Sacred Footsteps: 7 Ancient Temples in Varanasi Every History Buff Must Visit

No temple exploration in Varanasi begins anywhere but at Kashi Vishwanath, dedicated to Lord Shiva. The current structure dates only to the 18th century (rebuilt after numerous destructions), but the site's spiritual significance stretches back over 3,500 years.

My first visit here in 1997 was overwhelming—narrow lanes packed with pilgrims, vendors, and wandering cows. Today, the recently completed Kashi Vishwanath Corridor has transformed the approach, creating an 80-meter wide pathway that connects the temple directly to the Ganges. While I appreciate the improved accessibility, I admit feeling nostalgic for the labyrinthine journey that once required all visitors to slow down and mentally prepare.

Inside, the gold-plated spires shimmer under the winter sun, and the jyotirlinga (a representation of Shiva) draws devotees who wait hours for a few seconds of darshan (viewing). I've found early mornings (around 5:30 AM) offer the most contemplative experience, when the temple's energy feels more meditative than frantic.

The vibrant red Durga Temple (also known as the Monkey Temple) stands as one of Varanasi's most visually distinctive structures. Built in the 18th century in the North Indian Nagara architectural style, its striking color comes from ochre that symbolizes Durga's power.

On my third visit to Varanasi, I met a local historian who shared that the temple was actually built by a Bengali queen to honor the goddess who appeared in her dream. What fascinates me most is how this temple represents an architectural innovation of its time—built on a rectangular tank with no foundations touching the ground, but rather floating on wooden beams placed in a specific geometric pattern.

The resident monkeys (hence the nickname) add both charm and challenge to your visit. I've found carrying a sturdy walking stick helps keep the more curious primates at a respectful distance. Not that you'll need to fend them off, but the subtle presence of a walking aid seems to communicate boundaries that the monkeys generally respect.

Few temples in Varanasi carry as poignant a modern history as Sankat Mochan. Dedicated to Lord Hanuman, this temple was the site of a devastating terrorist bombing in 2006 that claimed 28 lives. Yet what struck me during my visit last year was how completely the community has reclaimed this sacred space from that tragedy.

Founded by poet-saint Goswami Tulsidas in the 16th century, the temple hosts daily readings of the Hanuman Chalisa. I arrived just as one such reading began, and found myself swept into a communal experience that transcended my role as an observer. An elderly gentleman noticed my interest and handed me a prayer book with translations that helped me follow along.

What makes this temple particularly special is its dual role as both religious site and cultural center. The famous Sankat Mochan Music Festival held here annually draws classical musicians from across India, creating a remarkable fusion of spiritual and artistic expression. During my winter visit, I was fortunate to witness an impromptu sitar performance that filled the courtyard with haunting melodies as the evening aarti (lamp ceremony) began.

Built in 1964, the Tulsi Manas Temple might seem modern compared to Varanasi's ancient structures, but its cultural significance is immeasurable. This white marble temple commemorates the spot where Goswami Tulsidas composed the Ram Charit Manas, the Hindi retelling of the Ramayana that democratized these sacred stories for non-Sanskrit speakers—an innovation that revolutionized religious accessibility in the 16th century.

What makes this temple extraordinary is how the entire text of the Ram Charit Manas is inscribed on its walls. During my first visit in the late 1990s, I spent hours with a magnifying glass trying to decipher the intricate carvings. On my return last winter, I came prepared with a rechargeable book light that made exploring these literary treasures much easier, especially in the dimmer corners of the temple.

The temple complex offers a peaceful retreat from Varanasi's intensity. I've found the gardens particularly inviting for reflection—several times I've spotted elderly locals teaching grandchildren to read using the very walls of the temple as their primer, a beautiful continuation of Tulsidas's mission to make knowledge accessible.

Tucked away near Lalita Ghat stands one of Varanasi's most architecturally distinct treasures—the Nepali Temple (Kathwala Temple). Built by the King of Nepal in the 19th century, it represents a fascinating cultural exchange between the Himalayan kingdom and the holy city.

What immediately strikes visitors is the temple's distinctly Nepali pagoda-style architecture with its intricate woodcarvings depicting scenes from Hindu mythology. These carvings are so detailed that I've discovered new elements on each of my three visits. During my recent stay, I spent an entire morning sketching the erotic carvings (reminiscent of Khajuraho) that adorn the lower portions of the structure—a fascinating study in how different regions interpreted sacred sexuality.

The temple's relatively quiet location makes it perfect for those seeking respite from Varanasi's more hectic sites. I found the wooden benches along the perimeter ideal for journaling while observing the rhythms of daily worship. During winter months, the morning sun creates spectacular lighting conditions, and I was glad I'd packed my travel watercolor set to capture the play of light on the ancient wood.

Perhaps Varanasi's most unconventional temple is Bharat Mata (Mother India), dedicated not to a deity but to India itself. Inaugurated by Mahatma Gandhi in 1936, this temple houses no idols or priests—only an extraordinary 3D relief map of undivided India carved from marble.

The temple emerged during India's independence movement, representing an innovative fusion of nationalist sentiment and spiritual tradition. Standing before the massive topographical map, with its precisely carved mountains, rivers, and plains, I was struck by how this temple reimagines devotion through a geographical rather than theological lens.

During my recent visit, I met a geography professor conducting an impromptu lesson for local schoolchildren. He explained how the temple's founder, Babu Shiv Prasad Gupt, collaborated with scholars to ensure geographical accuracy while creating a space that would foster national unity. I joined their group, finding myself equally fascinated by both the technical achievement and the philosophical statement embedded in this unusual sacred space.

For comfortable viewing of the map's details, I was grateful for my foldable reading glasses which slip easily into my wallet yet provide perfect clarity for examining the intricate topographical features.

My exploration of Varanasi's temples wouldn't be complete without mentioning Annapurna Temple, dedicated to the goddess of food and nourishment. Located near the Kashi Vishwanath complex, this temple holds special significance for someone like me who believes deeply in the cultural importance of culinary traditions.

The temple honors Annapurna, who is depicted holding a jeweled vessel and a spoon, symbolizing her promise that no one in Varanasi will go hungry. What particularly moved me was learning about the temple's long-standing tradition of anna-kshetra—the distribution of free meals to those in need. During my winter visit, I arrived early one morning to witness volunteers preparing massive quantities of simple but nutritious khichdi (a rice and lentil dish) for distribution.

After speaking with the head priest about this tradition, I was invited to participate in the preparation process. Armed with my trusty pocket knife (which includes a small but effective paring blade), I joined a group of local women chopping vegetables for the day's offering. The conversation that flowed during this shared task provided insights into Varanasi's food traditions that no guidebook could offer.

The experience at Annapurna Temple reminded me why I started combining cooking workshops with my travels—food preparation creates an immediate connection across cultural boundaries, revealing values and histories in ways that formal tours never can.