“Do you think it is SRK?”

“No, it must be the Maharaja himself.”

“I’m telling you it must be some firang (foreigner).”

I can’t help overhearing this excited chatter and squeals of anticipation as I step out of the Museum of the Umaid Bhawan Palace, Jodhpur. A group of 20 somethings is standing to one side and craning their necks over a barricade to see something that I cannot. I am intrigued and join them as do some other tourists. And soon we are looking at the entrance to the Umaid Bhawan Palace Hotel, which was abuzz with some activity. What happened next is not really an unusual sight in a 5-star hotel, but as a tourist in a touristy place, I couldn’t help be one myself.

A bright red silken canopy is being unfurled and readied.Who is the visitor, I wonder? So do others and the guesses are flowing fast and thick.

And now they are almost ready to unfurl it… Who is the visitor? The group that has collected to watch this ‘welcome’ is now placing bets.

As the canopy is unfurled, a hostess comes down the steps and almost on cue a car comes up the long and curving driveway to a smooth halt. The guessing game has reached feverish pitch now. Who is it? Who is it? The car door opens and a firang steps out

And then another firang emerges from the car. The hostess is all smiles now …

She welcomes the guests with a handshake and a smile.

“What ! No namaste, no garland? Whatever has happened to the Indian traditional welcome”, someone comments rather loudly.

And the canopy holders welcoming committee look back to see if the guests are inside…

And the, in the blink of an eye, the red silk canopy is folded…

…taken inside and then …

Never knew being a canopy holder could dirty my hands, is what the person on the right seems to be saying to the person on the left I’m not sure what I enjoyed more: the comments of those watching this canopied welcome unfold or photographing the actual welcome as it happened. When I photographed this series of frames, it was a fun thing and I never really thought much about it. It is only when I was organising my photographs that I saw the narrative emerge as a photostory. And that’s how this post came about.

I ‘d love to hear what you think of this maiden attempt of mine. So please, please do leave your comments:-)

There was once a King and like all self-respecting kings of his time, he wanted a grand and imposing fort at an impressive location. One day, he came across the location of his dreams — an isolated hill. The King ordered his men to immediately clear the hill of inhabitants and lay the foundations for the construction of the fort.

Only one man lived on the hill — a man considered holy by the local people around and known as Chidiyawale Baba. He was called thus as he took care of birds and fed them and spoke to them. Chidiyawale Baba was so furious at being evicted from the hill that he cursed the King with recurrent drought in his kingdom. Shaken and now contrite, the King went to Chidiyawale Baba to ask for forgiveness and to request him to cancel the curse. The Baba said that words once uttered could not be taken back, but the effect of the curse could be reversed if a selfless sacrifice was offered. In other words, someone had to volunteer to die by being buried alive on the hill.

The King came away dejected as he did not think anyone would volunteer. But that very evening, a man by the name of Rajaram Meghwal presented himself before the King and volunteered for the deed. A relieved (and, I’m sure, delighted) King accepted and on an auspicious day and time and at an auspicious site on the hill, Meghwal was buried alive. Rao Jodha, the King, then laid the foundation to building the Mehrangarh Fort in 1459.

The memorial of selfless warrior, Rajaram Meghwal, who volunteered to die

It is afternoon on a day in February and I am at Mehrangarh Fort at the site where Meghwal’s memorial plaque marks the spot where he was buried alive, and listening to the audio guide detailing the entire story. I can’t help wondering if Meghwal’s selfless sacrifice was as painless and smooth as the story I had just heard. But the audio guide has no further information to offer, and as I found out later this is not even mentioned in most guidebooks on Mehrangarh.

So to get on with the story of Mehrangarh and my impressions of this grand Fort…

The Mehrangarh Fort

Mehrangarh Fort is built on a hillock of rhyolite columns that rises 400 feet above the surrounding plains. The city of Jodhpur grew and developed around the Fort, which has been the headquarters of the Rathore clan that ruled this area for over 5 centuries. Generations of the royal family lived here, sometimes moving out of the Fort, but mostly living within. The Fort has lived through occupation, sieges from neighbouring kingdoms and what not.

Mehrangarh, which means ‘Fort of the Sun’ is over 500 yards long making it one of the largest forts in India. At its highest, the fort rise to 120 feet and at its thickest it is about 70 feet. Yes, it is a formidable fort all around and dominates the landscape. Mehrangarh is built in such a way that it looks like the hillock has sprouted the Fort.

Visitors to Mehrangarh Fort enter through the Jai Pol, which was built in the 19th century by Maharaja Man Singh. This gate was not the main gate then and was only used as an outer rear gate. The original main gate to the Fort is hardly used and the popular tourist trail actually bypasses that access road. Visitors have the option of going up to the highest level by elevator and then walking back, or doing both the ascent and descent on foot.

I chose the latter option and with an audio guide this turned out to be a good choice. I was able to just wander around and set my pace and basically see what I wanted to or avoid what I didn’t want to. Of course, there were some that I could not escape seeing — like Meghwal’s memorial or the mural of sati handprints at the entrance of one of the inner gates. The audio guide narrated a grim, chilling account of how women commited sati.

Sati Handprints o

The widowed women would come bedecked in their jewels and finery and pass through the palace doors and fort gates for the last time. As they left, they would leave a vermilion stained hand imprint on the wall for posterity.

A silent procession would follow the women to the temple where they would give away their jewellery and then proceed to the join their dead husbands on the funeral pyre. The women would not scream or cry as the flames burned them alive.

The sati handprints that I saw in Bikaner and Jaisalmer had brought tears to my eyes, but by the time I finished listening to the audio guide, I was crying quite openly. Even though I reasoned to myself that this had happened at a different time, a different context, different social order, different everything, it didn’t change the fact that the women were human beings and were burnt alive. I was quite shaken and had to wait for while to compose myself, before I could continue with the rest of the tour.

Since the Fort and the various buildings inside were built over the 500 years, the architectural styles vary and it’s quite fascinating to see the buildings from different periods existing side by side. The guardrooms, different gates, chowks, palaces and so on are a visual testament to the building history of the last 5 centuries and the influences that shaped them.

