Banaras

Banaras was a close motorable neighbor, a city with a long record of antiquity and now Prime Minister’s privileged constituency so I wanted to see it. Quite a few times our program was shelved for but this time being coupled with an official meeting it became compulsory. The meeting being scheduled at ten thirty we started from home at six in the morning and reached Banaras at nine. Anil had to drop me at Officers’ Guest House at Diesel Locomotive Workshop before proceeding to Mughalsarai for the meeting. This was the same guest house where Modi ji stayed whenever he was in Varanasi. It was no better than the other railway guest houses we were used to but probably the suite kept reserved exclusively for Modi ji was. 

A girl whose office room I shared at IIT Kharagpur eight years ago was to be my host and guide here. She called and told me that she and her husband will come to pick us up in the evening. They came and took us to see the profusely verdant campus of Banaras Hindu University. I loved the old squat buildings of the university which were built in characteristic Hindu tradition and painted in yellow and deep red. The Professors’ bungalows belonged to a bygone era when scarcity of land had not hit people hard and looked luxuriously large surrounded by green lawns and many fruit trees. The play grounds were sprawling and well used. The various avenues were lined with trees of different fruits like mango, jamun and gooseberry. According to the vision of the founder - Mahamana Madan Mohan Malviya ji all the disciplines of enquiry were established in BHU and following his philosophy all the new emerging subjects and subject combinations also kept on being added to the existing wide range of departments.

Madan Mohan Malviya ji had no money for his ambitious dream project but he humbly begged people for donations. His rich Indian patrons gifted him lavishly. That is how he was able to fructify his dream and set up such a humongous campus. When he went to the Nizam of Hyderabad for donations the Nizam condescendingly said, “You may take my shoes.” He bent down in all humility and picked up Nizam’s pair of shoes and thanked him and said, “Thank you Sir, I am sure that your shoes will fetch a handsome price when I auction them.” Hearing this Nizam was ashamed and truly humbled and gave a huge donation. 

In the heart of the campus, a temple consecrated to Kashi Vishwanath, the favorite deity of Varanasi, stands majestically tall showering its benevolence, piety, positivity and peace all around. We paid our obeisance to the omnipotent and omniscient and I whispered my requests in the ear of ever attentive Nandi bull in the hope that those will be relayed to the God. 

Small unpretentious eateries serving students’ favorite foods dotted the campus and we also had a hot samosa with runny watery green chilly chutney which burned my lips torturously for hours with a vengeance for referring to it in such a discourteous manner. Anil had played safe by opting only for sweet tamarind chutney. Then we made haste to reach Assi Ghat for boating and witnessing Ganga Arti orchestrated by a school of uniformly dressed priests in practiced simultaneous precision. We reached and found the parking lot full. A volunteer directed us a little further to another parking lot. Reaching the Assi Ghat our hosts haggled with boatmen and found one who seemed reasonable and we went and sat in his boat. I was hoping that he would take us to a vantage point for us to witness the Arti clearly but he took us to the opposite direction and we missed the major event. Never the less, we were able to see a scaled down version of Arti and were able record it also. The Sanskrit Shlokas of Arti resonated and created a very tranquil ambiance. In the artificial lights the ghats looked clean and glamorous and the dancing reflection of these lights in Ganga was ethereal. I wanted to shoot videos continuously so as to preserve these bewitching visuals and vocals together.

While returning back we had lassi and Banarasi paan. 

