We, too, will embark on the Ganges east of Allahabad, to follow the currents downstream to Varanasi or Benares, the most sacred city of Hinduism, in which dying and being cremated is highly sought-after by many. Our three longboats each have one oarsman and a ragged sail which is rarely raised. It's a strange hazy landscape in which sandy bluffs tumble down to a murky grey-green body of water. With water levels low, the villages seem to perch high above the riverbank, or nestle behind trees, announcing their presence with the characteristic honking and beeping of Indian traffic, or the gentler sounds of chanting and kettle drums in the temples. From time to time, traffic clatters across the temporary pontoon bridges which complement more permanent structures.
Someone sights a skeleton during a routine pit stop ashore on a sandbank.
Glimpses of dolphins and cattle egrets are more welcome variations to the routine. The afternoon drifts by until it's time to pitch camp onshore. Our bare toes uncover painted plaster charms half-buried in the sand. Just don't swallow. On the third day, the ghats of Varanasi materialise slowly through the dusty haze.