After the Foundation was laid in 1459, the first phase of building activity was during the reign of Maldeo (1531-62). The next phase of major construction happened after 2 centuries during the rule of Maharaja Ajit Singh (1707-24), followed by a phase of construction during the reign of Takhat Singh (1843-72). The final, brief, phase was during Maharaja Hanwant Singh’s rule (1947-52).

The ornately carved palaces hold some of the most stunning treasures that I saw during my trip to various palaces and museums in Rajasthan—silver howdahs, silver and gold palanquins, miniatures, paintings, swords, jewellery boxes, cradles and cribs…

Silver Elephant Howdah

A peacock shaped open palanquin

A royal cradle

The Phool Mahal

It is from Mehrangarh Fort that one can see and understand why Jodhpur is called the blue city. Brahmapuri or the city of brahmins shimmers a startling and enticing view from the Fort. At one point only brahmins could live in Brahmapuri and were also the only community allowed to paint the exteriors of their houses this color. The blue, so characteristic of Jodhpur, is derived from indigo and acts as a heat and mosquito repellant.

The blue Brahmapuri

But as I found out, Mehrangarh Fort doesn’t just offer views of the blue city of Jodhpur; it has a lot of stunning blue to offer within the Fort complex itself.

Detail from a painted arch above a doorway at the Chokhelao Mahal

Detail from a painted ceiling at the Khwabgah

Mehrangarh Fort caters to all kinds of tourists and does it rather well without letting anyone feel left out. There are activities like ‘how to tie a turban’ to ‘how to play chess’ to folk music performances to having your palm read, etc. The Fort offers quiet spots for contemplation and fantastic photo-ops for the serious or click-happy photographer. As for those interested in culture, design and history, the Fort offers it all and there can’t be a better place. The Fort employees are courteous and polite, but firm with the more ‘exuberant’ tourists. The Fort is clean and there is adequate water and food available. I have no hesitation in saying that this is the best maintained and managed of all the Forts in Rajasthan that I visited in February.

But for once, I did not have the urge to time travel as I normally do when I visit places of historical significance. I was glad to just be a tourist and admire and delight or feel sadness or despair from my 21st century context. If the story of Meghwal’s sacrifice made me uneasy, the sati panel and the story behind it, left me deeply saddened and disturbed.  As I walked down to the exit, I stopped at both the sati panel and Meghwal’s memorial plaque and say a little prayer for them.

The sun is setting as I leave Mehrangarh, and never have I felt so thankful to be born in this day and age.

It is mid-morning when the rickshaw deposits me outside the most intriguing looking gate I have ever seen. It swings open easily and noiselessly into an empty courtyard.

And beyond the courtyard is a beautiful building built in a traditional architectural style and through its archway I can see an enticing view of rocks, green plants and a meandering wall. There is no one in the courtyard except the woman you can see in the photograph below, who watches my approach with curiosity.

The pathway that leads to the building is made from large slabs of rippled pink sandstone. It is a pleasant surprise to see a rippled sandstones outside a geology museum and laboratory and out in the open for people to (hopefully) notice and admire.

As I reach the building, which turns out to be the Visitor’s Centre, a young man comes out of one of the rooms and greets me with a smile and a “Welcome to the Rao Jodha Desert Rock Park. My name is Denzil and I will be your guide.”

“Thank you, Denzil,” I reply. “I don’t see any signboard for the park entrance fees or camera fees or guide fees.”

“There are no fees, Ma’am, for visiting the park or using your camera or for the services of a guide,” said Denzil.

What? I can’t believe what I just heard. So far, in the course of my travels in Rajasthan, I have had to pay for visiting every monument, museum, temple, cenotaph, palace, fort, park, etc. as well as for the privilege to photograph them. This is the first time (and as I discover later, also the last time) that I don’t have to pay. And I am getting guide services for free ? Wow ! When I mention as much to Denzil, he only says, “It is our pleasure, Ma’am.

Saying this, Denzil leads me to the exhibition on the origins and history of the Rao Jodha Desert Rock Park displayed in the building. He begins by saying:

The story begins over 80 years back when the present Maharaja’s grandfather decided to green the area quickly by spraying the seeds of Prosopis juliflora from the air…

Prosopis juliflora (commonly called baavlia in the local Marwari, kikar in Hindi and ganda baabul in Kachchi) is an invasive shrub not native to the region. It is a fast-spreading plant (some consider it a weed) and does not allow any other plant to grow or thrive in its vicinity. The then Maharaja of Jodhpur must have meant well with his intentions to green the area, but must not have foreseen the problem that the baavlia would bring in its wake — animals refused to eat this shrub and since native plants had started dying out, this resulted in a serious shortage of fodder for animals. The natural ecology of the region was gravely disturbed with the introduction, growth and spread of baavlia.

And so, in 2006, an ambitious project got underway with the aim of eliminating the baavlia and bringing back the native plants and restoring the natural ecology. A 175-acre area adjoining Jodhpur’s Mehrangarh Fort and bounded by the original City Wall, was chosen as the place to begin. It was also hoped that in the years to come, the Park would develop into an outdoor museum showcasing the region’s lithophytes (plants that grow in rocky habitats).

Part of the original City wall of the Jodhpur

The Rao Jodha Desert Rock Park is situated on an outcrop of rhyolite (a volcanic rock). The rhyolite is present in the form of vertical columns, a feature so special that it has been designated as a National Geological Monument. The deep, dark red of the rhyolite is easily distinguishable from the pink sandstone that everything in Jodhpur is built of.

The project hit an enormous hurdle at the very first step — removal of the baavlia plants whose roots reached deep into the rhyolite rocks. Cutting the shrubs did not work as they would grow right back. Attempts to kill them with acid was also unsuccessful, as was using dynamite to blast the rocks. It was at this point that local khandwalias or rock miners were brought in. These miners knew how each rock type was to be mined, broken or cut, including the hard and brittle rhyolite. When Denzil described how the khandwalias worked, I was left shaking my head with disbelief:

A khandwalia would strike a hammer near the baavlia and from the sound made would gauge the depth and reach of  its roots. He would then set about digging at the correct spots and manually remove each baavlia and its roots. Though this was a painfully long process, it was the only one which removed the shrub completely in the Park.

