Yesterday was an important day for the Jagannath Temple to celebrate a festival called Rathyatra. People from all over India visit the temple to participate in a ritual where the deity is bathed with water throughout the day. It is believed that by evening, the deity becomes unwell due to the prolonged bathing. Typically, sweets are offered in temples, but once the deity is said to be sick, offerings change to parwal (a type of vegetable) and basil soup. This soup is then distributed among the people as a blessing. Following this offering, the temple is closed for the next fifteen days.
Parwal and basil soup is an Ayurvedic remedy commonly prescribed for cold and cough. The idea is that this medicinal soup will help the deity recover. During these fifteen days, the temple gate remains closed, except for a daily opening to offer the basil and parwal soup. After the fifteen days, it is believed that the deity will have recovered, and the statue is taken out of the temple on a chariot and brought to Lord Jagannath’s Sasural (in-law’s) temple near Rathyatra, to allow the deity a period of respite after the illness.
In Benares, the deity is taken to the Sasural temple, while in Puri, the statue is brought to Lord Jagannath’s aunt’s temple. The statue remains there for two days, after which a large fair is organized. In Benares, the statue is paraded on a chariot and placed on the main road near Rathyatra Crossing for three days. After the fair concludes, the statue is returned to the temple. These are the only three days in the year when the Jagannath Temple in Benares is without its statue. This festival is known as Rathyatra.
While the fair in Benares is significant, it is not as large as the one in Puri, which is enormous. Last year, over ten million people attended the Puri fair.
Lok Samiti organized another group wedding for 32 underprivileged couples on May 10th this year. It was a grand event, with over 8,000 attendees. I arrived around 1 PM and saw families bustling with preparations for the wedding, everyone was brimming with excitement. The wedding was held at a Hanuman Temple near Rajatalab, Varanasi. Given the temple’s limited space, the event was set up in an open area behind the temple. They had erected a tent with a beautifully decorated stage for the couples.
Lok Samiti also arranged food for the attendees of the wedding. The main objective of organizing a group wedding is to eliminate dowry practices and assist underprivileged individuals in getting married. Since the wedding is officially registered and managed by Lok Samiti, the groom’s family is legally bound by a document that prohibits them from demanding any dowry from the bride’s family, either now or in the future. I find this approach commendable. All the couples who married under these conditions were so impoverished that they would have been unable to afford a wedding on their own.
Lok Samiti gave bicycles to all the grooms and sewing machines to the brides so that they can be self dependent. Actually a lot of people come to Varanasi city area from the villages to work and the idea behind giving bicycles is that these people can use theses bicycles to come to Varanasi and work. The same idea is behind giving sewing machines as well, that the brides could do some sewing work and make some money. A lot of people from different parts of India and abroad had donated money to make this noble event true. I was responsible to bring some foreign donation.
Lok Samiti’s members had been collecting donations for the past three months and, ultimately, they raised a total of Rs. 2,60,000, which included cash, grains, clothes, and other items. The MP from the Rajatalab area was the largest donor, contributing Rs. 66,000, while his wife was the second-largest donor, providing sarees worth Rs. 15,000. Many others also made generous contributions, giving a variety of gifts and supplies. I was also encouraged to contribute, but unfortunately, I was unable to due to the current economic situation and a lack of work. Last year, I had donated clocks to all the couples on behalf of Sanjeevani Booti.
Lok Samiti appointed representatives in various villages to find individuals interested in participating in the group wedding. These representatives approached villagers to gauge interest and initially selected the men. They then informed these men about the available women and facilitated introductions between their families to arrange the marriages. I heard that some of the couples had traveled from other districts. The couples varied widely in age; some appeared to be over 40, while others seemed as young as 15 or 16. However, Lok Samiti assured that they only select participants who are over 18.
Lok Samiti had initially organized the group wedding for 30 couples, but there were concerns that not all 30 might be present. In the end, however, not only did all 30 couples show up, but two additional couples also decided to get married on the spot. These two new couples selected their partners from among the guests and informed Nandlal Master, the President of Lok Samiti. Although Lok Samiti had prepared only 30 specially designed wedding chairs, they quickly arranged for two additional regular chairs to accommodate the extra couples, ensuring that all 32 couples could be married.
