Varanasi
The heat. It sucks the life out of you. It is merciless.
We are here on the holiest day of the holiest festival (loosely, Hindu Christmas). Today’s itinerary includes Deer Park, where Buddha gave his first talk.
I seem to be a magnet for children who peddle small souvenirs. They are relentless and won’t take no for an answer. I get offered, ‘rare’ antiquities, statues, carved soapstone, post cards, toys, beads and jewelry.
The stares of the beggars haunt me. They come in all shapes and sizes…polio victims, amputees, rail thin women with tin cups and a thousand children smiling with outstretched hands. Every movement to and from the jitney thrusts us into a crowd of hands and pleading faces..-
It takes real effort to remember that they are individuals and ,merit individual attention.. Forgetting their humanity is the easiest response to the unquenchable need.
And still, I don’t buy.
Deer Park is a sprawling ruin covering maybe 15 acres. It looks like an aging brickyard. (Turns out that brick is the backbone of India.) The legend is that Buddha first unveiled his four Noble Truths to five friends here. The place is now a government sponsored archaeological dig.
We Visit the Central Tibetan Institute for Advanced Studies (CTIAS). There, we meet Annan who is certain to grow in importance as the trip progresses. Annan runs the multimedia project at CTIAS. He shows us the library (complete, I think) of documents from the various schools of Tibetan Buddhism, His job is to get them all translated and ported to digital form.
The sun has gotten the best of me. We return to the hotel where I pass out for a couple of hours of hard sleeping.
Later that evening, Don and I walk into the city. Over the course of several miles, we are the onlu Caucasians in sight. Both of us dwarf any of the people we see.
The air is charged with the energy that comes from crowdedness. People seem to fit into any and every available crack in the infrastructure. As we walk, the stares and furtive glances are a part of a world where direct eye contact seems to be unacceptable, even offensive.
Charging on, we wind our way towards the other side of the train station. Rickshaw drivers offer us rides and “anything you want, sir’.
At night, the train station is transformed into a huge homeless shelter. Thousands of people, hundreds of families occupy precious bits of floow space under the roof and under the stars.
Privacy is not possible in the homeless life. The public restrooms are either non-existent or unavailable. The result is people pooping and peeing everywhere.
The bugs are amazing at night. Mosquitoes like B-1 bombers compete with swarms of locusts. Flying crickets and bright green grasshoppers steal your attention from the monstrous ants and the non-name other crawly things.
Back at the hotel for a drink and some rest. The jitney leaves at 7am for Sravasti.
October 9th, 2008 at 2:13 pm
Great stuff John, It reminds me of your articles on Route 66. Keep em coming.
October 29th, 2008 at 12:26 pm
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