In the spaces where the baavlia once grew, native seedlings carefully cultivated in the Park’s nursery were planted. Each plant was numbered and its progress carefully charted. Slowly, the rocky land started filling up with plants and when the Rao Jodha Desert Rock Park was inaugurated 6 years later in February 2012, it was a place teeming with plants that had not been seen in the area for over two generations. Today, the Rock Park reportedly has over 300 species of trees, shrubs, herbs, climbers, and grasses. In addition native fauna like the desert hare have also taken up residence here.

After this comprehensive and exciting introduction to the Rock Park, Denzil and I made our way through the archway, which was originally a gateway into the walled city of Jodhpur and built in the 16th century, to see the Park. We descended a stone staircase into what looks like a trail, but is actually a stormwater aqueduct that fills up when it rains.

The aqueduct / walking trail

This aqueduct is a clever piece of construction. The people who built it some centuries ago exploited a fracture/fault/ fissure in the rock and widened it. Though it is not perceptible, there is a natural slope which ensures that the rainwater flows into a lake at one end of the aqueduct. The walk was a revelation both in terms of the variety of plant life and of the complex geology, which I had only read in textbooks. But first a glimpse of some of the plants I saw:

Thorr or Leafless spurge

Kheer khemp or rambling milkweed

Kumatiyo or the gum arabic tree

Sargooro or Bitter drumstick tree

Oont Kantalo or Knapweed

The aqueduct is a geologist’s delight. Not only does one get good exposures of rhyolite, I was delighted to see products of other volcanic activity. The fracture/fault/fissure along which the aqueduct is constructed is also the contact point between two types of rocks—compacted volcanic ash and rhyolite (see photograph below):

On the left is compacted volcanic ash and on the right is the rhyolite

 And then further down the long and winding aqueduct, just as it opens out, is a rhyolite dike of a startling red colour I had never seen in rocks before. It was not surprising to see the profusion of plant growth in this part of the Park as dikes are generally rich in minerals which are conducive to plant growth.

The rhyolite dyke

I am so taken in with all the geology of the Park that it takes a while for me to notice that the aqueduct has opened up in to a great view of the spread of the park and the magnificent Mehrangarh Fort in the distance.

The Mehrangarh Fort

I spend 3 extremely happy and informative hours in the Park and would have spent more time if only my skin had not started to burn.Part of the reason I lose track of time at the Park is the geology that leaves me wondering as to why my college and university did not bring us here for field work.

But the bigger and real reason is that Denzil is an exemplary guide — articulate, knowledgeable, quietly passionate, not afraid to offer opinions, sincere and well read — who brought the place alive with his narration. Yes, he is a rare breed indeed. To my delight, I discover that he has a Master’s in Geography and has a brother who is studying to be a geologist. Walking around the Desert Rock Park is about its history and origin and current work. It is also about the geography, geology, geomorphology, ecosystems, human intervention and so much more.

The Park’s website says that, “Ecological Restoration…is this term [that] describe[s] what we do at the Park. We set out to try to restore this tract of land to what it might have been like before it was ‘interfered’ with by human activity.”

And after visiting the Park and seeing the efforts made, I can only say that commendable work has been done and efforts are on to make the experience of exploring the park an even more memorable one. Future plans include mapping the rocks in the Park in include it as part of the tour, selling plants from the Park nursery, an outdoor café, etc.

As I am leaving, I ask Denzil as to how many visitors they receive every day.

“Not many,” he says.

“How many?” I persist.

“Well, you are the first Indian visitor in 7 days,” he replies.

Though a part of me is really happy that I did not have to share the guide or the Park with others, a place like this needs a lot of support and encouragement via its visitors. I really hope that discerning tourists will take the time to visit the Rao Jodha Desert Rock Park and see for themselves the effort taken at ecological restoration step by step, using indigenous knowledge and methods at every step.

And you, dear reader, will visit the Park when you are in Jodhpur, won’t you?

So that is how I came to be on the road to Kuldhara, about 20 km from Jaisalmer, one February afternoon listening to Sushil, my car driver-cum-guide, narrate the fairytale-like story of how Kuldhara came to be abandoned, cursed and haunted; forgotten, and then discovered after almost 2 centuries. It was a story that was fascinating in every aspect !

In the late 18th and early 19th centuries, Kuldhara is inhabited by the rich and wealthy community of Paliwal brahmins. Kuldhara is the largest of a cluster of 84 villages that this community is spread out in. Involved in both agricultural trade and practice, as well as other businesses, the Paliwals contribute a substantial amount to the Jaisalmer kingdom’s coffers.

This is also the time when the Maharaja of Jaisalmer is only a titular head; the real power lies in the hands of his Prime Minister or Diwan, Salum Singh. The Diwan has a lecherous eye and one day this eye falls upon a Kuldhara village belle. He asks, no demands, to marry her. The girl’s father refuses as the Diwan is from a lower caste. The Diwan is furious and gives a 24-hour ultimatum to the girl’s father to change his mind or else…

An emergency community council of the Paliwal Brahmins is convened and they arrive at a decision — to leave the area for ever immediately to avoid death and dishonour.

And so it came to happen that the residents of Kuldhara and the other 83 villages take what they can with them, bury the rest and leave their villages in the dead of the night, never to return. The people of Kuldhara also leave a curse behind that nobody would ever be able to live in the village ever again, and whoever tried to dig out the wealth would live to regret it.

Time passes. Days turn into weeks, months, years and then decades. A century goes by and then another. The elements take over and decay and ruin set in. Instead of humans, rats, snakes and desert foxes make the village their home. As also the ghosts of those who had been forced to abandon Kuldhara who reportedly return to the village after their deaths. By now, Kuldhara and it’s people have passed into folklore and have been forgotten by nearly everyone around. Only a few people from the surrounding villages go there occasionally, more out of curiosity than for any other reason. And then, one day in 1998 something happens to change all this.

