Celebration of death
Bidding adieu to Varanasi, and my two months of stay in this city.
Considering myself to have a considerable understanding of writing, poetry and philosophy, I used to wonder everyday, what is it in this city that has enticed romanticist poets and writers so dearly, across decades and centuries? I could find no trace of that poetic nuance in even the slightest offering the city gives, and yet, as I bid farewell, I find the fog fading away.
Varanasi is unusual. It has survived historical setbacks and embraced futuristic advancements, without losing the essence of being what it is – ‘Varan-asi’ – a city streched from river ‘Varuna’, to the last constructed bank on the river Ganges- ‘Assi’.
Magnificent events that impacted ethnic and religious landscapes fell within these boundaries of the two rivers, from mentions in Sanatan Vedas dating thousands of years ago to the first sermon of peace by Buddha, the city is also home to a significantly large Muslim population.
But what is unusual, you might ask?
The relation of the city with death:
Ancient scriptures described the holy city to be a place where death frees humans from the continuous loop of life and death, towards nirvanam or moksh. Hence, from around Indian subcontinent, people come here nearing death or are brought for last rites post death.
There are even shelter homes, where people spend their last few years of life with the sole purpose of breathing their last in the holy city. So when you travel on roads, seeing death processions towards the auspicious ghat of Ganges is a common sight, which an outsider might find slightly aversive, for the lack of a better word, but is absolute routine to the local people of Varanasi.
Every year, after a month of the festival of Holi, a unique festival of Holi is celebrated on the bank of Manikarnika Ghat, the place of nirvanam, from the ashes of remains of ‘chitaa’ or funeral pyre, participated in huge numbers by not just the sadhus, but even the common man.
There is also an infamous event in one of the days of Navdurga – festival of goddess, celebrated near the very ghat, attended by the respected whos and whoms of the city, where prostitutes dance their hearts out whole night, praying that they never get a life like this in next lives they have to come back on earth.
Unusual, isn’t it?
What it reminds me is of what Lord Shiva, the god of destruction, stands for. How every practice here, is an ode to death. An ode to a desirable end, but also a hopeful beginning. Now I know, why so many philosophers and writers dug deep into Varanasi, in an attempt to understand the layers that superimposed over one another and shaped the city making it identifiably unique and auspicious, to know how it survived against the supreme power of time.
Visiting might not help figure this out, as much as living for sometime here may.
Until next