The Sage's stint in north India was nearly at a close, and as I drew into Varanasi station after a 12 hour overnight journey devoid of sleep thanks to the cement mixer snoring of the dishevelled T-shirt salesman opposite, my flight down south to the relaxing beaches of Kerala couldn't come quickly enough.
Varanasi is arguably India's second most famous sight after the Taj Mahal, in particular due to its ancient ghats (steps leading to down to a river) where Hindus still go in droves to bathe in the holy waters of the Ganges and in some cases cremate their dead. No visit to Varanasi is complete without dusk and dawn boat trips to witness these age-old but still vibrant traditions taking place, but while they are certainly uniquely atmospheric, the Sage found the whole experience a little uncomfortable.
A Hindu cremation is a simple affair, with little pomp and ceremony as the male relatives of the deceased assemble around a wood pyre, which is slowly engulfed in flames and burns for several hours until only the ashes of the corpse remain. These are then scattered into the Ganges river.
Somehow the presence just offshore of a dozen or more boats of tourists, however respectful their observance, seemed to me an unwelcome intrusion upon an event that in Western culture is a very private matter. Yet the differences between the fundamental beliefs of a Europe rooted in austere Christianity and the more open, elemental ethos of Hindu India are such that the latter almost certainly don't see it that way.
On the subject of religion, close to Varanasi is the small town of Sarnath, the location of the Buddha's first ever sermon in the 6th century BC. More intriguing to the Sage however was his visit to a Jain temple, which led me to conclude that of all the world's organised faiths, this is surely the most bizarre.
Jains, if you're not familiar with their ideas, are strict vegetarians who believe that no harm should be inflicted on any living creature. In fact, they go even further and shun the consumption of root vegetables too, as digging up an onion or potato from the ground is apparently the equivalent of cold blooded murder.
Many adherents of Jainism carry a a peacock feather to sweep the ground in front of them so they don't inadvertently tread on any innocent insects, and filter water to make sure other diminutive invertebrates that may be contained therein are not accidentally drowned. Their highest order of priests renounce all material items, so walk around completely nude, only eat once a day without using any utensils and sometimes fast for months at a time to prove their spiritual purity.
Only in India could such a baffling religion requiring such levels of devotion have over 10 million followers, and its perhaps unsurprising that it's by and large failed to catch on elsewhere. But imagine if you will a world where Jainism replaced Christianity or Islam as a major global religion. Pest control businesses would have a tough time and there'd be a few more naked men strolling round the streets, but wars, suicide bombings and book burnings would be few and far between.
It was time for the Sage to leave northern India and catch a flight to Cochin, the main city of Kerala, on the south-west tip of the subcontinent. Within a few minutes of arriving in the south, it became evident that it's effectively a different country to huge, impoverished mega cities of the north. Palm trees are generously sprinkled around cleaner, more orderly streets where traffic generally flows at a reasonable speed in the direction it's supposed to. You can walk along the street without being harassed by hordes of howling hawkers and the sheer volume of people is greatly reduced. Basically, if you want to chill out in the sun, south India's the place to be.
After a very pleasant 48 hours exploring Cochin's Portuguese churches, Dutch forts and Chinese fisihing nets, the Sage headed for the hills. Some of the best tea in the world is grown in plantations in the mountains on the Kerala/Tamil Nadu border, and my base was Coonor, a hill station popular with the British as a summer retreat during the days of the Raj and featured in the film A Passage To India. The views here were stunning, but the highlight was an hour long steam locomotive journey on the Nilgiri Mountain Railway, which turned into a combination of an Edwardian period drama and an episode of Glee.
On the same carriage were a class of Indian schoolchildren of around 10-11 years of age, all impeccably turned out in neatly pressed blue shirts and ties with matching ribbons in the girls' plaited hair. Unlike the foul-mouthed embryonic thugs that are sadly so common among youngsters of a similar age in Britain, these children were inquisitive yet unfailingly polite and respectful, many already demonstrating flawless English. To make the Westerners feel welcome, we were treated to a series of enthusiastically performed Tamil folk songs during the journey, conducted with great applomb by the class teacher.
Once their repertoire was exhausted the British were invited to respond with our own ditties of choice, and the Sage and two fellow choristers treated the locals to a spirited medley of Swing Low Sweet Chariot and When The Saints Come Marching In. Sadly, our audience got off before I've Got A Brand New Combine Harvester and the Chicken Song, but by that stage the singing reputation of the former colonial power had been well and truly upheld. Unless of course it wasn't actually their stop.
NEXT TIME: The Sage mounts an elephant!
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