Our seasoned friends suggested that we go early in the morning, at 4 am, to Kashi Vishwanath Temple because later in the day the queues become long and serpentine. We left at 4:13 am and could drive all the way into the market; this would not have been possible during the day when the market was open. From the road we had to walk nearly half a kilometer in narrow lanes barely four five feet broad to reach the temple. These lanes had obnoxious stinky open drains and were littered profusely by cow dung and garbage. The place reeked intolerably so somehow practicing very shallow breathing and walking very carefully lest we stepped on dry or wet pile of vile stuff we cruised through the lanes and were brusquely frisked many times by sleepy disinterested but authoritative police personnel and asked if we were carrying mobile phones. After the final frisk we entered the temple through a narrow door which gave us no indication that a temple so well worshiped by Hindus lay inside. The marble floor of the temple was wet, abhorrently sticky and slippery and required all the concentration and control we could muster to successfully navigate without having an unceremonious fall. The policemen pushed us into the sanctum sanctorum and let us view Shiv Linga for a few moments before shoving us out rudely. I tried to observe as much as I could of the temple. The central spire rose to a handsome height and was covered with gold foil but I cannot recall much of the sculptural details because I had to mind my step on the slippery floor and soon I was out of the temple to heave a sigh of relief and to take a breath in fresh air.  Half a kilometer or more of the thin lanes had to be conquered once again. At last, sitting in the air conditioned confines of our car was heaven. 

We decided to see Sarnath in continuation to make the most of the early morning cool and milder density of crowd. Our polite friendly and informed chauffeur wanted us to look at the monuments of great significance for Buddhists from the car itself and move on. He had misjudged my enthusiasm in spite of growing heat. We got down, saw the stupa, took pictures and also did a parikrima (circumambulation). We also saw the beautiful Thai temple and walked in its beautiful garden with a central longitudinal pond with blooming lotuses leading to a very tall and peaceful standing Buddha ji. There were many other big and small Buddha statues also. An alert shark-like guide enticed us to visit an emporium displaying artifacts and Banarasi Silk handloom sarees weaved by Buddhist monks but we came out unscathed due our vigilante driver.

There was another stupa along with a Buddhist monastery to be seen. I got down and ran inside with great enthusiasm. So forceful was my tempo that the watchman couldn’t stop me. He never the less stopped Anil and told him to get the tickets. Anil went to buy tickets while I decided to utilize this extra time to see a film describing the stupa, the monastery and the other stupa. I saw the film in English, then in Hindi and again in English but Anil had not come back after buying tickets. I was wondering what to do when finally he appeared. He explained the delay like this, “I went and asked for two tickets at the ticket window under the aegis of Archeological Department of India. The clerk said there was no electricity so he could not print the tickets and so I had to wait till electricity was restored. I pointed out to him that his Air Conditioner was working. He said that Air Conditioner was connected to the generator but his computer and printer were not. In the mean while a long restless, impatient, noisy line had formed behind me. The people were about to get aggressive when the booking clerk remembered that he had one spare Uninterrupted Power Supplier and maybe there was some energy stored in that. So he connected the spare UPS and was able to print two tickets. Taking my tickets I slipped out of the now militant mob. Hopefully he was able to print a few more tickets and keep angry attacks at bay. And when I presented my ticket to the watchman I found that he did not tear and keep a counter foil with him but he scaned the barcode on the ticket on his phone. That process also took some time because sun being so bright his phone screen appeared absolutely dark and he couldn’t see if he had scanned my ticket successfully or not. Hence the delay.” And I wondered aloud, “Why does the government make such hi-tech procedures when it cannot guarantee continuous electric supply?

Having seen the film more than three times I could explain to Anil the various characteristics of the Stupas and also about the exhibits in the museum so we gave the museum a miss and returned back to our Air Conditioned succor - first the welcoming car and then the guesthouse room.

My local friend rang me up to ask if I wanted to go to the market she could come with me and I said, “Yes, that would be great.” My trip would not have been complete without seeing the saree shops in Banaras. So my friend and I set out for Gadauliya, the most crowded market in Banaras. On reaching there we found most of the shops were closed it being a Sunday. It was a disheartening blow but I faced it with fortitude. In the meanwhile the friend spotted Kala Niketan, a saree shop that was open and we went in. At 11:30 am we were early and there were no other customers so the shop assistants wholeheartedly showed us all the variety they had and I chose two sarees, one peach and the other yellow. Then finding Lucknow Chikenkari shop open we stepped in and soon I came out saddled with a black kurta with multi colored embroidery.

