Feeling full of good cheer we now climb the steep steps up to the nearest temple just a touch further south, the Sitala Temple. The bells will guide you there; there are dozens of them and most of them seem to ring most of the time. Shoes off and in we go. Ding dong ding dong. It’s quite a racket, as loud as the horns heard in the back of a rickshaw, and I head back out more or less immediately counter-clockwise against the flow. Twain reckoned it wise to pray “in the temple sacred to Sitala, goddess of smallpox.

Here, at our next stop, we are in for a nice surprise. The temple Twain described is, or rather was, “Dalbhyeswar, on the bluff overlooking the Ganges, so you must go back to the river.” It has since been washed away in one of the floods and has now become a kind of unofficial wedding ghat and if you are lucky—and the bride and groom need an astrologically auspicious day to marry—you will see a constant colorful procession of splendidly dressed young Indians go to and from the water’s edge.

We now head back past the post office to our next temple, what Twain called “the mouldering and venerable Briddhkal Temple, which is one of the oldest in Benares, the home of the Well of Long Life”. The good news—practical news rather than divine—is that I’ve learnt how to cope with the traffic in the interconnecting thoroughfare; one walks between a pair of water buffalo. Wits are needed: too close to the one behind might mean a shove in the bum, too close to one in front might mean… well, yes.

Opposite the Dandpan Temple are stalls selling temple offerings: garlands, leaves, petals and small clay urns of Ganges water. Shailesh takes us through the dense crowd shuffling and pushing for position near the sacred tank which has replaced the sacred well. We see an evolution of Twain’s ceremony. He “bent over the Well and looked. If the fates are propitious, you will see your face pictured in the water far down in the well.

...so we turn inland and there find the Well of the Earring, where as he noted, one can find “Temporary Cleansing from Sin”.

Twain’s next stop, the Kameshwar Temple. It’s only about a minute away but that minute in the eccentricities of the Benares Chowk provides the usual hour’s worth of entertainment. This temple is the very opposite of the Golden Temple, being no more than extension of someone’s ramshackle house. It’s the shabbiest temple we have seen in all our time here, but then the immediate area all around it is equally shabby, including the old Honda motorbike parked right up close to Shiva’s gate.

Once inside [the Golden Temple], we are looking for the Well of the Knowledge of Salvation. It hasn’t changed for many a year, and certainly not since Twain’s visit:

An uncannily accurate description of what one finds there now with one, overwhelming exception: monkeys—and yet more monkeys, hundreds of them, squabbling, stealing, frightening and out of control numerically and behaviorally. If one finds the Venetian pigeons are ruining St. Mark’s Square the same can be said of the Indian monkeys in the Golden Temple.

We must be nearing our second stop, in theory Benares’ most famous site, the Golden Temple.

“Why are we starting here?” I ask. [This is actually Mark Twain's eleventh point on his itinerary for a pilgrim]

“Because this temple, Sakhi Binayak, is dedicated to the god Ganesha, the god of prosperity and good luck, so every new venture starts with a visit to Ganesha. We are touring the temples, that’s a new venture, so we should start here. Everyone can worship Ganesha and everyone does.”

I look at my notes and say, “Mark Twain came here to have his redemption recorded after the 44-mile pilgrimage he didn’t—and we won’t—be making. Could that be right?”

The winter waters here were recently Himalayan snow and the chilliness is only to be expected; not so the state of the Ganges. The pollution is now causing concern to even the most convinced Hindu.