Two foreigners are seen wandering around in Kuldhara and digging out stuff from the houses in the village and putting them in their bags. The people who see them alert the local police, who arrive there to investigate. On searching the bags, gold and silver items are recovered. The foreigners are jailed, the local archaeology department is informed, etc. Suddenly Kuldhara is back in the news, and with this its potential as a tourist attraction is recognised and acknowledged.

And then work begins to transform it into one. Security guards are appointed as the first step. An entrance archway, almost like a triumphal arch, is built for tourists to enter the village on payment of fees, some of the overgrowth is cleared, a few houses are “renovated and restored”, the local temple made somewhat functional, and voilà an abandoned village is all set to welcome visitors, but strictly during daylight hours only.

Fascinating as Sushil’s narration was of Kuldhara’s story, I couldn’t help notice that as we neared the village, we had become part of a large convoy of vehicles making their way there.  Apparently, others also found ruins and the stories around them equally fascinating. By the time we reached the parking lot there were about 50 odd vehicles there, with more pouring in. I stepped out of the car and right into a mela-like atmosphere.

The group of musicians performing at Kuldhara

I felt that I had walked into some kind of a bizarre, Mad Hatter’s party. A group of musicians were performing and there were people standing around and clapping hands. Requests for favourites (Why this Kolaveri di? Chikni Chameli, etc.) were being made and the lead singer (the one playing the harmonuim in the photo above) was doing his best to accommodate them.

There I was, hoping to explore the ruins, poke around a bit, soak in the atmosphere, and if I was really lucky, bump into a couple of friendly ghosts. But what I got was tourist hordes who were so noisy that they must have driven every rat, snake, other animals and even ghosts to hide.

Also, since some state minister was supposed to visit, security was tight and most parts of the village was cordoned off. So that left me with only one option—to climb up to the terrace of one of the restored houses and see as much of the village as I could from there.

From the terrace, I could see that Kuldhara was a pretty big and ruins of the settlement stretched out in all directions. It appeared to be a well planned village with straight, wide streets (or was this part of the restoration efforts?) arranged in a grid-like pattern. Some of the houses were double-storeyed and were perhaps the houses of the village headman and other important people of the village. I could also see wells in the distance and Sushil pointed out the drainage system and the water harvesting system in place in the village. From this level, the whole village actually looked quite eerie and unreal, almost like a carefully constructed film set. When I remarked as much to Sushil, he told me that parts of Agent Vinod was filmed here.

Even though it was cold and windy, the sun was very harsh and bright and it became difficult to stand without any shade. Since there was no chance of exploring the rest of the village and the crowds just kept coming, I decided to leave.

Away from the crowds, I tried to imagine what this place must have been like populated with people who cared for their environment and who led a non-interfering life.

I like to think that it must have been a fairly lively place, especially if its people were traders and businessmen.

Did they receive visitors from other kingdoms, other countries even?

Were there schools here?

Did artisans and craftspersons come here? And weavers and cloth merchants? What about bards and storytellers?

Was there an open marketplace or did the traders sell their wares from house-to-house ?

Legends and stories are a wonderful way to attract visitors to a place. And with a curse and haunting thrown in it is a sure way to get visitors to the place. Though Kuldhara gets visitors (and too many of them, if you were to ask me), there is absolutely no ground information once you get there. Since some of the houses have been renovated and restored, one of them could be used to give information on the Paliwal brahmin community and their lifestyle. There could be enactments of the legend for visitors in the main square of the village. Maybe a self-guided tour or even a guided tour around the village could be offered. Maybe the guide could be dressed as a ghost…

It seemed strange to have music and dancing and a party like atmosphere at a place that was being sold as a ghost village. I’m not saying there should be a deathly silence all around, but still I admit to feeling a little cheated of the right atmosphere and of not being able to explore the village and beyond.

Dear reader, this was my first visit to an abandoned, cursed and haunted place. Have you ever visited such a place? I would love to hear about it.

I was at the sculpture gallery at the Museum and idly registering apsaras or dancing girls, a Saraswati, a carved panel, and a bearded figure with a bow. Though the pose of the figure appeared relaxed, it’s expression said otherwise—fierce eyes, and a grim and stern countenance seemed to radiate tension. While, the arrow in the figure’s hands and the bow slung on it’s back suggested a brave warrior, the elaborate crown and extended ear lobes from heavy earrings suggested a that this was a figure of a king.

So who was it, I asked myself. When I saw the information board for this sculpture, I almost dropped my camera !

It was a sculpture of Rama, and a representation like none I had seen before. Popular art always shows Rama as a young man in good health, who is clean-shaven, with a bow on his left shoulder and quiver full of arrows on his right. His right hand is always raised in, what I call, a blessing gesture. Whether as a prince in Ayodhya or facing a life in exile, or as the King of Ayodhya, Rama’s expression is always kind, benevolent and serene; almost beatific. He is Maryada Purushottam Rama. In other words, the popular representation of Rama is always that of a God, and never that of a prince, a husband, a son, a father, a king or a warrior, or even the human being that he was.

The sculptor, who is sadly not mentioned or acknowledged here, has not only presented Rama as a king and a warrior, but has also given him a local flavour with a mustache and beard style favoured by many local Rajput men even today. The stern expression on Rama’s face, so in contrast to his popular image, somehow made him far more real and believable than his portrayal in art and television for me.

This sculpture thrilled, delighted and challenged my own perceptions of Rama and left me wondering as to why had I never envisioned Rama as the Kshatriya prince or as the warrior he was. It also served as a reminder, once again, for me to look and appreciate, but always with an inquiring mind.

Have you seen representations in art that went against popular perception? I would love to hear about that and request you to share your experiences here.

PS: In my shock and excitement over seeing this, I completely forgot to note down details of the sculpture. You see, I could not go beyond,”Lord Rama”. So if someone has seen this sculpture and has the details, please share them here. Thank you.

I am at my hotel’s reception in Jaisalmer and am trying to work out an itinerary for the day with Sushil, the car driver-cum-guide arranged for me by the hotel. The hotel’s owner and the receptionist are also there offering suggestions and advice.

Silence greets this statement of mine and three pairs of eyes turn to look at me. Since I receive no response, I repeat: “I want to go to the Wood Fossil Park at Akal.”