This group wedding was somewhat different from a traditional Hindu wedding. Instead of the usual rituals, the ceremony began with the couples adorning each other with flower garlands. The grooms applied sindoor to the brides’ heads, and the couples then held hands as a symbol of their lasting relationship. Instead of the traditional fire ritual, they circled the Hanuman temple seven times. After completing these key elements, the families were free to carry out any additional rituals or customs they wished. Once the seven circles around the temple were completed, the couples returned to the tent to continue with the remaining ceremonies.
It was truly enjoyable and fascinating. This year’s wedding felt more progressive from the brides’ perspective, as all the brides were asked to unveil their faces. In last year’s event, the brides had their faces covered with their sarees. Although the brides initially appeared on stage with their faces covered, Lok Samiti later instructed them to reveal their faces. It was quite a sight to see 32 couples getting married simultaneously. Overall, my experience was positive, though there were a few aspects that puzzled me. For instance, I noticed some brides seemed to be sleeping, which gave the impression that they were either uninterested in the marriage or that the ceremony held little significance for them.
Lok Samiti is planning to organize a group wedding for 51 couples again next year on May 10th. They have chosen this date because it is the wedding anniversary of the MP (Member of Parliament) from the Rajatalab area. Since he is always the largest donor and a key supporter of this event, they have decided to hold the wedding on this date annually. I’m excited for next year and look forward to seeing all the brides and grooms excited, joyful, and fully awake.
A few days ago, my friend Prabhu fell seriously ill with severe stomach pain. He was rushed to the emergency ward at BHU (Benares Hindu University) Hospital. The doctors diagnosed him with a serious condition but were reluctant to admit him, citing a lack of available beds in the emergency ward. They directed Prabhu’s family to check the general ward, which also had no vacant beds. Despite Prabhu’s intense pain and distress, the doctors refused to attend to him. Desperate, his family decided to take him to another hospital, Mata Anandmayi Hospital in Bhadaini, but faced the same issue—no available beds. Prabhu was in agony, nearly fainting, and when they returned to BHU, the doctors displayed a concerning lack of compassion, refusing to even start treatment.
Prabhu’s father pleaded with the doctors, even touching their feet to request treatment, but was met with a cold response. The doctors continued to insist there were no beds available. Frustrated, Prabhu’s family sought help from a contact who knew the former president of the BHU student union. After the former president intervened, BHU finally arranged a bed for Prabhu at around 11 PM. Tests and treatment began, but the doctors recommended transferring Prabhu to PGI, Lucknow for surgery. When Prabhu’s family arrived at PGI, they encountered the same problem—no beds available. Prabhu’s brother reached out to a well-known figure in Lucknow, who made a call to the hospital. Following this intervention, PGI managed to provide a bed for Prabhu.
At PGI, after a brief examination and review of his previous reports, the doctors diagnosed Prabhu with colon cancer. They recommended surgery but warned that there was no guarantee he would survive even ten days. The cost of the surgery was Rs. 1,25,000 ($2,500). Fearing the worst, Prabhu requested to be brought back to Benares, preferring to face his fate there. The news of Prabhu’s condition spread quickly in our neighborhood, and everyone was deeply saddened. I suggested to Prabhu’s family that they seek a second opinion at the renowned TATA Memorial Center in Mumbai. I contacted my friend Alok in Mumbai, who arranged an appointment and forwarded Prabhu’s medical reports to TATA Memorial.
The doctors at TATA Memorial reviewed the reports and concluded that there was no evidence of cancer. They indicated that the diagnosis from PGI was incorrect. I relayed this hopeful news to Prabhu and his family, who were overwhelmed with relief and joy. Prabhu was admitted to a private hospital where he underwent successful treatment and is now recovering well. Meanwhile, I had a distressing experience at BHU when my baby fell from a chair and suffered a head injury. We rushed to BHU’s emergency ward, only to find that the registration counter had already closed. After receiving instructions from security guards, I entered the registration room from the back door and saw staff preoccupied with counting money.
