Varanasi: City of theLiving, Dying and Dead

VARANASl, U,P. India April 1996

"Shanrd, sanrh, sirhi, sanyasi,Unse bache, to sewe Kashi."

("Widows, bulls, steps, pundits,If you can tolerate these, you will enjoy Kashi.’)

raThe Kashi (Varanasi) Mantra

By Pramila Jayapal

"Why on earth would you want to go Varanasi?" an Indian family friend inDelhi said to me when I told her we were planning to spend some time here."It’s got to be India’s dirtiest city. I only went because I had to; I had promisedmy mother I would sprinkle her ashes in the Ganga, so I did and just dipped mytoe in the river to satisfy my promise to her. We got out of there as quickly as wecould. Well, whatever you do," she continued, referring to an upcoming trip wewere planning for my parents-in-law’s visit, "don’t take your in-laws there whenthey come. It’s an embarrassment to us."

She, along with others who voiced similar sentiments, made us nervous. Yet, onthe other side, there were the words of friends and relatives who had been to Vara-nasi (also called Banaras and Kashi) and loved it. "It is the city which is most rep-resentative of India," an Indian friend in the States said. "It is fascinating."

We knew we had to come. Varanasi is Hindu India’s holiest city, the city of thelife-giving Ganges River. Hundreds of pilgrims come every day from all parts ofIndia: some to bathe in the Ganges, some to do the 5-6 day Panch Kroshi pilgrim-age around the city’s sacred sites and others to die here. (It is said that all thosewho die in Varanasi attain moksha, salvation.) I knew that my time in Indiawould not be complete without seeing for myself what Varanasi holds.

Within a day of arriving, we had decided to stay for a couple of months. Vara-nasi cast its spell on us, and lured us into its palace of myths, legends, and beliefs.It caught us in its silken web of music, rituals and folklore. Varanasi is representa-tive of India in that it is a microcosm of all that is unique about Hindu culture; it isnot representative of India in that there is no other city in India like it.

One of the oldest living cities in the world, Varanasi encapsulates all the ritu-als and symbols of Hindu culture and religion. While other cities in India areinterested in modernizing, Varanasi is interested in preserving tradition- and ithas. Varanasi is the home of sadhus and saints, pundits and pilgrims, yogis and"bogeys." It is full of the contradictions and complexities for which India is fa-mous. It is overwhelming in its noise, crowd and dirt, but peaceful in the purityof those who come to worship here.

In Varanasi, one can begin to see how the whole country can either be pulled

apart with religion or drawn together by it. Here, onecan begin to see where today’s understanding of Hin-duism clashes with the idea of development, some-times as unable to share the same pot as oil and water.Here, one sees how people have put everything intoblind faith; how, often abandoned by society and gov-ernment, people renew their belief in the first and last

great hope. God. Perhaps it is these reverberationsof faith from the thousands of pilgrims who come toVaranasi that create a field of energy that envelops thecity day and night.

It is impossible to describe Varanasi fully. After twomonths of being here, I am still struck by those thingsthat are so typical to a Benarasi and so unique to avisitor.

There is the city itself, a collage of images, meldedtogether in a patchwork that sometimes seems both co-ordinated and discordant. The streets around Gow-doulia, the central shopping area, are packed with cy-cle rickshaws, the front wheel of one pushed betweenthe two back wheels of the one in front. Traffic movesas slowly as the ubiquitous cows that amble throughthe galis (tiny alleys that Varanasi is famous for).There are special sections of town as well as templesfor people from different parts of India: Bengali Tola,filled with Bengali sweets and sarees, or the distinc-tively South-Indian-style, red-and-white-striped Ke-dara Temple, behind which is an idlee-dosa stand forhomesick Tamils and Malayalees.

The distinctively South-Indian-style, red-and-white-striped Kedara Temple sits atop a steep ghat.

