Meet the 'Mother of India'

A holy Indian sadhu sits alongside the Ganges in Varanasi. Photo / Thinkstock

Immerse yourself in the sacred, inky chaos of the Ganges River in Varanasi, writes Heather Ramsay.

A well-dressed boy dragging a dead dog along a busy street would ordinarily elicit our curiosity - possibly our intervention - but in the holy Indian city of Varanasi, the bizarre sight evokes no real sense of concern, sadness or revulsion.

For two days we've been sucked into the city's labyrinthine streets and tumbled around in a bewildering kaleidoscope of spiritualism, culture and enterprise that has turned our Western outlook upside down. Sights that would usually be astonishing or moving have become commonplace, the abnormal is normal, and death is very much a part of life.

For more than 3000 years, Varanasi - formerly Benares - has been an exalted place of pilgrimage, especially for Hindus, who are drawn here by the "Mother of India", the Ganges.

The river's sacred waters are said to wash away earthly sins, and those whose ashes are scattered here attain moksha, or release from the cycle of reincarnation.

Thus religion and death are an integral part of the city's cultural and business framework, and shrouded bodies are routinely carried through the streets to riverside cremation pyres.

But Varanasi is no serene oasis of spiritual salvation - rather, it encapsulates all the chaos and charisma of Indian life.

The million or so pilgrims that annually swarm through its narrow alleys have pockets stuffed with rupees, and there are myriad ways of milking money from them, and from tourists.

In frenetic bazaars merchants peddle everything from gaudy trinkets and Bollywood DVDs to famous Benares silk and Kashmiri carpets; food vendors offer sweet treats from vats of sizzling oil and mobile chai (tea) sellers clack saucers like castanets to attract custom.

Even the poorest pilgrims are usually beneficent, so there's fierce competition to sell religious offerings and receive alms. Especially near the ghats (steps) along the Ganges, beggars with almost unbelievably misshapen limbs and bodies sit beside near-naked sadhus (holy men) whose long, unkempt tresses fall over torsos smeared with ash and draped with sacred thread.

The ghats are also the domain of relentless touts and urchins who can scent an approaching cash-cow as unerringly as flies sniff out dung left by the real cows that wander the streets.

Rowboat rides provide respite from the onshore action and we take to the river at dawn, sliding quietly past hundreds of people taking a holy dip, their faces radiant with spiritual satisfaction. Around them others follow mundane routines of daily life - cleaning teeth, bathing and doing the laundry.

In the evening, we join boatloads of Indian and foreign tourists ghoulishly crowding the waters beneath the main burning ghat.

Weak yellow lighting casts a shadowy pall over a dark, medieval scene, where chain-gangs of men unload heavy black logs from boats to feed the cremation fires, which are constantly stoked and cleared of ashes and remains.

Holy Indian sadhu at the Ganges in Varanasi. Photo / Thinkstock

Wrapped bodies lie in wait and as one is burned, another is committed to the flames. The process is unceremonious, almost perfunctory, because - according to our guide - most of the mourning and ceremonies have taken place in the preceding days.

Curiosity sated, we're rowed back to Dashashwamedh Ghat where Ganga aarti, the nightly fire ritual dedicated to the river, is under way. Saffron-robed priests on raised plinths twirl smoking lamps and flaming candelabras in unison. On the river, gawping tourists bob mesmerised, while on the ghats behind the priests, pilgrims chant and clap.

Finally, a flotilla of simple leaf boats containing marigolds and butter oil candles is set afloat, flickering prettily on the inky waters before being grabbed by the Ganges and swirled away.

It's exciting to know that the next day we'll follow in the path of these offerings, cruising 1000km down the Ganges to the Bay of Bengal.