MY FIRST TRIP : KASHI

My first significant visit to any place was when I was as feeble a child as a 1 year old could be!

The trip was, as I previously mentioned, ironically to Varanasi (or Banaras/Kashi as some people would prefer to call it).

I obviously do not remember one single morsel of what had happened in that trip (Well..How could you even expect a 1 year old poor little thing to!). But based on what I was later told, it was one of the most “horror hath overwhelmed me” kind of experiences one could ever have. I was completely bewildered when I was narrated about that particular travelling expedition. 

Starting point: Warangal
Destination:Varanasi

It goes like this:

Expecting what a routine pilgrimage would be like, my family members, namely my mother, grandparents, two aunts and a ‘never-travelled-this-far-before-and-never-will-again’ neighbor set out on a 2 day train journey to Varanasi. I was being looked down as a tiny mass of mess because I had started puking right from the onset of the journey much to the frustration of my mother. Crying all the time didn’t add much to the comfort of her either.

So, in order to regain peace and tranquility she had made a make-shift cradle using one of her sarees inside train!! As all the passengers around were thankfully my family members nobody minded, rather they were very much relieved that the ambience had quitened a great deal. So having successfully found out a way to appease me so that I would stop howling, the rest of the journey went by quite uneventfully.
We reached Varanasi approximately two days later and went straight to the house of one of our relatives who was residing there (My relatives have somehow managed to scatter all over India, though I still wonder how!). After having taken ample food and rest, the next day we had set out to say Hi to God, His Almighty Kashi Vishwanath (one of the avtaars of Lord Shiva).
The Vishwanath temple according to them was glorious with its dome covered in gold (Who said Indiia is a poor country???)! It is said that when Aurangazeb, the Mughal Emperor came to destroy the city and the temple the idol of Lord Shiva was hidden in a well in the temple. It is believed that to this day the idol is in the well. The well is called…(Wait..What is the well called??My parents didn’t tell me that L)..Ya, the well it seems, is called Gyan-Kupor (Yippee!Google to the rescue).
Then we had gone to The Kashipuraadeeshwari (commonly knowly as Goddess Annapurna)temple near the previous temple.

Then we went on to visit the Dashashwamedh Ghat nearby. Dash-ashwa-medh meaning 10 horses place, is said to be the place where Lord Brahma had slain 10 horses as a sacrifice to Lord Vishwanath.

Next we had visited  The Visalakshi Temple, a very famous temple which is believed to be the place where Goddess Parvati had allegedly thrown off her ear-rings and asked Shiva to search for them.

Then we had seen the Scindia Ghat where the temple is partly submerged in water because of its weight.
On our way back we had gone to pray at The Sankatha temple. It has a well which is said to possess remedial properties. It also consists of nine temples for the nava-grahas (nine- planets). And a huge lion statue inside gives a regal look to the already temple is what I am told!

And don’t know exactly when but somewhere in between visiting temples and visiting more temples we made time to take a dip in the Holy Ganges, The River Ganga.

Temples!Temples!Temples! That is what the city is all about.

The excitement or rather the absence of it, was more than made up by the return journey from what I have heard.

Now let me tell you why my God loving neighbor, an old woman now, never made a long journey again after this one. Incidentally her last one (no..she didn’t die..she’s very much alive)  happened to be my first one!

After praying whole heartedly at all the temples we could set our feet upon, we at last boarded our train home.

It was early August and it was still raining at the time. The train was moving at a very  slow pace, maybe we were nearing some station. My grandfather had gone to stand near the door to take in the fresh cool air. He had unsuspectingly put his left hand out to check whether it was raining or not. To his horror somebody took his arm and his watch as grip and entered the train and 3-4 others followed suit. All the men were masked and to our utter shock were armed with knives! They had taken my grandpa as hostage and demanded money and jewellery from all the people in the compartment. They had taken off most of the gold from my family. My mother hid me under the long end of her saree (pallu) trying to hide me (and save at least the trinkets that were on me as well). After looting the compartment they had disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. It was very dark outside and nobody could make out anything. It was very long before they could arrive at some station where they could lodge a complaint (mobile phones were unknown then). By that time it was too late. The dacoits had escaped with their loot.

This incident marred the otherwise memorable tour of ours. My family had recovered over time. But the person who had never regained enough courage to go on further trips (much less with us) was our unfortunate neighbor.

Thus was the story of her last trip and my first!