The fact that God, once again, proved elusive is besides the point. That he left me confused by his contradictory interpretations was the essence of this attempt—in search of God.
I have been to Benaras before, many times. But, each time the pull gets stronger and one sees yet another avatar of the city, a miracle considering so little changes in Benaras.
It is considered the oldest city in the world; for sure if Lord Shiva was to come back to this city that he founded 5,000 years ago or if Gautam Buddha was to visit, having been there more recently about 2,500 years ago, they would be pleased to find that little has changed.
The ganja and bhang continues to be sold with impunity, cows still stand blocking conveyances, the street food still alluring, pyres burn tirelessly, god still enjoys man’s attention and godly people ornament the lips of the river Ganga.
No place not even Haridwar, Jerusalem or the Vatican provide such an experience in contradictory spiritual philosophies as Benaras does. In Jerusalem, all who go in seek of providence are the children of Abraham. Haridwar is a monopoly and so is Vatican. But, it is in Benaras that one faces two paradoxical paths to God—the Hindu way or the Buddhist way.
On one end of the city, Hindus discover God in its densest form through the narrow vein of Vishwanath Gali leading up to the Linga; and on the other end, in a sparse habitat, resides Buddhist philosophy.
One is a test of physical fortitude, the other a mindful extravaganza. Both live harmoniously in the same city, albeit on two different ends.
Kashi Vishwanath is crowded with its ritualistic fervor and your attention is either on saving the flower basket from the wily monkey or to not get tripped by the leaning masses. In toil lies one’s path to the almighty is the message and who can argue that. On the other end, Sarnath is devoid of any rituals. Dirt paths and manicured lawns with old ruins settle one’s mind. And then Buddha’s philosophy enshrined in the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path compels the porous mind.
In this oldest city of the world, be forewarned, you enter as you but leave just a little different than how you came. Your sins awash, your soul cleansed, now you are more prepared to be man again in all its glory and its folly.
So, as I made it to the city this autumn, ‘O Kashi! My Kashi!’ are the words that came instinctively as I shared my exuberance with my phone address book. The words were borrowed from the movie Dead Poet’s Society that in turn had borrowed it from Walt Whitman’s poem. Although no connection between the holy city and the poem’s lyrics exists (that we know of), I found some. Check out these lines.
O Captain! My Captain! Rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning
Per the lyrics, at the evening Aarti on Dashashwamedh Ghat, one rises up and hears the bells, the saffron and orange flags wave off of rooftops; trumpets—the venerable conch itself blows; bouquets and ribbons of fresh flowers fly as the shores of the Ganges crowd. The eager faces face the bank from the river and the bank itself sways as if at mass.
Whitman had no idea when he wrote these lines, that in the oldest city of the world—Benaras to some, Varanasi to others and Kashi to the forlorn like me, the lines would bring meaning. The four lines, as if written after Whitman watched the evening Aarti standing on a tug-boat and scribbled them down on the parchment he could find floating in the Ganga.
And such is the charm of Benaras. But so is the city’s dichotomy. This recitation of the Hindu ritual is such a contrast to what happens on the other side of town at Sarnath, where Buddha gave his first sermon. Sarnath is quieter, serene and staid, orphaned by generations of Hindus who stuck to their loud colorful ways on the other side of town.
The Hindu gods all over Benaras pose with patience as devotees line up to offer prayers. Buddha, on the contrary, asked his followers to not worry about god, but to spend living a life that was immersed in good practice. The noble eightfold path suggests right understanding, right thought, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.
Sarnath offers Nibbhana—or Nirvana (perfect peace of the state of mind). Kashi Vishwanath offers Moksha (liberation from the cycle of life and death). From the deserted, freckled brownstone atop the Dhamek Stupa to the caressed, gold embroidered roof of the Vishwanath temple, it is easy to look in wonderment and wonder which path is one’s path.
It is no surprise that I was left with more questions than I came with.
Where will I find god—in affluence or in peasantry? Should I celebrate the majesty of god at the surf of the Ganga or seek the path of the noble saint in humility at his deer park? Do I hold my breath and jump in to the cavernous pull of people, monkeys, flowers, fruit and ultimately in to the holy river or walk in solitary thought under the sky, along the shadow of the ageing Stupa? Am I a pundit or a monk? Do I seek or do I strive? Isn’t the Stupa just a larger Linga? And like Jesus was a jew, wasn’t Buddha a Hindu?
As the car left the city behind, I was left with the words I came in with.
O Kashi! My Kashi!
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(This column will first publish in India Abroad, a rediff publication.)
2 comments:
good piece girish -- the contrast between peaceful buddhist sarnath and clamorous hindu varanasi is very interesting. as we saw the orderly, quiet and laegely affluent pilgrims at sarnath were all from overseas -- thailand, sri lanka, korea. buddha himself walked and taught at that very spot but now has no followers left in his own land
Great, Girish! AS always well written indeed.
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