The Hindu Business Line : The flow of life

With the Ganga as its lifeline, Benares throbs with ancient energy. The city’s younger generation however grapples with the many faces of modernity.

Sumithra Thangavelu

The Kashi ghat: Torn between tradition and modernity.

Sumithra Thangavelu

Black waters glistening against a full-moon night, voices of children selling small earthen lamps along the ghats, gentle strains of the sitar floating across the narrow streets, or the sliver of truth that runs through flesh and bone as you take a dip in the icy waters…

We are in Benares, one of the world’s oldest living city cradled by the mighty Ganga river.

One can’t help but wonder what makes the city so alluring even after centuries have passed by it. It is here that the Ganga takes a broad sweep north before flowing eastward. Here the ashes of the dead mingle with the energy of hope and prayer that touch its waters every day.

“Benares means shakti,” says Babaji, who is nearly 80 years old, as he rests his walking stick on the cement slab under a Peepal tree before sitting down. “It has an energy that’s all its own, which is why people travel from far to come here,” he says. “I have seen other cities but it’s only here that I get mental peace. What I love most is the Ganga,” he says.

Ganga is the lifeblood of Benares, a city known by many different names, the more famous being Kashi and Varanasi. It is entwined in the people’s daily life in one way or the other. You can see the young and old walk down the ghats (steps leading into the river) to sprinkle water over their head before starting the day, or hear locals leaving “everything to Ganga Ma”. Many feel privileged to live in a land where death is embraced without fear and draws energy and hope from its waters. Every evening, the river goddess Ganga Ma is worshipped with song, lighted camphor, and flowers in a dance-like ceremony that lasts an hour. Tourists from across the world come here just to watch this ritual, said to date back hundreds of years.

Life springs up in the wee hours of the morning as the saffron-clad people living near the ghats wash their robes and bathe. Pilgrims enter the water till it is waist-deep and offer prayers to the rising sun. Flat elevations along the ghats double as spaces where people practise yoga, while, a little away, groups jump into the river for a swim. All these moments are captured by camera-toting tourists on their early morning boat-rides as part of their tour package.

The untold stories

Most books and Web sites on Kashi also feature these images against the backdrop of majestic 13th-century forts and other structures that line its ghats (there are approximately 79 ghats, according to the book published by Uttar Pradesh Tourism). But what these pictures won’t tell are stories of difficult childhoods, of those making a living off tourists visiting the ghats (see box), or the feelings of uncertainty besieging the youth in this pilgrim centre. A McDonald’s at a multiplex close to the river is symbolic of the change in lifestyle and aspiration levels that’s creeping in.

Benares’ economic machinery is heavily dependent on tourism, directly or indirectly, giving jobs to hundreds in the city, mainly in the services sector. “At the time of British rule, people here didn’t have enough to eat. Today, tourism has brought so many opportunities, especially for the youth,” says Babaji. On a walk along the narrow streets lined by shops selling everything from the famous Benarasi paan to clothes designed by locals that could well find place in any upmarket retail store, 24-year-old Pradeep tells his story.

“I am middle class, and came to Benares from my village nearby to do Masters in Tourism Administration, and learn English. I almost quit the course as it was tough, but stayed on since I had paid my fee. I am happy I did, as now I can speak quite well,” he says. “And can you please correct my sentences if they are wrong…”

Like in many small towns across India, the youth here too feel insecure if they don’t know the language associated with “freedom and sophistication”, and so hundreds of English tutoring centres have sprung up. At the fort-turned-guesthouse we stayed in, Guru Prasad, 25, would use his night-duty hours to write down paragraphs after paragraphs in English. Does he understand the sentences? “No. But by writing it down, I can get familiar with words quickly,” he says.

On the one hand, many youngsters from villages are coming to Benares to work and study, while on the other, many are moving away to bigger towns and metros for better prospects. “You can’t make money here,” says Pradeep, who is preparing to leave for a job interview with a travel agency in Delhi.

Sound of music

For those within the city, the tourism juggernaut rolls on. Many music shops across the city give tourists a taste of Benaras Gharana or Bhojpuri vocal. Even musicians from traditional music families come to these tiny shops to introduce their music or the instrument to a customer. For Rs 50 or so, you can hear them play. The more serious student is taught at the musician’s place.

Many locals are learning music now as it makes good business sense. Monilal Hajra, about 75 years old and a sitar scholar, and Shashikant, who runs a music centre, can’t hide their anger. “Indian music is not a computer. We can’t learn quickly. Like they used to say, you need one life to learn, one life to perform, one life to teach. We need patience in Indian music…” Shashikant trails off.

“Benares is now a big market for music. Even traditional musicians are going after the dollars. We are ashamed,” he says. The guru parampara doesn’t exist now and even the lineage of traditional families of musicians is vanishing, which means the art literally dies with them, continues Shashikant, adding that he hopes to take the music of this city to many through his school. Climbing down the steps from his small centre, the sights and sounds of the city take over. We stop to taste the Benarasi paan — a concoction of beetel nut, clove, elaichi, some coconut, jeera, fruit bits, a dash of sweet Pan Parag and finished with peppermint paste. “The men here start off their day with paan, it helps them work hard,” says Pradeep.

The streets are lined with lassi stalls and tea is served in mud cups. The localised version of the sandwich toaster consists of two rudimentary grills whereby the bread is placed on one and covered by the other; the bread is toasted on fire, and served with plenty of butter. For tourists, there are cuisine centres serving everything from Japanese food to Italian bread.

Like the paan and tea stalls, traffic jams are equally common. Hoards of rickshaws and bikes are crushed together on the small streets and making things worse are the big jeeps and cars filled with tourists. A walk in the old lanes leading to the river is the best way to get a feel of this ‘culture capital of India’. Pathways can take you to ‘real’ musicians tucked away in tiny corners and making exquisite music, or to people like Amal Kumar Mazumdar, who is working with rice clay and sand from the ganges, along with wood and bamboo, to create an idol of the goddess who is worshipped during Holi. Benares feels so old that you think about days when Sushruta, the surgeon, and Tulsi Das, who wrote the Ramayana, lived here. Surely, for the questioning mind, Benares is a city without pretences. It is too steeped in ancient time to be any other way. It can take you on a journey into nothingness and make you the wiser for it.