I made many wrong moves
the previous night. But one good thing I did was to book a tour with a company
that had excellent reviews on the website Trip Advisor: Varnassi Behind. It
would involve a sunrise boat ride on the sacred river Ganges followed by an
exploration of some of the back streets, and it turned out to be probably the
best thing we did on this trip.
But nothing worthwhile
comes without a cost, and in addition to the price, which was not cheap but not
too expensive, the trip would require we meet a taxi a 5 a.m. to head down to
the river. The taxi arrived on time, carrying our guide whose real name I do
not remember except that it means “Happy” in Hindi. He was a gregarious young
man probably in his mid-twenties who took great delight in Jane’s name, and
referred to her again and again as “Jane Fonda.” He was so delighted by this
association I didn’t have to heart to tell him hardly anyone in America
remembered Jane Fonda. He told us
several times that his parents had wanted him to become a Brahmin—a Hindu
priest—but instead he had felt a calling to become a tour guide.
We arrived at the Assi
Ghat, the southernmost of the areas that provide access to the Ganges, at
around 5:30. It was still dark, but preparations were obviously on tap for
something. Next to the river a stage was being prepared. A half dozen rows of
chairs seating a couple of hundred people was slowing filling up. Soon the
chanting started, young girls sequestered in a tented area off to the side
reciting in unison the Vedas, ancient Hindu scripture. Six young men—Brahmin priests—dressed
in flowing white robes mounted six separate stages, each stage about six by six
feet and a couple of feet off the ground.
The priests lit bowls
perched on stands besides them and smoke poured forth. It was starting to
remind me of Catholic mass. The chanting stopped and the performance began. Like
members of a dance troupe the priests moved in unison swinging the bowls and
stepping in sync each on his own the stage. After about ten minutes, the
chanting started up again and the priests put down the bowls and blew conch
horns as the day broke upon the Holy City of Varansi.
We boarded our boats for
a sunrise trip on the river Ganges
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