Kashi.
The name itself carried a strange vibration. When I set foot here, I almost laughed. "What a beautiful place," I muttered under my breath, then added bitterly, "like death itself is here."
The air was thick—smoke rising from pyres, incense curling from temple corners, the river carrying the weight of centuries. Bells rang somewhere, deep and metallic, mixing with the endless hum of "Ram naam satya hai" carried by men in saffron as they shouldered bodies down to the ghats.
I walked through narrow alleys where cows blocked the way and shopkeepers shouted, where oil lamps flickered on stone walls smeared with red kumkum and ash. Every step felt like it was pressing on something older than time. Kashi wasn't like the polished Buddhist temple I had stayed in Bhutan. No. This place smelled of sweat, smoke, milk, blood, ghee, and sandalwood. It was alive.
Yet everywhere, I felt death walking beside me. And strangely… peace.
I stopped at a bend in the alley, staring down at the Ganga glittering with floating lamps. "So this is the place where karma ends?" I whispered. "The place where souls come to dissolve?"
---
The Origin of Kashi
They say Kashi is not just a city. It is a tirtha, a crossing point between worlds. Myth tells that when the universe was still raw, Shiva held this city in his trident, refusing to let it sink. Even when floods, fires, and time itself devour everything, Kashi remains. That's why sages say: Kashi is not on earth; earth is on Kashi.
As I walked down to Manikarnika Ghat, the oldest burning ground, the story came to me like a chant. Shiva himself declared that Kashi is his eternal city, a place where he whispers the Taraka mantra—"Ram"—into the ears of the dying, freeing them from the cycle of rebirth. No other city has this boon.
"Death here is liberation," I muttered. "That's why even ghosts gather here." My system stirred inside me, amused at the irony. Me, the so-called Destroyer, standing in the city where destruction means freedom.
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Shiva and the Head of Brahma
I sat on the stone steps, watching flames leap over stacked logs. A priest told me the tale, but I already knew it from whispers of scriptures.
Once, Brahma and Vishnu argued over who was supreme. To test them, Shiva appeared as an infinite pillar of fire—the Jyotirlinga. Vishnu searched downward as a boar, Brahma upward as a swan. Vishnu admitted defeat when he could not find the base. But Brahma lied. He claimed he found the top and produced the Ketaki flower as false witness.
For this deceit, Shiva cut off one of Brahma's five heads. But the skull clung to Shiva's hand, cursed. To erase this sin—Brahma-hatya, the killing of a creator—Shiva wandered the worlds. Only when he reached Kashi did the skull drop from his palm. Here his sin was erased.
"That's why this place burns karma," I said softly, staring at the skull-shaped clay lamps floating on the river. "If even Shiva needed this place… what about me?"
---
Shiva and Parvati in Kashi
I drifted deeper into the lanes, stopping at Vishwanath Temple. Golden spires pierced the sky, and the smell of flowers mixed with sweat and milk. People pressed against me, chanting, eyes wet with devotion.
They say Shiva lived here with Parvati, as a householder. Not in Kailash as the distant ascetic, but here, among mortals. Kashi is not just the city of renunciation, but of family, love, and daily struggle. Shiva taught that even in the chaos of streets, one can find the eternal.
Maybe that's why this place shook me. I wasn't a monk. I was a sinner, a man who turned ghosts into slaves and made them lovers. Yet Kashi told me—your sins can be burned, your karma can end.
---
Annapurna Devi Feeding Shiva
At a smaller shrine, I heard laughter and a story. Once, Parvati tested Shiva. She took the form of Annapurna, the goddess of food, and vanished with all grain. The world starved. Even Shiva wandered hungry, hollow with need. At last he came to Annapurna's kitchen, begging for alms. She fed him with her hands.
Here in Kashi, Annapurna still feeds. The poorest beggar, the richest pilgrim—all eat. Food is divine. Hunger is erased.
I looked at the pilgrims sitting cross-legged as volunteers served rice, dal, and roti on leaf plates. My stomach growled. Even gods beg here. What about me?
---
Kal Bhairava – Guardian of Kashi
As evening shadows fell, I walked to Kal Bhairava's temple. The air was heavy, different. Here was no gentle feeding mother, no laughing pilgrims. This was raw power. Kal Bhairava, fierce form of Shiva, the guardian of Kashi. They say without his permission, no one—neither ghost, nor man, nor god—can stay in this city.
Bhairava holds a dog as his mount, a trident in his hand. His gaze burns away lies. He is the keeper of karmic accounts here.
I stood before his image, black, crowned with skulls. My heart thudded. Did he see me? Did he know what I had done to Saya, to the monk, to the ghosts? My system hummed, almost trembling. For the first time in a long time, I felt afraid—not of ghosts, not of death, but of judgment.
---
Karma Melts in Kashi
The ghats were lined with pyres. Smoke drifted to the stars. Bodies wrapped in red and white, smeared with ghee, were fed to fire. Children played nearby, splashing in the river. Life and death coexisted without shame.
I asked a priest: "Why here? Why does karma end here?"
He smiled. "Because Mahadev wills it. To die here is not death, but merging. Sins dissolve like salt in water. Even ghosts find release."
I laughed. "Even me?"
He only smiled again.
---
Rahil's Reflection
As I walked, I realized something. Back in life, I hated gay people. I hated ghosts. I hated everything that didn't fit my idea of normal. And yet here I was, married to a ghost, fathering her child, carrying powers that twisted genders and bound souls. A destroyer in a city where destruction was holy.
The irony was sharp, but it didn't make me laugh. It made me quiet.
"Kashi," I whispered, "maybe you're the only place that can burn me too."
---
I reached Dashashwamedh Ghat, where priests waved flaming lamps in the grand Ganga Aarti. Thousands shouted together:
"Namo Parvati Pataye Har Har Mahadev!"
I raised my voice with them. Not out of devotion, not yet. But something inside me cracked open. The sound shook the river, shook the sky. For a moment, I felt as if Shiva himself was watching.
Maybe the head monk was right. Maybe I would find what I needed here.
But for now, I just shouted until my throat burned:
"Har Har Mahadev!"