Finding Kasi

Climbing the Mount Everest requires preparation and conditioning for adaptation. Even a minor error in the preparation and conditioning phase may have lethal repercussions. Reaching the base camp and returning empty handed with a broken dream is painful, and wasteful, to say the least. I find in this an apt and interesting analogy for Kasi yatra (visit). Most of the people visiting Kasi/Varanasi have their expectations: great expectations, even before they start packing for their trip. There are stereotypes to which they want their experiences to conform to. The images below represent the stereotypical Kasi that is so well and widely known that it becomes very difficult to understand it. People visiting the city see what they expect to see, and not what they look at. They expect a spectacle, and they are given the same by media and by the whole tourism industry. Even Baudrillard would find the propagation of the image of the city definitely interesting.

(All the photos by Dr. A. P. Singh)

Kasi is stereotyped as the city of death, temples, religion, colours, river, boats and celebrations. Tourists and pilgrims visit the city, they come to only visit the city, for  a couple of days: no preparation of the real and fruitful kind and no conditioning at all. They are not ready to invest time and effort, yet they feel cheated when they don’t get all that they had heard of the experience of the city. Well, I don’t know about other cities but Kasi is not to be chewed and digested in a day. In fact, one can only prepare oneself for the city and hope to find it as it is, if he is observant, persevering and lucky. There are no guarantees of success in ventures like climbing Mt. Everest or experiencing Kasi.

One of the ways to experience the real city is to go slow. It has to be soaked in. The process may take a really long time. The cycles of seasons must be observed, along with the way Kasi responds to the changes. (Here, I sound like claiming that I am a kasilogist. I am not.) There are people who can facilitate the process of experiencing the city by pointing towards the right times and places for the experience, but they can’t enter the reaction itself. The city and the visitor/dweller combine in some sort of reaction to produce a new person, post-experience. A kasilogist or a kasiphile can only be a catalyst, and never a reactant.

The ghats in the images below can perform dual function: they can confirm the stereotype and lead one to where they want to be lead, or they can act as the points of departure from which one may launch one an inner journey of the discovery of Kasi within.

Many Kasis

I have covered many ghats and few galis of Kasi in my posts and uploaded images of many temples, big and small, but I have mentioned only one mosque purely by itself. The images above are of that magnificent structure on Panchganga Ghat: Aurangzeb’s Mosque, popularly known as Beni Madho ka Dharhara.

(Photo: Dr. A. P. Singh)

Gyan Vapi Mosque is another mosque mentioned in these posts, but that was because of its importance both historically and for the Hindus of Kasi and the world. I have lived in Kasi nearly throughout my life. Yet, I have not experienced a huge part of it. There are many different Kasis in Kasi itself based on the way different communities perceive and treat their city. These different perceptions and treatments of the city by its own dwellers may be because of the socio-religious matrix in which they are brought up.It’s the very process of their socialization that dooms them to spend their lives in their well defined different spheres.

The Hindus look at the city with a sense of sacred. It’s the beloved place of Mahadev and is a major place of pilgrimage on the banks of Gangaji. For them, the city is Shiv and Ganga combined. Be they devout and practicing or not, Hindus will never look at Kasi as just a city, dissociated with its holy aspect. That’s why Kasi and Gangaji are both holy for them (although they may shamelessly pollute both). It is said that the Muslims, at least theoretically, can never look at the city with the sense of awe that its holiness warrants. The reason behind it is that Kasi can never be holy for them. A very neat way to classify: isn’t it? Neat, yes. But it’s far from comprehensive and correct.

There are two reasons behind the incorrectness of the bigoted-Muslim-in-Kasi stereotype (I’ll come to the other side of the coin too). One, the stereotype hides the fact that there have been many Muslims, Banarsi and outsiders, who have looked at the city with a sense of awe and have loved the city as their own. Two, the stereotype presumes that religion is the strongest force in deciding one’s affinities. Before going any further, let’s have a look at an English translation of Ghalib’s thoughts on Kasi:

May Heaven keep the grandeur of Benaras
Arbour of this meadow of joy;
For oft returning souls -their journey’s end.
In this weary Temple land of the world,
Safe from the whirlwind of Time,
Benaras is forever Spring.

