The Burning Ghats Beside the Ganges

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 182, 22 October 1927, Page 24 (Supplement)

The Burning Ghats Beside the Ganges

To Die at Benares is to be Sure of Eternal Bliss. (Written for THE SI X b^r

LAURA BUNTING)

SIX O’CLOCK on a summer morning in India. On the coffee -coloured waters of the Ganges the sun glinted as yet but feebly, with no suggestion of the ardour he would show in even an hour’s time. TJpon the hank spread the outer rim of Benares, holy city of the Hindus,, with the palace of the Maharajah standing sharply cut against the distant skyline. “To die at Benares,” said my guide sententiously, "is to he sure of eternal bliss.” It might be, but there would be

many discomforts to be surmounted first in the way of stuffy smells, flies, mosquitoes, beggars vociferously demanding backsheesh and a heat that even the nether regions would find it hard to equal. The reward would need to be great. Early though the hour was it was not too early for the hundreds of Hindus who had come down to the river to worship. Only one bank possessed special merit. The other was left absolutely deserted. Behind the people rose the terraced bank, with tier upon tier of houses, brown, cream, yellow and tawny-red in colour, piled high in picturesque disorder. Higher still climbed the pointed turrets, like candle extinguishers, of scores of temples, some in tones of deep brown showing glints of gold, and others russet-red, shaded with orange. Duty or tradition demands that every maharajah and rajah shall build either a temple or a school at Benares. There may have been shirkers, but judging by results most of them would seem to have done their duty. Drifting by in a river boat, exotic scenes unfolded themselves before us such as only India could show. Sacred Shiva bulls, with gentle assurance, jostled their way among the people on the bank, or stopped to whet their appetites with the votive garlands that had been destined for the river. Groups of women, unveiled, clustered together for a few moments on the steps of the ghats to pray before plunging into the water. Others again, like Tanagra statuettes with wet saris clinging to them, rose from the river and disappeared into the pavilions on the bank. Near the boat a Brahman with shaven head and chiselled features, the Brahmanic cord denoting the twice-born crossing his chist, plunged into the river with a loud shout of “Hari Ganges! Hari Ganges!” Here and there among the crowds, entirely oblivious of the life and movement around them, could be seen isolated figures sitting cross-legged on the steps, with eyes closed, lips moving, absorbed in prayer. Sometimes the chanting of the priests would be

with us. I want her now.” Let Ariane go to live with her father and Cavalieri? Never, never. Marceline’s heart broke at the thought. But charming Muratore and fascinating Cavalieri proved most attractive to life-loving Ariane. In spite of her mother’s reluctance to allow her to leave, Ariane went to live with Muratore and Cavalieri. A life of luxury and gay times began for her. “Won’t you please study again, become an artist, so that you will be able to support yourself?” asked Marceline. Ariane wrinkled her fair, white brow. Studying was a bore, she announced. She wanted to dance and go to places and see things. A few nights later, Marceline returned to her modest little flat from the theatre to find Ariane had flown. There was a note, scribbled on the back of an old envelope: “I have gone back to father and to Madame Cavalieri. Good-bye.” The dancing star of the Paris opera fell to the floor. Fate had dealt her the hardest blow of all. She was as if in a daze for weeks afterwards. Then, one day she got a letter from Muratore. They were all in Italy, and Ariane was very happy, he wrote! KL was going to marry Captain Alexander Cavalieri Muratore, he mentioned in a casual way. “In this manner I expect to reinstate Ariane to the position she should occupy as my daughter and give her the name of Muratore, which is rightfully hers,” his letter informed. “Lina wishes this marriage to take place just as much as I do.” _ It was then that Marceline began to sue Muratore for the return of her child. She charged Muratore with abducting Ariane.

i heard and around them might h„ . f, maU Froups of Brahmans seatM^ ; the ground listening ,o the 00 ;of their sacred books p v rea< * l!l ? ; smallest of the children .t™? 11 *** I fold their hands for a momem w 10 they stepped into the water olhf fore to the hand of father or mother An utter absorption in their A. uons, a complete obliviousness l everything around them, the worshippers The religions 2 ludia are rooted in the blood ofV people, and scenes such as jh which have been a commonplace t centuries will remain so for ~“ r more to come. One group among them an invalid whom v~: ; gently, they lowered into the tir2 ■ Who knows? Like Nahmaan of nj, i his faith may have made him *-h 0 u ■ One would like to have known | Half-submerged temples and othe-s ! on the brink of the river told the of encroaching floods. On the steis ' of a ruined ghat sat a yogi in the stan

of sammadhi. With matted hair anf beard, with body smeared with sacrei ashes, and wearing only a loin clot! he had little about him to suggest Western civilisation. Yet it was pot sihle had one spoken to him when he had waked from his trance that he might have answered in perfect English, with even an Oxford intonation Such things happen in India, as pe-. sonal experience has shown. Anfl that ragged unkempt figure, whereve: it might go, would be more welcome than a prince, would have the *‘dns: taken from his feet” (an Indian fora of reverence!, and would have no neec to ask for food or shelter from hi; countrymen. A burst of music, full-throated and joyous, came from a new palatial building further down the bank. It was to be occupied for the first time and its owner, according to the custom of the place, had gathered the widows of the city together to eels brate the occasion with their music Afterwards they would be fed auc paid for their part in what was a religious observance. From the temples the beating of the drums the chanting of the priests and the playing of musical instruments mad-: a great concordance of sound, strange exotic, but extraordinarily compelling in its fervour. We neared another ghat. “The burning ghat,” said my guid l And as we looked the world-oi: drama of life and death turned ye another page. Isolated from the throng, yet still in some curious tray a part of it was a mournful grottf On the ground were two funeral pyres Through the interlacing pieces tf. wood showed a gleam of gold, a fra; ment of crimson silk. Even as ve floated by the match was struck, i thick cloud of smoke arose, enclose: the group. The chanting of tb priests grew louder, the drums seemec to beat with a greater insistence, i burst of flame shot high, wavered then fell to earth. To the waters t the mighty river were added another grain of dust, another speck of is! . . . mortality in essence. Such is the Hindu way at Benares

Less than forty-eight hours befo* the case was due for trial, a telegas was delivered at the home of Maceline Rouvier. It read: pleasure is meaningless without TO- - coming home. Proud to b® Rouvier. —Ariane.” So Ariane left the father who , learned to adore her and came hac!to the mother who had sacrific?I everything for her. But Muratore would not take No for an answer from Ariane. He ® • \ another appeal to the court to B his daughter turned over to him. An; j at the same time, both he and 1 turned up at the divorce office asked to have their marital knot c • I “You see!” shout the “wise; i Parisians. “How significant. If pressed for a more explicit * | planation, they saj': “Perhaps ame Cavalieri got tired of her band's insistence that he hate _ daughter with him. She was v .. for the girl to marry her son, > the girl didn't want to— well, j But Muratore’s obsession to regain I daughter—maybe —annoyed her. “And he can't ever take *■ ~ ! I away from her mother, even at jis divorced from Cavalieri. * j celine won't let her daughter ? her father, and Ariane won’t lea mother.” tr £> Thus the Parisians talk—those - I claim to know how hearts wor - . ■predict that soon Marceline will be given the name of tne who once loved her roman tempestuously, before Lina came along and swept him j,altar. The “perfect love j®,. .was wrecked, they say, becaus * tore’s desire for his pretty An * • rekindled his old love for her