Bajra party

I must say that Galatea had warned me before hand. She is naturally wary about new adventures, I dive into them with gusto. So I admire her prescience and also enjoy my little discoveries.

There were about ten of us sitting cross-legged on white sheets spread over mattresses laid out on the top-deck of a boat. The only protection from getting thrown overboard was to stay seated. If five of us had stood up on one side, centre of gravity would have shifted and we could have capsized. There were some musicians too, a guy on the tabla, another on the harmonium, two more were ghazal singers while another managed the amplifiers etc. Soon a skinny boy dressed as a waiter in black trousers, a white shirt, and amazingly a bow-tie crawled up from the lower deck. He was carrying a tray of glasses with coloured fluids.

'Pehle boss ko do, What will you have boss?'
'Whatever. I am not fussy'
'Whiskey lao whiskey'

So I was handed a finger print stained glass of amber fluid with streaks of tiny bubbles promising to be whiskey-soda. It was about nine o'clock when we began drifting away from the shore. This barge was about twenty feet from bow to stern with two decks, both kind of half height. You can only crawl in and remain seated. We had to take our shoes off since the upper deck was fully carpeted. This vessel (an apt term) had nothing to move it forward, so they had tied a motored tug-boat to its starboard side.

Mild breeze blew across us as the band screeched some Ghazals and hindi film numbers. Soon there was some commotion and a very pretty woman, dressed in full royal nautch-girl regalia climbed up to the upper deck. She bent low and did a salaam to all of us and plonked herself on the floor. The musicians fussed about her and placed a mike in front of her. Then she sang. I was worried that the party should not de-generate into something which we all might regret later. I spoke to my local rep and asked him to ensure that all this was limited to singing.

This was my introduction to the holy city of Varanasi. So named since the land lies between river Varuna and Assi. The oldest continually inhabited city in the world. This seat of learning in ancient India has been referred to as 'Kashi - the Luminous' in Rig Veda. The holy city never sleeps and gets huge number of tourists from all over the world. All these bits of information were fed to me as the band played Ghulam Ali's 'Hungama'.

Soon we were drifting past holiest of all cremation grounds, Manikarnika Ghat. Myth has it that its the gateway to heaven. It burns all day and night liberating sinful humans from cycle of birth and re-birth. The fire for every pyre must come from the house of Dom Maharaj, the keeper of the Ghat since ages.

The music kept on and soon the group on the Bajra got involved in it and started singing themselves. All this while the boat kept drifting up and down the Ganges. I got to see a lot of history and mythology of India. Since it was night, it was easy to drift into time and imagine the fiery debates between Sankaracharya and the local pundits on these very Ghats that led to the revival of Hinduism. I could imagine long rows of saffron robed, tonsured monks getting off on these Ghats and proceeding to Sarnath for the first sermon of Buddha. I could hear the chanting of couplets by Tulsidas as he wrote the Ramacharitmanas on Tulsi Ghat. I could easily sense the panic stricken citizens of Benaras as they ran for their lives in small boats running away from the rampaging soldiers of Aurangzeb.

I was in this reverie when two things happened. Gal called and the boat stopped with a thud. She was just checking me out before going off to sleep. I told her that we had just crash-landed on the moon. I could see a very high mud-bank almost in our face. This must be Mughal-sarai side, the twin town separated by the Ganges and North India's largest railway junction, I thought to myself. 'But what are we doing here?' I asked the fellow next to me. He gave a sheepish smile, raised his little finger and jumped off the boat himself. I turned and saw the surreal image of a mountain of mud in reflected light from the barge and guys facing the mount as if drawing money from an ATM. We started back in fifteen minutes and the boat seemed to be lighter.

I was up at five next morning and reached Kashi Vishwanath Temple well before six. True to form the narrow lanes were buzzing with activity. Shopkeepers looking fresh and bathed were selling garlands and other offerings. There were long queues of devotees from all parts of India for the darshan. I was surprised to see that a large majority were Tamilians. Even more suprised to hear the shopkeepers conversing with them in fluent Tamil. Compulsions of a tourism led economy I guess!

Other than this larger than life religion, history and mythology, common man's life in Varanasi is very tough. They get power only for twelve hours in a day; roads were last repaired it seemed by the British and the working conditions in the traditional Saree manufacturing industry are pathetic. And above all the holy river is dying.

As I headed back to Lucknow the remaining thoughts in my mind were of an awsome accumulation of time and faith in a single place. What history? One could spend a lifetime and not know it all. My mind also wandered to the colossal waste of opportunity. Opprtunity for Indians to discover their past, for foreigners to see a working acient civilization a human Jurassic park.

Having prayed at the holiest of all Hindu temples, I might make it on the salvation train, just about. Till then the citizens of this holy city will continue to suffer the callousness of modern day rulers.

PS: I was told that so many foriegn tourists visit Kashi because it finds a mention in the Bible. If any of you can confirm this, do let me know.