Where autumn turns into the touch of sandal
On fair foreheads,
Spring tide wears the sacred thread of flower waves,
And the splash of twilight is the crimson mark
of Kashi’s dust on heaven’s brow.
The Kaaba of Hind;
This conch blowers dell;
Its icons and idols are made of the Light,
That once flashed on Mount Sinai.
These radiant idolations naids,
Set the pious Brahmins afire, when their faces glow
Like moving lamps..on the Ganges banks.

 

Morning and Moonrise,
My lady Kashi,
Picks up the Ganga mirror
To see her gracious beauty,
Glimmer and shine.
Said I one night to a pristine seer
(who knew the secrets of whirling time)
‘Sir, you will perceive
That goodness and faith, fidelity and love
Have all departed from the sorry land.
Father and son are at each other’s throat;
Brother fights brother.
Unity and federation are undermined.
Despite these ominous signs
Why has doomsday not come?
Why does the Last trumpet not sound?
Who holds the reigns of the final catastrophe?’
The hoary old man of lucent ken
Pointed towards Kashi and gently smiled.
‘The Architect’, he said, is fond of this edifice
Because of which there is colour in life.
He would not like it to perish and fall.’
Hearing this, the pride of Benaras soared to an eminence, untouched by the
wings of thought.

(qtd. from http://www.asimrafiqui.com/blog/forever-spring-ghalibs-benares/, taken from Pawan Varma’s Ghalib: The Man And His Times)

And then, there was Nazeer Banarsi. I was young when I heard his name for the first time during the riots and curfews of 1990’s. Look at the irony of the situation: I had heard the name of the poet who wrote on love and of his city in the context of violence, fear and hatred. His house was somewhere at Madanpura. He had permanently associated his identity with his place of origin, melding religion with territoriality. It was not a practice unique to him. There are many poets, Hindu and Muslim, who add the name of their place after their proper name. This practice, when seen in a Muslim, challenges a stereotype: the stereotype of Muslim devotion raised to the level of bigotry. Allama Iqbal was against any kind of identity of a Muslim other than that of a member of the umma:

In Taza Khudaon Mein Bara Sub Se Watan Hai
Jo Pairhan Iss Ka Hai, Woh Mazhab Ka Kafan Hai

Ye But Ke Tarashida-e-Tehzeeb-e-Nawi Hai
Gharatgar-e-Kashana-e-Deen-e-Nabwi Hai

Translation:

Country, is the biggest among these new gods!
What is its shirt is the shroud of Deen (Religion)

This idol which is the product of the new civilization
Is the plunderer of the structure of the Holy Prophet’s Deen (Religion)

(http://www.allamaiqbalpoetry.com/2011/04/bang-e-dra-102-wataniyat.html)

Theoretically speaking, the purity of religion does not permit any adulteration with nationalism or territoriality. Had the stereotype been true, it must have gone unchallenged. People like Ghalib and Nazeer Banarsi prove these stereotypes wrong by challenging them effectively. Their names are being taken here because they are well known and not because they are unique.

Thinking in Kasi

Kasi has earned a name for itself as the centre of learning through ages. It has been known in history as the place where pandits of various streams of knowledge came from all over India, and world too, in order to test and add to their store of knowledge. They used to study, think, philosophize and propagate their faith or interpretation in Kasi. Time has changed things a lot. Kasi does not hold the position it once had. Although Kasi is the seat of five modern universities, it does not hold supremacy in the field of knowledge: neither in the world nor in India. Gone are the golden olden days of Kasi’s intellectual ascendance.

Old habits die hard. The old habit of shastrarth has taken many modern forms in the city that rests on Shivji’s trident. But then, people do the same in many other parts of the world at places called adda. I have heard that Kolkata has a very strong adda culture. In Kasi there’s an adda in nearly every locality I know. People assemble there at a specific point of time and spend time together. What I find unique about the addas of Kasi is their established status and their social impact and reach.

There may be many who find solitude even in a busy metro or office. I’m definitely not one of them. I found solitude only in Kasi. Rather, I expected, looked for and trained myself like the Pavlovian dog to find solitude at certain spots around Gangaji in Kasi. So, it was on the ghatscape on Kasi that I found solitude. Solitude is not valuable solely in itself. Its value lies in its utilization. I utilized my part of it in introspection. It began with no action, only thinking deeply and long about the very thought process. Then came the stage of thinking about things outside my self. There were places conducive for such kind of activity.

