Kushinagar (India)

June 19, 2021

Kushinagar (India)

From my diary (February 2017)

On my second night in Sarnath, I manage to sleep quite well, albeit with ear-plugs to counter the monotonous chanting that goes on all night as part of some Hindu religious ceremony taking place not far from the hotel. India is an absorbing country, but by no means a quiet one. I arise feeling fresh and ready for the long journey ahead of me. The driver arrives with his car at nine o’clock – from the agency specialising in Buddhist tours I have hired the car from (on a friend’s recommendation) – to take me all the way to my journey’s end, Kushinagar, the place where the Buddha left his body at the age of 80. We are to return to Varanasi the following day, a Friday. I decided to pay the honest price I was quoted for this private trip as I realised I would not have the time to do Kushinagar by public transport (train and bus) and be back in time to catch my flight to New Delhi, due to leave from Varanasi on the Saturday afternoon.

The Sarnath–Kushinagar route is a little under 300 kilometres, but it takes us as long as nine hours to get there, including a short break for lunch. My driver is about the same age as me and speaks little English, but he’s friendly and drives well, drives well in Indian terms, that is. As a matter of fact the road, which in patches is in a very sorry state indeed, has only one lane for traffic moving in each direction, precipitating a continuous overtaking of bicycles, motorbikes, motor-rickshaws, cars, buses, lorries (boasting deafening horns that modulate off-key tunes) and the ubiquitous cow. The motorbikes (often carrying two or more people) emerge onto the highway without stopping to assess oncoming traffic, and so we find ourselves having to continuously avoid them. Overtaking is the norm, even on curves with no visibility, but everybody seems to know how things work. Everybody hoots, ready to step on their brakes, to return to their original lane (if possible at all), or even drive on the verges by the roadside, attempting to avoid pedestrians, for in India, even the main highways have people walking on the edges of the roads. For a good part of the journey we even travel on the wrong side of the road, either that or we come across other vehicles who are heading towards us on their wrong side of the road. To begin with, I find myself taut; but then I start to relax and everything works out fine (on the Saturday morning to come, a Swiss gentleman in Varanasi, who must be about sixty if not more, will tell me that he has been riding around India on a motorbike. Scared at first, he learned to drive as Indians do and now he is travelling easy)...