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Shrines devoted to one or many of the Hindupantheon of gods and goddesses are everywhere:along the roadsides, inside the iron window-bars ofthe old houses that line the galis, gracing a table inmany stores. Small shops fill the sidewalks, sellingeverything from lanterns to bicycle tires. Peoplethrong the streets, treading their way gingerly throughmud and puddles left over from yesterday’s rains,weaving their way between rickshaws and buffaloes,past young children sweeping the streets. Fruit andvegetable sellers’ songs ring through the air as,theywheel their wooden carts through the masses: Alu,phul-gobi, tomate; pyaz" (potatoes, cauliflower, toma-toes, onions) echoes with another’s call of "Kele, san-tare, nimbu" (bananas, oranges, limes), seemingly play-ing with harmonies and melodies.

The lanes radiating out from Gowdoulia lead to the

A woman washes her vessels as- cow looks on.

river, Ganga Ma, the Ganges. From the end of theroad starts the long series of steps leading down tovarious ghats. Each ghat has a name, each name astory, each story a history and ten different versions.Here along the river people dry clothes, make dungpatties and stick them against the walls and steps ofthe ghats to dry’for fuel, or just sit and watch life as itpasses by.

Equally distinctive is the Banarasi mindset, the con-cept of masti. There is no one translation of masti; it isthe state of being without cares, of being intoxicatedwith the extreme joy of living, of being fully involvedwith what one is doing. People work hard in Varanasi

but without the sense of bitterness, despair, troublethat one feels in other cities of the same size. Alongwith hard work, there is a full enjoyment of life,whether it through appreciation of music and art, en-joyment of special Banarasi paan (spices wrapped inbetel nut leaves) or sweets and bhang (marijuana thatis very commonly put into drinks and food on specialoccasions), all of which Varanasi is famous for. Mastiis an attitude to life that governs the most mundaneto the most complex: It is calmness when one misses atrain; and it is the rejoicing of death alongside life.

"Death may be the opposite of birth," said DianaEck, a well-known Western authority on Varanasi,"but it is not the opposite of life." Certainly not in Var-

anasi. According to Eck, in the West death is some-thing that is feared for all of one’s life, where faces areaverted from dead bodies, where old people are put inhospitals and retirement homes so that others do nothave to witness their aging and dying. In Varanasi,death is welcomed as the ultimate goal of one’s life,, toachieve moksha (salvation). Often if someone has died,it is not said that he/she has died but rather "Mokshamila" ("He has received salvation").

Varanasi, often termed the world’s largest crema-tion ground, is one place where life and death co-existside-by-side literally. At the two cremation ghats,between 150-200 dead bodies are cremated every day.The bodies, wrapped in bright pink or red cloth, aretransported on wooden stretchers down to the river,sometimes carried by people, sornetimes simplypropped up in a cycle rickshaw. The other day, I sawa body wrapped in magnificent pink lying in the mid-dle of a crowded road; it was surrounded by a groupof seven or eight men chatting- unconcerned aboutthe traffic or this body; perhaps discussing how thebody would be taken to the ghats. It is not uncommonto see someone who crosses the path of a dead bodygreet the body by raising their hands in namaskar. It isthe acknowledgment of the achievement of the finalfulfillment.

At Marnikarnika Ghat, the more famous of the two

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Patties made ofdung are stuck to walls to d73/.

PJ-IOA typical Ganga scene: clothes dry, children play, people watch their boats and cows look

The Dom Raja’s (headof the Dom caste thatperforms cremations) housewith its prime rive’ontlocation; cremation isquite a lucrative businessin Banaras.

cremation ghats, children play cricket alongside thecremations. Hundreds of people tand and watch, talk-ing and laughing with each other as the several firesburn, and a wood-smoke smell not too different fromthat of a barbecue wafts through the air. It is a hive ofbustling activity, as lines of men carry loads of wood toand from the ghat, boats take families into the middleof the river to sprinkle the ashes of their recently cre-mated ones, and families perform the last rites for theirloved ones. Individuals are completely involved intheir own tasks, and though it might seem strange tohave outsiders standing and watching, nobody minds.