  

Places like Chet Singh and Karnatak State Ghats facilitated the thinking process at certain times of the day: times that came after or before the heavy traffic of people who came for Ganga Snan. Of course, these ghats have their share of crowd at certain times of the day, but they are not known to have a heavy inflow of people at any time or season. Karnatak State Ghat does attract pilgrims and people who come to the nearby Harishchandra Ghat. It is crowded for a long stretch of time twice every day. Chet Singh Ghat it must be mentioned, is not popular amongst the members of the floating population of Kasi. Those who come there are generally few, and all locals. Therefore it is an ideal place for the seekers of solitude. The chabutras to the left and right side of the iron gates of the huge door in the image to the left above are ideal for thinking, especially in summer afternoons when nobody comes there for hours and there is an airy shade for hours at hours after twelve.

The reason behind the absence of crowd on this ghat may be the ghats around or the neighbourhood. Prabhu Ghat is a dhobi ghat and is also used by anglers, generally from the neighbourhood, especially around Panchkot Ghat, that has a high density of Muslims. It is a curious fact about Kasi ghats, also marked and recorded by kasilogists in their records of the city, that they are in a neglected and bad state in localities with high density of Muslims. Why? Of course Gangaji is not maiya for them but they do enjoy the ghatscape as much and in as many ways as any other Banarsi. They do play canvas ball cricket on the ghats and bathe and swim in the river. They call it simply darya and not Ganga Maiya or Gangaji.

   

The Vijay Nagram-Kedar Ghat complex also provides its moments of solitude, but very occasionally. It’s mainly important  for the kind of opportunities it provides for shastrartha. People from the neighbourhood come here in the evening to sit and chat. There are regulars who have conversations upon very deep and important issues at times. Their range is very wide and they can rise and fall to any levels during the argumentation. They are emotionally involved with either the topic or with their victory. In this, unknown to them, they fall in the long tradition of the Banarsis who have been famous for their argumentation powers and their need to win at all costs.

Death and Kasi

The previous post ended with allaghophobia and thanatophobia. This post begins where the last one ended. Before we begin, it must be mentioned that I have been reading and wondering about the surety of a foreign traveller’s visiting the cremation ghats of Kasi and actually watch the rites being performed, taking and posting pictures, interviews etc. and trying to cover the whole process in detail. Whosoever goes to visit the city definitely visits Harishchandra or manikarnika Ghat or both. They find time from their already tight schedule to watch a Hindu cremation. It’s a spectacle, not to be missed. It’s something to flaunt back home, like a trophy. It’s the spectator’s lust for the bizarre that draws them towards the strange way in which the Hindus treat their dead. Travelogues and memoirs are full of the details of these rites. This post is not at all about the details of the already adequately covered process, and the responses to it. It is more personal in nature.

We begin with Manikarnika Ghat because, of the two cremation ghats I have experienced it less. It is the more popular and mentioned one. In various purans and mahatmyas also, this ghat and the tirth nearby find honourable and prominent mention. The galis that joins this ghat with Chowk/Bans Phatak bring regular traffic to the ghat. It is said that there’s always a pyre burning on this mahashmashan. I can not validate that claim, or prove it wrong, as I have no personal experience of the ghat. Although I have seen the other cremation ghat totally flameless many times. That’s because I used to live nearby and passed the ghat frequently, sometimes many times a day.

 

The road on which our gali opened was called Harishchandra Ghat Road because it terminated at that ghat. We used to hear the universal indicator of a dead body in Kasi: Ram Naam Satya Hai regularly. Once upon a time, in the beginning of my time in my gali and life, I used to fear that call. It was nothing like the tolling of the bell that reminds fellow mortals of their own mortality. It was a fear that was instilled through socialization in a very subtle and unconscious manner.Normally, when a procession of any kind passes through a gali, the people who make units of the procession are happy (marriage), angry (protest), aroused and bored in a mixed manner (political) etc. Only those with a dead body, chanting Ram Naam Satya Hai are different. As they reach closer to the cremation ghat, their chants become regular and louder. They are the relatives and neighbours of the dead person and they are either sad or simply unconcerned with the sad ones, performing their neighbourly duty of going to the ghat with the dead. Although seeing a dead body is considered a good omen as it is now free of all ills of worldliness, I was never encouraged to see one. Death was not a topic raised frequently: either at home or amongst friends and acquaintances. Death was not a thing to be taken lightly, or talked about freely and openly. The topic was nearly taboo, and as happens in case of other taboos, it generated fear that stayed somewhere in the back of mind. It had nothing to do with the fear of my own death. How could it be when the fear pre-dates my full realization that death was possible for me too?

