I was reluctant to leave the garbage-covered streets of Varanasi, but my curiosity led me to the Ganges River. My experience there made me realize that the river is a mysterious place where life and death coexist.
Looking at the trash-covered muddy bottom, I decided I would never leave. When I opened the window to breathe in the fresh air, the stench took my breath away. Varanasi is a city in North India, a city of history and smell. The air was filled with smoke from a distant crematorium and the scent of flower petals scattered along the Ganges River. And of course, the smell of garbage and animal feces. The air wrapped itself heavily around me like a quilt, and my head ached from the intoxicating aroma. I couldn’t help but miss the cold, crisp air of midwinter.
I closed my eyes, gathered my courage, opened the door, and cautiously placed one foot in the dirt. Regret washed over me the moment I stepped out. I couldn’t help but think about the dirty white basketball sneakers. But then I felt a tap from somewhere. I opened my eyes to find myself standing in front of a newborn baby and a little girl holding him. The girl, who couldn’t have been more than ten years old, looked like she hadn’t eaten for days, and the newborn baby’s eyes were unfocused from starvation. Both children looked like shells with their souls drained out. The girl smiled and held out her scarred hand to me, her fingers grazing my T-shirt. I panicked at the suddenness of the situation and quickly ran back into the motel.
As I slammed the door behind me, I couldn’t bring myself to look out the window. I felt so cowardly and ashamed of myself. To this day, I can’t forget the look in that girl’s eyes. In this state of mental embarrassment, I did not join the rest of the group on the Ganges River tour. I sat in the motel lobby for a long time, staring at the interior of the motel. The interior of the motel was like a place where time had stood still. Blue mold was growing on the faded wallpaper, and bugs flitted in and out of the cushions on the lobby’s only couch. Ants scurried across the lobby’s tiled floor like food particles caught between their teeth. On the wall, the goddess Shiva (the Hindu god of destruction) and her cobra seemed to stare at me with a fierce glare. The power was low that day, and only one of the three ceiling fans was working, and it was not enough to beat the Indian heat.
Avoiding Shiva’s gaze, I looked out the window again and watched the hustle and bustle of Varanasi. Despite the early hour, street vendors were selling fruits and spices from their stalls, and I could see schoolchildren riding their bicycles to school, some of them about to collapse. There was something particularly mysterious and refreshing about the sight of Hindus wrapped in bright orange saris (the traditional garb worn by Indian women) on their way to offer morning prayers to their gods. Like a transportation device, Varanasi’s main thoroughfare served to carry people and animals to the Ganges River. As I watched, I was overcome with curiosity. Unable to contain my curiosity, I gathered my courage and walked back out of the motel. The moment I stepped outside the motel door, the characteristic smell of Varanasi hit my nose. This time, however, I was used to it and it didn’t disgust me, and I stepped onto the Varanasi transportation belt without a care in the world.
From a distance, the Ganges was a beautiful blue color. As I got closer and closer to the river, I could see the Hindu temples that surrounded it one by one. The stone steps down to the river were bustling with people, from old vendors to street children and animals, and the closer I got to the Ganges, the stronger the energy of life. Street children chased after me, offering to put on a monkey show for tourists like me, and people who had come to the river with their families were preparing to take a bath. Cows, which are considered gods in India, were also wandering around the river, watching everything with their sad eyes. On the last step, there were people meditating and women washing clothes.
Handing the young boatman less than a dollar in American money, I climbed aboard the small sailboat. The boat was so old that I spent every minute of the ride in a state of anxiety. The view of the Ganges from the boat was a stark contrast to what I had seen from afar. Like a lie, its blue color was nowhere to be found, and instead, my blurry reflection in the earth-colored water reminded me of a dirty basketball shoe. Soot and garbage floated around the boat, a puzzle of decaying wood chips, plastic, and torn fabrics that littered the river. With each calm wave, the food scraps followed the current downstream. Children and adults dived into the water in droves, mimicking the ripples of the waves. In this way, they bathed with the dead bodies floating in the river and prayed to God every day. Watching this scene, I couldn’t help but feel disgusted. What was it about religion and faith that allowed people to bathe in one of the dirtiest rivers in the world?
I closed my eyes for a moment as I watched the unbelievable sight from the boat. Suddenly, a story I had heard years ago popped into my head: Schrödinger’s cat experiment. In this experiment, a cat is placed in a box closed off from the outside world, with a small amount of radiation, a meter to measure it, and a poison connected to the meter. The radioactive material has a 50% chance of decaying, and when it does, the instrument panel receives a signal and breaks the vial containing the poison. However, an outside observer cannot tell whether the cat is dead or alive until the box is opened, which means that the cat is experiencing both the world of death and the world of life at the same time. The Ganges River in India is one of the most polluted rivers on earth, unable to support “life”. But for the people of India, the Ganges symbolizes “life,” and they believe that by bathing in it, they can attain eternal life. As I sailed on this river, I felt that it had many similarities to Schrödinger’s cat.
This thought pierced my heart the way the finger of the begging girl did in the morning. I realized that the mystery of the Ganges is contained in its paradoxical appearance: a river that is scientifically “dead” and religiously “alive” is a contradiction in terms. However, as Schrödinger’s experiment proved, it’s not impossible. Looking at the Ganges from the boat, I was instantly overwhelmed with gratitude. The Ganges is probably the only place in the world where you can experience the world of death and the world of life at the same time, and I was very lucky to experience it firsthand. Unlike Schrödinger’s cat, the Ganges cannot be opened and its paradoxical state broken. Unlike Schrödinger’s cat, the Ganges River in India will forever remain a place where the worlds of life and death are crossed.
