Gopal Kaushik | May, 2002

An intrepid biker has several fascinating experiences in Varanasi. Read on.

I set out for the holy city of Varanasi, armed with a video camera and not much else. I took my time getting there. Along the way I befriended a 9-year-old boy while shooting footage of cranes from the roadside. As we smoked a reefer together, he told me about his village.

	No Pandas, a few pilgrims and boatmen

It was amusing, getting stoned with a kid. Hey, it wasn't his first time. He'd had a lot of the stuff before. I shot some footage of him too.

The weather was cold and sunny, altogether great. I can't quite recall how I reached Allahabad. That's the way it is with highways. Sometimes the bike rides you.

In Allahabad, I tracked down an address Madhu had given me. It was a graceful old house with a huge courtyard. Four old Christian sisters lived here, friends of Madhu. I spent some time with them, had a bite to eat and got on my way again.

The road to Varanasi was packed with trucks. Blinded by dust and headlights, I finally made my way into the city and started looking for a place to stay. Directions from rickshaw drivers led me to Dasashwamedh Ghat. Here, I checked out a few hotels, but they were either too expensive or too dingy. I finally checked into a place called Samman.

I grabbed my camera, locked the room and moved on to the banks of the Ganga. From afar, I could see something burning on one of the ghats further downstream and headed for it. It was already quite late. Only a few people were out. No pandas, no hawkers, just a few foreigners and some boatmen.

Burning
Following the flames, I reached Harishchandra Ghat, one of the two cremation ghats of the holy city. A funeral pyre burned and spluttered as relatives stood around watching. Worried about their reaction to being filmed, I kept some distance from the funeral ground.

Just then, a member of the funeral party walked up to me and showed interest in my camera. He turned out to be a wedding cameraman himself and we got to talking. I asked him if I could shoot the funeral proceedings up close and he took me right next to the burning body.

A funeral, in the dead of night

I had just taken a couple of shots when a young guy of about 15 approached me and asked me whether or not I had permission to photograph at the ghat. He turned out to be the dom, keeper of the ghat and he wanted money.

That was the one thing I didn't have. A long argument and finally, I showed him my press card and lied that I had permission from the police.

That did it. Soon, Kalidas became a new friend, fending off inquiries from other doms.

Great miracles
The flow of bodies proceeded throughout the night. I shot various funeral rites and made friends with other doms. I also met two conmen.

Upon seeing the camera, Kabootarbaba and his bald friend professed to be accomplished tantriks, who are religious people capable of great miracles. I shot them and graciously (and quite insincerely) accepted their invitation to visit their ashram. The sky was brightening and I decided to call it a night. Bidding farewell to Kalidas and my newly found friends, I picked my way back to Dasashwamedh Ghat, just in time to see pious stepping gingerly into the cold and murky waters of the Ganga.

I woke up in the afternoon, got dressed and set off for Harishchandra Ghat once again. Preparations for some festival or other were on in full swing there. All other ghats were being tidied up as well. I discovered Kalidas at Harishchandra, haggling with mourners about the cremation tax.

I set up the tripod and started shooting. All the daytime light made it so much easier to see the rituals being performed. No one objected now that I had Kalidas with me.

Something to eat
And so day slipped into night. Kalidas asked me if I would be interested in meeting a curious person. He introduced me to one of the guys I had always seen hanging around the ghat. He was a gregarious old man with a thick beard and matted gray hair and always laughing as he hurled abuses at mourners. He wore clothes removed from corpses. Children at the ghat also seemed to be fond of him. I had seen him asleep at the ghat last night, wearing only a shirt and a sweater. Not even underwear.

Kali (Kalidas) asked he'd like some tea and biscuits. The old man's mouth broadened into a grin. We went the ghat for some tea and biscuits. Fed and warm, our old man couldn't refuse when Kali asked him to show this curious visitor some of his "stuff'". Kali broke off part of a burning corpse with his rod. The man calmly took it in his hand and took a bite. Mourners got hysterical. He put the rest in his pocket, to be eaten later.

Boats abound in the Varanasi ghats.

It was dawn by the time I reached the hotel room. Woke up in the afternoon and went out for a bite. Upon returning, I found the lock of my room forced open. My camera was gone, including filmage still stored in it.

Hotel management seemed alarmed. They later discovered that other rooms on the same floor had also been broken into and the suspect was a guest who had just checked out. I filed a report with the police. There was nothing more I could do. They told me that if and when they traced the camera, they would get back to me. I have yet to hear from them. When the shock wore off, the only thing I could do was to indulge in more fun. So I returned to Harishchandra ghat and told Kali about the theft.

Kali was incensed. But of course, there was nothing he could do about it, so he borrowed a boat from one of his friends, and we rowed across the Ganga. We'd get some good toddy, he said.

Accompanying us was Kali's younger brother Vishnu, all of 4 years, wearing only a dirty blue shirt. We hit the shore and headed through the fields to only Kali knew where.

The fields were flush and green, with a generous sun beating down on the countryside. The trees were all scarred by the tapper's knife. Half an hours walk brought us to a tiny hamlet surrounded by telltale palms. Kali knew where he was going. He haggled with a woman about the price of toddy and they finally agreed, at 8 rupees (USD 0.17) a litre. Pretty neat.

We followed her to a tiny hut flanked by a grove of bamboo. She brought out tall earthen jugs filled with pale white juice. Floating atop were a variety of bees and wasps that apparently had indulged too heavily. All dead. That's what the drink does to you. We sat in the bamboo grove, neat location. Toddy filtered through a fine cotton cloth was served in steel glasses. Vishnu had a glass too, having to hold the glass with both of his tiny hands. I was bewildered to see the 4-year-old gulp it down.

Nodding on toddy
The drink tasted great. Better than anything I'd ever had. We drank up all the lady's harvest, which wasn't much anyway, about two litres and started back. The drink was starting to work its way into my head. Kali had told me that a toddy high is quite unlike booze. He was right. I didn't feel drunk or drowsy. Rather, I felt energetic.

	A funeral pyre about to be lit

The sun seemed to shine brighter. We found ourselves running through the fields that somehow seemed greener. Until we stumbled on a man with a huge jerrycan full of the stuff we'd just had. We refuelled and ran down to the river. Kali and I had a refreshing dip in the chilly water, as Vishnu looked on. In the evening, Kali got his hands on some grass. We smoked along the banks of the Ganga. Good fun.

Homeward bound:
I bid farewell to Kali and my dom friends and headed back home. My first stop was Allahabad. I'd never seen the confluence, so that was where I stopped first. Haggled with a boatman over the price and reached a deal for 30 rupees. A quick trip to where you can distinctly see waters of the two most holy rivers in the country converge and I was on my way to visit the Virkey sisters.

A party was in full swing at their house. Neat. I was the youngest guy around. Stayed the night before setting out riding, I finally made it home, dead tired.


Gopal Kaushik is presently back at the Ganga shooting more films.