I stood one day on the balcony of an old buildingjust above Marnikarnika. Several fires burned below,each one managed by one or two doms, the caste ofpeople who are the cremators. To the right was a hugeweighing scale that weighed the correct amount ofwood needed for each cremation. "It takes two quintalsof wood to burn a body," the Indian man standing nextto me said. "What kind of wood do they use?" I asked."Depends on how rich the family is," he replied. "Ifthey are very wealthy, then they use sandalwood. Ifthey are very poor, they use whatever they can findwhich is the cheapest."

"It takes three hours for a body to burn," he contin-ued matter-of-factly, "and three and a half if it’s a fe-male body, because of the hip bones." It occurred tome as he talked and as I watched, how much an art theact of cremation is. First, there are the rituals. Eachbody is first blessed !and then dipped in the Ganga.Then it is wrapped in a very specific way, with piecesof wood inserted here and there between folds of clothto ensure that all the right parts will catch fire. Onceplaced on the fire, the dom again blesses it, circling itthree times in the air with a lit stick of wood. Now thecremation begins. The doms move, turn and flip thebody as deftly as the greatest of chefs. Watching the

bodies become just blazes of fire is like seeing the con-cluding disintegration of the physical into its smallestpieces of ashes. No matter what caste, what class, whatcountry, this is the ultimate commonality of each life-that it ends.

Varanasi as a cremation ground also lives side-by-side with Varanasi as a wedding ground. The city isknown for its joyous weddings. The "wedding season"takes place during winter months, when every day thestreets are filled with noises of wedding bands andprocessions. Particularly during the nights, the streetsare often blocked with these processions. The turbanedgroom, decked out in gold and white garb, sits atop ahorse. He is preceded by the live band in red and golduniforms, and surrounded by the wedding, party(mostly men) who gyrate unabashedly to the music ina style that is a cross between John Travolta and thelimbo. The whole crowd is outlined with the glow oflarge lamps carried on the heads of young girls andwomen (paid laborers), connected with wires to a gen-erator on wheels whose noise competes with the band.

Almost every other day or week is a festival, eachone celebrated with gusto as if it were the most impor-tant festival of the year. During festivals, the area nextto the important temples is transformed. Roads that arenormally filled with cars and auto-rickshaws becomebusy with large numbers of makeshift flower shops;garlands of jasmine and marigolds, carnations androses are quickly erected on either side of the templeentrance. On the opposite side, shops sell various offer-ings to be given as food to the gods condensed milksweets, small packets of white sugar balls, and coco-nuts. Often, long lines form for men (there is a separateone for women) who want to take darshan (auspiciousviewing of the god or goddess). One can often seewater and milk trickle out of the temple onto the road,evidence of the thousands whq have gone and given

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The crowded entrance of the popular Durga Temple on one of the nine days ofNavratra, when Durga is honored.

prasad (offerings that have been blessed by the priests),and have had holy water or milk poured onto theirheads by a priest.

The day we arrived in Varanasi was Saraswati-puja(prayer), the day when Saraswati, the Goddess ofKnowledge and Learning, is honored. Elaborate im-ages of Saraswati are made from straw, clay and woodand then paraded down the streets on palanquin-typestructures. People in processions make their way downto the Ganges, then float the idols down the river. Forat least a week afterward, I could see Saraswati idolsthat had washed up along the river banks.

