Varanasi, An Ancient City On The Ganges River
There we were in the city of Varanasi in India, the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world.
Set on the Ganges, Varanasi is one of India’s holiest places and one of the locations in India where there are ‘ghats’ – landings and steps that jut out into the water where women wash clothes, people bathe, and bodies are sanctified and cremated.
A Dizzying Array Of Sights On The Ghat
Picture this: Numerous stone staircases amidst a very wide walkway… thousands of visitors roaming along with buffalo, cows, goats, birds, and packs of wild dogs… people at stands selling drinks and food or at stalls hawking small craft items… old benches and bits of material with poor people sleeping on them… holy areas with sacred Hindu objects… very large areas set aside for ritual prayer that takes place every evening… placards in Hindi and English advertising local shops… local boys having fun playing cricket… rowboats and a few larger boats either moored or on the Ganges – one sees all this and more while strolling on the ghats along the Ganges in Varanasi.
We also paused to look at this goat who had escaped to the steps to enjoy some rest in the hot afternoon sun:
The Girl With Paper Rose Petals
In the midst of this dizzying melange, one also spots another regular ‘vision’ at this sacred place: Children trying to sell one particular item, namely paper rose petals pasted on little paper doilies with a tiny candle in the middle.
“Hello, madam, hello! You buy this to remember your father, your mother, your brother, your sister. I have fire. You put in the water,” one of these poor children says chirpily to me.
This little girl was probably seven or eight. She was wearing a shabby dress that didn’t reach her knees, her hair was matted and filthy, and she was covered with patches of dirt.
She had a grand smile, however, as she recited her pitch that I concluded was her stock line to get foreigners to buy a candle in memory of a loved one to set alight and off on its little course in the Ganges.
“Sorry, I don’t need one,” I said, trying very hard to remember what all foreigners are told by Indians, guide books, and fellow travelers: Everyone will try to sell you everything and then some. So you must be firm or else you will be swamped with requests.
“Please, madam, please,” she said pleadingly. “See what nice flowers I have. Just for you.”
“No, thank you,” I answer.
“You broke my heart, madam,” she replies with a bit of a mock pouting of her mouth.
By now the sight of such a little girl trying to earn money this way was, as usual, making me extremely sad.
I went over to David who was photographing something. She promptly picked up her basket and followed me.
I looked around and couldn’t see that many other kids. David and I had bought a similar candle with roses when we were in the town of Rishikesh to put in the Ganges there, and I had found it a surprisingly moving experience as I watched the little circle of candle and red flower swoosh down the lapping water by the ghat there.
I had already refused another little girl as we were progressing along the ghats, and so I was weakening.
“How about if we buy two of those candle and rose things again?” I asked David.
“If you want to, sure – let’s buy them,” David replied.
I took my money out of my wallet and turned back to buy the items.
This time the girl looked me straight in the eyes and said with a cheeky smile, “Thank you, madam, you didn’t broke my heart today.”
“Don’t Go There. Dead Dog. Not Good. Follow Me.”
Next she flicked two forlorn-looking matches out of a tiny box, showing us how to light the candle before setting our little crafts out on the water. Then she started nimbly leading us down to the shore.
“No, sir, no madam – don’t go there. Dead dog. Not good. Follow me,” she said.
We noticed the dead dog who was half exposed amidst the rest of the garbage that lined the shore, nodded that we agreed with her assessment of the situation, and followed her further along the path to the water.
Now another pal of hers was getting in on the act.
Working The Matchsticks
“You want candle and roses, madam? You buy from me, sir?” she asked us loudly, trying to get our attention as we were picking our way through the river bank.
“No, thank you, we just bought some,” we said.
An older girl who looked like she was at least 15 years old or somewhat older, this girl kept on with her pitch until she realized that we weren’t going to budge. But the matches that the first little girl had given us weren’t working, and now this second girl came to the rescue.
“Here, I have fire. Here,” she said as she whipped more matches out for us.
What’s fair is fair, of course – so we gave her some money for her matches. Then we finally set our candle and roses in the water and climbed back up to the stone steps.
Of course, more kids who had seen the little girls with us were now milling about. And so I was absentmindedly looking for something in the bag I was carrying when another kid came up to me.
