Grand tours: Stairway to heaven

Kevin Rushby meets the Hindu faithful in Varanasi

Ever attracted to the illicit, after the acclaimed 'Hunting Pirate Heaven' journalist and author Kevin Rushby has turned his attention to the outlaws of southern India. 'Children of Kali' follows the 1930s campaign of William Henry Sleeman, an officer of the British Raj, to rid India of its 'thug cult' – worshippers of the six-armed goddess of destruction said to sacrifice travellers by strangulation.

"Varanasi is the place," Maddy had said. "I heard there are men, aghoris, who are following that way of Kali: they call it the left-hand path of god and it's dangerous – many of them go insane." I left the Kali temple and walked up and around the hilltop where there were further temples to various incarnations of Kali. Some devotees had made images of her and were begging, others used photographs of her most famous temple in Kolkata. At sunset I left and returned to the station.

If there is one city in India where the chaos, the filth, the noise, the overwhelming sense of compressed ant-heap humanity makes sense, it is Varanasi. I didn't need directions – I was going where everyone goes, to the river. Even at this hour, or rather especially at this hour, people were heading down, bearing brass ewers and offerings, all wrapped in shawls against the chill. Some men were bearing a small bier adorned with flowers and joss-sticks, but it was not a child, as I first assumed, rather a monkey that had been electrocuted on overhead wires. Further along an elderly lady in widow's white placed a single marigold on a Shiva lingam, a stone phallus, next to which lay a sleeping dog, its fur completely destroyed by mange and its greyish skin twitching with dreams.

I came down a narrow lane, squeezed past some buffaloes, went under an arch and then, from the head of a long steep flight of steps, spotted the water. A few seconds later I emerged into the sunshine on the ghats. Two hundred yards away across the shimmering silver water was a white featureless sandbank. This is the marvel of Varanasi: on one riverbank is the teeming, visceral madness of the city, on the other, nothing. Between the two glides the river, the borderline between those two contrasting worlds.

As I sat there, the sunlight warmed the whole crescent of the riverfront, all the temples and towers of ochre and red, and the haze gave it depth and mystery. Below me sadhus were washing their saffron robes and a naked man was sitting astride a wallowing buffalo giving its head a vigorous shampoo with soap and water, singing to it gently. In the air was a faint spicy tang; slightly acrid, a smell one never quite escapes in Varanasi; in all the churning vital life, it is death, the scent of cremation from the burning ghats.

I walked south along the steps of the ghats. All the sadhus were camped here, with simple canvas or plastic sheeting tied up and a bed-roll each. In front of the camps were the dhunis, the sacred fire, more often than not with a trident standing in it. Some sadhus were naked except for ashes. One or two were well blessed with gold jewellery donated by wealthy admirers, but most satisfied themselves with a necklace of rudraksh seeds.

I passed their camps and moved on, past a water tower and came to the final ghat, Assi Ghat, named after a river that once flowed into the Ganges here. It did not take long for me to appreciate that I had landed in the perfect spot for my purposes. Shashank, the owner, was a cultured man: his living room a poised and artful space with portraits and maps on the walls, piles of books on low tables and interesting artefacts dotted around.

"Doesn't anything ever go missing?" I asked. He looked surprised. "Never!" I sat on the sofa drinking tea, he at his desk in the corner. "But Benares was famous for thugs." He laughed. "Even our friends from outside say they never get the better of us, for we are Benares thugs."

'Children of Kali' by Kevin Rushby is published in hardback by Constable at £16.99. To order a copy at the special price of £15 (free p&p within the UK) call 01206 255800 and quote 'Independent on Sunday'. The offer will end on 31 October.

Follow in the footsteps

Knocking on heaven's door

One of India's oldest cities, Varanasi (or Benares as Indians call it) is on the river Ganges in Uttar Pradesh. The city is also known as Kashi by devout Hindus, and many come here to die believing they will secure a direct gateway to heaven.

For more materialistic pursuits, Varanasi is well known for its crafts, particularly exquisite silk saris – a woman's wedding outfit is not complete without a Varanasi silk – rugs and dhurries.

Getting there

Flights from Heathrow to Varanasi can be booked through www.opodo.co.uk from £747 with British Airways and Indian Airlines via Delhi.

The airport is 22km from the city and Indian Airlines connects the two with a shuttle bus. Varanasi has good railway connections to Mumbai, Allahabad, Patna, Jaipur, Gorakhpur and Khajuraho. There are also services from Delhi and Calcutta although not as frequent. These are better connected to Mughalsarai, 12km south of the city.

The five-star Taj Ganges (0800 282 699; www.tajhotels.com), in the Nedesar Palace grounds, offers standard double rooms from $60 (£40) per night.

For more information, contact the Indian Tourist Office (020-7437 3677; www.indiatouristoffice.com).

Angela Smith