Suicide, or was it Homicide Mission? Probably Both

Being an accessory to a suicide mission today. Or was it a homicide mission? Probably both. I was totally dazed. Scared shit.

We went to witness Kumbh Mela, the biggest humans gathering on earth in Prayagraj, formerly known as Allahabad.

The day before, we asked our host, of the possibility of taking a day trip from Varanasi by train. He said he’d check with his friend who was travel agent. He asked us to check with him a few hours later.

A few hours later, he was not there. His co-host was there and we repeated our inquiry to him. He said the possibility of doing a day trip by train was very slim since this was the biggest Khumb Mela ever. Up to 4 million pilgrims would be in Prayagraj.

He recommended bus. Or car hire. I asked if he could arrange a car hire. He said yes. We agreed on the price quoted. We also agreed that we would leave for Prayagraj 8.00am the next morning.

8.15am the next morning we followed Rakesh, the young helper of the guest house to the car which was on the main street. From the guest house to the main street, the only option was to walk because the maze-like alleyways of Varanasi are very narrow. Motorbikes are the only motored vehicles that can pass through.

We weaved between people, cows, dogs and motorbikers, at the same time watching our steps to not to step on fresh dog shit & cow dung which basically was every where in Varanasi. When we reached the main street 15 minutes later, Rakesh said,

“Two minutes.”

He disappered and reappered four or five minutes later, pulling a bicycle. We followed him. After 6 or 7 minutes walk we stopped outside a residential building.

“Two minutes,” he said. And disappeared inside the building. We waited. Two minutes passed. Then another two minutes. Then another.

“The driver must still be sleeping,” I said to Ben.

Twenty minutes later Rakesh appeared, in a car, with him in the driver seat.

“You? Driving us?” I asked. We thought he went to fetch a driver for us. We did not expect him to be our driver. He looked barely 18.

He smiled. Nodded. He barely spoke English apart from “Two minutes.”

His suicide-homicide mission began once we got into the used-to-be white Suzuki Celerio. And my 120km of nightmare commenced. He sped. He weaved. He overtook other vehicles that I never thought possible. For about 10km we were totally on the wrong side of the road, weaving through oncoming vehicles. Hundreds of times we narrowly missed collission with oncoming cars, lorries & trucks. Even an elephant once.

The car rattled at the back. Or rather groaned in protest of the way it was being handled. Or of being driven on the road with very bad surface.

I was very scared. Scared shit. Not just for myself. But I was scared for others too especially motorbikers and cyclists. But they seemed oblivious to the extreme danger of being rammed from behind. Or from every which way. They rode in the middle of the road or lanes with no crash helmets. Joyfully. Fuck them for making me feel scared for them.

“I want to take train back to Varanasi, if we get to Pragyaraj alive,” I hissed at Ben

We stopped for Ben’s pee break, once. Toilet was a roadside open ground. Rakesh also needed a pee break.

“Two minutes,” he said.

We got to Pragyaraj around 11.30am. Alive. Nobody got killed. I wanted to murder Rakesh though.

We agreed to meet Rakesh at the car park 6pm. Then we joined the pilgrims, which were thinning out since the big splash day at the confluence (Sangam) of Ganges-Yamuna & invisible Sarasvathi was the day before.

Anyhow, I forgot about my nightmare. And mingled with the crowd.

By 5.30pm we left Pragyaraj. I asked Rakesh to take it easy. He obeyed. We got to Varanasi minus nightmare.

“How old are you?” I asked Rakesh. Out of curiousity, after we arrived at our hotel. I was half expecting him to say “Two minutes”.

“Twenty four,” said him.