95/ 100 Right Side Dog
Be Careful Where You Die.
Varanasi, Kashi, Benares — whatever you want to call it, it’s a place that has wormed its way under my skin and I am drawn to it and conflicted by it in equal measure. I have barely scratched the surface of its deeply intricate history and beliefs and learn something completely new every time I visit. On my last trip there I wanted to find out more about ‘the other side’. The entirety of this huge and most ancient of all the cities sits on the western shore of the holy river Ganges and as for the eastern side? The folk who live in Varanasi have very strong views about that sandy shoreline over which the sun rises each and every morning — that very same sunrise that gives Varanasi an extra dose of auspiciousness — and many of those opinions involve death and rebirth.
There is a lot of death in Varanasi, and for good reason. I have written about it before over on my website. In a nutshell, Hindu people believe that dying in Varanasi is very auspicious. So much so, in fact, that people travel there to do it. If you go about it correctly you will be granted moshka, which is a liberation from the cycle of rebirth. The big boss god in Varanasi is the well-muscled Shiva and, it is said, when you die here he will whisper a mantra into your ear that will allow you to die forever. It is this same belief that leads to babies being placed directly into the Ganges after death without cremation since those children haven’t had a chance to live yet so this gives them a second chance at life.
However, we have heard from numerous people that you must not, under any circumstances, die whilst on the eastern shore because not only will you not be freed from the cycle of rebirth, you will be reborn as a donkey.
The poor old donkey. The beast of burden used worldwide to carry our building materials, rubbish and anything else we choose to attach to it. To be reborn as a creature of such a lowly status would be very unfortunate. The dangers of passing away on the wrong side of the river are not mentioned in the Hindu holy scriptures. Nor could anybody could tell us exactly where this idea came from when I asked but, I would imagine, like so many things, it has been a way of controlling the cremations on the ‘proper’ side of the river and, as a consequence, lining the pockets of those involved in the lucrative businesses of the ghats.
The idea of the poor donkey being the one animal chosen to terrify the people, simply because of its status as a working creature, reflects quite badly on the beliefs of the folk who live there. Labour is so cheap in India that humans regularly do the work of animals. The poorest in society can be found carrying ridiculous loads on their backs, or heads, whilst some of them are used like the unloved donkey, to ferry people around on cycle rickshaws. Personally I hate the rickshaws and my moral beliefs make it very hard for me to use them. These ancient single-geared tricycles are often powered by very old and sinewy men who seem to actually live in the rickshaws, yet still wear surprisingly well-pressed shirts.
Our host Sonu had organised a taxi to the airport for us when we last left Varanasi. Since you can’t actually drive a car anywhere near the main tourist centre of the city we first walked behind his scooter through the narrow lanes of Varanasi until we reached the main road. Upon emerging into the absolute chaos of the main road we didn’t see a taxi at all. Or any type of car for that matter. Instead we discovered Sonu bartering with a rickshaw driver, who must have been in his 60s, to try and lower the already ridiculously low fare. Sonu was irritated that we had arrived before the bartering had been completed because, apparently, the rider now knew he was ferrying tourists and, quite rightly, charged extra. How much, you might ask, for a 20 minute ride along a ludicrously busy road with over 200kg of tourists and luggage? ₨100, or 80 pence.
The road was on a slight incline for the entire route and it was impossible for our captain to start without first pushing his ancient tricycle up the road. Eventually, with a huge amount of effort, he would gain just enough momentum to ride for a minute or two before a TukTuk or taxi would, without a care in the world, drive right in front of him and stop to park. Our driver had to then hop off, push us backwards and around the new obstacle, and work hard to gain his momentum again. I’ll be honest — I found it heartbreaking. I told him I was going to get off and walk alongside but he didn’t understand. I asked Sonu, who was riding his scooter ahead and stopping periodically to verbally whip the rider and encourage him to keep up, to tell him I was going to walk and he simply said that was a ridiculous thought and that this was this man’s job. I even suggested we got a second rickshaw to spread the load but that idea didn’t even warrant a reply and he sped ahead again.
We eventually made it to our filthy white taxi, its doors streaked with bright red gritty rivulets from a succession of drivers who had spat out betel nut saliva since it last rained. I handed our exhausted cyclist the money he asked for, and doubled it by way of a tip. I knew that if Sonu had seen me do that he would’ve been angry and perplexed in equal measure but I didn’t care. The rider did the customary acknowledgement by touching the note to his head, his shiny bicycle bell and his heart before squirrelling it away in his shirt.
I can’t reconcile the rigid social hierarchy I encounter in India. I don’t know how someone can classify an animal with a lowly status that nobody would want, even after death, and yet use lower classes of people the very same way as the creatures they place no value on whatsoever. These incredibly hardworking folk are happy for the work, and will toil for very little money, but there’s no need to exploit them as many Indian folk seem to do.
In all the times I’ve visited Varanasi I have never taken a boat to the other side. This is due in no small part to our friend, and go-to boatman Sonu, who thinks of great excuses never to go over there every time we bring up the subject. Perhaps next time, if I am feeling extra healthy, I might take the risk and pop over to see the camels and try hard not to die.
