GANGES
A young man on the boat began lighting small votive candles which rested on round leaves sprinkled with fragrant flowers.
He handed a candle to each of us and we launched them in the water as an offering to Mother Ganga. Then our crew set us gliding parallel to the western shore, which faces the sunrise, and is therefore, an auspicious venue for ceremonies.
We were not safe from the trinket sellers even in the boat. They approach from all sides fully stocked with toys, containers for Ganga holy water and statues of the Hindu gods.
The eastern shore is farmland, but the western shore is densely lined with buildings. Many date to the Moghul era, and all are designed to provide access to the Ganga.
Several imposing structures were built by maharajas in a bygone age and are now being used by pilgrims. Some of them are hostels for tourists and some ashrams for holy men.
Also on the river is the ghat where bodies are cremated. Bodies are wrapped in yellow and orange cloths, carried on bamboo stretchers and dipped into the river. Then relatives buy firewood for the funeral pyre. It takes about 400 kgs of wood (Rs1200--$20)to do the job. Ghee (clarified butter, sandalwood and other ceremonial substances are also required and cost another Rs 200-300 ($4-8).
Untouchables oversee the cremation of bodies. They are the Chandalas and fire is taken by the chief mourner from the Chandala to light the pyre. The taking of the fire from the Untouchable is a crucial element. Without it, the deceased's soul will not find rest. It takes about three hours for a body to burn completely. There is a modern, electric crematorium on the river as well. It is the economic choice, about Rs 200, but most people prefer the traditional way if they can afford it. Some 170-80 bodies are burned along the Ganga each week.
Further along the bank we floated by men and women bathing, brushing their teeth, washing clothes (the dhoti-wallahs--laundrymen--have their own ghat), temples, men shaving, sadhus (aesthetics), and children swimming. We passed a Shiva temple where men with drums, gongs, and conch shells played a cacophonous tribute to Shiva as the water licked the bottom step where they stood. After passing this, there was very little noise except for a man playing a bamboo flute who wandered along the bank and provided a surreal score to the scene.
We stumbled from the boat, climbed the stairs and walked through the narrow alleys, past a multitude of closet-sized trinket shops. Every step of the way we were dodging piles of manure and boys selling everything from flowers and brightly colored pastes to holy water from the Ganga. We were back in the hotel by 8:30 a little dazed but all richer from witnessing this daily expression of faith.
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