Varanasi - Here, you either find Him, or you lose faith in Him

Banaras, ghato ka shehar ya shiv ki nagri (the city of ghats or the land of Shiva)? A city etched in time; its stories whispered through ancient scriptures. Nestled on the banks of the Ganges, embraced by the Varuna and Assi rivers, it gains its name (Varan – Asi). One of the world’s oldest, standing strong for thousands of years weaving tales of its artisanal silk work and spirituality, shaping its identity across the globe.

This is a city of striking polarity, embracing both the radiance of the divine and the darkness of death. On the same bank of the Ganges, the glorious Ganga Aarti illuminates one side, while blazing funeral pyres flicker on the other. Here, generosity and exploitation coexist, some insisting you to first eat and then pay, while others prey on tourists with exorbitant prices for even counterfeit goods.

While some believe Kashi (Banaras/Varanasi) is a realm accessible only through divine will, others, confronted with the city's stark realities, question His very presence, in His own land.

The biting chill of a Varanasi winter seeps into your bones as you step off the plane. Fourteen degrees—it was peak afternoon, yet freezing under the misty, cloud-laden sky. "Kora" (fog) had delayed our flight by four hours, a common occurrence in these winter months.

Stepping off the plane, I noticed a fellow passenger, an older gentleman, pause. The moment his foot touched the ground, he set his luggage aside and, with a reverent bow, touched his forehead to the cold tarmac—a silent, heartfelt greeting to the sacred city.

Heads wrapped in scarves, protecting against the cold, our taxi driver greeted the other by saying "Jai Mahadev". As we left the broad highways behind and entered the narrow lanes, the true spirit of Varanasi began to unfold. Even at three in the afternoon, the warmth of a "shekuti" (bonfire) beckoned. Domestic animals, adorably bundled up in their own makeshift "fashion statements" of shirts and tops, added a touch of whimsy. The air was thick with the smoky aroma of burning coal, mingling with the tantalizing scent of food cooked over open flames.

Varanasi’s magic unfurls in these narrow lanes, where small buildings and cottage saree mills huddle together. These structures seemingly too fragile to withstand a single day, have defied time, many standing strong for over a century. Barely wide enough for cycles, they thrum with a life of their own.

The rhythmic clatter of looms whispers of the artistry of Banarasi saree weaving. The lanes, awash with murky dye water flowing from countless small workshops, make it hard to guess the brilliance of the finished sarees from the dark, discarded water staining the way. The only navigation through these labyrinthine lanes that Google doesn’t understand and which you would take ages to register, are the locals, well versed with the city’s arteries. Following a few of these ancient lanes, one eventually arrives at the heart of Varanasi: the ghats.

These are a living canvas of life and death. They change after every 100 meters, unfolding a different story, radiating a different energy. One can navigate this landscape by foot - hopping through the stairs, by boat or even by road, each weaving in a different experience.

Here, livelihoods are carved out in countless ways—boatmen calling out for passengers, vendors hawking their wares, and some by soliciting alms, painting their faces to disguise themselves as deities. Yet, the struggle for "bouni" (the first sale of the day) is real. A woman selling diyas for Rs 20, was offered only Rs 10, claiming they weren't "worth more", and she still accepting the same with a smiling face as it was her bouni. Tourists here spend lavishly on religious offerings, yet haggle over mere rupees with those trying to make their ends meet.

On the left was a baba with dreadlocks, clad in saffron robes, sitting on the steps, casually smoking weed. Here bhang (weed) is distributed as prasad to the devotees during Shivratri. It almost felt bhang is the ‘moon glasses’ one has to wear to truly enjoy the ‘ras’ (juice) of Banaras, being sold in every nook and corner of the city from tea stalls to lassi walas, it’s one of the soul elements of the city. On the right, a group of foreign tourists, led by their flag-bearing guide, passed by, their faces were a mix of fascination and bewilderment.

Hopping from ghat to ghat, we arrived at the Harishchandra Ghat, one of Varanasi's two cremation ghats. The scene was unsettling: a funeral pyre blazed, unfolding a public spectacle of death before us. It was a raw introduction to the city's acceptance of death as a natural part of life—as commonplace as birth. This ghat, named after the righteous King Harishchandra, who is believed to have once worked here as a cremator, stands as a powerful testament to truth and loyalty.

