At the Ganges, there was a lot to take in. Casually attired priests rolled balls of paste and prepared trays of candles and flowers as offerings. You can see the hands in prayer, blessings being performed as part of the preparation.
Nearby, large smelly cows mooched about in a relaxed fashion, choosing to attend to or ignore small plates of food placed in front of them. A man sprinkled the Ganges’ holy water on a child-sized wooden piled with scarves, a comb and female clothing, circling the bed and chanting as he sprinkled; prayers for his dead wife, whom the bed and her items represent. A young man leaned forward; his hair shaved off to symbolise his humility and devotion.
I removed my shoes and entered the ghat (broad steps at river’s edge) with trepidation, feeling out of place. If anyone noticed me as I quietly looked on, they were too busy with their own business. The standing man looks like he’s about to perform a ‘cat’s cradle’ with his string, but I think he must be a Brahman priest, about to place the sacred thread across his shoulders.
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