When another patient tried to register through an open window, a clerk became aggressive and injured the patient’s hand. I managed to get a registration paper and submitted it to the doctor, who then required me to write a declaration that I would not involve the police in the future. Despite the urgency, there were no available supplies like nylon thread for stitching. I had to leave the hospital to buy these items myself. After waiting for over an hour and a half, junior doctors finally started stitching my baby’s wound. This was in one of Uttar Pradesh’s largest hospitals, and the lack of timely care was shocking.
Having experienced such poor service, I now share Prabhu’s apprehension towards BHU and will avoid it for any future needs. I sought treatment for my baby elsewhere and had the stitches removed at a different hospital. The condition of government hospitals is deplorable; their focus seems to be on money rather than patient care. Despite the considerable revenue and international reputation of institutions like BHU, the reality of their services often falls short. For many who lack health insurance and cannot afford private hospitals, this situation is dire. The question remains: are these hospitals designed to save lives or to fail those who seek their help?
I witnessed something truly bizarre recently, which might be considered quite unusual even for an Indian. While I was sitting in an auto rickshaw, the driver was pulled over by a policeman who then sat next to me. Typically, police officers don’t pay for transportation, whether it’s an auto, bus, or train. After a few minutes of driving, another individual tried to stop our auto, but the driver refused. He explained that this person was also an auto rickshaw driver and was looking for a free ride. The other driver was furious and began shouting loudly.
We encountered this irate driver again near the railway station. He had arrived ahead of us, parked his auto, and was waiting for us. This time, our driver stopped, and the angry driver approached, grabbing the policeman by the collar and hurling abuses at him. I, along with the others in the auto, was shocked to see an auto rickshaw driver berating a policeman so publicly. The second driver claimed that the policeman had tried to ride in his auto without paying, and when he refused due to his auto being full, the policeman had slapped him.
It seemed the policeman had come to our auto after this incident. The driver continued to yell at the policeman, demanding to know why he was slapped, while the policeman merely replied that he would deal with him later and threatened to arrest him. The driver then accused the policeman of routinely sitting in his auto without paying. He boldly said, “Do I give you Rs. 10 every time I drive to the railway station to get abused?” He revealed that police officers would charge him Rs. 10 each time he drove to the railway station, a practice that he had endured for a long time. The policeman, caught off guard by this revelation, fell silent.
The driver’s response was impressive. Another rickshaw driver shared that police officers have set rates for different routes, with drivers in the downtown area paying Rs. 60. Trucks and tractors are banned from entering the city center after 8 a.m., but they frequently do so by paying bribes to the police, who stop them at every intersection but only for show. As I watched the altercation unfold, I was quite entertained by the driver’s defiance. However, to my surprise, a few other bystanders started siding with the policeman.
Despite widespread knowledge of police corruption and harassment, these people began supporting the officer. The policeman seemed emboldened by their support and became more assertive. The crowd, now favoring the policeman, urged the driver to move and let the policeman go. Eventually, the auto rickshaw driver relented, and the policeman, now with the support of a crowd of over fifty people, was let go. As the station approached, the policeman got out of the auto without paying the fare, just as he had done before.
It was striking to witness such shameless behavior. The driver will likely face repercussions for his actions, but his bold response to the policeman was remarkable. It’s a stark reminder of the kind of bravery we need to tackle the most dangerous kind of corruption in India—often embodied by those in positions of authority like the police.
I encountered a group of more than 15 French tourists on a train recently, and I was struck by the sight of so many of them with freshly shaved heads. Most of them were quite young, and it seemed unusual to see so many bald heads together. Curious, I asked one of them why they had chosen to shave their heads, and they explained that it was part of a ritual for purification. They mentioned that they were aware of the tradition where many Indian pilgrims shave their heads when they visit Varanasi, and they decided to partake in this practice themselves.
When I asked if they felt purified, they described a sense of amazing happiness, inner peace, and a release from stress. Despite their enthusiasm, they seemed to have a limited understanding of the reasons behind the practice, only noting that it was done for purification. I inquired where they had their hair shaved and learned that it was done at Dashashwamedh Ghat. I personally would avoid getting my hair shaved there, as I’ve found that the barbers at the ghats don’t always maintain the highest hygiene standards. While their razors are changed frequently, the actual razors aren’t always properly cleaned, which is concerning.
