10% of the planet’s population lives and works in the Ganges river delta and the city of Varanasi, clinging as it does to the river bank, is quite possibly the oldest continually inhabited city in the world. Mark Twain wrote that Varanasi is older than history, tradition and legend, and as you walk the narrow streets it certainly seems true. The city attracts millions of pilgrims (and, latterly, tourists) every year as Hindus come to pray in the infinite number of temples and shrines, bathe in the Ganges to wash away their sins, and to cremate their dead.

Hindus believe that the Ganges river is the physical embodiment of the goddess Shakti (meaning ‘Power’) and that she cleanses the soul. Those who die alongside or are cremated in the Ganges can escape from the cycle of rebirths commonly called reincarnation, and so death here is a big business in every sense.

The first surprise is that bodies are not brought to the burning ghats (river steps) in a funeral car but simply shrouded in coloured fabric and tied to a stretcher. If the person has died locally male family members will carry the body down to the water but if they are coming from further afield then the body is tied to the roof rack of a jeep before being processed down through the narrowest streets. No women are present in the funeral procession as cremation in Varanasi is a cause for celebration; the tears of women would taint the occasion.

A queue of bodies and supporting family members waits on the steps alongside the cremation site. Once they reach the front of the queue the body will be submersed in the river. The process of purification has begun. Sandalwood and ghee (clarified butter) are required to build the funeral pyre but both are expensive commodities, weighed out piece by piece on giant scales not dissimilar to the scales of justice. A top-rate funeral with all the trimmings will set you back approximately £600 – a huge sum anywhere but especially in India – and so the poor have to make do with a handful of sandalwood and whatever alternative fuel they can find.

The pyres are built by the so-called untouchables as handling the dead is dirty work. The pyres are built side by side to enable as many as possible to fit in a relatively small space. 7 or 8 burning at any one time at ground level with another few built on the 1st floor and roof of the building behind. The fires burn through the night and the heat that comes off them is quite incredible. The air is thick with ash and smoke which saturates your clothes and hair and also fills your eyes and sticks in your throat. The site is spiritual but, at the same time, a complete shock to the system. In the west death has become something rather sterile that takes place out of the public eye; here the dead and the living are quite literally eyeball to eyeball. When, as is often the case, a pyre collapses on one side, limbs both attached and detached do fall out, necessitating that someone poke them back with a bamboo pole. The dogs and cows that scavenge among the ashes pick over the remaining bones and run off with whatever they fancy, unhindered by lingering bystanders.

Once burned the ashes are cast into the river, rejoining their mother goddess. Teams of men pan the water at the foot of the ghats for diamond rings, gold teeth and metal plates that are all that remain of the dead. The parts are sold back to the ghat owners and a cut is used to subsidise the funeral costs.

One thing I did not realise before coming to Varanasi is that not everyone can be cremated here. Pregnant women, children and holy men do not need to be purified by fire and so their corpses can be taken out into the centre of the river, weighted down with a stone and then just let go. Snake bite victims cannot be thrown straight in the river lest the snake’s poison infect the river and so they are put into a banana leaf boat with their name and address and left to float down river. The hope is that a holy man will discover the body and purify it. The other bodies that float in the river are those of people who have committed suicide. As the river washes away sins, the Ganges is the only place in which you can take your own life without incurring bad karma for your next life. No statistics have ever been collected on the number of people who intentionally end their lives here, but it is likely to be particularly high.

Sophie

I’ve now been in India on and off for 5 years and have yet to hear a nice word about Bihar and Jharkhand from someone who doesn’t live here. Justified or not, the region is the butt of Indian jokes (one can be summarised that if Pakistan were offered all the states in India on the proviso they also took Bihar that Pakistan would simply refuse…), notorious for corruption and banditry, and the area about which all tourists are warned to avoid. A few trepid travellers brave the journey to Bodh Gaya, the place in which the Buddha attained enlightenment, but other than that the absence of hotels, decent roads and the overwhelming sense of depression attests to the absence of foreign (or indeed any) money.

The Unimog, bless its cotton socks, had a lovely if unplanned drive around the suburbs of Kolkata whilst attempting to find the Grand Trunk Road, or National Highway 2 as it is now known. As one of the most important roads in the country this should not have been too difficult if it weren’t for the fact that the bengali authorities seem to have a pathological fear of putting up road signs and every request for directions gains a response ‘Yes’ or ‘Straight’ regardless of where the desired road may be.

Once on the highway the driving improved dramatically as it has been recently resurfaced, is dual carraigeway and, shock horror, all the cars and trucks are going the same way. The same cannot be said for pedestrians and cyclists, but we will address that issue later. The Mog charged along at a contented 60km an hour and the stereo blared out The Kinks and The Beatles in quick succession.