At this, the hotel owner clears his throat, puts on his most persuasive expression and says: “But why, Madam? There is nothing in Akal. Nobody goes there and it will be a waste of your time. You will be very disappointed.”

“I don’t think it will be a waste of time or that I will be disappointed.”

But the hotel owner, receptionist and Sushil do not agree and try their best to persuade me to drop Akal from the list of places I intend visiting. It takes them a while to realise that I have no intention of listening to their ‘advice’, and after about 15 minutes of back and forth, they grudgingly agree and send me off with dire warnings of grave disappointment in store for me.

Akal is about 17 km from Jaisalmer and after an uneventful drive, we are at the gates of the Wood Fossil Park. The gates are shut and when Sushil toots the horn, a security guard appears but does not open the gates and keeps staring at us.

Sushil gets off to find out the reason and comes back after a discussion involving a lot of looks in my direction. The security guard finally opens the gates, and Sushil gets back into the car. As drive into the Park, Sushil asks me: “What is so special about the place we have come to? Why did you want to come here?”

And I tell him that to understand what makes this place special, we have to travel back in time to about 180 million years ago.

It was the Jurassic Period of the Mesozoic Era and a time when Akal did not have the arid climate it has today, and instead had a hot and humid climate. Akal was not rocky and dry as it is today, but instead supported a luxuriant forest of towering trees. It was also the time when the continents that we know of today did not exist. Instead, there was a single land mass known as Pangea, which had just started breaking up around that time. This resulted in the sea water rushing in to fill the gap left, often submerging large tracts of land.

Close up of a petrified tree trunk at Akal

And that is what happened at Akal. Sea water suddenly entered the area along with huge quantities of mud and sand and buried the forest there. The sudden submergence and steady pressure from the weight of mud and sand began a process known as petrification, whereby the wood of the trees in the submerged forest turned into stone, cell by cell. In other words, the organic cell matter got replaced with mineral matter, usually silica. The slow process enabled the preserving of features like texture of bark and as well as cell structure, which can be seen during microscopic examination.

And then millions and millions of years later, through the great dinosaur extinction, formation of the continents as we know them today, receding of the sea from the region, the coming of humans, rise and fall of civilisations and royal kingdoms, formation of nation-states across the world and India as a republic, weathering and erosion … the petrified wood fossils at Akal got discovered in the 1960s.

Inside the Akal Wood Fossil Park

The Wood Fossil Park at Akal is spread out over a 10 sq.km. area and appears quite harsh and forbidding due to the rocky outcrops and very little vegetation. One also does not see any petrified wood fossils around. While I wasn’t expecting to find them lying around waiting for me, I certainly did not expect to see them like this either in cages. Looking at this rather sad display, I could hazard a guess as to what must have happened for this to come about.

Caged ! This is how we protect fossil wood

The discovery of wood fossils in Akal must have generated a lot of interest and brought in geologists, paleo-botanists and other scientists. Samples must have been collected, catalogued, and identified. Results of the studies conducted must have been presented in conferences and published in journals. This discovery must also have brought in people eager to collect the fossil wood and sell it for a price. Between the researchers and the collectors (and sellers), Akal must have been stripped clean of wood fossils in 2-3 decades.

Sushil tells me that the government museum in Jaisalmer has many pieces exhibited there, but I know from experience that this effort must have come in only after some of the best pieces were taken away by others. The horrible fossil cages must have been the only way to protect and preserve what was left. As I walk around the Wood Fossil Park, I now understand what everyone meant when they said that there was “nothing” in Akal.

But am I disappointed with the visit? Yes and no. Less disappointed and more saddened and angry at yet another example of how an area of rare fossil heritage gets stripped in the name of research, in the name of building someone’s private collection, and as a means to earn some money.

And yet, I am not disappointed as there are still some wood fossils lying around, albeit in cages. In fact, after a while, I am happy that I have a chance to play geologist once again after a long time (for those who do not know, I have Masters in Geology ). It is like being in the field and I spend two very happy hours observing and noting details; sketching the more interesting rock formations around me and then photographing them; trying to recall classes and lectures; attempting to identify the rock textures and structures, etc. And to my absolute delight I see two petrified wood fossils, which are neither marked or caged.

This petrified log was half buried in the sandy soil. It took some time to clear away the rocks and soil to be able to see the texture of the bark

Tree rings can be seen on this petrified tree trunk, which was nearly a metre in diameter

If I did not have other places to go to, I might probably have spent the whole day at the Wood Fossil Park. As we were leaving the Park, Sushil stopped to say something to the security guard in the local language, which again involved a lot of looks in my direction. When we were back on the highway, I asked Sushil what the whole thing was all about.

Sushil smiled a little sheepishly and said:

Did you know, Madam, that you are the first visitor in 10 days? When we came here the guard thought that we had lost our way ! He also said that there is not much to see. And how could I allow him to say that after you showed me and taught me so much about this place? So when we were leaving, I had to tell him that there are lots to see and that I am bringing my children here to see this place and he should also do so !

Need I even elaborate any further as to why the visit to Akal has been so special?

Model of the Jaisalmer Fort

“I don’t think it looks like an arrow-head,” said the man.

“Well, the audio guide says that it is in the shape of an arrow-head. The guide-book also says so. Maybe we are missing something, “said the woman.

I came upon this couple and their discussion at a courtyard in the palace of Jaisalmer Fort. As we nodded and smiled at each other, the woman asked me: “So do you think THIS is shaped like an arrow-head?”

“THIS” was a model of the Jaisalmer Fort (see the photograph above left). “I think it looks more like the map of India from where I stand,” I said.

“Ah ! That’s why it looked so familiar,” exclaimed the man. “Well, arrow-head, or map of India, or some other shape, it’s a beautiful fort, isn’t it?”

Now beautiful is not a word I would normally use to describe a fort. But, somehow, this word is very apt for describing Jaisalmer Fort. Built entirely of golden-yellow Jaisalmer stone, the fort is at its beautiful best during sunrise and sunset and can be seen for miles around. It rises like a golden mirage when one is approaching Jaisalmer by road, and at the same time also appears to blend into the desert surrounding it. In other words, it is rather hard to ignore Jaisalmer Fort.