  

Death and Kasi are synonymous to many, especially in confirmation of the already established and prevalent stereotype. Kasi is called the City of Death because people opted for Kasi waas as the popular belief has it that those who die there get moksh. Time has brought change to Kasi and to the post-death cremation here. Adherence to faith has also been diluted (as is mentioned in many of the purans about Kalyug). Once upon a time, cremation meant only one thing. Now there are two options available. The image to the left above is of the ugly electric crematorium at Harishchandra Ghat, and that to the right is of a chabutra where dead bodies are cremated on pyres.

I have never witnessed the electric cremation process, so I can’t write anything about it from experience, as I can in case of cremation on pyres. It is said that electric cremation is faster and cheaper. It definitely does not directly pollute Gangaji, like the cremation on wood does. Although the chimneys of the crematorium do emit acrid smoke of the same nauseating smell of the burning flesh. Apart from my nearly daily passage through Harishchandra Ghat while either going to or coming from Kedar Ghat, I had also been to the cremation ghat with the dead bodies of my grand parents and of some of my neighbours. As I grew up, I lost at least the sense of the fear of cremations and dead bodies. Passing Harishchandra Ghat and all that occurred there had a curative effect.

Yet, I could not lose the fear of death: my death, despite living in the city of death. Ironic. Isn’t it? I could turn away from it. I could look away. I could run away from it, but I could never defeat it. I could never remove it from my mind. Immortality: physical and complete, seems to be the only effective antidote to that fear. At the present level of human scientific development it seems an impossibility, for me at least. I don’t feel that fear nowadays. Don’t have any time for things like rumination and philosophization any more.

The Gali Puran 2

The stereotypical Kasi resides in its ghats and galis; the real one too. Life, as it is lived in Kasi, can be seen in its galis and on its ghats. The galis: I have always loved some of their aspects and hated some others. A lot of negatives go into the making of the life in the galis. So many, that many spend their whole life in those galis, hating them all the times. Dreaming of being able to flee some day. I have hated the galis and loved them in parts at the same time at some point in my past. Then I chose to move away, yes I “chose”. I have not found peace anywhere in any Indian city for around a decade now. Yes, I remember how my gali used to be. It still is the same, and altered. My eyes are the same and they have altered in the way they look upon the world and upon the place where they started learning to see. The galis: life there used to have a different rhythm altogether, once upon a time. Yes, despite that risk of idealization, of that imposition of sweetness on nostalgia, I will attempt to look back at my life in the galis and at the galis themselves with love.

The tall buildings in the galis, on an average four storeys in my muhalla, make the galis special in all seasons. During monsoon downpours, water flows like it does in a river in flood. The whole walkable, stone paved surface of the galis is filled with water current ankle high. Children find these rivulets very appealing to their sense of adventure. They make paper boats and float them in their narrow, temporary rivers. I have spent many a rainy hour doing the same, my brother too, and many other grown ups of my gali, who used to be children once.

Walking in the galis in those times is very difficult, whether one wears shoes or chappals they both have their set of challenges. The shoe wearer faces a surety of wet shoes and hours of hard work later in making those shoes normal and wearable. The chappal wearer who wants to avoid his feet getting wet and dirty faces miles of dirty water bringing a dilute solution or mixture of the grime and filth of the whole locality towards him. The best solution is to walk through the galis, but not on them. Chabutras make a walkable option in those times. Although they have been the same all the time, their utilization was limited to a select few who could climb them properly, maintain their balance, and get to the lower level of the gali confidently.

Summer afternoons can be very punishing on the roads of Kasi as the temperature may rise to around 50 degree celsius and the lethal loo makes it too risky to walk upon. Narrow and densely populated with houses, the  galis of Kasi provide a refuge to the weary traveller in two ways. If he wants to take rest, there’s shade and a chabutra to sit nearby. I have seen people asking for and being offered jaggery and water (different tumblers for different people, based on their religious markers or supposed caste). Or he can walk on, under the shadow of the tall house-trees in the narrow galis.