Horror stories always tell you that when darkness falls bad things happen and, for whatever reason, it’s probably true. A large number of Indian trucks drive without lights and the pedestrians and cyclists see no reason to walk in the hardshoulder; the carriageway of a dark highway surrounded by unlit vehicles doing at least 70kmh is a perfectly acceptable place for people to be. The term lemmings comes to mind. The Mog’s work lights did somewhat ameliorate the situation as we crept along to the next town to park up but the combination of work lights, headlights, indicators, a horn and a fan in the cab was a little too much for the fuse to handle and all bar the headlights died. We pulled into the next petrol station, found that our reverse gear had also evaporated and endeavoured to sleep through the night in the cab.

Early morning came and, withough a reverse gear, there was no way to get out of the carpark. I am forever indebted to the principle of harmonic motion which allowed 6 very tiny Indian men to push a 5.6 tonne Unimog with an additional tonne or two of luggage into such a position that we could drive forward. It was truly miraculous and a sight to behold. Thank you physics.

Three hours later and we’re enjoying bright sunshine and clear roads and are finally making good progress. The luck was not to last for having just cleared a toll booth the forward gears decided to go the way of reverse and we were left with nothing but neutral. I pulled over the Mog at the side of the road and, as usual, gathered a crowd of fascinated bystanders uninterested in our predicament but completely absorbed in the size of our front winch. Simple things…  Glad that my Hindi carries more weight in Jharkhand than in Bengal we were able to summon a tow truck to the town of Barhi some 25km away where we were promised a competent mechanic. Or at least a mechanic.

I understand that the Unimog is a complicated looking beast. As I said earlier it weighs 5.6 tonnes, is nearly 6m long, has 16 forward gears, 8 reverse and can happily drive through 2.5m deep water. It is also, however, 25 years old, rather unsophisticated and, being an army vehicle, designed so that you can bolt almost anything off and on, from tractor parts to bulldozer spares. The mechanics were bemused, spent the next 8 hours standing staring at the Mog, suggested problems ranging from clutch to hydraulics to a broken rear axel (which on closer observation wasn’t broken at all), putting it on a jack, poking things, removing the spare tyre (obviously helpful), climbing on the roof and winding the winch in and out. I see a theme developing here…

Night came and they finally admitted they didn’t have a clue. Unwilling to tow us anywhere else due to a festival the next day we eventually negotiated an overpriced tow to Bodh Gaya. We began with the front end of the mog hanging from the tow truck’s crane and drove a few miles in this manner before the tow truck driver finally cottoned on to the fact that we were swinging from side to side and the rear wheels weren’t always in touch with the ground. Four wheels back on the road felt a lot safer and an unidentified number of hours later at around 1am we pulled into Bodh Gaya, exhausted, absolutely filthy and with a truck that wasn’t going anywhere soon.

That was Tuesday night and today is Friday. The Mog is still stationary although thanks to two Mercedez engineers brought out from Madhya Pradesh courtesy of the Mercedez dealership in Pune (near Mumbai) we do now think we’ve identified the problem – a worn out clutch plate. The engine runs nicely but the gears do not engage either when going forward or in reverse. I’m keeping everything crossed that a spare can be sourced in India as the alternative is that we’ll have to get one in from Germany with a lead time of anything up to a month.  Poor old mog.

The Mog may be feeling a little fragile, but I still think that driving it is the most incredible feeling. The view from the cab is spectacular as you’re taller even than the buses and from time to time they move to let you pass. This is completely unheard of as the bus drivers are known to be the most homicidal maniacs on the road. Everyone stops to stare at you whilst your driving, beep their horns to say hello and school children and policemen alike wave enthusiastically and pursue you down the road. Amelia’s driving selection of the Kinks, Eric Clapton, the Beatles, and Ultimate Power Ballads make the kms fly by and, prior to the clutch damage, you could rev the engine so that the truck danced in time to the music. Our Smelly Baby, a delightfully tasteful Chinese import to Darjeeling, and a carved Lord Ganesh, preside over the dashboard to ward off accidents and evil spirits. They’re doing well on the former but not so well on the latter. Still, it’s definitely preferable that way round.

Log on to the BBC World News pages and check out the stories for South Asia. Three stories will jump to your attention: floods, labour strikes and food riots. The Tracing Tea crew is well located to cover all of these, conveniently/inconveniently divided as we are between all the key locations.

