City of Light, Jungle of Tigers

The week after leaving Agra was dominated by train rides-- about 40 hours of them-- along with another 10 or so hours sitting in hot, filthy, crowded stations. In between these long rides and waits, though, were some iconic Indian experiences. From Agra, we headed east to Varanasi, a city on the Ganges that is one of the holiest places in Hinduism. This is not the right time of year to go there (or anywhere in India, really), as the temperatures the week we arrived had been daily hitting 115 degrees F; the blast of heat as we stepped out of the train was frightening. Although the heat was no better 10 kilometers away in Sarnath, where we had a SERVAS host, the noise and crowding were less. Our host was Christine, a German Buddhist married to an Indian man named Nehru. Christine runs a small eco-guest house that is also their home; they use solar power, build with natural local materials, and cook simple vegetarian food. There is no running water, but a pump in the yard provides plenty. Unfortunately Christine fell ill soon after we arrived, so we didn't get to spend much time with her or Nehru, who was either working in his saree shop or caring for Christine. There were some other travelers at the house, though, who were good to talk to.

Our first morning in Sarnath, the sun did not, as it usually does, burn through the clouds and start scorching the ground by 7. Taking this as a sign of a cooler than usual day, we headed into downtown Varanasi with another guest, a friendly, starry-eyed guy named Tom. He had already spent three months in Varanasi just hanging around, so he made an excellent guide for us in our one day there. We had to fight to get out of Sarnath though-- the auto-rickshaw drivers demanded exorbitant prices, and the public buses one after another refused to stop for us. Finally we all piled onto the narrow bench of a bicycle rickshaw-- incredibly hard work for the driver, with only one gear, but he was very happy to have such a large fare. It took an hour to cover the 10k into Varanasi, giving us a chance to look around calmly at the street scene. (From an auto rickshaw, all you can see is what's at eye level, which tends to be the underbellies of trucks and the front wheels of other ricks, all of which seem to be coming straight toward you at terrible speeds.) Once downtown, we headed toward the ghats. Ghats are, architecturally speaking, just wide steps leading up from the river; spiritually, though, each ghat has a different name and significance, and pilgrims make a certain circuit of the ghats, dipping in the holy water of the river at each of several different places. Many of them have shrines or temples on them or behind them, while others are backed by hulking castle-like buildings. The light, reminiscent of Nice, had a weightless, shimmering quality that covered everything with a sprinkling of fairy dust. We spent much of the day on the ghats, mostly walking, but also taking a rowboat ride on the river to see them from another view. They were endlessly engaging to look at because of the swirl of activities that centered on them. Huliking water buffaloes were scrubbed and polished in the water by their keepers; old goats napped in the shade while young ones chased each other; boys played small-scale games of cricket, oblivious to the pedestrians in their midst; tea-sellers sat and chatted with the regulars; unoccupied boatmen played cards. Meanwhile, groups of male prilgrims stripped to their underwear and jumped into th water, while the women mostly sat in groups on the steps. Tow of the ghats have a singular purpose, as cremation sites. Hindus believe that to die in Varanasi guarantees instant transport to heaven, and even for those who don't die here it is an honor to be cremated here. From the boat, we watched a group of men carrying a corpse, covered with a sheet, on a bamboo stretcher, then taking wood from the huge stockpile and lighting it, and the body, on fire. At any one time there are several cremations happening, at various stages; the male family and friends stay and watch the fire until it burns down, and then one person (generally the oldest son, I think) pours a bucket of Ganges water over the ashes. It was a powerful ceremony to observe. Sarnath is also a holy city in its own right, and we spent the following day exploring it a bit. There is an archeological site that is said to be where the Buddha preached his first sermon, making it a pilgrimage place for Buddhists from all over the world. That day the heat was relentless, though, and as we'd been having trouble sleeping (the solar powered fan only lasted a couple hours in the night), we spent much of the afternoon in the relative cool of the internet cafe.

The next day was the least complex of the marathon travel days: just one long train ride from Varanasi to the town of Satna, where we arrived at 9 p.m. and found a place to sleep and, as ever, a thali to eat. (A thali is a metal tray of rice, bread, one or two "vegetables"--almost invariably meaning potatoes--and lentils. It's good, once or twice. But in northern India it is both ubiquitous and exclusive-- most restaurants, except in very fancy or touristy places, serve nothing else. If I never eat thali again, I think I'd be okay with that.) The next morning we got on a train at 6:30, then another, then a bus-- and that was an experience. It started out great; we had a seat at the front, and it seemed to be leaving, unthinkably, ahead of schedule. But then it stopped a few minutes away, and proceeded to sit, in full sun, for an hour. During that time more and more people piled into the bus, to the point that people were squatting on seatbacks and there was no room to so much as shrug one's shoulders. Then, when the bus finally pulled away, another 20 or so people pushed and scratched to get on! There were people riding on the roof and a dozen hanging out the door. A 10 year old child had been put into my lap; soon after the bus pulled away, he started vomiting-- mosty out the window, but some on me. Then the old women who was sitting on Erik started hacking in a very ominous way; luckily we found a plastic bag in our backpack, and she managed to spit mostly into that and not on Erik. There were at least 85 people crammed into a bus that was half the size of a school bus or city bus at home. Suffice it to say that the hourlong ride dragged.

The goal of all this travel had been to reach Bhavangarh National Park, which according to our guidebook had one of the highest concentrations of tigers of any park in India. By the time we finally arrived, we were already questioning the wisdome of this quest; when we learned that prices had more than doubled since our book was published, it really started to feel like a mistake. But, having gotten there, we figured we should do the safaris we had planned on doing. Being the hottest time of year, the tourist presence was minimal and hotel rates were reduced, so we were able to stay in a much nicer room than we normally would have-- a shower with good water pressure instead of a bucket, and a powerful fan. Our evening "safari" (ride around the park in a jeep) did not yield any tiger sightings, but being in an open, clean, beautiful natural environment had a calming and rejuvenating effect on us. The next morning, we were back in the park at 5:45 (the park closes from 9:30 to
3:30, when both animals and peoples need to just be immobile and attempt to keep their blood from boiling). We saw herds of deer grazing in the meadows, a stork, sleeping owls, showoffy peacocks, lots and lots of monkeys, and a tree full of vultures. And then, at last, we saw a tiger. She was a 22 month old cub, not fully grown but spending the morning out on her own (her mother and 3 siblings are all around, we were told). She was up on a rock ledge, about 50 feet away and 30 feet above us. We never got a full view of her; mostly she was just lying around, gracing us with the sight of her head. We wished, temporarily, that we had an 18 inch camera lens like the other several tourists all did; our photos, I'm afraid, aren't too impressive. But she was truly gorgeous, and we were glad we got to see her. We spent a few hours after the safari luxuriating in our room, trying to prepare ourselves for the travel to come. Then we went back to the train station-- by taxi this time-- and retraced our commuter-line steps back to the hub, where we waited, and waited, and waited. Finally the train came, and we got on for our 20 hour ride to Mumbai.