The Jaisalmer Fort

View of the Jaisalmer Fort from my hotel terrace

Jaisalmer was founded in the 12th century by Maharawal Jaisal of the Bhatti dynasty, which traces its lineage to Lord Krishna. The rulers of the Bhatti dynasty had earlier ruled from Lodrava, which they had been forced to leave due to repeated invasions from Mohammad of Ghor.

A search for a safer and defensible location for a new capital led the Bhatti rulers to Trikuta Hill about 30 km away and construction of the Jaisalmer Fort began in 1196. The Fort took 7 years to complete, and subsequent rulers kept making additions and alterations to it. With a length of over a kilometre, a circumference wall of 5 km, a 2-3 m thick fortification wall, 99 bastions, a retaining wall at the base of the Trikuta Hill, and a stone barricade ringing the hilltop, the Jaisalmer Fort has a good defense system in place. The information board at the entrance to the Fort says that “the main fort has two walls running parallel with a gap of 3-4 m to enable movement of troops”.

I visited Jaisalmer Fort on a cold and windy February morning. It had rained the previous night with the result that everything looked freshly washed and the golden-yellow stone of the Fort was practically glowing in the light of a mellow winter sun. My visit also coincided with the first day of the Jaisalmer Desert Festival and I entered the first of the many gates that lead into the Fort to see an explosion of colour. The Gopa Chowk, which is just beyond the first gate, was full of tourists and locals, folk musicians, shopkeepers setting up their wares, photographers jostling for space and that perfect frame to capture… And in the midst of all this buzz waited the colourfully decked-up camels and their riders for the festivities to begin.

Getting ready for the inauguration of the Jaisalmer Desert Festival

Golden-yellow stone towers provided the perfect backdrop to showcase the reds, yellows, oranges, and pinks surrounding me, and were enticing enough for me to miss the inauguration ceremony and get a move on exploring the Fort. So, after some time at the Gopa Chowk, I continued forth on the paved passages that led into the Fort through massive gates with intricately carved entrances, past internet cafes, more shopkeepers, cows and dogs to arrive at the Dussera Chowk or the Central Square. This square is probably the most important public space in the Fort and narrow lanes lead from here to various parts of the Fort.

The Dussera Chowk as viewed from the Rajmahal

I get my first glimpse of the Rajmahal or the erstwhile royal residence and am surprised to see how simple a structure it is. It is neither as grand as the havelis of Jaisalmer nor is it particularly distinguishable from the other buildings surrounding it. If it were not for a sign stating “Jaisalmer Fort Palace Museum & Heritage Centre”, I would probably have missed it altogether. But then, it is also equally possible that the saffron handprints of the royal women who had committed sati would have eventually drawn me to the palace entrance.

Sati handprints at the entrance to the Rajmahal

The former royal residence is a 7-storey structure built over many generations. It is actually a complex of many buildings, which are connected by low and narrow passages. A tour of the Rajmahal reveals that though its interiors are not as grand as the palace in Bikaner’s Junagarh Fort, it is still pretty impressive. Among the many  exhibits, I particularly liked the  silver coronation throne, the room with European wall tiles, and some breathtaking views of Jaisalmer from the highest point in the Rajmahal.

The silver coronation throne

Blue wall tiles in a room in the Rajmahal

View of the Dussera Chowk from the Rajmahal. The ‘caged’ marble throne is where the Maharawal or the King would give public audiences with the people and also watch festivities. Note the sati handprints on the bottom right.

Part of the Jaisalmer Fort can be seen from one of the windows at the Rajmahal

View of Jaisalmer from the highest point in the Fort

Jaisalmer Fort is actually a fort city with people still living within the walls of the Fort. Though it is not the only fort-city in the country or the world, it is definitely among the most beautiful. I had a great time exploring the lanes and by-lanes of the Fort after the visit to the Rajmahal. The Jain temples whose spires I had seen from the Rajmahal was where I went to next.

Jain Temple spires as seen from the Rajmahal

There are 7 Jain temples within the walls of Jaisalmer Fort and like every other structure in the city is built from the same golden-yellow Jaisalmeri stone. All these temples were built in the 15th–16th centuries and are dedicated to different Tirthankaras: Parsvanath, Sambhavanath, Chandrapraphu, Rishabhadeva, Shitalnath, Shantinath and Kunthanath Temple. Though all the temples are beautifully carved, the stunningly impressive entrance toran to the Parsvanath temple deserves a special mention here.

Detail from the entrance to the Parsvanath Temple

Traditional architecture, roadside shrines, veiled women, absence of a sense of urgency, cows and dogs, bird calls, people sitting and chatting in squares, the silence that comes from absence of motorised vehicles — all contributed to the feeling of time travel to a couple of centuries ago. It was only the presence of hotels and guest houses advertising free WiFi, stunning views, authentic food and roof-top views and what not, and the occasional presence of two wheelers, that stopped me from actually doing so !

But all the beauty, charm and period atmosphere of the golden fort of Jaisalmer cannot hide an important truth — Jaisalmer Fort is falling to pieces due to natural and human-made causes.

Though major restoration work and repairs have been and are being carried out, it is not enough to deal with the damage from water seepage and inadequate civic amenities. Portions of the retaining wall are simply giving away and I saw what looked like large cracks running along the length of the Fort as well.

Though seismic activity in the region has weakened the foundations of the Fort, the demands made by the growing population and high tourist footfall is equally if not more responsible.

Jaisalmer survives on its tourist-based economy and every local is connected in some way or the other with tourism. For most people living within the Fort walls, it has meant opening up their houses or portions of their houses during the tourist season or even converting their houses into hotels. Then there are eating places that have opened all over the Fort to cater to the tourists. This has led to a Fort meant for 1000 odd residents housing 3000 residents at any given point and these numbers increasing by the hundreds during tourist peak season putting pressure on the existing amenities in the Fort.

For some years now, there have been talks of shifting the residents from the Fort or at least not allowing tourists to stay within the Fort premises. Both options have been met with stiff opposition by the residents as it would mean them losing a home and also losing a source of income. It is really a Catch-22 situation at the moment.

