IN THE CITY OF MISERY

Dominion, Volume 18, Issue 181, 2 May 1925, Page 18

IN THE CITY OF MISERY

BENARES, RENDEZVOUS OF HUMAN DERELICTS

The Hindus firmly believe that anyone fortunate enough to die in Benares, their Sacred City, escapes the penalty of rebirth in this world; and so the halt, the blind, and the aged from all over India leave their homes and all means of livelihood, whenever possible, and struggle to reach the hallowed spot. Some go on foot incredible distances across the dreary miles of the plains. The more fortunate travel in crowded tliird-class railway carriages, huddled closely together ou seat and floor; while the poorer are content with the open trucks and cower under the fierce sum Squatting in rows, with only a loincloth to protect their bodies, and a dirty wisp of rag ou their heads, the}’ claw at the small heap of curry and rice spread ou a newspaper or a plantain leaf before them, and replete, remain almost motionless, with dull, sullen eyes, gazing sombrely and disinterestedly at • the jostling, jabbering crowds on the platforms, and finally drop off to sleep in hideous abandon. Incredible discomforts they must undergo in gratifying their fierce desire to reach the desired haven; and once there, they can only keep alive by begging for the few cents which suffice for their dqily needs. So that the tourist, from the moment lie steps put of his gharry into the crowded, narrow street leading to a famous temple—and every alley has its own special shrine—must run the gauntlet of a desperately eager crowd of gaunt, repulsive figures in alt* stages of disease, and witii every imaginable kind of deformity distorting grotesquely their poor bodies. However, a few cents is a drop of charity in an ocean of want, and one soon learns to wave the claw-like, pleading hands away, and even to growl in seltddfence the magic word "Jow,” which causes them to vanish in search of other victims. ' > We are glad to leave the narrow, seething alleys full of snfall, shabby shrines and unattractive, .unsavoury humanity, and join the steady stream which is wending jts way from homes and temples to the river front to batne and drink the sacred waters before bteaking' fast, and to have fresh castemarks put on by the priests Gay little crowded carts with jingling bells hanging from the flabby necks _of patient bulls, stately ’ camels with monstrous loads, sacred bulls stopping to ■ muzzle with damp noses among the 'sweet-meat stalls, and goats with canvas bags protecting tlie swollen udders from their thirsty young, mingle -with the gaily coloured crowd and help to thicken the* dust-laden air. Down at the river we board a gaily-painted boat —a doubledecker—and sit on cane chairs on the cabin roof. Stalwart semi-naked boatmen whose bodies; well-massaged with cocoanut. oil, gleam in the sun, row us down stream, hugging the swarming bank, past the innumerable landiiig stages and bathing ghauts which exted for miles down one bank of the river. ' Every pilgrim must pass the wily priests who sit' under huge umbrellas of palm leaves, dotted thick- like giant mushrooms, everywhere, greedily exacting toll from every passer-bv. So strong is superstition, and so great the power of priesthood, that every man denies himself to propitiate the representative of his gods, and none dare bathe on any spot unsanctified by the presence of the holy men. By 6.80 a.m. multitudes are either in the water, their garments on the stone steps which continue far down into ; the river bed. Higher' up; sarces of' every hue are drying, arid, in a few minutes will be ready for wear. The purdah ladies arrive at the water’s edge in gay palanquins I car-

ried on the shoulders of stalwart henchmen, who draw a heavy pall of velvet over them as they step under cover of the ramshackle sheds of palm leaves. Gav small boys, with heads shaven and shorn till only a patch of a dozen hairs is left on the crown of the scalp,swim among the boats, while their younger brothers keep afloat on staunch waterwings made 'of two gourds tied in netted string bags. High on the river bank, above the reach of floods, rise the palaces of the Rajahs, who come once a year to wash away their sins; and against the cobalt sky their, minarets, domes, and. towers stand out in a clear, unbroken line. We row slowly on, our eyes feasting on the human kaleidoscope, till we reach the principal burning ghaut, and, bv good chance, arrive in time to see a Hindu cremation. As we near the landing stage, two men clad only ’in loin cloths, and carrying a whiteswathed figure cn a rude bamboo stretcher! come down the four flights of steps from the temple and deposit their burden on the .unswept, ashstrewn ledge of ground reserved for cremation. The relitives go home to wash and don clean, clothing, and the next-of-kin—male—must go up to the temple again and bargain with ‘the priests for wood and for holy fire. The scene is inexpressibly sad, and absolutely devoid of dignity. On the bamboo stretcher, of course, the corpse, with feet pointing to tlie river, awaits its last human ministrations under the broiling sun; while a few feet away, a group of poor women eagerly gather charcoal used the previous day, into sacks andlbaskets, for their home fires. Arid down on the lowest step a man unconcernedly brushes his teeth with the frayed stick plucked from the useful neme tree, and spits unceremoniously into the water. Presently the firewood is brought down, and the chief mourner lavs two logs carefully, and places the body across. As a child’s house of blocks, the pyre is deftly built on the body with more expedition than tenderness—and the size of the pyre is the measure of the family’s wealth. When all is ready, the priest comes down with a sheaf of burning grass, the mourner lights his torch, and the priest returns disinterestedly to his temple.- Then the torch is carried a dozen times round the pyre, and pushed well under the first tier of logs, just Below the feet, then under the head. Soon 'the flimsy shroud catches alight, and the thin materia’ 1 burns away, leaving the head arid feet exposed gruesomely to the flames—and to the view? The drv logs ignite rapidly, and the body writhes and twitches into sb.rnelessness, while the family watch from a higher ledge, and the lonely attendant “stands bv.” If there has been /sufficient wood there are ashes to gather and fling out-strcam; but very often the j corpse has spent bis all in reaching his last resting-place, and only a scanty supply lias been supplied by the mercenary priests, so that with the ariies, the large benes, holding charred flesh, hurtle through the air and strike the water with a nasty splash, and are seized by “muggers” further down stream. White smoke wisps are still rising from the ground, another stretcher with the red-shrouded body of a woman is borne down the steps. The charcoal-gleaners hastily rake up their loot. The mourners melt away quietly, while the man who has officiated at the last rites goes slowly away, alone, to a ten-days.’ retreat from his fellow men. A few strokes, of the "oars and we are back in the crowded bathing ghauts again, and Life, not Death, bolds sway. —“Sunday Times.”