As I was about to enter the temple, I placed my hands on the temple wall and closed my eyes.
I could see Bismillah smile. I could hear the melancholy of his Shehnai. I could see him seated there- on the podium in the vice regal lodge at North Campus (where I first attended his concert). I could hear him say “roz subah” and chuckling.
"… Roz subah hum jaate the… aankh band karke mandir ke deewar pe haath rakhte the… aur fir riyaaz shuru karte the…roz subah”. An then he would choke and break into a child-like chuckle and then would re-emphasize “roz subah”.
He (Late Ust. Bismillah Khan) would say this at every concert of his (and I’ve attended/ helped organize quite a few). He would speak of his days in Kashi (Benaras) where he spent his entire life and the influence of Vishwanath temple in his life. During his concerts, I would seat myself as much in the front rows as possible, and as soon as his eyes would meet mine (or so I thought), I would say “Salaam” to him with the traditional gesture. He would acknowledge and smile back.
I was there at Benaras earlier this week, the world’s oldest town. That the town is old, hits you even as you enter the town. Or maybe its an emotional bias. I entered the town listening to Kumar Gandharva sing “Ud jaa- jaa, hans akela”, written by Kabir. These streets here have been graced by so many greats- some known to us and plenty unknown.
Adi Sankara himself stayed here for some time. Ramanujacharya, Buddha, Bharathiyaar were all here. Kabir lived his life here on these streets. Tulasidas wrote the Ramcharitmanas here. This was Lal Bahadur Shastri’s Kashi. So so so many greats... I was blessed to be here.
You need to have some sense of history or emotional association to like this place. The place is crowded and noisy. The shrieky cycle bells and the hoarse horns of vehicles can tear apart any iota of peace a traveler/ pilgrim seeks. The traffic here is bumper to bumper or rikshaw front wheel to rikshaw rear.
My friend Rosy and I set out on a rick to the Vishwanath temple- one of the 12 Jyotirlingas. The journey from where our car was parked- to the temple gate took us about 25 minutes- a distance of 1.5 kilometers. Rosy remarked “ye mandir yahin benaras mein hai na??”
We stepped down from the rick and were immediately approached by a self-styled Pandit who promptly gave us instructions on what to do and where to go (with him). I have never felt so ashamed of Brahmins ever. Being born into a Brahmin family myself, I’m ashamed that such characters exist. A Brahmin has always lived for others, not lived on others. The Brahmin was never a parasite. Especially somebody who proudly proclaimed, “hum mandir ke Brahman hai- aapko line mein khade hone ki zarurat nahi hai. Humaare saath chaliye”. These fleecers are a blot on the great sect.
Everyday, when I look at my sacred thread, I ask myself if this makes me Brahmin. Everyday, when I perform my Japas or the Sandhi-Aavandanam (the thrice-a-day prayer prescribed for those that wear the sacred thread), I ask myself if I am Brahmin. Do I become a Brahmin by abstaining from eating non vegetarian food?
Well, I may not be closer to the answer, but having looked at the behaviour of the self-styled Pandits at Kashi, I know why some look with great disdain at Pandits.
Rosy and I first went to the Dasha-ashwamedh Ghat, one of the the most pious ghats at Kashi- maybe due to its proximity to the temple. Each inch possible has been taken up by the Pandits, ever willing to perform Pujas. The water is much cleaner than I had imagined- only that the place is cramped. Dipping my feet into the Ganga river (Gangajee- as she is referred to here) was a pleasant experience. The water was cool; plus the feeling that so many greats had dipped their feet in the same famed ghat added to the experience. A few chants later, I was walking towards the temple. It is a different world altogether.
My friend and senior, Dr. Mohit ,often says that Benaras is one place where, irrespective of which part of the town one stays in, “aadmi subah ko mandir ke ghanti ki aawaaz se hee uthta hai”. When one looks around and sees the number of temples, one can know why Dr. Mohit says this.
The queue to see Baba (as Kashi Vishwanath is referred to here) was long- extremely long. The self styled Pandits attempted to fleece us here too. The decay runs deep. Even if you have to keep your chappals at a safe place, you are forced to take services of the Pandit associated with that place. The police sit by hopelessly. Instead of peace, it was anger that was pervading me outside the temple. The length of the queue was testing my patience too.
As the queue moved ahead, and we moved closer to the temple, I could envision all those greats treading the same path. Strangely, during these moments, the anger just vanished. In fact, I do not have any recollection of any negative feeling during these moments right outside the temple.
As I was about to enter the temple, I placed my hands on the temple wall and closed my eyes.
Bismillah would have certainly smiled.
Epilogue: Thanks to the long minutes in the queue, Rosy and I could not visit Sarnath that we so wanted to visit. This entry is dedicated to my friend Rosy with a promise to go to Sarnath the next time.