Galis are narrow, nearly generally, but some of them make the very word “narrow” appear broad in comparison. I have read it in many books and in many blogs by the non-Banarsis that galis give rise to a strong sense of claustrophobia. For a kasiphile, it is very difficult to understand. These galis have always been my home. I have never felt so warmly and strongly towards any other artificial physical structure, save the ghats. The moment I enter the galis that make the dense network roughly between Dashashwamedh Ghat, Godowlia Crossing, Shivala Ghat and Mata Anandmayee Hospital, I start feeling safe. A definite and palpable feeling of peacefulness descends on me and I feel that I have reached home at last. It happens every time. Galis are my house extended. There is only one gali in which I was born and brought up. I feel nostalgic about my life back there. It is about the past times and place together that arouse nostalgia in me. Whenever I look back, I see my parents and brother with me, and I see us at our house in my gali. When I dream about my place and people, my house is in the same gali every time.

Galis are communities in themselves. I know about the galis that have a very homogeneous population, based on caste and occupation of the majority. My gali used to be different, occupation wise. Now, the caste scenario has changed too, as many houses have changed hands and the new owners are not the same that have been living there for as long as the collective gali-memory can remember. I left my gali a decade ago, and my gali has changed a lot in that time. It will change some more in the time to come, as I have the insider’s information that some of the houses are going to be sold. Urballaghology may look at this kind of change with objectivity, not me. As I had mentioned in the very beginning of the posts on change in the city, I fear change. I suffer from allaghophobia and I suspect its roots lie in thanatophobia.

The Gali Puran

The galis of Kasi have been compared to a labyrinth in various places. I have called them fluvidrome, network, maze and many other things. Some have hated them for their ubiquitous filth. Some have passed their whole lives in those galis with their problems and hatred. Some have loved and lived there for their whole lifetime. And some have lived sentenced to stay away for their whole life span, yearning to return. The question is of perspectives.

These galis perform the function of joining. In the old city they join the river with the city and one part of the city with another. Taking the broader and more voluminous end as the beginning, the galis originate at various main roads, as in the image below that was taken from inside a gali. The cyclist is going towards the main road that begins at base of the pole to the left and ends at base of the wall of the houses in front. Another gali begins after the wall. It goes towards Hanuman Ghat, crossing Oudh Garbi, Chipi Tola and Hanuman Ghat mohallas. The gali covers a long distance and empties its contents in Gangaji between Karnatak State and Hanuman Ghats. It crosses eight more galis before actually reaching Gangaji, and in gali terms, it’s a rather short gali. The longer ones go on for two to three kilometres without breaking onto main roads.

The galis are slippery for many reasons. People of the galis are  fond of regular application of the ritual purity of water on the stone or brick surface of a certain radius facing their house in their gali. The waste material and the remains of the food etc. of the houses are thrown at definite intervals at some unhappy corner of the gali. That corner, I remember the various corners in various galis very clearly, stinks so permanently that the stink remains even when the place is cleaned occasionally. Then there is the permanent clogging of the sewer lines problem. One gali or the other in the network will always have an overflowing sewer line: private or public.

Cows and bulls, as it is well known, are found in abundance in the city of Mahadev and they roam freely in their domain. They are sacred and aren’t scared of anyone. I’ve seen bulls attacking fruits or vegetable stalls and seizing something from the target: a cucumber, a melon or some bananas. They are chased away, pushed or given a blow or two with a stick, only to return and repeat the same process a couple of minutes or hours later. They know the limit to which a shopkeeper can afford to use violence with them. So does the shopkeeper.

There is a close relationship between the galis in the old city (that I call Kasi) and the ghats and the river. These galis must have begun acting as arteries bringing fresh water to the city and, at the same time, as veins carrying all that needed cleansing to the river. Not long ago, people around lived a life that depended on Gangaji. Their habitations were connected to their lifeline through the galis. Kasi, where the sacred intermingles with the common in such a way that it becomes difficult to differentiate, gangajal has always had a place of central importance. People living around the river used the galis to reach it: day after day, year after year. Their lives were spent centering on the river and the galis. The time has changed now. So have people. This change has affected the relationship between the people and their surroundings.

The water that they needed to carry home every day is now supplied through pipes. The clothes they needed to wash at the river (I know it pollutes heavily and modernization has brought in a good change here) are now washed at home with the same supply water. But with the good change came the bad one. Their relation, material and emotional, with their mother-river was broken. Urballaghology must focus on this duality of change, of how good accompanies bad with certainty.

