rags pulling two dead rats on a string; dozens of emaciated wretches, men and women, sitting and begging in dirt that you would be reluctant to step in for fear of infection, yet they are practically naked; young beggars with limbs eaten by leprosy trying to grab your legs. You would need Mother Teresa’s soul not to jump out of their reach.
We reach the Ganges and take a boat ride. All the buildings we can see from the river are in various stages of dilapidation. The heat and the moisture have eaten into stone, brick, and plaster; everything is pock-marked, with that leprous aspect that overtakes even decently constructed buildings when, in tropical lands, nobody cares and everything decays.
Comments