At the beginning of March was Holi, the festival ofcolors that signals the entrance of spring and the newyear. During Holi, all that is bad from the previousyear is released, symbolically through the burning ofstraw statues of the Demonness Holika in the middleof large bonfires. For weeks before Holi, the streets arelined with shops displaying pyramids of colored pow-der, which is mixed with water and thrown over peo-ple the morning of Holi. The spirit of Holi is supposedto be playful and fun, and, as a friend of ours ex-plained, is a time when "all hierarchy can be turned onits head. Children who usually come and touch my feetand are never allowed to answer me back can comeand abuse me on Holi. This gets out all the negativitiesbefore the new year starts." However, in recent years ithas become a most un-holy holiday: children go over-board, men consider women who are walking duringthe morning fair game for their leers and pent-up sex-ual frustrations, play often gets violent. We stayed6 PJ-IO

The goddess, Holika, about to be burned in a Holi bonfire.

locked up in our house for the morn-ing, following the strict instructions offriends and neighbors, then venturedout in the mid-afternoon hours when"Wet Holi" was over. After "WetHoli," people go home to bathe andput on their new white clothes. Then"Dry Holi" and the visiting hoursstart. Families and groups of peoplewalk around together visiting rela-tives and friends, dry colors aresmeared on foreheads as a sign of wel-come and Banarasi hospitality is at itsfinest. We visited several households,and came home with our stomachsstuffed with dahi-vada (small, fried,doughnut-shaped lentil patties in yo-ghurt) and namkeen (salty snacks), andour foreheads and faces smeared withred, pink yellow and green. Perhapsthe oddest thing about Holi for mewas the way that this conservativesociety was essentially "given grace"to turn tradition and hierarchy on itshead for eight short hours, after whichpeace was restored completely, in-stantaneously, and with no outsideintervention.

In the two months we have been inVaranasi, there have been countlessother festivals: Shivratri (the greatestShiva festival, which celebrates themarriage of Lord Shivato Parvati),Navratra (the nine-day festival honor-ing different forms of Goddess Devi),Ram Navami (which celebrates thebirth of Lord Rama, incarnation ofVishnu), and Burhwa Mangal (theriver festival of music).

In between all of these festivals arethe individual days of the week eachone of which is devoted to a differentGod or Goddess. Monday is Shiva’sday, Tuesdays and Saturdays belong to the GoddessDurga and to Hanuman, Fridays are for Santoshi Mataand Sankata Devi. If I did not live in Varanasi, I couldeasily think that each day was just like any other, thatthese days devoted to gods and goddesses were onlyin name and not practice, that the city functioned asdid any other city. It is only through being here that Ihave realized that these traditions and rituals are verystrictly adhered to by the majority of people; that thegods’ respective days, the main temples will beflooded with their devotees.

In Varanasi, people’s faith is so strong that even themost mundane of events is interpreted as a religioushappening. The other day, I went to Kashi-ViswanathTemple, the most famous Shiva Temple in the city. Thetemple sits in a tiny gali and, because it is one of the sa-

The gali just outside Viswanath Mandir.

cred sites that is contested by Hindus and Moslems, iswatched by scores of policemen in khaki uniforms car-rying large lathis (wooden sticks). (Since the 1992 de-struction of the Babri Masjid and the violence that fol-lowed, the government has stationed police officers allalong Viswanath gali.) It was Monday Shiva day,and that, too, during the nine-day Navratra festival. Ifound myself caught in the middle of a huge crowd,between several old women who held on to my du-patta so as not to get pushed over by the crowd, asaffron-clad pujari gingerly holding a brass pot filledwith water, and two more aggressive youths. Over-whelmed, as I often feel in crowded temples, I wasfilled with a sense of claustrophobia and fear of ruth-less crowd devotion. Just then, everyone around mestarted shouting in fear and I found myself flattened inthe pushing of the crowd. People were trying to run

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Two Shiva-lingams on either side ofNandi, Shiva’s bull.

but it was impossible to move even a limb in thecrowd. I could not understand what they were yelling,nor why. Suddenly I realized that most of the crowdhad dived inward, and I was now on the outside of itA small space had been cleared on one side of the tinygali, and coming toward it was an unfriendly-lookingox with long, sharp horns. The ox occupied at least halfthe gali, while hundreds of people flattened them-selves against the outer walls of the temple in fear. Theox stopped, looked around and finally moved on, de-ciding none of us were worth his time. "What werethey yelling?" I asked a friend .who was with me."Didn’t you hear? They were saying ’Shiv-ji aye hai!Shiv-ji aye hai!’ Lord Shiva has come in the form of anox- only in Varanasi could it be that the meanest ofoxen could be granted the status of a God.