Listening to the boatman's tales of the various ghats as we passed them, the gentle rocking of the boat, the soft splash of oars in the water, and the cool evening air created a sense of stillness. It was like witnessing a tapestry of events from a distance. Rowing on the Ganges, the lifeblood of Varanasi, one witnesses both the vibrant Ganga Aarti and the solemn rituals of cremation on the ghats.

While the ancient ghats rose majestically on one side, the other was a barren sandy stretch, home to locals and animals like camels and horses. Immersed in the tranquillity, the boatman pointed and said, “Wo dekho body leke jaa raha hai” (Look, they're transporting a body), indicating a decorated funeral boat carrying a corpse covered in saffron cloth, heading towards the Manikarnika Ghat.

Manikarnika Ghat, where the burning pyres never die. It's a paradox: where death never dies! While some consider it sacred, others find it haunted. It is believed that those cremated here attain salvation, a blessing bestowed on the ghat by Shiva himself. Thus, many Hindus, nearing the end of their lives, come to Banaras and await death.

It is a sight that can’t be missed, stacks of firewood piled at every possible corner. The corrugated tin sheets covering the crematorium couldn't conceal the flames and fumes rising to the sky from the burning pyres. Funeral boats were parked near the ghat, and a heavy energy lingered in the air.

"Ram naam satya hai" (The name of Ram is the truth) is a common chant heard in the nearby lanes, from where bodies are constantly carried to the ghat. It is believed to be a shakti peeth, named so because it is where Sati Devi's earrings fell. Another legend says that Parvati and Shiva lost their balis (earrings, also called mani and karnika) here while bathing, hence the name.

While pyres blazed at Manikarnika, drawing crowds, another ghat beckoned those seeking a different kind of fire; the spectacular Ganga arti at the Dashashwamedh Ghat.

This vibrant display of faith is just one facet of Kashi's rich spiritual fabric. Kashi; The very name, meaning "shining" or "luminous" in Sanskrit, speaks about the spiritual enlightenment and knowledge. It is a city of countless shrines and sacred sites, where over 80 ghats line the Ganges and over 2,000 temples. Amongst them, the most significant is the Kashi Vishwanath Temple, dedicated to Lord Shiva, Varanasi's presiding deity. As one of the twelve Jyotirlingas, the most sacred representations of Shiva, it is a must-visit for any pilgrim or traveller seeking to experience the core of Varanasi.

Leaving our shoes and phones behind, we entered the Kashi Vishwanath Temple. The queue was long, volunteers even tried to sell us access to a VIP queue, claiming a 3-4 hour wait for the regular darshan. The actual wait was an hour long. TV screens were displayed in the closed queue area broadcasting live footage from the shrine. The Shiv Linga itself, though a powerful symbol, felt shackled, obscured by the pipes channelling offerings—milk, flowers, and even plastic-wrapped cotton wicks—making me question the true meaning of such devotion.

As the queue progressed, the majestic gates of the Kashi Vishwanath Temple came into view, the magnificent structure sharing a boundary with a beautiful mosque. This coexistence of faiths is a common sight in India, where holy sites often house multiple shrines regardless of religion. But as I was reflecting on this diversity, overheard conversations about the Gyanvapi mosque-temple controversy intruded. "Agar Ayodhya wale jeet gaye toh ye kis khet ki muli hai?" (If we won in Ayodhya, this is insignificant), some voices asserted confidently. Making me question: has spirituality been reduced to this? Is it simply a competition of religions and political agendas now?

Halfway there, the gold-adorned temple shimmered into view—a sight to behold! The winter night was biting; everyone was bundled in layers, the marble floor freezing our feet, yet the temple itself seemed to radiate warmth. Monkeys, seemingly indifferent to the sacred atmosphere, darted about, stealing milk offerings—a touch of comical chaos. As we neared the shrine, the crowd surged, the two lines merging into one. A few pushes and shoves later, we were in, glimpsed the Linga, and were quickly ushered out. The VIP queue was even more harrowing; someone was trampled, and another person was carried away on a stretcher. It left me wondering, is this how He would want His holy shrine to be?