Unit 1, which currently comprises of Marlon, Sam and Andy went up to Siliguri in West Bengal with the tuk-tuks on Friday. The journey, which usually takes 12-14 hours by car, took the tuk-tuks 3 days as protesters campaigning against the Tata’s Nano car production plant have more or less shut the road which links Kolkata with Siliguri. Traffic on the road, which is usually no more than single carriageway anyway, has ground to a halt and as sunken paddy fields lie to either side, no vehicle can overtake or undertake. The average speed on 50km stretches of the 600km road is a ludicrous 3km an hour and the mob which emerges now and then is thoroughly unamused. Tata have sent their Japanese consultants home until the situation improves and so TT unit 1 are also sitting tight.

The alternative route out of Siliguri takes one diagonally from Siliguri to Varanasi and passes through the state of Bihar. Now, Bihar is the butt of India’s jokes at the best of time and although several thousand years ago it was the place where the Buddha achieved enlightenment, it is now best known for its poverty, corruption and general lawlessness. The last week has seen monumental monsoon rainfall and put much of the state under water. 300,000 people have had to be evacuated and a further 2.5 million are displaced and heading for refugee camps. The situation is bleak. The relief effort is hindered by the flooding (even large trucks cannot pass the roads in the northern part of the state) and anger at the government’s slow response has led to rioting.

Tracing Tea’s 2nd unit has this joy to behold. At around 5am, Faroukh, Amelia and Duncan left Kolkata with the Ford 250. The early departure was due to the potential length of the journey (our previous trips between Kolkata and Bodh Gaya, a small town en route to Varanasi, have varied between 8 and 15 hours in duration) and also a desire to beat the traffic leaving Kolkata. Breakfast time came and Unit 3, waiting for the Unimog to receive new tyres in Kolkata, turned on the news. Food riots in Bihar. Insurgency. Danger. Phone call 1 was to the British High Commission. No idea what’s happening. Call 2 was to the US Embassy. Call the police in Bihar – here is the number. No answer. What joy. We then took a sojourn to the High Commission in person. The consulate personnel were in a meeting so we waited, were forgotten about, reminded reception 2 hours later that we were waiting, were told they hadn’t realised we were waiting (what else did they think we were up to?)… and were ushered in to another waiting area. Fortunately the woman in the consulate department was helpful and knowledgeable. She called the police in Bihar on our behalf, gained a full update of the situation and advised us it was safe to proceed. It was 4.30pm. Sometime this evening, many hours after dark, Unit 2, the Ford and its contents will draw up at the hotel in Bodh Gaya. It’s been a long day for all concerned.

Heinz ’83 (The Unimog)
Keep the number of the unimog spares place on a piece of paper and on speed dial-
In the week we’ve been driving it, the following issues have come to light: Spare wheel already used after blowout, spare alternator belt already used after snap, heater blower doesn’t work (inconvenient now as the windscreen mists, might be problematic at extreme altitude and in winter), jack that came with the mog is broken. We’ve had to gaffer tape the seat together because the foam is falling out everywhere. It sometimes won’t change up into 7th and 8th gears, and it often won’t change back down into 6th. I get the feeling keeping the unimog in tip top shape will be the cause of several blog entries.
 
Keep enough fuel money in the account
The Mog does 6mpg on a ‘motorway’ run, that is at its top speed of 80-85kph. Obviously the Tuk-Tuk’s only do 45kph, but even then I wouldn’t hold out hope for more than 10mpg on good, flat roads. It costs Rs 8,500 to fill with bog standard truck diesel.
 
Keep a spare spare wheel
We’ve already had a blowout, I can say with absolute certainty we will have another, the tyres are pretty much shot. Keep an eye out for 131j, 20r, 14.5 tubeless tyres, or ask a tyre place if he can convert something somehow. Then buy as many as we can carry.
 
Watch out for low bridges
The Thule roof box has already got closer than it might probably have liked to a railway bridge in Agra (nothing a hammer won’t fix). Proceed with caution. Faroukh’s idea of a long wooden pole to move wires out of the way is a good one, but it will need to be 6m or so; ideally we want the person on the ground as low wires are often accompanied by lower trees, and bumpy roads. Also look out for low branches…
 
It’s absolutely massive and terrifying to drive in towns
The wide bumpers and wheel arches are invisible from the cab, you have a blind spot which is conveniently exactly the same width, heigh and length as a tuk-tuk on the passenger side and you can’t see behind you. Be very careful in towns and get everyone to have a drive in a controlled environment first to get used to it. I’ve been driving it for 7 days, through rush hour in Mumbai, Udaipur, and Agra. And I still have no idea how wide it is.
 
Jack Bauer (the F250)
Like most Texans, it lives on oil
A litre odd every single morning. Make sure there’s plenty in the back.
 
