"Banaras is the chant on my lips"

The family stories are that my mother's father was one heck of a smart man.  He was a calm and studious type, and truly gentle, right from when he was a young boy.

In the school leaving exams, which determined the eligibility for college, he knew he had done really well.  But, to his shock, his results were held back.  He soon found out the reason: In one exam, his responses were identical to another student's, and the authorities needed additional time to establish who had copied from whom.

The principal and teachers at the high school submitted affidavits with evidence of grandfather's academic track record, and argued that it was the other student who had copied grandfather's responses.

Finally, the authorities cleared grandfather's results.

But, by then, it was too late for him to apply to the reputed colleges in Travancore and Madras.  He was stuck.

Dejected and frustrated, he applied for admission to Benares Hindu University.  The response was an offer of admission, but only to study metallurgy.

Wanting to get away the sour experiences, grandfather took up the admission offer to study metallurgy, which was never his primary interest.

Grandfather during his undergraduate years at Varanasi (Benares)
in the early-1930s

In his undergraduate years at Benares, grandfather got interested in North Indian classical music, especially the shehnai music.

The leading shehnai musicians playing Hindustani musicians have for the longest time been Muslims.  Varanasi, shehnai, and Muslims go together.  Ever since Islam and Muslim warriors found their passage to India, there has been a significant Muslim population in the holiest Hindu city.

Yet, almost halfway into The City of Good Death, there is no Muslim character.  Not even in passing.  Of course, the plot is built around the Hindu notion of the good death.  But, the canvas has enough and more space for non-Hindu elements that are a part of Varanasi.  (For instance, the local police inspector could have been a Muslim.)

To her credit, the author--an Indian-American brought up in a Hindu faith--notes in the book that Varanasi's population is not all Hindu.  Yet,  she decided not to include even a minor character who is Muslim.  But then she deserves a lot of leeway given that this is her debut novel.

Perhaps this aspect of her storytelling bothers me because of the contemporary political effort to saffronize Varanasi.  The current Prime Minister contested for India's Parliament not from his home state of Gujarat but from Varanasi (in Uttar Pradesh) in order to make clear the religious bottom-line.  He and his party have been very clear in their argument that anything Islamic is an overlay that covers the Hindu history and, therefore, are on a warpath to erase the Islamic aspects of the landscape--including in Varanasi.

This commentary in The Hindu expresses serious concerns about the saffronization of Varanasi:

Banaras, known to accept everyone with open arms, is being asked to exclude every person without a Hindu name. This overt saffronisation of Banaras might result in the erasure of its famous mixed culture, the mili juli tahzeeb

The author writes:

In the late Mughal period, with the arrival of Shahzada Mirza Jawan Bakht and Nawab Ali Ibrahim Khan in Banaras, the city emerged as a hub for literature and art. Mushaire (symposiums) on the lines of those held in Delhi’s Red Fort became common, especially at Nawab ki Deohdi, the residence of Ali Ibrahim Khan.

The commentary ends with this:

Mirza Hatim Ali Beig Mehr, a close friend of Ghalib who stayed in Banaras shortly, wrote: 

jab se mujhe qismat ne banaras se chhudaya,

rahta hai zabaan’ par meri bas haaye banaras! 

‘From the day fate compelled me to leave Banaras,

O Banaras is the chant on my lips’ 

kaabe mein’ dua mangunga main’ apne khuda se,

ya rab! but-e-kaafir mujhe bulwaaye banaras 

‘I will pray to my god in the kaaba;

O god, let me be recalled by the idols of Banaras’ 

These poets are long dead but the spirit of their poetry should not die with them. Let the narrow lanes of the old city not become a graveyard of all things good, of art and love, and a wealth of culture.