Ganges, where bats, large and small flitted past along with mosquitoes which mercifully did not bite.

Further along the river, the sights that affected me most profoundly were the two cremation sites. They are simply located on the banks of the river and are not hidden in any way. Death is openly and in some cases eagerly welcomed in Hinduism. Death is just another stage of life. I went there at night, landing from the boat and climbing gingerly up the steps of the ghat lit only by a few fire torches and the cremation fires themselves.

There was no crying or wailing yet the scene could not have been more dramatic. Women mourners are not allowed at the cremation for fear that they would show too much outward emotion.

Some bodies, beautifully prepared in lovely saris or dhotis, lay waiting for their turn while shadowy figures lit new fires or stirred the remains of dying fires. These shadowy men are members of the Untouchable caste. It is their job to do the burning. They are very skilled at ensuring the job is done cleanly, efficiently and respectfully.

At the larger of the two sites up to 25 bodies are cremated at any given time. In some cases the family of the deceased transport the body many hundreds of miles to the riverside for the privilege of cremation at Ma Ganga. Over 40,000 cremations take place at the two sites every year.

There is even an adjacent house where aged persons with no family are cared for until it is their turn to be bathed, wrapped in white cotton, garlanded in lovely flowers and farewelled from this world. They ask that you take no photographs of the cremations and I obeyed that wish.

Hinduism is in some ways a very relaxed religion with many, many gods and a complete freedom of choice as to which god you wish to worship (if any). There is also a huge adherence to the religion. No one is apathetic, no one opts out. Everyone takes part and as far as I can see, enjoys it immensely. Every festival and ceremony is a joyous family affair.

It is also acceptable to have fun with your God. For instance, when I entered my hotel room in Varanasi, the bath mat, towel and face flannel had been folded into an origami version of Ganesha the elephant God, the remover of obstacles.

Ganesha, the elephant God in towel origami.

Next morning at 5.30 I rose and was taken back through miles of milling crowds to the banks of the great river. There at the ghats I watched hundreds of thousands stripping down to the minimum that modesty allows and immersing themselves in Ma Ganga, Mother Ganges.



Most of the buildings that front the river are two centuries old and look faded and poorly maintained. Some of them were palaces or guest houses of the Maharajas but are destined to crumble if conservation work is not undertaken. Although Varanasi (or Benares as it was once known) has been a centre of culture and religion for at least three millennia, Muslim rulers destroyed many of the earlier buildings.

Perhaps the only hope is that some enterprising business chain takes some action and develops a few of them as five star hotels. They would surely make a profit on the banks of Hindu’s most sacred river in its most sacred city.

Perhaps no account of a Hindu festival on the Ganges is complete without a mention of beggars - there are many. On the main ghat they made orderly, straight lines stretching from the street above right down to the very bank of the Ganges, a distance of some 200 metres. I don’t know how many lines or how many beggars, there were lots.

There were women in rags with babies at their breast and ragged children at their skirts. There were lone women and men with various limbs missing. It was a pitiful sight, made the more so by the knowledge that there is nothing that one person can do to help.

Poor Beggars

It is a tradition to hand out alms to these poor souls at this sacred place, especially on holy days. My colleagues and I had brought notes of small denominations to pass around to the most deserving cases. But how can one judge? Who am I to judge the most deserving?

We chose a different line each and began to slip paltry amounts into as many tin cups as was possible. Predictably the beggars rushed forward and engulfed each of us. Until then I hadn’t noticed the police officers who were standing nearby. They entered the fray and began beating back the poor beggars with heavy sticks. I cast the last few rupees into the air and fled back up to the town.

On my way back to the car I saw three men with no legs, one propelled himself in the oldest wheelchair I have ever seen; another moved along on a flat wooden board with castors, the third slid along in the filth of the road on a metal tea tray. What could I do?

What can anyone do?

Chris Skelding 2010