I used to think that Westerners were very particular about hygiene, but this experience made me question that assumption. It was quite a sight to see this group, and as we parted ways, I commented to the girl I was speaking with, “You are very brave, and you have a lot of brave people with you.” Whether or not they truly felt purified, I was intrigued by their experience. If I were to consider such a ritual, I would certainly bring my own razor to ensure proper hygiene, rather than relying on the ghats’ barbers.
During my time working for the Financial Times in Varanasi, I had the opportunity to spend time with the Musahar community, a group still considered untouchable in Indian society. Traditionally, Musahars are known for collecting and making bowls from Pipal leaves, a craft that has become increasingly obsolete as plastic bowls have replaced their traditional products. We visited a Mushahar village near Mehndiganj, Varanasi. The village consisted of simple clay huts, and the interviewee was a 24-year-old married woman whose husband worked as a rickshaw driver.
The family of six included her husband, father-in-law, mother-in-law, and two daughters. Despite their dire economic situation, none of their daughters attended school. Her husband earned only Rs. 25 (50 cents USD) per day, and due to their caste, no one in the local community wanted to ride in his rickshaw. During the harvest season, Mushahars get some temporary work cutting grains on other people’s land. Ironically, while they cut and handle the grains that others eat, they are not allowed to sit on the same rickshaw or access the same resources due to their caste.
Their payment for this labor is often in the form of grains rather than cash. They typically receive around 150 kgs of grains per year, valued at Rs. 2000 ($50), which is not enough to sustain a family. The traditional occupation of making leaf bowls has lost its significance due to the widespread use of plastic, further impacting the Mushahar community’s income. Although this practice persists in smaller towns, cities like Varanasi are slowly abandoning it. During the interview, the interviewer was shocked by the family’s meager income and gave Rs. 500 to the interviewee as a gesture of empathy.
The local guide suggested distributing the money among the villagers. However, this led to a heated argument among the community members. The interviewee insisted on keeping the initial Rs. 500 for herself, while the villagers argued that it should be shared. The situation escalated into a conflict, and we had to leave quickly to avoid further violence. The village had only a hand pump and a well for water, both of which often dried up during the summer. Being near a Coca-Cola plant, they faced significant water scarcity issues. The local people, aware of their caste, would not allow them to use their water resources. As a result, the women of the Mushahar community, who are responsible for fetching water, had to walk 2-3 kilometers daily to get water.
When we arrived, the villagers brought out a Khatia (a rope bed) for us to sit on. However, when they asked about my caste and learned that I am a Brahmin, they refused to sit with me due to the caste differences.
During the month of Savan, a significant pilgrimage period in Varanasi, many pilgrims, known as Kavariyas, visit the city. They wear orange attire and carry sticks with pots of Ganges water as part of their ritual. About 7-8 years ago, a notable incident occurred involving a 10-year-old Kavariya. Early in the morning, around 4 AM, this young boy, who had consumed bhang (a traditional cannabis preparation), took control of a train at Banaras railway station. The train was scheduled to depart at 6 AM, and its drivers had left the engine running while they went for tea on the platform.
Government authorized bhang shop in Varanasi
The Kavariya, under the influence of bhang, climbed into the driver’s cab and started the train in reverse. Without any knowledge of train operations, he drove the train in the opposite direction—from Gorakhpur to Allahabad, instead of the intended route. The train, which was meant to travel at a much slower pace, was speeding at 120 km/h, ignoring track conditions and speed limits. The situation quickly escalated as other trains were halted and media attention grew. The boy, who appeared to be enjoying the attention, continued driving the train while smiling and greeting onlookers.
Bhang balls
Eventually, the railway authorities decided to derail the train to stop it. They placed sandbags on the tracks and used track brakes to bring the train to a halt. Fortunately, the boy was unharmed in the incident. The train fell but did not result in any injuries. The boy was arrested, and the train drivers, who had left the engine unattended, were dismissed from their positions. The official explanation from the government was that the boy was mentally unwell, but many believed that his actions were a direct result of being under the influence of bhang. The general consensus was that the drivers’ negligence contributed significantly to the incident.