Its turning circle IS the M25
We had to do a U-turn on a 6-lane motorway and it wouldn’t make it; it needed to do a three point turn. No joke. It’s absolutely useless in town centres. Don’t even try unless in dire straights.
 
It’s also pretty wide
Not quite as bad as the Unimog, but you still need to be careful to watch the passenger side mirror. Watch out for the length too, it could potentially ground on particularly rocky ground (though we’ve had no problems yet and taken it on some genuinely extreme off road diversions).
 
It’s rear wheel drive
So it can fishtail in the wet. Take it slow and avoid any sudden movements to keep the back end in check. Unless you want to look like a bit silly and be facing oncoming traffic.
 
Driving Tips for Indian Roads
Remember to use the horn to show people you’re there, show them you know they are there, show them you want to overtake, show them you know they want to overtake, show them you’re overtaking, and to make them get out of the way. Or just to say hello to children/ policemen (who will often stop traffic for you if you do), or cows. At night, flashing your headlights from their normal ‘dazzle and blind me’ full beam down into the dipped position before resuming the blinding is appropriate. As well as horn. You and horn are about to become mighty friendly.
 
There are as many lanes as cars will fit on the road. This is between three and seven, and they don’t necessarily run next to each other/ in a straight line along the course of the road. Try and be fluid, use your horn to show you are about to move/ moving, keep bumper to bumper with the car in front and don’t let them grind you down. Small white Suzukis in particular have a death wish and should be given no quarter. Watch out for bikes, particularly in your blind spot and weaving through gaps in the traffic, where the rider will often forget to take his own legs into account when judging the width of his bike.
 
Overtaking, undertaking, all ok. Horn first, and if they are ignoring you and you can undertake, do it. Many Indian drivers, particularly taxi’s and lorries, have taken the wise and commendable step of removing such inconvinient and clumsy items as mirrors, indicators and head/rear light bulbs, and have replaced them with permenantly twinkling fairy lights, disco balls or pom-poms, and most farmers can’t afford lights for their home, let alone their tractors. If this is the case, they will usually use hand signals to show you they are turning off the road or that you can overtake on a certain side. Be careful at night, as you can’t see hand signals, and some lorries will forget to turn their lights on. Somehow.
 
Roundabouts are advisory (note this only applies to MINI ROUNDABOUTS). The police are more likely to stop you for driving oddly if you go round them the right way than if you just take the quickest route.
 
Size matters. The biggest vehicle wins. Busses are the top dog, followed by massive lorries, followed by the Unimog, followed by smaller lorries, followed by the Ford, followed by everything else. To show weakness and hesitency is deadly, everyone will overtake you and you’ll find youself swarmed with tuk tuks, cows and pedestrians and unable to move for 20 minutes. Use your horn and power through.
 
A dual carriageway, once you get out of town, does not necessarily mean two lanes of traffic going the same direction on the left, and two on the right. Oh no. Think of them more as two normal roads that happen to be next to each other. Tractors, busses and even lorries will often go along them the wrong way. This is normal. Flash your lights at them and move over. One side of the dual carriageway will also often be blocked off with no warning and for no reason. Watch out for this in advance, and prepare to have to move over to the other side.
 
The police will often pull you over for giggles. Let them have their fun, it can actually be pretty useful if you need directions etc and it’s almost always just harmless curiosity. If they look as if they are about to pull you over, wave and smile, they’ll normally just return the gesture and let you drive on. When I accidentally demolished a police checkpoint in Mumbai the first time I drove the Mog, the Inspector on site thought it was hilarious. He was more interested in the trucks and the documentary than the fact that I had just demolished two water filled bollards, sent the bollards cascading into oncoming traffic, sprayed water all over the bollards (and his subordinate officers, who were distinctly less amused than he was) and almost run over one wet officer when he waved me down to stop. I got away with an on the spot one hundred rupee fine, no paperwork, on your way sir and drive safe. That, my friends, is the power of television. He even gave me directions out of town.
 
Oh, and don’t trust maps. It appears some major roads and dual carriageways were just drawn in for fun or by accident. They either don’t exist or won’t be open for another 4 years, and the diversions are dreadful. One diversion we took was over 100km long and took us 8 hours, the roads were so bad (but the scenery was often worth the delay)
 
It all sounds a bit scary, but it’s not really that bad. Indian driving can be infuriating but does make a twisted sort of sense, and the vehicles, especially the mog, are awesome fun to drive despite their foibles (the Mog’s problems are all pretty standard for a 25 year old lorry to be honest). They also both have really good sound systems, which is a relief because local radio in most parts of rural India is awful.
 
All the best!
 
Sam