Cows. All over the streets. They even go on the highways. The cars drive around the creatures at high speed and they stay calm. I read in a book about India that they might be meditating. The cows. To bear the traffic. I like that. I’ve seen a cow run here twice before. Otherwise they are stoic and stop where they please. And why are they sacred, the female cows? Why is there even a Ministry of Cow Welfare in Rajasthan?
Cows give five things: milk, Ghee (clarified butter), urine, dung and lassi. But so could female camels. But no, camels have to tow, pull loads and carts and are used for races. The cow may stand relaxed in the middle of the roundabout and is fed. The Indians have small boxes with food in front of their houses, which they only fill for the cows or keep the animals right in their house because of the milk. During the day they send the cows out into the streets where they eat garbage and unfortunately also plastic. Of course, this can make the animals ill. And when your cow dies, you have to go on an expensive pilgrimage. It is better to chase away the cow into the street first, maybe someone will find them and take them to the cow home (yes, they really do exist here). And while I’m writing this, I don’t think all this applies to the whole of India. Because depending on where you are in the country, it may be different. Hinduism is based on 40% fixed rules, 60% are local interpretations and traditions. And that is what makes this religion so incredibly difficult to understand.
That’s why we’re here now: Varanasi. One of the holiest cities for Hindus. The Ganga flows here, giving life and absorbs the dead. The corpses are burned here in Varanasi around the clock, the ashes are carried to the river by the untouchables. Dead children, pregnant women and some others are not burned, they lie on bamboo stretchers, weighted with stones and are dumped in the middle of the Ganga. When the ropes come loose, they swim down the river to the sea. In between dogs and of course… cows… and they eat the ornamental flowers of the dead. My God. And next to it, there’s fishing from boats, for the market sale. In this filthy river, I don’t even want to stick my little toe in.
The Indians don’t care so much, for them the Ganga is sacred. And if you go on a Hindu pilgrimage to Varanasi, then you also go swimming in the Holy River. The women bathe with all their clothes on. Once completely in. And some are completely shaved at the head. This is as much a part of the pilgrimage for some believers as bathing. And the other way around, the Hindus find it horrible and disgusting that we eat beef in Europe…
We visit temples and ceremonies but the Hindu religion remains something very foreign until the end. From their icons, the loud bells they ring at the entrance, the caste system, the phallic symbols, the holy rats and the holy basil to offerings like sweets, coconut or cow’s milk. Only to the Om-signs and the swastikas everywhere we got used to quickly. Also, the begging children and the annoying Tuctuc drivers we got to terms with in the last weeks.
Sikkim and now also Varanasi show us a different side. Very friendly, open and helpful people, I write, while I sup my pomegranate coconut lassi.
“Ma’am, when you go to hostel? I can take you on motorcycle.” Yeah, awesome. Shello!!! Let’s go!