Even outside the temples, I am often reminded ofhow much a part of everyday life beliefs and rituals are.Just the other day, sitting in the business center near ourhouse, I saw Mr. Battacharya, the owner, sewing to-gether nine green chilies and a lime. "What is that?" Iasked curiously. He laughed. "I knew you would ask.We believe that if too many good things are said aboutus or our business, then it will be bad luck for us. Hang-ing this outside our shop is the way to negate the effectsof all good things that have been said. You will see, al-most all businesses do this once a week."

Another time, I ran to a shop near us early in themorning to buy something but realized I had forgot-ten my wallet. The shopkeeper, who knows me welllooked at me a little sheepishly and handed me a Rs.10 note from his own wallet. "Any other time, sister,it would have been okay for you to give me themoney later. But now, you are the first customer ofthe day and it will be bad luck if you do not buysomething with cash. You pay now with this money,and you can give it back to me later."8 PJ-IO

Do people really believe in these myths, these leg-ends? Is it possible that people who worship at KedaraTemple actually believe that the linga (an aniconicstone shaft, which is the symbol of Shiva and is wor-shipped in all Shiva temples) there is the one thatself-manifested itself in a plate of rice and dal in recog-nition of one devotee’s devotion to Lord Shiva? Thou-sands of pilgrims and residents from all over Indiacome to Varanasi, spending hundreds of precious ru-pees to come and bathe in the Ganges, or perhaps to dothe Panch Kroshi pilgrimage in their bare feet withbundles of rice and temple offerings on their heads.What do people think as they worship? Why do theycome to these temples, to see these Gods?

They come because they do believe; they believe inthe power of the gods, and in the power (shaktz) of Ka-shi to end dukhi (sadness), to cleanse away one’s sins.They come, some of them, because they have made apromise to their gods that if their prayers are answeredfor specific events they will do some rituals in thanks.They come, others, because they believe that the moreprayers they offer, the better their lives will be. Theycome to die in Kashi and attain moksha.

At the Ganges River every morning, thousands of peo-ple come to bathe, greeting the sun as it brings its brilliantred body out of the river and into the sky. Old women,

sadhus, children and men, waist-deep in water, holdtheir arms outstretched, palms raised to the sky, as theychant the names of gods: "Ram, Krishna, Shiva, Devi..."Some scoop up water and trickle it over their heads,while others hold their noses and plunge their heads intothe water. Taking a boat ride down the Ganga with atoothless old man who rows effortlessly and knowsevery story of every one of Varanasi’s 80 ghats is an inde-scribable pleasure. Varanasi is famous for its ghats, longsteep sets of steps that lead down to the river. Atop theghats are palaces that belong to rich rulers like the Maha-raja of Jaipur, or historic buildings that have now beenconverted into hospitals, ashrams or guesthouses. Allforms of life happen here in the river: people bathe, brushtheir teeth, wash clothes, worship, and even play waterpolo in the summers in this holy water.

Every pilgrim I spoke to knew that Ganga water isholy, pure. Sensing any shred of disbelief, they willcounter, "Haven’t you tried to put Ganga water in ajar? It will stay fresh with no odor for years." Anotherpilgrim told me the story of someone who had commit-ted a terrible sin and tied his cow up without feedingit. (Cows are considered extremely sacred. It is saidthat one can go to the other bank of the river, to salva-tion, by hanging onto the tail of a cow.) The cow even-tually died, and the man, terrified of what would hap-pen to him for committing this sin, went to a Brahmin

An old woman prays outside Kedara Temple.Institute of Current World Affairs

An old man climbs the steep steps with his water jug, which he will use to pourwater in offering over the Shiva lingas inside the temple.

