JOIN USOurs is a 120-year-old shop,” said Shankar Babu of Dasgupta’s Jarda, and added, “started by my grandfather.” He didn’t look too pleased when I was clicking pictures while he was attending to visitors from the western world. But, after having made a good sale, he turned to me and charmed me to buy his assortment of hajmi-golis.
I was in Vishwanath Gali in Varanasi, a lane which reduces to as narrow as six feet in some places, crammed on both sides with shops, temples, narrower by-lanes leading to more shops, more temples and lodging houses. And teeming with people. And this, according to the locals, has remained the same for centuries, as this most famous lane leads to Kashi Vishwanath Temple of Varanasi — one of the holiest sites of the country.
To get into Vishwanath Gali from the main road which leads to Dashashwamedh Ghat by the Ganga, I missed the nondescript toran or gateway on my left. I retraced my steps and was immediately sucked into its cosmos. This is a world all by itself, nestled in the womb of the intoxicating netherworld of Varanasi.
Once inside, I could not escape the sheer intensity of the lane. Something in there embraces you, and before you know it, it makes you a part of itself. Within its claustrophobic physicality, time and space have carved their unique contours, including the lure of escaping altogether. Moksha.
I trudged on the very stone slabs Adi Sankaracharya perhaps did 1,200 years ago on his historic visit to Kashi Vishwanath Temple. On that occasion, the resentful priests of the temple had ganged up to cut the doyen of Advaita either way. How Sankaracharya triumphed over his critics in Varanasi and silenced them for good is another story for another day. But a little shrine with his idol remains in the Gali, in what looked like a narrow cave lost between tightly packed shops, with only a ramshackle door to shield. How the profound can lie low with nonchalance is a recurring theme of Varanasi.
I moved on. The bangle shops in the lane with their sparkling wares are a big draw with the ladies. A group would pack themselves around it, obstructing most part of the Gali, till the sale is made after three bouts of bargain. Another lure is the brassware shops where even the locals come to buy. It was in one of these shops that I kept my camera and mobile phone to get through the security at the entrance of the temple. Some shops, those selling flowers and puja items, have safe deposit lockers, but as the swami from a local mutt told me, trust is always honoured in Vishwanath Gali. “This is Shiva’s’s own place,” he reminded me. He, however, warned me to be careful with my wallet while flowing in the swarm of the Gali.
I paid obeisance to Shakshi Vinayak. This is another small sanctum which suddenly appears in a gap, dimly lit, between two glittering shops. Temple-goers believe that here Ganesh-ji is witness to all those visiting Vishwanath Temple, so the name Shakshi, and I did not want to be left out of the record. Negotiating another adrenalising 100-odd metres of the Gali, I hit the queue to pass through the metal detector for the final approach to the temple.
On my way back from the temple, I binged on kheer and malai, and before getting out of the Gali, I stopped at the tambul shop. How else can I earn my bragging rights without having Banarasi Paan?