Seeing the dirt floor of Varanasi covered in trash, I hesitated to go out. Yet, driven by intense curiosity, I eventually headed toward the Ganges River. My experience there made me realize the river is a mysterious place where life and death coexist.
Seeing the dirt ground covered in trash, I resolved never to go out. When I opened the window to breathe in the outside air, the stench choked me. Varanasi, a city in northern India, is a city steeped in history and scent. The air carried both the smoke drifting from distant cremation grounds and the scent of flower petals scattered along the Ganges riverbank. Of course, the stench of garbage and animal waste was inescapable. It felt like the air itself was a heavy blanket weighing down my body, and the unique aroma made my head ache. I couldn’t help but long for the cold, crisp air of midwinter.
I closed my eyes, gathered my courage, opened the door, and cautiously placed one foot on the dirt floor. The moment I stepped out, regret washed over me. I couldn’t open my eyes, thinking of my pristine white sneakers now surely filthy. But then, I felt something tap me from somewhere. Opening my eyes, I saw a newborn baby and a young girl holding it standing before me. The girl, who looked younger than ten, was emaciated, her bones protruding as if she hadn’t eaten in days. The newborn, exhausted from hunger, had unfocused eyes. Both children looked like empty shells, their spirits gone. The girl smiled and held out her scarred hand to me, her fingers lightly brushing my T-shirt. Completely flustered by the sudden situation, I hurriedly fled back inside the motel.
As I stepped inside and closed the door, I couldn’t bring myself to look out the window. I felt utterly cowardly and ashamed. I still cannot forget the look in that girl’s eyes. Lost in this mental turmoil, I didn’t join the others on the Ganges River tour. I sat blankly in the motel lobby for a long time, surveying the interior. The motel felt like a place where time had stopped. Blue mold bloomed on the faded wallpaper, and various bugs scurried in and out of the cushions of the lobby’s only sofa. Ants marched in lines across the tile floor, like food debris stuck between teeth. The Shiva statue (Hindu god of destruction) and her cobra hanging on the wall seemed to stare at me with piercing eyes. That day, due to power shortages, only one of the three ceiling fans was working, and it was barely enough to endure India’s sweltering heat.
Avoiding Shiva’s gaze, I looked out the window again, watching the bustling scene of Varanasi. Despite the early dawn, street vendors were already selling fruit and various spices from their stalls, and students riding bicycles that looked ready to collapse were on their way to school. The sight of Hindus wrapped in bright orange saris (traditional Indian women’s attire) heading to offer morning prayers to the gods was particularly mystical and new to me. Like a conveyor belt, Varanasi’s main streets served to transport people and animals to the Ganges River. Watching this, I became consumed by curiosity. Unable to contain my wonder, I mustered the courage to step outside the motel again. The moment I stepped out the door, Varanasi’s characteristic smell assaulted my nose. But this time, perhaps because I had grown accustomed to it, it didn’t feel repulsive. Unconcerned by others’ gazes, I stepped onto Varanasi’s conveyor belt.
Viewed from afar, the Ganges River boasted a beautiful blue hue. As I drew nearer to the riverbank, the Hindu temples lining its shores came into view one by one. The stone steps leading down to the river were teeming with people. From elderly merchants to street children and animals, the closer I got to the Ganges, the more intensely I felt the energy of life. Street children followed me around, offering monkey shows for tourists like me, while families who had come to the river were preparing to bathe. Cows, revered as gods in India, wandered near the riverbank, observing everything with their sorrowful eyes. On the final steps, people lost in meditation and women doing laundry had taken their places.
I handed the young boatman less than a dollar in American money and boarded the small sailboat. The boat was so old that I spent every moment aboard filled with unease. The view of the Ganges from the boat was a stark contrast to what I’d seen from afar. That blue hue, like a lie, was nowhere to be found. Instead, my reflection in the muddy water was blurred, reminding me of dirty basketball shoes. Soot and trash floated around the boat, while rotting wood, plastic, and torn fabric covered the river like a puzzle. Each time a gentle wave passed, food scraps bounced up and down with the current. Children and adults alike submerged themselves in the water, mimicking the waves’ motion. Thus, they bathed alongside the dead bodies floating in the river, offering daily prayers of thanks to God. Watching this scene, I couldn’t suppress my revulsion. What on earth was religion and faith that allowed people to bathe without a second thought in the filthiest place on earth—the riverbank?
Inside the boat, witnessing this unbelievable scene, I closed my eyes for a moment. Suddenly, a story I’d heard years ago flashed into my mind. It was Schrödinger’s cat experiment. In this experiment, a cat is placed in a box isolated from the outside world, along with a small amount of radioactive material, a detector to measure it, and a vial of poison connected to the detector. This radioactive material has a 50% chance of decaying. If it decays, the detector picks up the signal and shatters the vial containing the poison. However, an external observer cannot know whether the cat inside the box is dead or alive until the box is opened. In other words, this means the cat is simultaneously experiencing both the world of death and the world of life. India’s Ganges River is one of the most polluted rivers on Earth, a place incapable of sustaining “life.” Yet, for Indians, the Ganges symbolizes “life,” and they believe bathing in its waters grants eternal life. Sailing upon this river, I felt it shared many similarities with Schrödinger’s cat.
This thought pierced my heart, just as the beggar girl’s finger had that morning. I realized the mystery of the Ganges lies in its paradoxical nature. Scientifically, it is a “dead” river, yet religiously, it signifies “life” – a seemingly contradictory notion. Yet, as Schrödinger’s experiment demonstrated, it is not impossible. Gazing at the Ganges from the boat, I was suddenly overcome with gratitude. The Ganges must be the only place in this world where one can simultaneously experience the realms of death and life, and I felt immensely fortunate to have experienced it firsthand. Unlike Schrödinger’s cat, the Ganges cannot have its box lid opened to resolve its paradoxical state. India’s Ganges River, unlike Schrödinger’s cat, will forever remain a place that bridges the worlds of life and death.
