The Burning Ghats of Varanasi

Preparing to float candles on the River Ganges

The tranquility one finds amongst the colour and ritual of Varanasi cannot be described.  It has to be experienced. We'd read about the cremation sites, the bathing rituals and the scattering of ashes, but until it is witnessed first hand, it's simply words. We arrived in Kashi, the heart and soul of Varanasi as darkness was falling.  Kashi isn’t a place, it’s a powerful experience that if you are lucky you will take away with you.  

Receiving a blessing

We walked the narrow, winding labrynths of shops and homes, dodging people, motorcycles, rickshaws, tuk tuks and cows. Around one final corner we caught our first glimpse of the Ganga Ji - the venerable River Ganges.  Walking down a steep embankment the eclectic buildings lining the meandering river came into view.  Former palaces and ashrams, hospices and accommodations for pilgrims.  In the midst of it all the Ghats, the stone stairways that sweep down to the water's edge.

The main cremation Ghat

From a small rowing boat we glided downriver to the main cremation site. We were in complete darkness. Male family members brought the corpses of their loved ones wrapped in colourful orange and gold shrouds down to the cremation site on bamboo stretchers.  The shroud was removed to reveal white swaddling, the body bathed in the water then placed on a funeral pyre seasoned with essential oils and sometimes sandlewood.  The body is often rubbed with butter, with more butter placed on the pyre before a torch taken from the eternal flame burning at the cremation site ignites the pyre.  Cremations go on 24 hours a day, the ashes scattered on the holy waters of the Ganges.

A handful of floating candles
joins the thousands in the water

Small candles surrounded by roses and marigolds were lit by everyone participating in the ceremony - actual participants or onlookers who had purchased them from the many vendors on the Ghats. The candles were floated on the river and before long a flotilla of candles trailed in the water providing beautiful reflecting illumination.

The ceremony of
"putting the river to sleep"

Each evening a thanksgiving festival is performed by pilgrims on the river bank with music, bells and candles. Incense perfumes the air and a bed of flowers colours the ground on which the performers stand.

As the evening’s activities drew to a close we made our way back through the town to our vehicle on a bicycle rickshaw.  Not designed for us, we squeezed ourselves into the contraption and an enthusiastic “driver” made his way methodically through the chaos.  Horns honked loudly, motorcycles aggressively forced the point, but we continued on - the only vulnerable time when we entered a small roundabout and all traffic converged, competing for every inch of the torn up road. All body parts were firmed tucked inside the rickshaw as we were distracted by a cow sitting inside a sari shop. 

Sunrise over the River Ganges

Next morning we rose before daybreak to experience sunrise over the river.  It was a lot quieter and considerably cooler. 


The city was slowly coming to life.  


Occasionally we'd hear the ringing of finger cymbals played by pilgrims as they walked through the town to the Ghats - the music intended to encourage others to join them in the waters.

The river awakens

Bathing in the river from the Ghats

On the Ghats men squatted to receive a shave before taking to the waters.  Those who had come to scatter ashes had their heads shaved completely before entering the water with the remains of their loved ones.  


But most were here to greet the sunrise.  It was spectacular - the golden light intensifying the colourful buildings and providing impressive reflections in the river.

An early morning shave

Dhobie whalahs arrange laundry to
dry in neat rows on the Ghats

The cremations continued, the dhobie whalahs lined the water’s edge to start their daily labour, thrashing the river-soaked garments against the rocks.  Sheets were neatly laid out to dry on the ground next to perfectly stacked rounds of dried cow dung patties. Trousers of every size and colour hung on washing lines, static as they awaited the first breath of wind.

Close to the river bank we observed a family preparing the corpse of a loved one.  The peaceful face was visible in the white swaddling. The family proceeded with the ritual, setting the pyre alight.

Another day in a cycle that has transcended the ages. It had been a profound experience.