Holy Water at Night

An early afternoon flight to Varanasi, one of the world's oldest continually inhabited cities, gave us plenty of time to deal with airport security.  Note that passengers aren't permitted to carry catapults.

A rolling staircase enabled us to board our packed Jet Airways flight, which lasted a little more than an hour and gave us a glimpse of the snow-capped Himalayas in the distance.

JP, our guide, met us at the airport with a van and driver.  After a brief stop to check in the hotel, we took a pedicab to the old city, passing this lively funeral procession along the way.

As we neared the Ganges River, the crowd became so dense that we walked the last quarter-mile, more than a little nervous about getting separated, until we reached the water.  Thousands of full-moon pilgrims already had begun assembling on the ghats, a series of almost monumental stairs that descend to the water and extend for about seven kilometers.  These Indian soldiers had gathered on one of them, waiting for the sun to set.

JP hired a rowboat.  George boarded first.  I call this the "calm before the storm" shot.  A little more than an hour later he threatened to jump into the river if we didn't return to our hotel immediately.  As much as most of us shared his desire, it would have been fun to call his bluff.

Pilgrims use these tiny oil lamps, filled with ghee, to seek holy blessings.

Our rower never smiled but he navigated the congested waters smoothly, jockeying to get us good views of the celebrations and funeraly pyres on the ghats.  Thankfully, the row boats weren't equipped with horns. 

The water was as crowded as the streets in places.

The competing loudspeakers made it impossible to hear JP's reverent explanations of the spectacular onshore rituals and decorations.  Religious men are always so sure of themselves.



I enjoyed the puja oil lamp ritual mostly for its photographic possiblities. 

Thom never managed to successfully launch one of the lamps on the water.  In fact, he napped through much of the boat ride proving once again that he can fall asleep anywhere.

By the time we persuaded our guide that we had had enough spirituality for one night, the scene at the river's edge looked like something that might have been painted by Hieronymous Bosch.