The galis themselves have changed a lot. As a child, I saw them first paved with bricks, then with brick shaped stones, and finally with square, larger stones. Some broader galis The galis paved with bricks or smaller stones tended to slope strangely and the cracks between the unites used to create a very uneven surface, not good for bicycle rides and prone to deposition of filth and grime. The square stone surfaces started replacing the other kinds around a decade ago and are now predominating in Kasi. The squarer stone slabs are joined with cement mixtures. Therefore they are definitely cleaner in comparison to the previous ones, even after rains. The improvement in this aspect of the gali can be admired only by those who had become habituated (forcibly, that is) to walking either barefoot or in the common chappals at all seasons, and by those forced to walk on the precarious stretches filled with inches of the mixture of dirt, cow dung and other refuse even while wearing shoes.

Of course, there are sections of galis in some parts of the city whose surface can never be seen as it’s always covered with a layer of muck composed of water of various origins, cow dung, house wastes in various stages of decomposition and dirt. Even old kasiphiles will not go there until it becomes absolutely essential. Even then, they will try to take some bye-lane or make a detour, e. g. there is a specific turn in the gali ending at Kshemeshwar Ghat, passing Kedar Ghat Post Office, turning left at the temple in front of it and then walking for ten metres, that I try to avoid.

Till now, the post has been critical of the galis for some length. It has focussed on some of the stereotypical points that make these galis so notorious. The coverage does not  include all that’s to be feared of. There is a lot more in those icebergs that meets the eyes.

Kasi Aesthetically 2

Be it night or day, Kasi ghatscape is always beautiful. In the two images above one may see the curved shape of the ghatscape stretching from left up to the range of the images at right. To me, ghats around Kedar Ghat gave an entry into the mysterious realm of Kasi ghats. Looking towards Dashashwamedh Ghat from my point of entry, I always felt that a force beckoned me to push forward, at a fast pace too, and make my nearly-daily circuit to Dashashwamedh Ghat and then back through galis or ghats depending on several minor factors including my mood that day.

The beauty of the ghatscape lies in a nearly equal nature-architecture partnership. The arc separating river from the ghats has Gangaji (nature) on one side and the ghats (architecture) on the other. Looking at the river and focussing on its water flowing so slowly that it seems to be stagnant, only the floating flowers & c. confirm the direction and speed of the current, increases the chances of getting peace for the receptive mind. Looking at the ghatscape, specially the distant one on crowdless days, once again there are possibilities enough for feeling an internal peace. What fills the mind with peace and contentment is called serene. Isn’t it? Now I may be wrong but I think that it is this serenity of the whole zone that lies behind its beauty.

The ghatscape has a mesmerizing and addictive effect on people. Once addicted, there’s no cure.Where does that addiction come from? From the beauty of the ghatscape I think. There are many such addicts who have been coming to the ghats since their childhood, and if things continue peacefully, will continue coming till the last day of their life. A long time ago I naively used to think that I was one of them. Now I know, future must never be presumed. I separated myself from my Kasi. Now, there’s the risk of that spontaneous overflow of powerful feeling that some would term poetry. Words like Kasi, separation, nostalgia etc. always have some such kind of effect.

Let’s focus on the task in hand, i.e. beauty and Kasi. The nature half of the equation of beauty lies towards the eastern side of the arc separating the ghatscape from the river. As mentioned in one of my previous posts, the gigantic mirror of a river reflects the ever changing colours of the sky. From grey to vermillion to turquoise, its colour keeps changing.

         

The architecture half of the equation of beauty is the ghatscape the flows alongside Gangaji. The endless number of steps in the staircase, innumerable big, small and micro-temples on nearly all the ghats, the flow of people, they all enhance their beauty and attract millions towards them.

Kasi’s beauty is such, it’s said in the puranas, that Mahadev has blessed it with his presence forever.

Kasi Aesthetically

For a long time I have been doing only fact based posts only on Kasi, with some feelings interspersed (How could I ever write about Kasi sans emotions?). The time is ripe now for moving to a more abstract level. I think that I can judge beauty of certain varieties at times: times when I am in a receptive mood. Now, fear of the visceral kind is totally different, it is felt irrespective of time, without any choice or judgement. So, in a receptive mood with a full stomach and some time in hand to spend in my own way, I am all set to admire the beauty of my city. What’s more, I am very much willing to lay bare the reason behind my judgement.

