In the city of Varanasi in Northern India, a common greeting is “Mahadev,” Hail to Shiva, King of the Gods. Shiva is believed to dwell here, even to walk the streets in disguise. He is perhaps the most enigmatic figure of the Hindu pantheon, merging the roles of king and hermit, husband and ascetic, yogi and hedonist. The following interview with Vimal Mehra, a translator and Professor of Hindi who has lived in Varanasi his whole life, offers a nuanced interpretation of what Shiva means to the modern city. Mr. Mehra uses interchangeably two more of Varanasi’s many names: Banaras, referring to the medieval stretch along the River Ganga; and Kashi, the primordial City of Light.

I believe Banaras truly is the city of Shiva, but not in the way most people conceptualize it. There is a spirit of this city that is very hard to name or define, but everyone feels it here. In spite of all the mess, the cheating and rowdiness, we still love this place. The real manifestation of Shiva, I think, is what captivates people in Banaras.

Shiva chose this city – or perhaps he made it this way – because he enjoys seeing all walks of life thrown together. In Banaras there are pilgrims and crooks, pandits and frauds, all getting along somehow. The city is constantly stretching your eyes to show you how much more there is to life than you could possibly imagine. There is no escaping death here: bodies burn right out in the open. But you also see life going on just behind the cremation ghats. There is no separation between homes and the charnel grounds like you find in other cities.

It is said that Shiva chooses to live away from heaven and the other gods. He surrounds himself with ghoulish people: the lepers, vampires, and ghosts of the cremation grounds. These are exactly the kinds of people who make up much of our population here, the people you bump into in the lanes and on the ghats. The fact that Shiva chooses to live here conveys the message that you cannot understand life, you cannot gain transcendent knowledge without living in messy situations and among wicked people.

Unlike the other gods, Shiva is never depicted wearing a crown or jewelry. He is a simple man who wears only a tiger skin to cover his nakedness. Yet he is called Mahadev, the greatest of the gods, the one who the gods themselves worship. Even the sages have not been able to figure him out. He is said to have five faces, five unique aspects. To understand even one aspect takes a whole school of thought.

People often forget that Shiva is also a householder and family man, with a wife and children. Yet He remains a yogi and ascetic. Somehow he combines blissfulness and austerity, and this is the most difficult thing for human beings to understand or imitate. He does not particularly like to be worshipped, either. He wants His devotees to become like him, to be godlike themselves.

I don’t think anyone succeeds in living like Shiva in Banaras, but they certainly try. The true Brahmins imitate Shiva’s lifestyle in a way, but I think they make the biggest mistake he cautions against. They live in seclusion, in their cloistered homes, trying to gain peace by meditating and doing puja. They forget the point that truth lives in chaos, and you cannot become Shiva until you choose to live in the degenerate corners of the world.

The naga go about imitating Shiva in an extreme way. Their nakedness is supposed to symbolize innocence, a total lack of shame as in the Biblical story of Adam and Eve. But the naga wear their nakedness as a badge. They want to be viewed as Shiva himself. They often walk in rowdy groups, making people get out of their way. At the Kumbh Mela, they won’t allow anybody else to bathe while they are around. In my mind, this is one more example of religion gone wrong. Becoming like Shiva is a solitary thing; you cannot just band together with other people who think like you do. The naga miss the point that Shiva never desires anyone to fear or bow to him.

I’m sure plenty of people outside Banaras have succeeded in becoming like Shiva. In a way, this city is a trick he plays on people. He is constantly telling us, “Just because you live in my city does not give you a spiritual guarantee or some kind of moral high ground.” People can become like Shiva anywhere, anytime, without even setting foot in Kashi. Of course that is the opposite of what most people here like to think. I hope they will all come to this realization one day: the places that are supposedly pious and holy have all the paraphernalia of religion, but miss the heart of it.

I don’t say that all popular religion has gone astray or misses the point. People here follow tradition very closely as it is prescribed. They have no other guidance or way of doing things, so we cannot blame them. If everyone were purely intellectual like me, for instance, there would be no religion left in the world, and Shiva worship would die out. It takes all of us – people with more faith than intellect, and vice versa – to keep the city of Shiva alive.

I believe the present state of religion is protracting the last stretch of time before Shiva will reveal himself completely. There will be an end to the way the world is going now. Human life on all levels – from policy-making in Washington to petty cheating in Varanasi – will suffer a major shakedown. Shiva won’t physically end the world, because of course a god cares too much for his creation to destroy it. Maybe this is the best way of describing Shiva’s role as the annihilator: he brings us back to a state of equilibrium.

I try to have a balanced view on this matter. Shiva will shake the world to its senses and it will be very painful. Our arrogance will be annihilated. Everyone, the good and the bad, will suffer through it. But the result will be the dawn of a new world, a new way of thinking. I hope so, at least.

 

 

 

 

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