Everything seems started a long time ago and left unfinished in Varanasi, like a myth that forgot its meanings. Mark Twain once said “It is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together”. The Hindus believe that those who die and are cremated in Varanasi reach salvation and are freed from the cycle of reincarnation. The Ganges River has the power to wash away the sins of those who bathe in its waters. A place for the living and the dead, Varanasi is more of a place for those between life and death. In the sanctuary buildings the suffering and elderly arrive from all parts of India leaving their families and home towns to just die here. In Varanasi, Death has none of the scary attributes that fill the Europeans with fears and doubts. The Hindu worshipper “walks” into death with the peace of mind of a traveler who boards a bus to an unknown place, a new life being only the worst possible destination. The closer you get to the Ganges River the closer you get to the truth. And the least you understand it. When you get to the river you should just let yourself swept away and stop wondering about what you are seeing. Everything seems old and un-moved since the beginning of time. On the walkway to the sea the panorama lines up in a row of sumptuous buildings placed chaotically. Mutilated Victorian facades and false Mogule palaces rise on top of each other. Strange deities look over you with motionless eyes. A bunch of ascetic people, impostors, beggars, children, pilgrims, cows, monkeys and other beasts hang out around the ghats where people eat, wash, die and get their funerals done. Women in colored saris throw flowers into the water, pilgrims holding their hands together bathe in front of the temples, the black cows also bathe in the holy water and all the dirt on the steps is then hosed back into the same Ganges. In a huge hall, the “terminus station”, two elderly women wait patiently "the signal" for their departure.