Friend suggested that we should eat something. She took me into the same narrow lane through which we had gone to Kashi Vishwanath Temple early in the morning. The lane was lined with busy eateries. She chose Dahi-bara for us because she said this was the best dahi-bara that one could have in all of Banaras. Pronto, the smiling shopkeeper handed me a steel plate with a healthy dahi-bara on it while overpowering urine odor enveloped me and deeply repulsed me. In that heavily ammonia infused atmosphere only with super human control I was able to ingest my dahi-bara. I dared not show my disgust to my friend who had recommended it so emphatically. We got one packed for my husband also.

The last thing on my agenda was artificial jewelry about which I had just received an input from my cousin. Another two thousand rupees went for a necklace and bangles which I thought were well spent considering their beauty.   

In the evening, wearing my new black kurta, we went to my friend’s house and met her mother-in-law and daughter. Her mother-in-law was very fair and beautiful. She was pleased to meet us because we had stayed in Kota like her and also had relatives in Muzzaffarnagar. So talking to us she recalled her childhood days spent in Muzzaffarnagar. friend’s daughter was very quiet and well behaved. She served us water, hot cutlets, masala chai and rosogullas. With great pride my friend showed us her house and then she took us to her parents’ house. When we rang the bell we found her Professor father shirtless which embarrassed her and she quickly whispered to him to put on his shirt which he did. To cover up his embarrassment he said it is so hot and humid that it’s a punishment to sit at home in a vest and a shirt. Husband and I acquiesced whole heartedly. Conversation was easy and he told us he had studied at Allahabad University and Professor Murali Manohar Joshi was his Physics teacher but he came to teach only twice in the whole academic year. He told us that when he met Professor Murali Manohar Joshi again recently without mincing his words he clearly told the BJP heavy weight, “Sir! You taught me Physics but you came to class only twice and left us students in the lurch.” Hearing this Professor Murali Manohar Joshi became uncomfortable and said he had to attend urgent meetings and left in a hurry. People do not want to hear the truth and on the other hand people rarely have the guts to speak unpleasant truth especially to important people. We told him we are mighty impressed by his daredevilry and foolhardy spirit. 

Friend’s husband drove us to his favorite restaurant Bistro Benares in Diamond Hotel for dinner that my husband had invited them for. Dinner was good. While dropping us back they told us not to miss the rising sun and its magnificent reflection in Ganga next morning. They told us that since time immemorial “Banaras-ki-subah” and “Sham-e-Awadh” were considered worth experiencing. 

Abiding by their advice we woke up early and went to Assi Ghat to see the sun’s glory multiplied many times through its shimmery reflections dancing and slithering on the pious waters of Ganga maa. The scene was splendid and serene. We received the munificence of arti, walked on the ghats, listened to live Thumri being sung by a guru and his disciple, enjoyed masala lemon tea, took pictures and returned to Allahabad. 

While driving back we encountered continuous rows of young and old Muslim men wearing Taqiah – the white crochet skull caps, new long white starched kurtas and tight Aligarhi pyjamas coming back from the Eid namaz and mingling or hugging and embracing or just hanging around or going back home. I have never seen so many Muslims together. As the day progressed little girls in really pretty new flowy flaired bejeweled garments came out, subsequently followed by elder girls and women. The burning bright sun broke into millions billions trillions zillions being reflected on the sequins on the women’s new dresses.  

We stopped for tea and crisp onion fritters on the way at our driver’s favorite tea stall. I was surprised that a very beautiful boy of eight nine years got up to make tea for us. He did his job expertly. He broke a green cardamom in a small mortar with a small pestle and put it in the water boiling for tea. Then he added sugar and milk with practiced hands without using any measure. I had to take his picture because he was so good looking and so good at his work. When were drinking our tea his father - the proprietor of the shop returned to resume the control of the shop.

It was a nice trip though husband and I were both highly disillusioned by the filth in Modi ji’s constituency in his “Clean India”.