Life and Death in Varanasi

Watercolor illustrations made into postcards, artwork of Amim Kumar.

Om Namah Shivaya

Varanasi is Shiva’s city. Shiva is consciousness. Shiva is transformation. He is the background awareness in which time appears. 

People move to Varanasi as their time to die approaches. Families from distant villages begin the drive to Varanasi as their loved ones are dying. So they can be as close to the source as possible. With Shiva’s blessing, they can transform at the moment of death into pure consciousness and no longer have to ride the wheel of rebirth.

The air quivers with his energy. Every person has more, reveals more than one side, depending upon the situation, depending upon the audience. For example, take the popular love story of the cosmic couple, Shiva and Parvati. See the illustration of the couple below. How long and steadfastly Parvati shone her love light on Shiva before she even caught his attention. It may have been thousands of years. And then, how tight they became. How very much he continues to mean to her. 

Shiva is unformed consciousness. How does one represent that? Below is a typical shrine to him, tucked into a wall in an alley. No fanfare needed. He is that powerful. He is represented only as a linga stone.

And yet even he can play a single and particular role should the situation call for it. In the classic picture below he is portrayed as a young lover with Parvati. Though well known and adored, this is just one side of Shiva. 

Parvati too is simply energy which manifests in different forms. She is the Shakti, the single cosmic feminine power which energizes Shiva. The masculine needs the feminine to act. To move forward. To move in any direction. At different times in different places, you will know her as Kali, Lakshmi, Saraswati, or Durga, all very different females.  

The illustration below is a favorite of mine because it is so different than the calm, sensuous lover. Instead it shows her in THAT MOMENT we all know. She is Kali here, the destroyer of demons. She needs to slay the many-headed demon and well, in her rage she gets carried away. Understandable. It’s tough work and needs focus. It needs fierce determination. But she gets so carried away that even Shiva feels compelled to temper her. He tries to distract her and talk her down, but she is so wild with rage that she doesn’t even see him. 

So he throws himself beneath her feet. And it is in that moment when she feels her lover’s chest below her that she realizes she’s gone too far and needs to reel it in.

Okay. Cool story. But why am I telling you this now? Because these lovely portraits are everywhere in India. In homes, market stalls, propped on tuk tuk dashboards and on the dusty rock ledges which are alters in corner shrines. In temples large and small. And you should understand that it is not the lover Shiva who lords over this sacred town. It is Shiva, the Lord of the Universe, Kashi Vishwanath, the soul of the city, an indestructible city. It is said to be older than history. Varanasi, the ancient Kashi, will survive it all. How can it not? It is the doorway to death. Its lord is the strong, compassionate one you want at your side at this pivotal moment. 

Shiva whispers into the ears of the dying. Do not fear, my precious one. You are done with suffering. 

He is both the ecstatic dancer who shakes loose the universe and the still yogi deep in meditation. A wild ascetic.  Hence the alternating layers of energy here. No one uses the word profane. But that is exactly the feeling. The sacred and profane dancing.

Nor is his consort here the undeniably lovely Parvati. Instead, she is Kali, the goddess of liberation at the moment of death (moksha). She is the goddess of the dissolution of the ego, of fears and karma. Let it all go, my darling.

As a mother protects her small children, Kali protects the cremation grounds.

It can be a harsh reality, but destruction is necessary for transformation. Save your tears. You won’t see any shed at the cremation grounds in India. This is the time to let your loved one go. It is intuitive: tears, emotional ties, pulling at the heartstrings, these are not fair to the departing. They can hold back a wavering spirit’s liberation. 

The Dom are a hereditary caste whose traditional duty is to tend the cremation fires. The same family line has been tending the fire at Manikarnika Ghat for 3,500 years. Standing in front of that single fire, whose flame is carried to each pyre brings an odd feeling to the beholder, an incidental transcendence.

Children play nearby.

People are happy to wash clean their sins and negative karma in the sacred Ganges.

They seek blessings.