Varanasi - the crazy heart of Hindu beliefs

Sarnath: holy place for Buddhists

Saturday 5 February

I haven't talked much about the poverty, but it hurts to see so many millions of virtually destitute people. One feels so helpless and overwhelmed by the scale of the problems. I can't begin to grasp how many of them find anything to eat. They are of course very thin (except for some of the businessmen, office workers and train travellers in AC2 who are suspiciously plump).

They are remarkably good humoured, tolerant and polite (except those preying on the tourists). I've not seen any anger - amazing given the traffic. Again, religion probably re-enforces acceptance of one's lot - maybe things will be better in the next re-incarnation ...

I watched a lorry park on the wasteland below and 50 to 100 people clamber out of it and make off in a procession towards the Ganges. One of several loads of pilgrims I witnessed during the day.

I had a rendezvous with the Germans, Mick and Siggy, with whom I had shared the taxi from Khajuraho. They had hired a car for the day and invited me to share it with them. The driver was a jolly man, with pour English and lots of cheerful misunderstandings. Once again I'm "auntie" (he claims to be 45 but his oldest son is 33...). The car is a big, solid Ambassador, one of the two cars one sees in India, which looks like an Indian model of the old Humbers of the fifties and sixties. I'm glad it was so solid as he was an awful driver. We went imperiously down narrow lanes, scattering cyclists and rickshaws to left and right of us, as he kept his hand almost permanently on the horn. Clearly Ambassadors should expect a clear road ahead.

After a couple of domestic stops for the Germans to pick up air tickets and money, we were off to Sarnath. I'm grateful to them, as I don't think I would have gone there on my own, and it was qute an experience.

Sarnath is one of the four holiest places in India for Buddhists. It was here, in the deer park, that Buddha preached his first sermon. The park is now a peaceful, well-kept archaeological site (with deer grazing round the edge) containing the remains of

Enjoyed a leisurely breakfast on the hotel roof (closely observed by some greedy monkeys), gazing down at the open space below, opposite the hotel. Apart from a small temple, which predictably broadcasts religious music all day (its loudspeakers thankfully facing the Ganges), and what looks like a communal refuse tip, it is occupied by families living in flimsy shelters, with a mixture of plastic and matting as their roof.

I haven't talked much about the poverty, but it hurts to see so many milliants of virtually destitute people. One feels so helpless and overwhelmed by the scale of the problems. I can't begin to grasp how many of them find anything to eat. They are of course very thin (except for some of the businessmen, office workers and train travellers in AC2 who are suspiciously plump).

They are remarkably good humoured, tolerant and polite (except those preying on the tourists). I've not seen any anger - amazing given the traffic. Again, religion probably re-enforces acceptance of one's lot - maybe things will be better in the next re-incarnation ...

I watched a lorry park on the wasteland below and 50 to 100 people clamber out of it and make off in a procession towards the Ganges. One of several loads of pilgrims I witnessed during the day.

I had a rendezvous with the Germans, Mick and Siggy, with whom I had shared the taxi from Khajuraho. They had hired a car for the day and invited me to share it with them. The driver was a jolly man, with pour English and lots of cheerful misunderstandings. Once again I'm "auntie" (he claims to be 45 but his oldest son is 33...). The car is a big, solid Ambassador, one of the two cars one sees in India, which looks like an Indian model of the old Humbers of the fifties and sixties. I'm glad it was so solid as he was an awful driver. We went imperiously down narrow lanes, scattering cyclists and rickshaws to left and right of us, as he kept his hand almost permanently on the horn. Clearly Ambassadors should expect a clear road ahead.

After a couple of domestic stops for the Germans to pick up air tickets and money, we were off to Sarnath. I'm grateful to them, as I don't think I would have gone there on my own, and it was qute an experience.

Enjoyed a leisurely breakfast on the hotel roof (closely observed by some greedy monkeys), gazing down at the open space below, opposite the hotel. Apart from a small temple, which predictably broadcasts religious music all day (its loudspeakers thankfully facing the Ganges), and what looks like a communal refuse tip, it is occupied by families living in flimsy shelters, with a mixture of plastic and matting as their roof.

I haven't talked much about the poverty, but it hurts to see so many milliants of virtually destitute people. One feels so helpless and overwhelmed by the scale of the problems. I can't begin to grasp how many of them find anything to eat. They are of course very thin (except for some of the businessmen, office workers and train travellers in AC2 who are suspiciously plump).

They are remarkably good humoured, tolerant and polite (except those preying on the tourists). I've not seen any anger - amazing given the traffic. Again, religion probably re-enforces acceptance of one's lot - maybe things will be better in the next re-incarnation ...