A Four-Year-Old Hustler
However, now I was startled. This little girl was no more than four years old – and there she was, with her wicker basket and the same items that we had just bought.
She looked at me with huge, very sad eyes.
“Sorry, no, I don’t want any,” I said, almost whispering at her because she so alarmed me.
She looked down, stopped talking, and dangled her legs a bit on the stone slab on which she was now sitting.
I walked on, catching up to David who was further ahead.
“Look at that kid!! How can the state allow that? LOOK at how little she is!” I said with the same comment that I have repeated again and again throughout our travels in India.
David answers back in his usual sympathetic way, and we walk on a bit. But something about that tiny girl keeps haunting me.
“Wait, I’m going to give her some money. I’m not going to buy anything, just give her something. I can’t stand it. It’s horrible,” I said.
With the sun blazing down, I shielded my eyes over my sunglasses until I spotted the little girl, who was still in the same spot as when I left her.
For A Moment, She’s Just A Little Girl Once Again
I reached her spot once again. I couldn’t resist, and so I went beyond the normal boundaries to which I usually adhered and patted her first on her head and then on her shoulder.
“Here, this is for you,” I said as I handed her an amount worth several of her items.
She automatically started putting together the items to give to me.
“No, I don’t need them. You keep this. It’s for you,” I said as I pushed my hand away to show her that I didn’t want the items.
She looked at me a bit incredulously as she settled her body back on to the steps, her face lit up with a radiant smile.
Rowboating On The Ganges
Time was getting on by then. For several hours, local boat owners had come up to us one after another asking if we wanted to go for a boat ride in the Ganges.
Now that the sun was starting to set, we were aware that it would be a particularly nice time of the day to see the ghats from the middle of the Ganges.
Being Fair To Both Genders
Just as we were negotiating a price with the owner of the rowboat for his services, a little boy approached us trying to sell his paper rose petals and candles collection.
“Madam, you want to buy?” he said, as he motioned to his wicker basket which was laden down with his wares.
We didn’t want any more. However, as I was about to tell him ‘no’, I found myself reasoning that I hadn’t bought from any boy today yet and it would be best if I bought from both genders considering how poor all the kids looked…
“Okay, we’ll take two,” I therefore responded.
Survival Of The Fittest
By this time, the owner of the rowboat was guiding us into the boat. The little boy trotted behind us, now invigorated by his sale.
I got in the boat first. David followed – and then the little boy followed him.
Now the rowboat owner and the little boy were chattering away. The waves were softly lapping about us as the owner started pushing with one oar away from the shore.
As we gave the child money for the rose petals and candles, he struggled at the same time to give us matches – even as the boat owner was by then firmly reminding him that he needed to get off the boat.
Naturally, we were concerned about the little boy, and there were several moments when I saw that his brow was knitted with worry.
But as his coltish legs bounded from one rowboat to another, eventually he found a path back to the shore which he hurriedly pursued even as the rowboat owner gave the rowboat its final push away from land.
Skimming Along The Ganges
We passed other rowboats, some full with tourists and others with Indian religious devotees.
Dusk was coming and as the lights were turned on along the shore, they twinkled in the gentle waves.
We thought it was a good time to set off our rose petals and candles, and tried our best. However, they both toppled over and sizzled in the water.
What mattered to us in the end is that our wishes went with them, no matter that they hadn’t proved truly seaworthy.
Back On Shore To Observe The Ritual
Our little trip on the Ganges provided a lovely, little fillip to our day at the Ganges.
Back on shore, however, we recalled that the daily religious ritual that we knew would begin shortly.
We noticed a very large frame set at the edge of the sand near the shore. It looked like it was set there permanently. Then I noticed that it was divided into seven equal areas with a kind of raised altar for each section. Each area also had its own large bell. The bell was fixed to a long string that went from the bell at the top of the frame to the ground below it.
Identical Altars
Soon seven young men each dressed identically came to worship at the altars which were festooned with wreaths of flowers set on plush, colorful rugs. Various gold objects were then put one by one on each altar by other participants. In the middle alter, two framed photographs could be seen as well.
Soon singing began with the same phrase repeated again and again. Then more participants in the ritual ceremony joined the young men to ring the bells in concert with that same phrase.
The most spectacular part of the ritual was when the seven young men were each given an elaborate candlelabra that was heavy with the smoke of incense.
