Up at 5 o’clock to go down to see dawn at the ghats. It is one of the sights to see, was strongly recommended (“a must”) by D + L, + seeing their photos really whetted our appetites. So it was doubly disappointing. Oh, it wasn’t boring, + once again, from a sociological point of view, had much of interest. Just as it might be interesting for a foreigner to witness the beach at Margate, or something similar. But there was no mystery, no magic, too many touts, too many beggars. So we returned for breakfast. After that, it took a good deal of effort to force myself out into the bedlam outside. The Lodge was cool + peaceful, with good pop music from my youth playing over the sound system, so it was only too welcoming. But I generally have sufficient will-power when it comes to it, + the alternative, of closeting myself away, would, I knew, have ultimately been too depressing, if only because it would have proved my own weakness to myself.
We intended at first to visit Ram Nagar, an old fort on the other side of the river, but on the way down to the bus stop, we met an old man who advised us to leave it till this evening when it would be better, + when there was supposed to be some sort of performance. His advice seemed sensible, + (for once) we couldn’t see that he had anything to gain, so presumably it was also disinterested. Accordingly, we changed our plans, intending to visit a temple nearby – it simply meant getting off the same bus earlier. Or it would have done, had we been able to find the bus, or indeed discover any information at all about it. But nobody was able to tell us anything, so there we stood, lost, angry + depressed. In the end, rather than give up completely, we elected to walk. Or to start walking, until a bus came by. As a bus did not come by at all, we walked all the way. It wasn’t all that far, I suppose, but in the morning sunshine, it wasn’t all that near either.
The first sight we reached was a small temple – I don’t know its name. It was fairly insignificant, + we disliked it even more when a self-appointed “guide” – if guide is the right word for someone who points to a statue of Ganesh + says “Ganesh” – attached himself to us in return for baksheesh. Or so he hoped. He was to be cruelly disappointed. He + his slimy accomplice also wished for a couple of rupees to allow me to take a photo. Because of this I didn’t bother, so he probably did me a favour, as it was an uninspiring little building.
The next temple along the street was the “Dunga” temple, Dunga being the “terrible” form of Shiva’s consort Parvati. (I haven’t made a conscious effort to study such things, but one tend to pick them up, usually out of the Gospel According to Tony Wheeler.) It is, however, more popularly known as the Monkey temple, because of the large no of monkeys who live there. It’s very good for them, like some purpose-built structure at a progressive zoo, because of the opportunities it provides for swinging around. As it was a strict Hindu temple, we, being unbelievers, weren’t allowed in. It’s so unfair. Hinduism is one of the few religions which doesn’t allow converts – if you weren’t born into it, tough bananas. We were, however, allowed into a viewing gallery, from which we could look down on the proceedings below – it was probably better, for photographic reasons at least. However, we had to share it with the monkeys, which I thought a bit of a cheek, so we didn’t stay long.
Almost next door was another Hindu temple, but as this one was very modern, both in physical design + spirit, we were allowed in. It was called the Tulsi Manas, + was dedicated to the author of the Hindu version of the Ramayana myth. It was very attractive inside, uncluttered in comparison with other Hindu + Buddhist temples that we have seen, with cool marble used throughout. By now we were thinking that, having come so far, + not having spotted any public transport, it might be as well to forget any notion of returning for a siesta, + that it would be as well slowly to make our way on to the Fort. There was still some time to kill, however, so we decided to visit the University. Varanasi (Benares as was) is dedicated particularly to Hindu + Sanskrit, so perhaps for the reason the University is laid out as if of a half-wheel, the roads being spokes radiating out from the hub. Attractive from the air, no doubt, + on a map, but hard work on the ground, necessitating walking around in a curve. It was green, pleasant + peaceful, however, particularly peaceful since the University was on holiday. The campus was enormous, with vast green spaces, only some of them taken up with sports grounds, between the scattered buildings. These were ornate + large-scale, in yellow sandstone, + all of an architectural piece, so far as I could judge. The one that was different was the one we visited, the modernistic Shiva Temple, like a white space-rocket.
From here we made our way out of the University + then down towards the river, a long + dusty road. To cross the river itself, there was a rudimentary ferry, + we were lucky to be just in time. It was, however, no easy matter to get on, since it was jam-packed full, almost entirely with bicycles. And their riders, of course. At first we squeezed into the main part, but it was uncomfortable, + still more bikes were coming aboard, so following one of our fellow-passenger’s advice, we scrambled around the outside to a small space in the prow… much superior.
The Fort ws interesting, intact, so far as we could see, rather than the usual shell. Val was feeling drained of energy by now, so I went into the small museum alone. I say small, because it didn’t look like it was going to be very much from the outside, but in fact it was both extensive + fascinating. It was just the sort of collection I enjoy, reflecting a personal interest, coming from the Maharajah’s personal collection. My favourite section was the armoury of guns + knives – not that I have a particular fascination for such things, but because the collection was so varied + so massive, with so much that was odd or unusual. In a later section, one was able to peep thro’ a hole in a partition to see a still magnificent ballroom behind, + only after that did I discover that the fort is still alive, in that it was still the Maharajah’s residence, albeit in a smaller section, + presumably in reduced circumstances too.