An anthropology student named Adam Sergent from the University of Chicago stayed at my guest house for a month. Like Lane and Dave, Adam wanted to learn Hindi with Bhasha Bharti. Although he had initially intended to study Hindi with Bhasha Bharti for three months, he had to adjust his plans. Bhasha Bharti didn’t have the availability for a full three months, so Adam decided to study in Varanasi for a month before moving to Mussoorie for the remaining two months. Adam had previously studied Hindi with Virendra Singh at Wisconsin University, so his proficiency was moderate.
When I asked why he wasn’t continuing with Virendra Singh in Varanasi, he explained that Virendra Singh spends summers in the U.S. teaching at Wisconsin University and only returns to India for the winter sessions. Adam attended classes at Bhasha Bharti for six hours a day, but found the schedule inconvenient, with classes from 8 to 11 in the morning and 4 to 7 in the evening. After about 15 days, he decided to leave early to conduct research related to his future work in India. He was pursuing a PhD at the University of Chicago with a focus on labor at construction sites.
Adam had a positive experience learning Hindi at Bhasha Bharti, although he had some minor complaints about the classroom environment. He noted that his chair was positioned under a fan, causing dust to fall on him regularly. Despite these issues, he was generally satisfied with his time there. He then traveled to Delhi to observe construction sites for his research. He provided my brother’s contact information in Delhi for local assistance. Unfortunately, after spending just two days in Delhi and sampling the local food, Adam fell ill. He was hospitalized for three days and received four drips. This experience made me question the quality of Delhi’s food, as I also had problems during my last visit there.
Adam managed to reach Mussoorie to continue his Hindi studies at a local school, with accommodation arranged through the school. However, upon arrival, he found the door to his lodging locked. The house owner informed him that they had relocated to Dehradun for the month and could not host him.
Adam reached out to me for assistance in finding alternative housing in Mussoorie. I contacted a friend in Dehradun who helped locate a new place, but by the time it was found, Adam had already secured alternative accommodation. Due to a family issue, Adam decided to cancel his Hindi classes and leave Mussoorie earlier than planned.
According to HinduDharma, there are four stages of life known as Ashrams: Brahmcharya, Grihastha, Vanaprastha, and Sannyasa. The Brahmcharya Ashram represents the student phase, which ideally ends by the age of 25. While one can continue to study beyond this age, marriage is generally expected to follow. The Grihastha Ashram begins at 26 and lasts until around 50, during which individuals are expected to marry and build a family. Vanaprastha, the stage from 50 to 75, is a time for preparing for the final stage of life, Sannyasa.
During Vanaprastha, individuals are expected to fulfill their familial responsibilities, such as marrying off their daughters and helping their sons become self-sufficient. They should also start preparing for Sannyasa by engaging in meditation and rituals. Sannyasa, which starts at around 76 and continues until death, involves renouncing worldly attachments and living a life of asceticism. Sannyasis, or renunciates, do not stay at home but reside in monasteries, which are available in every Indian city, where they live free of cost.
To become a Sannyasi, individuals must perform various rituals, the most significant being the symbolic renunciation of their physical body. They often stand naked in the river while reciting mantras, symbolically discarding their worldly self. Though they remain physically alive, they perform all the rites usually done posthumously, signifying their detachment from earthly life. Consequently, Sannyasis’ bodies are never cremated; instead, they are submerged in the river. Once they have entered Sannyasa, they are bound by strict rules.
These include prohibitions against handling money, dealing with fire, cooking, and consuming flavorful food. They must beg for their sustenance, purify their food by washing it, and repeat the name of Lord Ram 21,000 times daily. They traditionally wear orange clothing, symbolizing their devotion to Hinduism. Brahmin Sannyasis carry a staff, which is also submerged with their body upon death; no other caste members receive this staff. Sannyasis typically reside in monasteries with other Sannyasis, dedicating most of their time to repeating the name of Lord Ram.
They might receive occasional visits from their families, but generally lead solitary lives. During my work with researchers, I met numerous Sannyasis, and their stories were consistently surprising. Most expressed a profound eagerness for death, often stating that they hope to meet their end soon. I once spoke with a 70-year-old woman who had lived in a monastery for 30 years, waiting for death. She was the first female Sannyasi I had encountered. She explained that while females do not undergo the same rigorous rituals as males, they follow similar rules and live in separate sections of the monasteries.