But Varanasi offers more than just spiritual experiences; its rich food scene is another compelling reason to visit. In winter, especially, the city's culinary world comes alive, as vibrant and chaotic as its streets.

From Malaiyo, a saffron-flavored, cloud-like, foamy winter dessert that melts and bursts in your mouth, to the tamatar and palak chaat that even made an appearance at an Ambani wedding. Chura matar, aloo tikki—the list goes on! Crispy badi kachori and sabzi, paired with hot, crispy jalebis (each bite a perfect crunch, bursting with juicy sweetness), make for the best winter breakfast imaginable. And, of course, countless cups of kulhad wali chai (tea served in earthen cups) accompanied by coal-toasted malai and makkhan (butter) toast.

Here the meals often end with a paan; The Banarasi paan. We often overheard conversations in heavily accented Hindi, speakers gesticulating with a paan lodged firmly in their cheek, their lips and teeth stained red, as they discussed the latest news. These pronouncements were a delightful linguistic puzzle, yet the other person perfectly understood and replied in the same distinctive accent.

Reflecting on our Varanasi trip, I realized the paan is more than just a chew; it's an experience, a daily ritual for locals, much like Varanasi itself. The paan, with its layers of supari (betel nut) and gulkand (rose petal jam), is a microcosm of the city—a blend of contrasting flavors, a mix of bitter and sweet. Just as paan preferences vary, so too do experiences of Varanasi, each visitor finding their own unique taste of the city. But indeed, the "ras" (essence) of both the paan and the city is highly addictive, a complex and rich experience that can't be fully understood in a single taste.

The contrast of flames of Ganga aarti and pyres at Manikarnika ghat

Banaras’s street scenes

Banaras ki galiyan aur raste

An evening on the ghats of Varanasi

Boat ride in Varanasi

Contrasting shores of Banaras

The always burning Manikarnika ghat

Ganga aarti in Varanasi

Kashi Vishwanath temple

Winter special foods of Banaras

Typical setting of a Banaras paan shop

The Ganges, a constant presence amidst the changing scenes of the ghats, offered a different way to experience them. A boat ride, an essential part of the Varanasi experience, promised a chance to see the river and its banks from a new vantage point.

Stepping into a hand-rowed boat (chappu) transported us back in time, offering one of the most surreal experiences of the city. Sadly, modernization has led to most being replaced by motorboats, both personal and large.

It was late afternoon but the sun struggled to break through the persistent fog, making the ghats appear to fade into the mist. The boatman called out the Siberian birds loudly “Aaaao Aaaaoo” as we fed snacks to them —a small bribe to enhance the scenery. Women dressed in chiffon sarees posed on boats while men clicked pictures for them, trying to capture the perfect shot while feeding the birds.

As dusk paints the Varanasi sky in hues of orange and purple, Dashashwamedh Ghat transforms into a stage for the mesmerizing Ganga Aarti. The air buzzes with anticipation as priests, clad in vibrant silk robes, prepare for the ceremony. Pilgrims, some having arrived hours earlier, secure their spots for an unobstructed view. Boats laden with tourists eager to capture the spectacle jostle for position on the Ganges. Photographers jockey for the best angles, while volunteers attempt to orchestrate the growing crowd.

As the sky darkens, rhythmic chanting of mantras fills the air, accompanied by the clanging of bells, the chiming of ghantas (handbells), and the drumming of damrus (power drums), all synchronized with the swirling of lamps. The cold breeze whipping off the Ganges bites at our skin as we witness the mesmerizing Ganga Aarti. The lamps flicker and dance, casting a warm glow on the faces of devotees. The scene is a blend of devotion and spectacle, hosting people from all corners of the world, from every walk of life, converging here in Kashi.

Banaras ki patli galiyan (The narrow lanes of Banaras)

Sacred Steps: The Ghats of Varanasi

Boat ride and the boatman's tales

Manikarnika: The Eternal Flame

Ganga aarti: dance of the Lamps

Kashi Vishwanath Temple: The jyotirlinga

Foods of Banaras

The evergreen Banarasi paan

City's introduction to me