I watched a lorry park on the wasteland below and 50 to 100 people clamber out of it and make off in a procession towards the Ganges. One of several loads of pilgrims I witnessed during the day.

I had a rendezvous with the Germans, Mick and Siggy, with whom I had shared the taxi from Khajuraho. They had hired a car for the day and invited me to share it with them. The driver was a jolly man, with pour English and lots of cheerful misunderstandings. Once again I'm "auntie" (he claims to be 45 but his oldest son is 33...). The car is a big, solid Ambassador, one of the two cars one sees in India, which looks like an Indian model of the old Humbers of the fifties and sixties. I'm glad it was so solid as he was an awful driver. We went imperiously down narrow lanes, scattering cyclists and rickshaws to left and right of us, as he kept his hand almost permanently on the horn. Clearly Ambassadors should expect a clear road ahead.

After a couple of domestic stops for the Germans to pick up air tickets and money, we were off to Sarnath. I'm grateful to them, as I don't think I would have gone there on my own, and it was qute an experience.

Sarnath is where Buddha preached his first sermon, in a deer park 13 kilometres from Varanasi. It is now a peaceful, well kept park (still with deer grazing around it), with the remains of the many monasteries and giant stupas, many built by the Emperor Ashoka, who converted to Buddhism in 262 *BC*! These include the famous Ashoka pillar, which once stood 20m high. At the top was a magnificent capital with four lions (the national symbol of India, on all its banknotes), now sitting in the excellent museum beside the park. As well as the ruins of stupas (burial mounds intended to house the relics of Buddha and other important followers, there was one magnificent complete stupa which is on the spot where Buddha is believed to have preached his sermon. I first saw an elderly couple solemnly walking rouand and round the stupa (in clockwise direction), then as I got nearer, I saw people praying and contemplating, including whole families. The movements were familiar to me from my yoga classes, though no way could I have dropped to the ground and prostrated myself with head on ground with the ease that they all did! I got the impression that most were probably Nepales or Tibetan. (There are also varous temples around the park, includng a Tibetan one.)

As well as the pilgrims, there were Indian tourists, fewer than usual, but interestingly more who spoke English and wanted to talk to us, including a nice couple on holiday from a town near Calcutta.

The archaeological museum was really good. Apart from the four back-to-back lions, there were some superb statues of Buddha, probably dating from some time BC. It is frustrating that photography was now allowed in the museum. Once again I benefited from eavesdropping on a group with an excellent guide, but still, there is a whole new set of religious symbols and names to become familiar with.

Then Mick and Siggy wanted to buy some silk, something Varanasi was famous for, and I was happy to go along for the ride. For the ride? Ho ho. I ended up spending nearly as much as them! The driver (deliberately?) misunderstood the name of the shop they wanted to go to, and we went first to two silk emporiums where we sat on mattresses and had reel after reel of gorgeous silk opened with a flourish before us. The second place was Moslem and it is apparently in the moslem quarter in the centre of the old city where a lot of the silk thread (imported mainly from China) is washed, dyed and woven. Siggy was looking for a particular colour, which she did not find. I, however, bought a couple of scarves - the beginning...

Finally we got the driver to take us to the government supported emporium recommended to Siggy. It is a fixed price place (a relief after the exhaustion of bargaining) and a promising sign was that all the other customers were Indian women.

We saw some mouth watering saris and if I (or Kate or Jude) had been petite and Indian, some incredible bargains in ready made silk Punjabi suits (the loose trousers and dresses on top which many Indian women wear rather than saris). Siggy, who is small, did buy a couple. I settled for a lovely sari, but havent decided whether to have it made into something, or just enjoy it in its completeness.

Final stop: the tailor near both our hotels. Or rather, the man who fronts the shop for two tailors. This was another lengthy, enjoyable experience, though I wish I could take my shoes on and off and sit down on mattresses more elegantly! Albert was the man's name, and he is a Protestant from Kerala - the first Christian I have met. He measured first Siggy, who was having a dress with jacket made up, and then me (for two much needed cotton shirts) most efficiently and discreetly enquired whether we wanted the garments closely fitted or "comfortable". Needless to say I opted for the latter. I should know at lunch-time today whether I look like a vast sack or not. I said to him that it was sad that Indian clothes were not made in giant sizes for people like me - and he instantly produced two gorgeous silk dresses. Well 'dress' is not quite the word, as they are essentially vast rectangular pieces, sewn up the sides with a drawstring in the middle. I bought them both, again, not knowing what I will do with them, as they are lovely, and a snip at about five quid each.

Enough for one day, so I collapsed back in the restaurant, glad to devour my thali after a day without food or drink.