She came to Varanasi with her husband, who had tuberculosis. After his death, she continued to live in the monastery, awaiting her own. Despite the unconventional nature of her life, she was deeply content and looked forward to her final moment. In contrast, I also spoke with a male Sannyasi, around 70 years old, who had embraced Sannyasa at 35 due to personal tragedies. Though he appeared quite ill, he too was happy discussing his impending death. I found it intriguing how people could be so content discussing their end.
Another Sannyasi I met had turned to Sannyasa to escape legal consequences. Accused of multiple murders, he sought refuge in Varanasi and became a Sannyasi to evade the authorities. He continued to live a relatively comfortable life, with family visits and monetary support, which was contrary to the austere image of Sannyasa. My experiences with various Sannyasis revealed a wide range of motivations and circumstances. Many seemed to view Sannyasa as a form of penance or a path to liberation. Despite a recent decline in the number of Sannyasis, Varanasi remains a unique destination where people come to conclude their earthly journeys.
Lok Samiti organized a group wedding for 30 impoverished couples in Varanasi with the aim of providing security for the brides and promoting dowry-free marriages. All the couples were so poor that they could not afford a wedding on their own. Typically, the groom’s side demands dowry, but in this event, no dowry was allowed. Instead, all gifts for the brides and grooms were provided by Lok Samiti and other donors. I was invited by Nandlal Master and asked to contribute. Seeing the event as an excellent opportunity for my NGO, Sanjeevni Booti, I decided to participate.
With around 10,000 people expected to attend, I discussed with Lane about contributing gifts and conducting a survey on AIDS awareness among the villagers. We decided to give clocks as gifts because they are long-lasting and frequently seen. Lane had initial concerns about the ethics of giving clocks but eventually agreed with the idea. Lane covered all the expenses, including the clocks, pamphlets, survey sheets, and travel costs. I bought 30 clocks and had Sanjeevni Booti’s name printed on each one. We packed them with a pamphlet about AIDS in each packet. I asked Raju and Sonu, fellow members of Sanjeevni Booti, to assist with the event. Raju, who was busy with his job, agreed to help for a day’s pay, while Bablu could not be persuaded.
On the day of the wedding, Raju, Sonu, and I arrived at the venue. Lok Samiti members were busy decorating the stage, arranging chairs, and preparing flowers. They had also organized food for over 10,000 people. The preparations had been ongoing for a month, with chefs preparing sweets for a week. Numerous political leaders, social workers, and donors were present. The wife of Mehndiganj’s block representative contributed 30 Benaresi sarees for the brides. Lok Samiti invited the grooms and brides onto the stage. Although 30 couples were scheduled to marry, two were unable to attend, so 28 couples participated.
They exchanged garlands, completing the marriage formalities. Nandlal Master then presented a document for the couples to sign—many were uneducated and simply thumb-printed the paper. Nandlal read the document aloud, stating that the couples pledged never to fight, to live together, and that no dowry would be demanded. Any breach would result in legal action by Lok Samiti. Afterward, the couples proceeded to a nearby Shiva temple for the final rites. Traditionally, Hindu weddings involve walking around a sacred fire, but in this case, the couples circled the Shiva temple instead, with Shiva standing as witness to the marriage.
The wedding concluded with the distribution of gifts. I handed out the clocks with Raju, Sonu, and our driver. Other gifts included sarees, watches, pots, and additional items. Lok Samiti provided each bride with a sewing machine and each groom with a bicycle, believing these items would help the couples become financially independent in the future. Amanda, my American friend, also contributed a sewing machine and two boxes of refined oil. It was a memorable experience to see 30 couples marry simultaneously on the same stage.
I found it particularly interesting that three of the brides appeared to be sleeping on stage, which seemed unusual for a wedding. Nandlal Master mentioned that Lok Samiti plans to organize similar group weddings in the future, with 51 couples expected next year. I appreciated the way Lok Samiti handled the event, ensuring everything was formalized on paper, which should help prevent dowry demands and ensure the brides’ security.