 The architectural splendour of Kasi is best seen on its ghats. In the images above, the stone building has cornices and parapets under the chajja that I find appealing due to their beauty. Why do I call them beautiful? The colour of stones, the symmetry of curves and circles, the arches and chajjas: together they create what I call beauty in the images above. But how? The elements taken separately: will they still be beautiful?

Yes, I like the warm colour of stone: the material that goes in making a lot of buildings in my city. Is it beautiful in itself or it’s my association with it that lends it beauty? Had it been beautiful in itself, all the spots on all the pukka ghats of Kasi would appear beautiful to my eyes. They don’t. The beauty is in the construction: the solid high walls, the carved doorways, windows and chajjas, the domes and chabutras and the circular to polygonal columns. Let’s take the various architectural elements one by one.

The solid high walls of the buildings above lend grandeur to them. In consonance with other features these walls contribute to the beauty of the buildings. Had it been only about solid high walls, the buildings in the images below would have looked equally beautiful.

To me, they don’t. It’s not about only the walls then. The other factors also play their role. Some complexity of design in the two images that came before these two is essential to arouse an aesthetic response. In the two  images of buildings on two different ghats below, I see a lot of beauty. Once again, the colour, solidity and height of the stone walls is present. In addition to that, the curves of the parapets on the verandahs and roof, the arches between the columns supporting the chajjas, the corbels and the chhatris: they all go into the creation of a sense of beauty that sometimes hovers near the sublime.

The images below bring in the chajja with parapet and corbels in the equation of beauty. There’s a jaali of stone in the image to the right below. It’s a part of the famous observatory ghat: Manmandir Ghat. The design on the base of the parapet and on the parapet itself adds beauty to the overall structure. The whole ghatscape is interspersed with such marvellous stone buildings.

 

O Paar

(Photo: Dr. A.P. Singh)

This post is about the “other” of Kasi: Ramnagar. For a non-boat rowing/going Banarsi like me, there are very few occasions on which he visits the city that lies on the bank of Gangaji opposite to Kasi. My knowledge of that side across the river (o paar) is limited because for my own reasons I don’t cross the river on boats. I had been there a couple of times, crosing the river on the bridge near Samne Ghat. Dr. Singh sent me a snap of the entrance to the palace of the erstwhile rulers of Banaras (Only Mahadev is the King of Kasi, the mortals rule on his behalf). So, let’s begin with the palace.

Change, as it pervades the air, has not left the palace untouched. No, I’m not speaking of modernization. I am more concerned with the Disneyfication of the world. Compare the colour of the upper and lower halves of the entrance in the image. The palace that I had known since around 1991 had always had ochre walls that went with the colour of the building material and that of the buildings nearby. This new palace is not the one I had known. The very colour declares that it has been a policy decision to convert the colour that was set by tradition of the soil into the colour now set by the popular pastel shades. It may also be an indicator of internal changes to come later. let’s return to o paar then.

 

As the sun starts peeping from behind the veil of darkness, the first thing one sees from where the sun rises, sitting on the ghats of kasi, is o paar. At night the colour of the area exactly facing the ghatscape is different shades of black. With the rising sun, thin lines of grey appear on the horizon. After a little while, when shapes become clearer, a wide sandy bank and a line of trees at a distance can be discerned. Boats start appearing on the river with their tourists and pilgrims.

 

Most of the boats remain close to Kasi side of the river, but some of them go to the opposite bank. There are few regulars in the boats who feel good responding to the call of nature o paar.As for many others, I never could guess what they found there. My independent visits had been either walking with Arup mama or cycling with Biplab generally, or later, with Upendra. My later bicycle visits were for the jalebi that one gets in Ramnagar in the morning. On all the occasions we had crossed the river through the pontoon bridge, i.e. never in the monsoon season. I have seen the Palace and its museum. I had specially liked the old cars section and a couple of old paintings of different festivals on the river. What I never visited, as we used to be pressed for time, was the temple of Ved Vyas.

It is said that those who die in Kasi get liberation from the cycles of life and death. It is also said that those who die on the opposite bank get another birth in the form of a donkey. As far as the re-birth as a donkey is concerned, the same thing is said about Maghar. Kabir Das, the iconoclast, decided to die in Maghar and left Kasi at the end of his life. He did it to challenge what he thought was obviously a lie because for him, moksha must be earned and not be given by default. The result was the opening of a question that has not been answered conclusively. So, what comes after death separates Kasi from Ramnagar. It is also said that Ved Vyas got some kind of curse to stay away from Kasi and he went to Ramnagar and lived there. He is worshipped in the city as its patron saint. Thus, Kabir and Vyas, in their own ways, did challenge the othering of Ramnagar in their own way.