They swung the candelabras around their bodies as they continued with their chanting without halting for one moment.
Saris And Silver Coifs
The crowds observing this ritual ran from people in boats in the Ganges who had stopped to observe clear through many feet beyond to the stone steps high up next to the ghats.
In the midst of all of this, David and I happened to be standing near a wonderful group of elderly women who were towards the front of the audience and seated on an oversized piece of fabric.
As you can see here, they were dressed in airy saris of various colors and descriptions, their silver hair almost universally parted in the middle and knotted in buns or in long braids:
A Coincidental Meeting
Several days after this experience on the Ganges, David and I returned to the ghats.
David had discovered a restaurant when he was in the area on his own the day before, and he led the way up many stairs as we wended our way up from the ghats.
The stone stairs had the usual fare of activity with people, beggars, animals, vendors, and trash along with the sights and sounds we expected.
At one bend in the stairs, however, my eye caught a little cluster of people. And there sitting at the edge of the stairs on the side of a darkened doorway was one of the girls from whom we had bought rose petals and candles several days earlier.
She noticed us too.
“Madam, sir! Hello!” she said in an animated voice.
“Hi!” we said back, naturally surprised to see the girls again.
“Hello!” we heard again, this time from another direction, where we saw another girl from whom we had bought some matches.
How About A Photograph?
One girl was sitting with a few other people, including an elderly woman who was sitting on her haunches observing us.
She was dressed that day far better than the other little girls with whom we had interacted earlier in the week, which took us back a bit. Her neat and colorful outfit also stood out in stark contrast to the dark hovel which was her home that we could see through the doorway.
After smiles were exchanged all around, we asked her if she would be all right if David photographed her. She was fine about it, as you can see.
The Kids At The Train Station
About a week later, we prepared to leave Varanasi for our trip across the country to Patna and on to Darjeeling.
We often got approached by people begging in train stations during our trips, and this time was no exception.
However, it was the first time for us that we saw this twist: Instead of children on their own, we saw kids begging together.
One pair in particular distressed me. Barefooted and filthy, a girl who looked about nine or ten had her arms around an equally ragged boy who looked about five.
Begging By The Windows
One learns in India that it’s impossible to give money to everyone. It’s a wrenching lesson to absorb, but it’s an unfortunate reality since there are so many poverty-stricken people begging in such areas.
However, the picture of these two kids was terrible as they shuffled along the platform pleading for money.
First I passed by them. But just like the very young girl who so affected me on the ghats, I found myself watching them on the platform.
They weren’t successful in getting any money from passengers on that train, and so they plodded on.
Those Worn-Out, ‘Old’ Eyes
I was touched and moved by the sight of them begging with no success, and so I reasoned that I should step in. Sure, I reasoned to myself and David, one couldn’t give to everyone – but this pair looked so bereft.
So I got out a bill and some change out of my wallet, an amount that was equal to about 75 cents (50 pence). I scrunched it up in my hands to conceal it, and walked briskly down the train platform to catch up with the pair. Their backs were towards me, so I tapped the little girl on the shoulder to get her attention.
She turned around. She looked at me the way a lot of Indians had looked at me, i.e. as a foreigner. Then I opened my hand, and put the money in her palm. She looked at the bill. I glanced over and I could see that she only had smaller change in one of the frayed pockets of her dress, and so I sensed that getting a bill from someone was probably out of the ordinary.
The little boy who I figured might well be her brother was looking up first at me and then up back at her.
She raised her head and then looked directly at me. She didn’t smile at me, however. She just looked at me and then back to what I had put in her hand, her face expressionless. And her eyes looked so tired and incredibly worn out, with a drained expression in them that no child should have to bear.
No ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ Happy Film Ending In Sight
I felt tears well up in me as I turned around to go across the platform to where David stood with our luggage: I knew that my contribution could only be a drop in the bucket, as indeed her eyes had so eloquently just told me.
Now the majority of people to whom we had given money in India smiled at us, I hasten to add. And many even smiled very broadly too.
But that little girl on that hot afternoon in Varanasi whom I had chanced upon… that little girl was memorably different, which made the desperate realities of her and that little boy’s life – and indeed the lives of all the poverty-stricken children in India – all the more tangibly tragic to a Westerner like myself.