Sunrise over the Ganges

Editor’s note: Sydney Kornegay was one of the first Cub Reporters for The Columbia Star while she was a student at A.C. Flora High School where she graduated in 2007. She was awarded Davidson College’s top merit scholarship.

The John Montgomery Belk scholarship is one of the most prestigious undergraduate scholarshipsin the country and is valued at $170,000 over four years including summer stipends for travel and study. It recognizes academic prowess, integrity, passion for life and records of distinction in myriadareas of school and communitylife.

The man’s unkempt hair reeks of smoke, and his teeth — or what’s left of them — are stained blood red from tobacco.

“Come and see!” he beckons, and my friend and I unknowingly follow him to the edge of a platform. As we approach, we are hit by a wave of heat, and a sense that we are intruding. Looking down, we see the Manikarnika ghat, a place along the Ganges River used for Hindu cremations. Below us, a burning body.

“This has been my family’s job for years — preparing the bodies,” he explains. “But we do not burn everyone. Pregnant women, children, people bitten by a cobra… we take them on a boat and drop them in the river.”

Below, bathing in the Ganges He tries to go on, but at this point, my friend and I are rapidly backtracking. We feel out of place, tourists overlooking a private process.

As another funeral procession approaches, carrying a man on a platform covered in flowers, we try to make our escape.

“Wait, what about a donation!” he yells after us, but at this point, we are on our way out. We had only been in Varanasi for an hour, and already, we had encountered one of the many great ironies of the city.

Though the vibrant city is known as the “oldest living city in the world,” it is a site that provides daily reminders of the process of death. Thus, throughout our trip to Varanasi, I felt as though I was constantly being torn between opposing perceptions of the city. It is a place where life and death, old and new are often indistinguishably intertwined.

Our morning boat ride on the Ganges, considered a holy river by many Hindus, made this especially clear. It is believed that a death along its banks will free a person from the cycle of reincarnation, while a bath in its waters will wash away sins. Many come to be cremated there. And though the Ganges has been polluted through its constant use — its bacteria concentration is over 120 times the amount considered safe for bathing — that’s done nothing to diminish the crowds that flock to its banks.

As we rowed up the river at sunrise, we were able to glimpse the dual nature of the Ganges. At many of the points in the trip, we saw families gath- ered at the colorful waterfront ghats, washing hair, clothes, and swimming in the ashy–gray water. Only a few meters away, two human–shaped bundles, wrapped in cloth, floated next to the bank, while the funeral ghats burned downstream.

And just as life and death co–exist on Varanasi’s river, so old and new clash on the city’s streets. On the one hand, parts of the city are still as Mark Twain once described it: “older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together.” At the same time, other portions have evolved to suit the modern world, with Internet cafes, souvenir shops, restaurants, and hotels catering to both Indian citizens and tourists.

I felt this old–new nature of the city most acutely during our first night in Varanasi, that happened to coincide with a major religious holiday. After getting lost in an attempt to find the festival, we enlisted the help of a local group of kids. Soon, our ten–year–old tour guides were leading us through the back alleys of the old city, in a place that seemed almost medieval in nature. As we dodged livestock, sidestepping cow dung, and squeezed shoulder–to– shoulder with vegetable vendors and their carts, I felt like I had passed through a time machine, wandering amidst a maze of narrow, unlit streets, and alleyways.

The spell was broken as soon as we emerged from the Old City and onto a major street. Suddenly, we were in Las Vegas, as the road was lined with neon lights and filled with honking cars. A few minutes more, and we were at a fair ground, complete with loudspeaker music, a Ferris wheel, news cameras, and carnival games.

It was just one of the many sharp contrasts in a city where opposites meet.