Varanasi (Banaras) Part Two

Of all the trips to have a camera stolen...yet there just too much to capture and leaving I'd inevitably feel disappointed that I didn't get a certain shot. I want to show you this place. I want to just say "look" and then walk through the alleys, because it's not just cows and sheep and dogs. It's something new around every corner. Some kids playing cricket while their mother throws a bucket of water out into the thin alley. Someone placing flowers and other items from a blue plastic bag onto the alter of a temple that appears out of nowehere. A motorcycle navigating the thin alley and distracting a teacher and student, who are sitting cross-legged in front of a sitar. Incense pouring out from every shop, it's smoke bathed in the light angling down into the alley. Or the light that hits the Ganges from the corner of your eye when the alley suddenly opens up to the river. The boatmen gliding, bodies being sent off into the holy river, a bathing sadu, a cricket ball splashing into the water and a crowd of children jumping in after it. Sheep hopping up and down the ghats--the many sets of stairs along the river. Then as you duck back into the alley there are TV sets blaring from open doors with hoards of people crowded in front of them while cutting vegetables. And then the every-colored spires rising out of the darkness into the open air, carved gods crowded up to their tips.

Varanasi has a long history of silk weaving, and the owner of my guest house took me, on the back of his motorcycle, to the "Weaving Institute", which exists on the map, but in reality is a lot of people working out of their homes or other small spaces on the street. There is no one place you can call an institute, but rather a web of weavers working over large area of the city. Some young boys were hammering holes into thick carboard for patterns-the patterns themselves had permanent metal patterns with the same holes. The weavers know that computers can do this job now, but they won't give up any part of the art and give away so many jobs. Next door the patterns were strung together into longer cardboard sheets, which would later hang from the top of a huge loom. I cannot describe the loom, except as a giant, clacking beast moving back and forth madly with a little man like a troll hovering above it. And then the hand weavers, working in utter silence, meticulously weaving each gold thread through the fabric. The things they produced tempted me to leave everything and join the textile exporting business. I lounged on a floor covered wall-to-wall with pillows as the exporter (who sends much of his goods to Seattle under a fair-trade agreement) threw bedspreads, table runners and scarves out in front of me. Some were woven with silver and gold. All of them were jaw-dropping representations of a lot of hard work and many generations of perfecting a trade which still flourishes in Varanasi.

We went to the Mother India Temple on the motorcycle. Mohatma Ghandi, in 1918, had wanted to inspire nationalisma in the Indian people. Women gave up their gold bangles to his Mother India (Baharat Mata) Temple project, something that would represent the solidity and spirit of the Indian people during the British rule.

I took a last walk along the ghats last night, watched all the prayers along the river in quiet contemplation, as the bats flew into my shirt and ate the mosquitos so they couldn't eat me. I ended up in three guesthouses in Varasni, one I'd booked in advance, overpriced (Rs650, or about $13) but close to the station and with AC, good for the first night. Last night I stayed at the Elvis Guest House (Rs 200 or$5) whose owner showed me those places I mentioned. There were more lizards on my walls than in other places, but they're harmless and probably get some of the mosquitos. Also the sheets were dirty but I have my own spread. But I need to talk about Sarnath, where I sent my second night. It's about 10km north of Varanasi, and a half-hour auto rickshaw ride.

Running is good in a new place if you can manage it...and the heat is bearable between six and seven. I can remember going for walks in new cities and taking hours to get anywhere with sore legs. But by going for a run I can scope out the places I want to see more of and feel good in the process. In Sarnath, I found myself running in a big square near the deer park where the Buddha gave his first sermons, preached the Four Noble Truths (remember what they are?). There are excavated ruins from a monastery and a giant stupa built by Ashoka in 200 or 300 B.C.E. Antelope and spotted deer are still in the park. Buddhists from all over the world have set up monasteries. There are Cambodian, Thai, Chinese, Korean, Tibetan, Japanese, Sri Lankan, and other monasteries in Sarnath, which is also a sacred place for Jains. I stayed at a guest house ($2/night) where many Ladakhi people stay when they come in the winter time. Tashi's brother Konchok Rigzen is there year-round, and suggested I may not be comfortable ther with the heat. Actually the power did cut out that night so the fan stopped spinning, and my head was turning in the stifling heat, but it kicked back on again later, and Rigzen had provided me with a nice pink mosquito net so the bugs didn't get me. After my run and exploring the Buddhist sites, Rigzen's friend Thupten Choedak took me on the back of his bicycle to the Tibetan Institute, a campus as beautiful, but much smaller than the Banaras Hindu University 10 km back in Varanasi. Then, when I returned to eat at the little Tibetan Restaurant, I was approached by Sriram Jaiswal...