Day 4 evening: at 5PM we set out again for old Benaras, this time for the daily ritual of thanksgiving and prayers to Ganga, for the gifts she provides through the Ganges River.
The harrowing bicycle rickshaw rides in the midst of city congestion are now becoming routine. I figure a middle aged driver is ideal: old enough to show he has had the ability to repeatedly survive the perils of dodging tractor trailers and cows and pot holes yet young enough to have the strength to keep up with the traffic should it actually move faster than the pedestrians.
We had to walk the last leg, along with hundreds of others, down to the prayer ghats on the Ganges. There we opted to board a row boat and were taken out into the river opposite the ghats where we could see the Aarti ceremony in a slightly less dense crowd.
The boats were tied to boats anchored in the river. We were all side by side parallel to the shore. The Ramakrishna monks were two boats beyond us. The boats were so tight that young boys were walking out to the center of the river by stepping bow to bow.
The ceremony was conducted by several priests at two side by side ghats at the same time and at different paces. Conch shells were blown, chants sung, oil lamps lit, incense burned, fans waved; symbolizing (my understanding) the sounds of Aum and the light of the Divine, the burning away of the dross of the material world which makes us think we are separate from each other and the Divine. The fans I was told were for the comfort of the aspect of the Divine being shown reverence, in this case Ganga.
The fans made sense. The mosquitos were the size of small sparrows. Apparently the bug spray worked because they kept flying into me at full speed (I have the bruises to prove it) but never bit. Scarves up and over your heads Ladies!
We set afloat burning butter lamps and small garlands of flowers as we departed. And in the midst of all the departing people, our rickshaw drivers found us and returned us safely to our waiting van. That was a miracle in itself!
Home for the night. 'Nite all!
The harrowing bicycle rickshaw rides in the midst of city congestion are now becoming routine. I figure a middle aged driver is ideal: old enough to show he has had the ability to repeatedly survive the perils of dodging tractor trailers and cows and pot holes yet young enough to have the strength to keep up with the traffic should it actually move faster than the pedestrians.
We had to walk the last leg, along with hundreds of others, down to the prayer ghats on the Ganges. There we opted to board a row boat and were taken out into the river opposite the ghats where we could see the Aarti ceremony in a slightly less dense crowd.
The boats were tied to boats anchored in the river. We were all side by side parallel to the shore. The Ramakrishna monks were two boats beyond us. The boats were so tight that young boys were walking out to the center of the river by stepping bow to bow.
The ceremony was conducted by several priests at two side by side ghats at the same time and at different paces. Conch shells were blown, chants sung, oil lamps lit, incense burned, fans waved; symbolizing (my understanding) the sounds of Aum and the light of the Divine, the burning away of the dross of the material world which makes us think we are separate from each other and the Divine. The fans I was told were for the comfort of the aspect of the Divine being shown reverence, in this case Ganga.
The fans made sense. The mosquitos were the size of small sparrows. Apparently the bug spray worked because they kept flying into me at full speed (I have the bruises to prove it) but never bit. Scarves up and over your heads Ladies!
We set afloat burning butter lamps and small garlands of flowers as we departed. And in the midst of all the departing people, our rickshaw drivers found us and returned us safely to our waiting van. That was a miracle in itself!
Home for the night. 'Nite all!
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