1/29/06: Very Happy Anne(and Rick)versary

For the first time, our flight (to Varanasi) took off (and landed) without a hitch, and we arrived in the City of Learning and Burning by mid-day. Ten thousand Hindu, hundreds of Buddhists, five Jewish, and one Christian pilgrims per day descend upon this Indian version of Jerusalem.

Just 10 km away and almost three millennia earlier, Siddhartha delivered his first sermon under a bodhi tree. Our local guide, “Hairy” Krishna, waxed eloquent on the Buddha’s life and enlightenment, as we visited a modest temple, an enormous stupa containing ashes of the Buddha, and a small museum containing relics and statues from nearby buildings. The site was razed by the Muslims in the 12th Century AD, but had been a center of Buddhist learning and is now being excavated, having been rediscovered by the British. The representation of Buddha here is of a muscular, slim, and youthful man, very unlike the Chinese fat-bellied Buddha. While circling and chanting mantras, we stopped to feed our souls (and flash cards) during a stupa-side service performed by a traveling monk for a well-adorned group of Korean tourists.

Upon arriving back at the Taj, we all showered (no, not communally) and donned the kurtas and shalwar kameez that A&P had ordered for us. Although resplendent, none of the natives were fooled by our cultural camouflage gear (must have been Anne and Susie’s hair). Undeterred, we mounted our caravan of marigold-covered rickshaw cycles for a ride through the streets of Varanasi. Based on the broad smiles triggered by our garb among the locals (they were laughing with us not at us), we were clearly the free evening entertainment, as we rode down to the river. Along the way, we encountered barbers, holy cows and holy men (AKA sadhus, in white face), paan stands, flower merchants, truckloads of sari-clad mourners, and sidewalks strewn with hordes of beggars. However, our brief and stimulating ride was merely prelude to the symphony of spiritual adventures to come.

As the sun set behind us, we descended the steps of the ghat to our four-man oar-powered, two-story, two-musician riverboat, for our tour of the sights, sounds, and spirit of this holiest of Hindu waters. The sunset scene by the riverside defies words, as thousands gather to purify their souls and burn their dead. Heading up-river, we arrived at the cremation ghat, where flames from 18 fires lit up the riverside, and the souls of loved ones are launched and kharma released to their next life. Back at the main ghat, hundreds of locals and pilgrims prayed along with ten holy men performing rituals, as an armada of tourists on rowboats gawked and flashed.

Further downstream, off in the distance, a mansion was slowly lit up on the bank of the Ganges. Little did we know that this Raja Ghat was our dinner destination, an anniversary dinner beyond our wildest dreams and imaginations. As our boat approached the shore, we were royally greeted by a sensual cornucopia--the brilliance of 1,000 candles, the beauty and scent of flower leis, a harmonious pair of bagpipers, the blessing of a sadhu, a chorus of chanting monks, and a tasty thali feast, all in the privacy of our own special palace. Once again, Anita and Prabha had managed to surprise and delight us. How will we ever top this anniversary celebration?