A woman who is preparing the essential pieces for a big puja.

Dhobi ghat, where wash-ermen and women washclothes by pounding themagainst big slabs of rock.

who told him that only bathing in the Ganga couldcleanse him of this terrible sin.

Not all people believe that the Ganga cleanses one ofsins. But those who believe do so fervently. Those whodon’t still believe that there is something purifying andholy about bathing in the Ganga. Whatever they be-lieve, they come in droves, morning and evening toworship this "life-giving" river.

For many devotees that I have spoken with, God issomeone who is to be thanked for all good things thathappen in life, someone to ask for those things thatare needed (birth of children, blessing of a boy-child,winning an election), but never someone to be repri-manded if something does not happen that you want.All bad things in life are a result of one’s own actions;there is a firm belief that it must have happened for a

reason --or, as one Indian man said to me, perhaps it isjust that it is not good for your own karma to say that itis "God’s fault" that something happened.

There is an odd "bargaining" relationship with Godoften visible: "If you do this for me, then I will do thisfor you in thanks." Just a few days ago, during Navra-tra, I went to Dasashvamedh Ghat, one of the busiestghats in Varanasi. The long steps down to the river atDasashvamedh Ghat lead toward scores of smallwooden platforms covered with bamboo umbrellas.From the river, it looks almost like a beach resort. Fromthe shore, one can see that the platforms are occupiedby various pujaris who will perform the necessary ritesand prayers, and (for a small fee) watch your clotheswhile you bathe in the Ganga.

Dozens of barbers had joined the pujaris during

Dasashvamedh Ghat,with its umbrellas,

pujaris, and bathers.

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Two mundans are performed.

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Navratra to perform mundans, a ceremony when achild’s first head of hair is shaved and offered to a spe-cifi god or goddess. One beautiful young woman, herlong,, braided hair gleaming in the sun, told us that shehad made a promise that if she was given a child, shewould offer its first hair to Shitala-Devi, the Goddesswho commonly manifests herself in "both the outbreakand the "cooling" of fever diseases, particularly small-pox. Her wish had been granted, and so she had cometo perform the mundan.

Shitala Devi’s temple sits halfway down the steps ofDasashvadmedh Ghat, and was crowded with peoplewho had come to pay their respects, some to offer spe-cial puris and ghee to the havan, the stone fire pitwhich is said to be the mouth of the goddess. Accord-ing to the head priest’s son who was presiding, the ha-van is also said to burn away sins and evil spirits. Amundan was taking place inside the temple; all the rel-atives and family members who had come to partici-pate gathered.around the barber, who held the childon his lap and expertly shaved its head. Drum beatsand chanting of sacred shloks (verses) filled the air, aspeople squeezed themselves closer to the fire to throwa garland or pay their’ respects.

Thanks are also offered to gods in more elaborateways. At Hanuman’s temple, Sankat Mochan, a familyfrom Tiwarpur (outside Varanasi) had come to givethanks for the win of a family member’s election as

Chairman of Mirzapur District. They had chosen theTuesday of Navratra as the auspicious time to performan Akand Ramayan, a 24-hour non-stop, live recitationof the Ramayana. The chanting, broadcast over loud-speakers, filled the temple grounds with even more re-ligious fervor than already existed. The sister-in-law ofthe man who had won the election proudly told us thatmany relatives had come from several states to attendthe Akand Ramayan, and that the whole thing costthem about Rs. 10,000 including the singers (whichwere cheaper because they were brought from outsideVaranasi), the pujaris donations, offerings and all othernecessary items. The covered hallway in front of thesanctum sanctorum was jammed so tightly with peoplethat no-one could move. Those who were only a fewfeet from the sanctum had given up getting theirprasad blessed by the priests, or even getting a quicklook at the idol. From far away, I could see only hun-dreds of arms raised in prayer or trying to catch a fewdrops of the holy water that was being thrown from in-side the sanctum sanctorum. Again, the line of menstretched almost to the gate of the temple compound,several hundred meters. Devotees circled the temple,clockwise, often stopping to touch their heads severaltimes to the small shrines in the temple sides, or to takea smudge of vermilion from in front of the idol and ap-ply it to their own foreheads.

