We stumble from our sleeper train ragged from a weeks hard travel. The Varanasi welcome committee awaits us. "Rickshaw sir";"Hotel Madam";"I know good price sir - SIR!". The committee circle us like buzzards in view of a fleshy carcass. We attempt to navigate the contradictory directions to the tourist office provided by the Rough Guide and the local sign posts.
Baffled and wandering a narrow side street; a rickshaw pulls up in front of us and out leaps a gangly Englishman and his beautiful blonde American girlfriend. "What you looking for mate? The Ghats". "No, we wanted to find the Government Tourist Office". The Englishman produced a map and succinct instructions, "Don't believe anything that anyone says. I know that Indians are normally on the make but I've never seen anything like this. Its a whole new level. They will blatantly lie to you to get your money. Seriously, never seen anything like it". We thanked him as still shaking his head, he bounced back to his rickshaw and waved us goodbye.
We negotiated a rickshaw; and once at the tourist office, booked a room at a lodge and waited for our lift. Our lodge was situated just by the golden temple; the manager of the internet cafe next door had some words on the subject;"The temple, it is made of pure gold. Gold was pure back then. Today nothing is pure; the whole world over. If you buy gold today it is watered down just to make more money. Back when gold was pure; people only cared about respect and friendship. Today people water down all because they care only for the money it will bring them".
I would come to take his words with far greater brevity than I thought possible.
Two days later, I dropped off the twit for a surprise tabular lesson at the Ganga Fuji restaurant. The owner halted me upon my exit. The owner is a jolly bear of a man and half the reason why we returned to the tourist hot spot more than once. He halts me in the door way; "How much do he say the teacher make you pay?"
"150 an hour"
"150?"
"150 an hour. Do two hours for 300. Do I get a good price?"
"Yes, yes, this price is fine."
"And then afterwards, I will get a palm reading".
The bear straightened up, his face drawn stern, "where do you go?"
"Behind the dolphin restaurant".
His frown intensified, "Be careful, be very careful. There are men around here who are not very good. People bring to him and get big commission. There is one man back there, big large man".
-oh shit, that sounds like my guy.
"Some things he tells you are true. But he offers to make Buddha beads and say prayers or your troubles. He charges you many thousands of rupees for this. But he lie, he does not do it. I tell you this because I have good feeling for you. You come back to my restaurant. Do not pay more than a thousand rupees."
-Dammit. I agreed two thousand. Let me explain why I was willing to pay twenty five quid for the reading. I don't actually believe that a holy man can tell me my future. I believe that only we can understand how to exercise our free will in the paths that carry us. I had been upon the Ganges at dawn and whirled up by the romance of Varanasi city. I was asked if I wanted to visit a holy man who read fortunes for money that went to his ashram. I didn't care whether he could read my future or not - I was up for the crack. To say that a holy man read my palm in Varanasi - while I used funds to support a charity.
"Be careful! Be very careful", he emphasized.
"I tell you something", I replied. "I'm actually a skeptical person. I would not buy Buddha beads, I don't hold much faith that the prayers of someone I do not know would help me.
He nodded, concern crowding his eyes. "You know what, my family can read. They make for you for 800 rupees."
Hmmm. Perhaps thats not concern gathering around his corneas.
"And then afterwards", I interjected, "we come for special birthday lassie for my husband".
The bear cheered. If there was one thing he could be trusted for - it was preparing the finest tasting special lassies in Varanasi. "Namaste - and be careful".
I turned into the backlanes. An ominous swell filled my chest. My initial reaction to the guru had been to say no; but curiosity and romance had won the day. In this city built on faith, reality shimmers like light through a prism. Its coloured spectrum shards slip over your fingertips.
I searched the winding lanes; built up ancient and skyward; with bizarre shop fronts selling chai, multi-coloured silks, glass glint bracelets and rusty brown spices. I was searching for the spice shop of Visnu. Dancing in the narrow lanes two nights before; he had laughed as if the joy of the world sprang from him. Twice since; we had been scheduled to meet him. Both times proved elusive.
I made my way down the hurried alleys. Upon the third he sprang from my right, "Good morning my friend; I waited for you at half nine".
"I'm so sorry. We took a morning boat trip on the Ganges. Then we were so tired, we closed our eyes for two minutes, and the next thing we knew it had been two hours."
"Would you like to come in for some tea?"
"Sure", I slipped off my shoes.
"And don't say sorry madam".
"But I am sorry, thats why I came to see you".
A few minutes later he returned with some chai. I glanced around his threadbare shop, wondering how he caught the eye of passers when surrounded by rivals multi-glittered offerings. "This is not special chai' this is not what my mama make. When your friend; er..your husband come, then I call my mama to bring best chai, so I can make happy birthday".
He showed me his notebooks. Messages from customers. A common tool employed by the Indian merchant. Word of mouth testimony tends to foster trust.
Then he pulls out his necklaces, "You see, I have a nice necklace"; he drags a string of circular dark wood beads across the floor. "You like to buy?"
His face lowers at the expression of entire non-interest on my face. In Varanasi everyone has something to sell. After two days, conversations are conducted merely to time how long it will be until the item for sale is offered.
"So you get boat. Did hotel take you?"
I nod.
"What did you pay?"
"80 rupees each. Is that a good price?"
"Good price. Next time you go I get 100 for the both of you".
His face has fallen. Counting the lost commissions, if only he had got to us sooner.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Why not?" he shrugged.
"The holy man. Behind the dolphin hotel. Is he a good man?"
"Did someone take you there?"
"Yes. Is he a good man?"
"When did they take you there?"
"Last night. Did they get a commission?"
"Yes", Visnu nods imperceptibly, "he is good". He looks solemly to the cows strolling up the stones.
"Tell me this. Does he own an ashram?"
"You want to go to ashram? I can take you."
"No, I want to know if the holy man has an ashram".
"Yes," he barely nods again, "he is good. He has an ashram. Don't pay more than 1000. This is a good price".
The light of his face has truly emptied. My analysis is torn. Does he know I'm being taken advantage of - or is he pondering the finances he has lost from not taking us first?
I feel the same as yesterday, when we relented to the silk merchants and made small purchases. The discrepancy of the stories, "Oh silk has been in our family for seven generations" says one. "Our business has run for 42 years, three generations of our family" says the other. All the promises of no commission are as worthy as the dust that collects between the cobbles of Varanasi's streets.
For anyone considering a visit to the holy man behind the dolphin restaurant, please remember this. As we arrived, a middle aged Chinese man was rushing back to see him with $600 clutched in his fists. The man, whose wife and himself had been declared infertile, had just been informed by the holy man that if he donated enough money to the prayers in his ashram, then they would be blessed with a child. The same holy man can be found frequenting first class hotels, and business class flights across India and Nepal. I know the latter because he told me.
In this holy city; I am seen purely as a walking cash pot. No trust. Not right now. Our tour guide this morning tells us afloat the holy water of the Ganges, "I take no commission, I want to be your friend. Friendship only". Five minutes later, "What time you come to my house? I show you perfume my mama like. If you like, you buy".
As I leave Visnu's shop, he points to the silk stall directly opposite, "See this scarf, the colours are special to Varanasi, if you like, you can ask me. I get you good price".
The man is directly across the street. Why can't I get a good price myself?
I'm saturated with being shown products I might want to buy. Its a free market jungle in Varanasi.
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