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Northwest India: Pt 1
Rajasthan

Early in May, Sanjay and I leave Udaipur for Mt Abu, the beginning of our journey to India's northwest. Mt Abu, the only hill station in Rajasthan, is higher and slightly cooler than Udaipur which is baking in the summer heat. Many Gujaratis are also trying to escape the heat by going north; we would see them, like migratory birds, as far north as Himachal Pradesh. The six-hour bus ride to Mt Abu takes us through the green Aravalli Hills where the fresh breeze sustains me.

We find a small hotel near Nakki Lake, away from the Polo Grounds and the bright festive streets with holidaymakers, ice cream shops, horse rides and boat rentals. Although Nakki Lake is as holy as the Ganges, no one is bathing and the paddleboats are all ashore as the government looks for a new franchise owner.


Nakki Lake Mt Abu
Nakki Lake Mt Abu
Sunset Point Mt Abu
Sunset Point Mt Abu

We eat ice cream and thallis (a plate of rice with various curries) and walk to Sunset Point, crowded with families and sightseers. Rajasthani men in traditional red turban, white dhoti and kurti, pushing miniature trolleys of tourists up the hill, compete with the horse ride wallahs.

Up in the hills overlooking Nakki Lake are the Peace Cave with a donation box, a well of pure water created by the god Ram for his wife, Sita, and several large rocks named for animals that they resemble: Parrot Rock and Toad Rock. Sanjay likes doing tourist things so we climb the hills, take photos and buy souvenirs for his aunt and cousins in Gangapur: a wind chime, costume jewellery, a video game.

To Sanjay's embarrassment, the Mt Abu Post Office tries to overcharge me on a parcel that I want to post. In the tourist towns of Jaipur and Amritsar it is the same. Later, I would post it from Dharamsala for one quarter the cost.

Peace Cave Mt Abu
Peace Cave Mt Abu

The train to Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan, passes through the cool Aravalli Hills but once we reach the flat lands the heat swiftly builds to a searing 48o Celsius. In the dry desert heat, no condensation forms on the outside of cold bottled water which quickly heats up to ambient temperature. At the stations, passengers run to fill bottles from the drinking taps.

I find it odd that Sanjay seems completely unaffected by the debilitating heat; not even a sweat. He finds it odd that I get cranky when I don't have time alone every day. He is also incapable of eating at street stalls like I do. "Only beggars eat like that," he says.

Outside, women in bright saris carry wheat or sit in the meager shade of a shrub. Coming into Jaipur, the balmy, sticky night is a blessing.


Field workers
Field workers

The name, Jaipur, conjures up romantic notions of the desert, warriors, palaces and mystery. It may have been all that in the recent past but today it is a not-too-busy, comfortable, modern capital city. The Pink City refers to the original walled city, laid out in a grid with wide streets by the founder Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II in the 1720's. In 1856 it was painted over in pink, giving the city its popular name. Nowadays, Jaipur has outgrown its city walls three times over. Still, the Pink City is where it all happens. The most famous landmark of the Pink City is the Palace of Winds with its striking façade and disappointingly ordinary interior.

Far more interesting is the former capital citadel, Amber Fort, perched on the hillside overlooking Jaipur. The long walkway leading up to the fort was designed to accommodate the grand processions of elephants which accompanied Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh's lavish outings.

Under the marble palace floors are aqueducts which cooled the rooms during the hot summers and watered the gardens. On the upper floors, among airy rooms with many balconies, is the geometric Hall of Mirrors. The elephants, having seen the days of the Raj come and go, live on at the Amber Fort as a tourist attraction.

Palace Amber Fort
Palace Amber Fort

Palace of Winds
Palace of Winds
Hall of Mirrors Amber Fort
Hall of Mirrors Amber Fort
Jantar Mantar
Jantar Mantar

In the Pink City we walk among huge astronomical instruments of marble and bronze – so fantastic that they look like works of art. Built by the same Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II, Jantar Mantar is the largest stone observatory in the world and was the most accurate at the time. An avid scientist, he built four other observatories in Delhi, Varanasi, Ujjain and Mathura.

Even with a ceiling fan, the nights are so hot that I cannot sleep. Sanjay, seeing me lying on the bare marble floor under the fan, kindly sprinkles water on my bed to cool it down.
"Shall we go to Jaisalmer?" I ask. "I want to see the Thar desert."
"Jaisalmer is even hotter," says Sanjay. "Come, you want to see a village?"


The train to Sawai Madhopur, on the eastern border of Rajasthan, goes through hot, dry desert lands with ancient forts shimmering on the horizon like a mirage. The train from Sawai Madhopur to Gangapur is packed and we are squeezed in for the thankfully short journey. A rickshaw takes us through the dusty streets with dusty shops to the outskirts of the town and to the home of Sanjay's aunt.

They have a fridge, cold water and a neem tree which shades the courtyard. The wind chime is hung on the neem tree; the youngest girl, Pinky, gets the earrings and chain and the boy, Pankaj, plays happily with the videogame. They search through Sanjay's luggage for other curiosities.
Waiting passengers
Waiting passengers

A Discman, a digital camera and a digital watch all excite them more than their television which they don't often look at. In the yard are two water buffalo which provide milk and dung for fuel. Their aircooler (a metal box with water dripping down three sides and a fan that blows water droplets) cools the room somewhat and allows me to sleep.

In the evening we go to the village fair. There are stalls with clothes and household articles but we stick to the fun and food stalls and the Ferris wheel ride. It reminds me of the fairs I went to as a child; the excitement of bright lights and fairground music and the dread of getting lost in a crowd.

At dawn, Sanjay's uncle takes me on his motorbike through the cool, sleepy countryside to the Kailadevi Temple near Karauli city. It is the first time that I see Hindus prostrating themselves full length on the ground around the temple and we too do pradakshina, circumambulating the temple three times in a clockwise direction. Both rituals I had believed to be Tibetan Buddhist but Sanjay's uncle says it is a Hindu tradition. There are, however, other similarities between Hinduism and Tibetan Buddhism especially in Nepal where both religions have been fused into one.


Durga
Durga

He leaves me to escape the heat of the day in the Karauli home of his friend, Ramniwas, where his two sons and neighbours entertain me. Ashwani, 12, speaks excellent English and invites me to his nearby home to meet his parents. They are Brahmin and lead a very austere life. The father shows me his shrine and talks about their customs.

"If," I ask Ashwani, "you were to become a Sikh, would your family allow you to live here?"


The father looks amused. "No, we cannot allow that," he says.
"And when will you receive the holy thread?"
"After my older sister is married," Ashwani replies.
"What would you like to do when you are older?"
"I want to become a Minister to help serve my country," he replies.
Our journey lies to the north, to Amritsar, in Punjab, and to Srinagar in Kashmir. Although Gangapur is a large town, it is impossible to buy reservation train tickets to Amritsar via Delhi. We have to buy standing tickets and hope to upgrade on the train. The train to Delhi is very full and we have to sit on the floor for most of the trip. After Delhi, the train empties and we manage to get a seat for the night. It is the most tiresome train ride of our journey. At six in the morning we arrive in Amritsar, home of the Sikhs.

Camel Cart
Camel Cart

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Text & images by Jiang He Feng & Sanjay

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