The intensity of faith in religion here has its uglyside. Faith seems to act as fertilizer for exploitation inthe name of religion. Religion often becomes a businessin Varanasi. "Temples are one of the best investmentsyou can make," a friend once commented to me dryly.He is right. Not too far from where we live, a new tem-ple is being built. The owners of the temple are in stiffcompetition with the owners of Sankat Mochan tem-ple. In order to raise money and popularize the templeeven before it is completed, they have stationed the p.ri-mary Shiva-linga in the back of a brand new, richlygarlanded Maruti van. Brahmin priests gather aroundthe van’s back door to do aarti (lighting of the lamps asofferings to the gods), complete with bells and chant-ing. A rope is tied at the beginning of the street wherethe van is parked, indicating the "beginning" of thetemple where one must remove one’s shoes. Appar-ently, this is a "touring temple-van," which will makeits way through the country, stopping in various spotsfor months at a time to popularize the new temple.

The corruption of religion in Varanasi has beenspurred on by its thugs, the powerful pundit familieswho control the masses through religion. A well-known movie made in the 1960s, called Sangash, de-tailed the hypocrisies of these so-called religious fami-lies. There is a scene in the movie where the pandittells an unsuspecting couple that they must "offer"their daughter to him, and then they can buy her backwith several thousand rupees and the wife’s string ofpearls. I have been told by many Benarasis that theseincidents actually did and do still happen. There con-tinues to be an elaborate system of "trapping" the un-suspecting pilgrims who come to the city to worship.

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The men’s line to have darshan at Sankat Mochan Temple on a Tuesday (Hanuman’s day).

14 PJ-IOShri Akash Ganga: The Touring Temple-Van

inside of thevan, where the

flint linga is kept,flanked by aNandi bull and atrident, one oyShiva ’s symbols.

On the train several stops before Varanasi, a manworking for a thug, will board the train and begin togain the confidence of the pilgrims he meets. True conartists, these men are well trained to recognize wherepeople are from, to mention names of known familiesfrom the same villages, to endear themselves to the pil-grims. Upon reaching Varanasi, the pilgrims are takento the pandits, who advise them to perform several rit-

knows he should. Those who have religious powerknow that the best way to keep the masses in theirclutches is to keep religion mystical, unfathomable,based largely on blind faith. And yet, perhaps it is thisvery blind faith which allows people to hope anddream of something better than what they have, to im-agine that their lives will be illumined through devo-tion by the bright power of Kashi. 1

uals, including large donations of moneyand jewelry, in order to please the gods.

The former Mahant, or head priest, of theKashi-Vishwanath Temple was put in jail inthe early 70s for stealing hundreds of thou-sands of rupees in silver and gold from thetemple. He has since died, but I interviewedhis son, Dr. Kulpati Tiwari, who still callshimself Mahant, in spite of the fact that theGovernment has since taken over the templeand installed its own Mahant. Dr. Tiwari,while speaking about the atrocious way inwhich money has become the "mother, fa-ther and religion of people," picked up theringing telephone in front of him. "Just getthe work done at any cost," he told the per-son on the other end. He listened to some-thing the other person said and then repliedirritably, "Then give him whatever moneyhe wants. Just get it done." Obviously,money is his master toO.

Varanasi has certainly kept the traditionsof rituals alive; but the understanding of themeaning of those rituals is largely lost. Theaverage person appears to believe in relig-ion because his ancestors did, or because he

PAKISTAN

JAMMUAND

KASHMIRCHINA

T B E T

oLucknowRAJASTHAN

BIHAR

GUJARAT

MADHYA PRADESH

ORISSA

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