Both the cities have stood facing each other for centuries. Their fates made one shine brighter than the other. The exact factors and the dynamics of discrimination will be interesting to know.

The New Kasi Circuit 6

(Photo: Dr. A. P. Singh)

I remember how, a long time ago, either Arup or Amol mama had told me a story related to the marble beauty in the image above. Once upon a time, not so long ago, Swami Dayanand Saraswati had come to Kasi. (No, dates are neither given nor asked for in such stories). His aim was to establish his interpretation of the vedas. He knew that if he established what he interpreted of the vedas in Kasi, the spiritual capital of India, he will have won a great and certain victory for his cause. Adi Shankaracharya had come to Kasi for the same purpose two millennia ago.

So, when Swami Dayanand Saraswati came to Kasi, he challenged the pandits to a shastrartha (an argument based on one’s insights on and interpretations of the shastras). The challenge was accepted and the day and place were decided upon. On that day, they all reached Anand Park beside Durga Kund and Temple Complex. They had a long and heated shastrartha. In the end, when Kasi’s pandits found Dayanandji too strong in his arguments, they resorted to abuse and hurling of shoes and slippers (I was told this part of the story dripping pride in the cunning of the ever-victorious Banarsi) and the Swami had to leave Kasi precipitously. Today the marble monument in the park stands paying homage to the great sage. As if, after ejecting the person unceremoniously, the city was celebrating his erudition and his spirit.

To reach this park one has to climb the steps of Assi Ghat, some time in late afternoon, take tea at the base of the tree by Pizzeria, and walk towards Assi Crossing. On reaching the crossing, one should neither turn towards Lanka nor towards Bhadaini, but press on towards Abhay Cinema Hall. after crossing the cinema hall one reaches the temple set in a spacious compound that became remarkable for me a long time ago when somebody told me that Pandit Narayan Mishra lived there (he was alive then). Who did not know the gentleman? He was a very famous person, social worker and if I remember it correctly, a reputed politician too.

     

So, after walking a couple of metres towards Durga Kund, one reaches the Kurukshetra pond that roughly faces the Padmashri Complex. Padmashri used to be a very popular Cinema Hall in yester years. I remember having seen few movies there with the whole extended family as a child, it was converted into a residential complex like Shivam, Vijaya etc. Change, the destroyer of past, keeps tormenting the kasiphiles and terrorizing the kasilogists in many ways. Urballaghology being one of the central streams of this blog, change must be analysed closely here.

Many cinema halls of the olden times have lost their audience in this age of multiplexes and movie downloading. I don’t know whether Kasi has any multiplexes or not. I suspect that it does, or will soon have one. The business of the cinema halls has gone down. So, they either start showing B or C grade movies (like Natraj did before being taken down) or close down. After their closure, they are either converted into malls or residential apartments. Not only cinema halls, many hawelis and buildings of Kasi have fallen to such times or are waiting for their turn. The very idea of a Devaki Nandan Khatri’s Haweli falling to the fell hands of fate fills my mind up with pain and revulsion. But I do feel in my bones that something like that may happen soon.

Let’s return where we began. So, one has nearly reached Anand Park where the marble structure stands. facing its main entrance is Durga Kund. I remember the Kund in its prime. It was the centre of life of the whole locality. People used to rech the Kund in the morning and treated it as a substitute to Gangaji. They used to take bath, clean their clothes and go to the temple for daily darshans. The Kund has been converted into a reservoir of green rotting water now. There are fenced walls on all the sides and nobody is allowed to reach it. It’s ornamental and devoid of the warmth of life today.

The main road that runs by the temple goes to Lanka and BHU. But that’s a long circuit, not  apart of this one. One may turn right instead and go to Gurudham Temple that lent its name to the colony around it. The first time somebody told me about the temple was a couple of years ago. I was on a mini-circuit of Kasi with Professor Das Mahapatra: a kasiphile and an energetic traveller. It was he who told me about the temple. We decidede to visit it some day. That day has not come yet. Then, coincidentally, the lot of snaps my friend Atma sent from Kasi on my continuous pestering also had two of the temple.

(Photos: Dr. A. P. Singh)