The Pull of Varanasi
Varanasi, one of the oldest living cities in the world, has a way of calling you. It’s not something you can easily explain, but when you feel it, you know it. There’s a magnetic force that draws you into its chaos, its depth, and its beauty. Varanasi is a place where life and death coexist in harmony. The ghats are vibrant with life - people working, eating, and living -while also serving as a sacred space where others come to die, seeking moksha, or liberation, from the cycle of rebirth.
In late January, I found myself reflecting on the past decade as I’m approaching 40 this summer. The loss of my entire elder family—my mother and grandparents—within a single year had left me in a fog of grief. Some years felt lost, swallowed by sorrow. Then, I stumbled across a post about a women’s trip to India. I had led countless student trips, but a women’s trip hadn’t crossed my mind. I had always imagined India as a dream honeymoon destination, but life had other plans. Setting aside those expectations, I booked the trip, just four weeks away. Varanasi, in particular, captured my heart. I had a vivid vision of myself sending a candle down the Ganga, so clear and undeniable that I knew I had to go.
Varanasi is a city of contradictions: sadhus, naked and immersed in spirituality; elderly pilgrims awaiting their final moments; and others fully alive, working or sharing meals. Every corner tells a story, making you feel part of something vast, something greater than yourself.
Some hesitate to visit Varanasi, and I understand why. Its energy is intense, raw, and unfiltered. Yet, it’s profoundly real. Death, after all, is the ultimate teacher. If you’ve spent time on a yoga mat, you know every practice is a preparation for that final exhale. I felt this truth the moment I arrived.
An Overwhelming Arrival
Upon reaching Varanasi, I was overcome with emotion. Uncontrollable tears streamed down my face, a release from somewhere deep within. I hadn’t expected it, but the city’s energy was undeniable. Walking to the ghats, surrounded by thousands, I joined the Ganga Aarti ceremony—an experience no words can fully capture. The chants, the flickering flames, the presence of the Ganga—it was as if everything converged in that moment. It’s a memory I’ll carry forever.
Varanasi is intense, but it’s also deeply spiritual. It’s where I embarked on a journey I never anticipated, one that would change me profoundly.
A Ceremony for My Mother: Finding Peace on the Ganges
Months before my mother passed away in 2021, we had a conversation in her bedroom that lingered with me. She asked about death in India and their rituals, as if preparing for her own transition. My mom had devoted much of her post-divorce life to spiritual exploration. Raised in a humble Christian household in Ohio, she forged her own path, owning multiple copies of the Bhagavad Gita, the Ramayana, and every book by Paramahansa Yogananda. She kept a statue of Ganesha, thanks to Krishna Das we sang Baba Hanuman, and she even wore a sacred rudraksha bead—something I discovered only after returning to the US.
Through the turmoil of a decade-long divorce and our family’s relocation from Ohio to Florida, she found solace in these teachings. She knew more about spirituality than anyone I’d met, yet her humility concealed it. As illness took hold, her attachment to those teachings softened. In her final years, she eventually held onto nothing.
My mom moved to Jacksonville, Florida, six hours from me in Miami, after I cared for her in Naples for a year. A natural designer, she yearned for a new home in a cooler climate, reminiscent of her Ohio childhood. I sometimes think she chose distance to spare us the pain of watching her decline. She passed away quickly on her porch, as she would have wanted.
Her death stopped my world. I was plunged into a black hole of grief. Yet, my mom and I shared an unspoken bond. I would handle things when she was gone. I don’t know what was more emotionally exhausting, anticipating her death with the monthly ER visits, the day of her departure, the years of picking up the pieces, handling her estate or still trying to run a business in Miami. But I continued. I led her small, intimate funeral in Florida, reading a passage from the Bhagavad Gita to honor her spiritual journey. It was a heavy task to grieve while holding space for others, but it was what needed to be done.
What I expected to be a quiet moment with a candle on the Ganga became something so much more. After learning that my mom shared Yoga and the teachings of the Gita with me, my guide suggested I honor my mom. At first hesitant - because I was on a group tour with women whom I had just met - I finally relented and went with the flow.
He led me to a man by the river who asked for my mother’s name, Jenifer, and the date of her passing, October 1, 2021. He signaled for me to sit down in front of him. Speaking no English, he recited the Gayatri, Tarak, and Maha Mrityunjaya mantras. The Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra, known as the "Great Death-Conquering Mantra," is a powerful invocation for healing and liberation from the cycle of death and rebirth. Its Sanskrit text is:
Om tryambakam yajamahe
sugandhim pushti-vardhanam
urvarukamiva bandhanan
mrityor mukshiya mamritat
This mantra, dedicated to Lord Shiva, felt like a bridge to my mother’s spiritual essence, resonating with her lifelong quest for liberation. He asked if I had a photo of her. I did. I showed the man an old passport photo of her I’d kept in my wallet. He placed it in a basket of flowers as he chanted, then I returned it to my wallet. He guided me to the riverbank, poured sacred Ganga water over me, and we sent flowers and candles into the current. In that moment, the Ganges felt like a bridge between worlds, connecting me to my mother in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
This ceremony, though for my mom, was also for me. Surrounded by strangers from my tour group, I felt peace, not just for her, but for my own healing. This was a space for me to grieve in my own way.
The Mark of Shiva
During the ceremony, the man marked my forehead. His movements were deliberate, pressing something cool onto my skin. I didn’t question it; it felt like part of the ritual’s flow. Only later, catching my reflection, did I see it: three horizontal lines across my forehead with a trident at the center. I hadn’t understood its meaning.
“It’s the mark of Shiva,” my guide explained. Shiva—the destroyer, the eternal, the first yogi, Adiyogi. The one who dances through creation and destruction, holding the universe’s rhythm. In his hand, the Trishul, the trident.
I later learned the trident’s three prongs symbolize time (past, present, future), the forces of existence (creation, preservation, destruction), and the mastery of mind, body, and energy. It’s not merely a weapon but a symbol of balance, power, and transformation.
In that moment, I felt Shiva’s call to pay attention, to embrace the unknown, to release what no longer serves me, and to walk the path of transformation, however uncertain. For years, I thought my spiritual connection was to Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, because of my mother’s affinity for him. But in Varanasi, I realized Shiva had been guiding me all along. The mantra Om Namah Shivaya had surfaced in my meditations the summer before, and now I understood why.
I don’t believe in accidents. Spirituality unfolds in its own time, and in Varanasi, at the heart of India’s spiritual life, I found the peace I’d been seeking.
Varanasi is a place where life and death meet in the most profound way. It’s a city that challenges you, humbles you, and invites you to reflect on what truly matters. For me, it was a place of healing, of connection to my mom, and of discovering a deeper connection to my spiritual path.
If you ever feel that pull to visit this ancient city, trust it. Varanasi has a way of showing you things you never expected, and in its sacred energy, you might just find the answers you’re soul if looking for.
