DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.635#0201
188 BENARES, THE SACRED CITY
buted by Hindus to the pilgrimage, there is no doubt
that there is a great charm about this old country road
in the crisp air of a late December morning, and some-
thing of the Vedic spirit in the simple piety of the old
traditions which cling to it. From Manikarnika the
crowd of pilgrims, young and old, rich and poor, wend
their way along the ghats to Asi. Sangam on the south,
where the little stream called Asi flows into the Ganges.
Crossing this, a path leads along the river for some
distance through fields of wheat and barley, then
widens out into a broad avenue lined by splendid
mango-trees. Framed in the noble colonnade of their
massive trunks and the deep rich foliage are vistas of
tender green cornfields, varied with clumps of sugar-
cane, patches of yellow mustard and marigold, and the
lilac of linseed flowers. The pilgrims pause to pay
their devotions at the little wayside shrines placed
between the trees. At one place the road is strewn
for some distance with broken moulds, where a colony
of brass-workers is enraged in making- the vessels for
which Benares is famous. Next we pass a Hindu
monastery.
The first day's halting-place is at Khandawa, a
typical Hindu village, six miles from Manikarnika
along the sacred road. As you approach it you may
see a kid lying by the roadside, sacrificed by some low-
caste villagers to appease the spirits of evil. Here a
bamboo with a red flag marks the altar of Devi, per-
haps the Earth goddess of the Dasyus, or another of
the primitive aboriginal divinities afterwards brought
into the Hindu pantheon as one of the wives of Shiva.
At a little distance from the village is the usual collec-
tion of huts occupied by potters, rope and basket
buted by Hindus to the pilgrimage, there is no doubt
that there is a great charm about this old country road
in the crisp air of a late December morning, and some-
thing of the Vedic spirit in the simple piety of the old
traditions which cling to it. From Manikarnika the
crowd of pilgrims, young and old, rich and poor, wend
their way along the ghats to Asi. Sangam on the south,
where the little stream called Asi flows into the Ganges.
Crossing this, a path leads along the river for some
distance through fields of wheat and barley, then
widens out into a broad avenue lined by splendid
mango-trees. Framed in the noble colonnade of their
massive trunks and the deep rich foliage are vistas of
tender green cornfields, varied with clumps of sugar-
cane, patches of yellow mustard and marigold, and the
lilac of linseed flowers. The pilgrims pause to pay
their devotions at the little wayside shrines placed
between the trees. At one place the road is strewn
for some distance with broken moulds, where a colony
of brass-workers is enraged in making- the vessels for
which Benares is famous. Next we pass a Hindu
monastery.
The first day's halting-place is at Khandawa, a
typical Hindu village, six miles from Manikarnika
along the sacred road. As you approach it you may
see a kid lying by the roadside, sacrificed by some low-
caste villagers to appease the spirits of evil. Here a
bamboo with a red flag marks the altar of Devi, per-
haps the Earth goddess of the Dasyus, or another of
the primitive aboriginal divinities afterwards brought
into the Hindu pantheon as one of the wives of Shiva.
At a little distance from the village is the usual collec-
tion of huts occupied by potters, rope and basket