At the end of the museum, + back out into one of the courtyards, one could take a tunnel leading out to the river, + the fort’s private ghat, with its own barge tethered alongside. Then, coming back out thro’ the gate connecting one courtyard with the next to rejoin Val, I very nearly ran slap-bang into an elephant coming the other way. I got out of his path, deciding that might was right in this case. Val told me that this one was the last of 6, + the smallest at that – he’d looked pretty big to me. After I’d enthused about the museum, Val, having rested, went off to have a look for herself. It gave me a chance to rest, + I was also in a good position to take a photo of the elephants returning, this time all decked out in their finery, with “howdahs” or people-pavilions + all. They are all very old, Val was able to discover, but they still looked superb. We discovered they were all on their way to Lanka, a site some few kms away, for a performance of part of the Ramayana. We were quite keen on going too, tho’ a little nervous, since the last ferry returned at 6, but we were assured there would be no problem about getting back, so decided to give it a try.
At first we had some problems, since the rickshaw driver didn’t seem to know where we wanted to go – it seemed odd, since it looked to us as tho’ everyone was going to the same place, but someone came to our aid, we changed rickshaws, + all was well. Just as we were about to set off, the Maharajah himself rode by in an open carriage, accompanied by half a dozen very dashing mounted soldiers – all frightfully grand. We had the usual quibble at the end of our run with the driver, but we’d discovered the correct price before we left, so felt justified in exercising our usual “droit de seigneur”, + we simply walked away.
It was a strange place, a vast open area, with various odd structures scattered around it, some ancient + permanent, others erected purely for the festival. By the time we had recovered our breath + gotten our bearings, proceedings had already begun. They turned out to be merely a brief introduction, or even a blessing of some kind, but we didn’t know that at the time, + rushed over to catch what we could. It broke up within a couple of minutes, however, + the audience + performers moved en masse to another of the performance sites. As we had been at the back before, we now had the advantage, + were able to secure ourselves a good seat, central, close to the stage, + right behind the musicians.
Little did we know at the time, but there was to be a 2 hour wait before anything would happen on stage. 2 hours of sitting on hard dirt, + the performance after that. But at first things were good, very good. We were sandwiched between 2 groups of musicians, acting entirely independently. This could have been a recipe for harmonic disaster, but in fact it was good, for first one could listen to one group, then, when the other took up + developed a particularly striking theme, one simply switched one’s attention. And then back. The music was basically chants with a percussive accompaniment, with one leader. Each group also had a portable organ, but that was quickly drowned. The musicians were perhaps “saddhus”, or holy men. They were certainly very hairy, but there are many such in India, all occupying different rungs on the ladder of holiness. They were certainly getting heavily into the music, but that was not difficult, for it was powerful, pounding stuff.
Gradually, however, the magic of the music was not sufficient to compensate for the hardness of the ground, + I felt particularly imprisoned when Val went off to find a drink + was a long time about it. Unable to move, because we’d never find one another again if I did. But when she returned, we soon found ourselves trapped just as much by the press of the enormous crowd surrounding us. They were getting restless, too – someone told us they were all waiting for the Maharajah to arrive before we could start – obviously nobody had ever told him that punctuality is the politeness of kings. Eventually, however, + at long last, lit by Tilley lamps on poles, the show began.
It was utterly, utterly appalling, no other words will do. Not that that bothered the crowd, an enormous number of whom were following the events on stage in copies of the Ramayana. Not copies of a play-script, but the original work. There were a couple more of these referees actually on stage, book in hand, marching round self-importantly, + giving instructions as to what to do. Not surprisingly, it moved about as fast as a first rehearsal of a Launceston pantomime, + with about as much excitement. Part way through, there was a demonstration, connected by the loosest of threads to the actual story, by the local Martial Arts group, of sword-twirling, staff-fighting, even a bit of fire-eating, but that too, after the initial excitement caused by the acceleration in pace, soon became dull. They didn’t even bother to put on costume. And then it was over, + we had to return to the dreadful story.
Val + I were literally a captive audience, preventing from moving by the sheer press of people stretching back for 50 yds behind us. But when the 2 principal actors started firing arrows into the audience, one of them struck me (it didn’t really hurt, but it was adding injury to insult) we decided we had to go. Another malcontent showed us the way. Instead of attempting to fight his way back out over all those heads + shoulders, he had gone forward the 10 yards or so to the stage, then across the front + away where the press was less. Within a few mins we followed, causing only a minimal amount of annoyance, but at the very second we reached the stage, the play finished. And none too soon, in my opinion, but we hadn’t exhibited much sense of timing.
We didn’t stop for a cup of tea, because all the stalls had spice tea only – it tasted as tho’ it had pepper in it – but hopped on a rickshaw to take us back down to the river. Despite the protestations of others, we had been rather nervous about finding a boat to take us back, but it turned out alright, for a boat with 5 Europeans in it was just about to push off, + we were lead down the beach to join their party. They had taken 2 hours to come up river, but the journey back was obviously much swifter. At the other end, there was a small altercation. One of the men paid the oarsman the agreed Rs20, + we left, but he pursued us down the street. From his point of view he had a definite case – he had agreed to take 5 people for 20, so now wanted more for the extra 2. From ours, we reckoned we had paid the price for the whole boat irrespective, within reason. And since I knew from what others had told me that he was already charging a mildly extravagant price, I had no qualms at all about the matter. Since I was the one he wanted the money from, I did the arguing, finally concluding the matter by suggesting, in the interests of fairness, that we find a policeman to arbitrate. That concluded the matter. It’s a neat trick, not one that I can claim credit for.
We had trouble finding a meal. Our companions thought that we were being deliberately slighted there by being ignored, so we moved elsewhere. This time Val + I were the ones to object – we thought the place was dirty – so we left. And as it was by now very late, we went home.
Really quite the most extraordinary day – and a very long one, too – reflected in the number of photos which illustrate it.