Initially, I was disappointed when I found that my hotel was located outside the Fort premises. I had read about and heard of accounts from friends who had stayed in a hotel within the Fort complex.

I was really looking forward to spending a night or two in a hotel in the Fort and have my morning cuppa at a jharokha, look out into a view like the photo on the left, see the sun rise (or set), see the city bathed in moonlight …

But now, I am very happy and relieved that my romantic vision did not happen and I did not contribute towards the decay that is slowly destroying the Jaisalmer Fort. You may ask, what difference would my not having stayed inside the Fort have made? Maybe not much in immediate sense. But I believe that everybody contributes in some way or other little by little. And this was mine

Of a time when artists and their art was nurtured and treasured and patronised.

Of a time when artists went unknown and the owners became famous through the very art of building such structures.

And of more recent times when modern tourists must have seen these havelis and gasped with delight at the work. Just as I did and just as I know others will when they see the havelis for the first time.

An abandoned Haveli in Jaisalmer

While I saw most of the havelis from the outside in passing, I did spend some time at the Patwon ki Haveli and the Nathmal Diwan Haveli in Jaisalmer. Both these havelis were so grand that at my first sight of them, I think just forgot to breathe.

The Patwon ki Haveli

Patwon ki Haveli is actually a complex of 5 havelis built next to each other by the 5 sons of Guman Chand, a trader in textiles and precious metals. These multi-storeyed buildings were constructed at the beginning of the 18th century from the golden-yellow Jaisalmeri stone and have mud floors and wooden ceilings ensuring perfect temperature inside, regardless of the weather outside. The exterior stonework is so unimaginably magnificent, that I am going to show you what I saw rather than attempt a write-up which will not even capture its essence.

A beautifully carved jharokha at the Patwon ki Haveli.

Patwon ki Haveli

Patwon ki Haveli: Carved stonework and carved wooden windows. I can’t decide which one is more beautiful

Patwon ki Haveli: Just look at the way the design on the wooden windows almost mirror the stonework surrounding it

An interior courtyard at the Patwon ki Haveli

Room of glass and mirrors in the Patwon ki Haveli

Diwan Nathmal ki Haveli was built in 1885. Gifted to the Diwan by Maharawal Bairisal., this ornamental two-storied haveli was built by two brothers — Hathi and Lalu — who reportedly  fought during its construction leading to one half of the haveli being built by one brother and the other half by another. At first glance, both sides of the haveli look the same, but a closer inspection reveals differences in the carving and symmetry as well.

Diwan Nathmal ki Haveli, which is partly inhabited today, has a special feature — its roof has been cast by binding stone pieces without using beams and brackets. This haveli, too, has a beautiful façade with stone elephants on both side of the platform of the haveli, ornamental latticed balconies, partly bloomed lotus flowers, floral patterns on intricate lattices and minute birds and animals.

Front façade of Diwan Nathmal ki Haveli

A closer look at the exterior of Diwan Nathmal ki Haveli

Carved animals at the Diwan Nathmal ki Haveli

All these havelis were built by merchants and are perhaps the finest example of construction without any European influence. The intricacy in jaalis, jharokhas, balconies and building facades has to be seen to be believed.

Imagine staying in one of the havelis.

Imagine watching the world go by from one of its many windows or balconies or jharokhas.

Of full moon nights, rosy sunrises, and golden sunsets.

Of street life, festival celebrations and processions.

Of soldiers marching past, and wandering minstrels and musicians going by.

But most of all I tried to imagine what would it feel like to be serenaded from a jharokha or a balcony. Sigh ! 

A tourist bus turns off from the Bikaner – Jaisalmer highway at Phalodi and rattles its way towards a village called Khichan. As the bus passes a sign announcing that Khichan was just a kilometer away, excitement mounts. Sunglasses are readied as are cameras and binoculars. Soon the group will be seeing what they have come to Khichan for — to see the Demoiselle Cranes, which migrate here to escape the harsh winters of Eastern Europe.

Everybody in the group is a birding enthusiast. Everybody, but one person who is frankly quite bored with all the bird talk going around and trying to be as indifferent as possible to the contagious and palpable excitement filling the bus. That person is me.

As soon as the bus stops, the group tumbles out looking all around them. “Where are the birds? Where are the birds?” they demand. A local, who is passing by points vaguely and mutters “across that rise” at which the group sets off purposefully in that direction. I trail behind the group, dragging my feet and looking disinterestedly around me.

As the first of the group crests the rise, sounds of “Ooh ! Look at them, there they are”, floats back to me. My steps quicken of their own accord and in a minute I am over the rise myself and get my first glimpse of the Demoiselle Cranes. And stop in my tracks so suddenly that I almost slide all the way down to level ground.

The sight of so many live birds outside of a TV screen or a photograph is a sight that I am never going to forget for as long as I live.

The birds are quite some distance away and I use my camera zoom to try to get a better look at them and take some photographs too. I have just taken my second photograph (see the one below), when a commotion begins.Lowering my camera, I see that some over-enthusiastic members of my tour group are marching purposefully to where the birds are grouped for a closer look. And the remaining half of the group is calling them back with loud “come back, come back, or the birds will fly away”.

And in the blink of an eye, that’s exactly what happens. A restless shuffling among the birds, a couple of fluttering wings and the birds take off. I am left looking at this.

Our tour manager is livid, but the damage is done. The local who had pointed out the site of the cranes says rather mournfully that the cranes will not return for an hour or so or till they feel it is safe for them to do so. Since we do not have the time to wait for the cranes to return, our group decides to leave.

It is an angry, diffident and rather shame-faced group that gets back into the bus. Everyone avoids everyone else’s eyes. Our group is also avoiding the angry looks of other tourists who have gathered at Khichan for crane watching and have now been cheated of it. As for me, I am still to recover from the “now-I-see-the-Demoiselle-Cranes-and now-I-don’t” tryst I have just experienced. I check my camera to reassure myself that I had indeed seen these birds.

As the bus makes its way out of Khichan to rejoin the highway to take the road to Jaisalmer, I try to recall all that our tour manager had shared about the special guests that Khichan plays host to every winter.

During the months that the Demoiselle Cranes are at Khichan, the villagers take care of the birds by feeding them grain in specially built enclosures or chugga ghars, and ensuring that they are safe from dogs and other predators. For more information on how the birds are fed and the amount of grain used to feed them every day, please click here. Khichan also received also receives bird lovers, ornithologists, and tourists whenever the beautiful birds are there.

I am very disappointed at having got just 3 minutes with the cranes and wish that I had got to see more of these graceful birds.

At a personal level, this sighting of  Demoiselle Cranes has kind of changed my attitude towards birds and bird watching from a polite indifference to a somewhat newly awakened interest. While this does not mean that I am going to get up at an unearthly hour to go birding, it does mean that I am interested in knowing more about the avian world and extend my limited and rudimentary knowledge beyond the world of sparrows, crows, pigeons, parrots (or is it parakeets?).

And maybe, just maybe, the next time someone shouts “look, look” or “look at that… yellow-footed, green-tipped, purple-bellied, orange-collared, blue beaked, red-eyed, white-cheeked, black-shouldered… bird”, I just might turn around to see them, instead of rolling my eyes.

As I set aside the ones I want to buy, I ask the shopkeeper, “Do you have camel earrings?”

“Look at these elephant ones, Madam. They will bring good luck and strength. These birds are so delicate, they will look beautiful. And the deer earrings, they are unique, Madam. Nowhere else will you find them in Udaipur. And this butterfly ones…

“I am buying a pair of all these. But I would also like to buy a pair of camel earrings. Do you have them?” I ask again.

“Um… yes,” he says, pulling out a pair from under the counter. “Why do you want to buy camel earrings anyway?”

“Because I like camels,” I say.

“You like camels?” the shopkeeper asks incredulously. “They are smelly, stubborn, and quite ugly. What is there to like in camels?”

“Oh there is plenty to like. You see, there is something about camels,” I smile.

Nose up in the air !

During my recent 11-day trip to Rajasthan, I saw more camels than I have seen in my entire lifetime.  And also got to know more about this gentle and intelligent animal than I expected to, thanks to a visit to the National Research Centre on Camel (NRCC). This one of a kind centre, about 8 km from Bikaner, conducts research on camels and also offers camel breeding programmes, support and expertise to the nearby villagers and tribes. The NRCC is also open to visitors in the afternoons and one can spend some time here getting to know more about the different camel breeds, their behaviour patterns, how they are trained, what they eat and what they don’t. In fact, it’s a good introduction to camels as I found out when I visited the NRCC on my very first day in Bikaner.

A notice board at the entrance giving information on the type of breeds and their numbers at the NRCC

A mural painted on the outside walls of the Camel Museum

The NRCC has an on-site museum dedicated to everything and anything to do with camels — from its physiology, to its uses, to its types, to products made from camel teeth, bone and leather, to an exhibit of a well-preserved stillborn camel. It is a good idea to begin at the Museum, before taking a tour of the grounds to see the camels.

There are four types of camels at the NRCC — Bikaneri, Jaisalmeri, Kachchhi and Mewari. The male and female camels are kept in separate enclosures and are brought together only for breeding purposes. There are also separate “time-out” areas for rebellious and naughty camels. The guide said that camels too go through, ahem, “teenage angst and raging hormones”. Such camels are separated from the others for a while before allowing them to rejoin their group. Then there is a maternity section, where new-born camels and their mothers are kept, as is a nursery for slightly older camel calves and their mothers. I was lucky to see a newborn camel, struggling to stand up and drinking from a feeding bottle for all it was worth.

New-born camel being fed with a feeding bottle

And another new-born camel, which had just about manged to stand up on trembly, rubbery feet and was helped to feed with his handler’s help.

Drink, baby, drink !

I spent a relaxing and peaceful hour or so at the NRCC, walking around and observing the camels. Here are some pictures from there:

With its unique physiological characteristics, the camel is an icon of adaptation and indispensability to the region. It has played a significant role in civil law and order, defense and battles in the past and continues to do so at present through the camel corps, an important wing of Border Security Forces of India.

The camels at NRCC was only the first of the many camels I saw during my travels in Rajasthan. Whether pulling a cart or standing to attention in a parade or carrying water cans or simply resting by the roadside, or taking tourists on a ride, they were everywhere. What struck me was irrespective of the situation they were in, their demeanour was calm and quiet.

Camel cart, Bikaner

All decked up and ready for the Desert Festival, Jaisalmer

Ready, Steady, Go… At the Shobha Yatra of the Desert Festival, Jaisalmer

Camel carrying water cans at the Kumbhalgarh Fort

The camel is, arguably, the most important animal in the fragile arid and semi-arid desert eco-system of Rajasthan. And yet, and this is an important yet, the camel is conspicuous by its absence in art and craft. Here, I don’t mean the kitschy and sometimes tacky souvenirs; I mean as sculptures, as motifs in weaving and embroidery, and as themes in paintings.

One only has to look around modern-day street art in the villages, cities and towns of Rajasthan or centuries old carvings in temples and havelis or frescoes and miniature paintings in palaces, museums, and forts to see that camels are totally absent. Elephants, horses, lions, tigers, peacocks, deer, parrots, cows, bulls and even cranes — you can find them all, but you will not find a single camel.

While I can understand the symbolism associated with elephants, horses, lions, tigers, etc., and their inclusion in art, I am equally puzzled by the exclusion of camels in art.

Isn’t art is supposed to be inspired by life and happenings around? So why then has the camel been ignored in a region that is its home and a region that depends on it?

Is it because camels have no symbolism associated with it in Hindu or Jain religious texts?

Is it because the camel is associated with the nomadic tribes and the traders, and these were the communities that did not build temples or havelis or forts?

Or is it because the artists don’t find the camels graceful or beautiful enough for their art?

Or is it something else altogether.

I have kind of fallen in love with camels. Their gentle gait, their inquisitive and patient gaze, and their quiet, dignified demeanour — I tell you, there is something about camels. Something very, very special