Road to Ranthambore

We packed our bags to leave Jaipur today. On the way out of town we visited a relatively new, large Hindu temple. A unique feature of this temple is that the roof line is designed with a Muslim dome, a Buddhist stupa, and a Hindu crown structure. Our guide stated that it was designed to emphasize oneness and tolerance. However, since the Hindu temple crown towered over the other two roofs, an alternative reading might be possible. The temple was built by the same wealthy family that hosted Gandhi in their home during the final 144 days prior to his assassination -- the same museum and national monument we visited in New Delhi. 

This building is finished in white marble, some so translucent that the sun could be seen shining through it when standing on the inside. The main hall had stained glass windows -- perhaps an inclusion of Christianity into the religious mix of the architecture -- however, these windows depicted the principal Hindu deities. At the far end was a railing and a portico draped with a deep red curtain. It was clear that there was some activity going on behind the curtain. Our guide had us wait at the rail, and we were soon surrounded by a number of locals, and a hundred or so Indian high school students who came on an assortment of tourist buses. Our guide later told us that their dress indicated that they were visiting from southern India.

Unfortunately, no photos permitted inside.

A bell was rung vigorously behind the curtain, and our guide warned us to get ready. When the bell sounded again a minute or so later, the curtain was whisked back, and revealed were larger than life statues of Vishnu and his consort, Lakshmi, all decked out in fine blue robes with garlands of gold. They stood on a marble altar with piles of flowers at their feet, and fruit and other offerings on a somewhat lower step in front. As soon as the curtain came back, loud recorded music filled the temple, though I did not see any speakers. The locals and school kids clapped in time, and several priests sounded cymbals and bells in rhythm. It was quite a racket, and went on for at least five minutes or more. Another priest waved a candelabra of seven lamps in front of the god and goddess, then at one point in the chant, put the flames down before the altar and picked up a water vessel, which he waved is a similar fashion, spilling bit on the floor in front of the altar on every rotation. Then he came out to the rail and began spraying the crowd rather vigorously with the same water. When he ran low, another priest brought another vessel from the altar to give him a refill. Everyone got a little wet, then the whole show was over. As we walked from the temple, which was on a fairly high hill, we could hear similar mantras playing loudly from other temples all over town.

We continued on the bus through the traffic to the outskirts of Jaipur. The bus stopped at a potter's factory (I use the term loosely). There was an extended family of perhaps 20 people, plus cattle and goats, living together in three or four rooms of thatched roof hovel. The yard was stacked high with hundreds of bulbous pots in various states of completion. Kids in school uniforms gathered around us as we entered, and we created a lot of excitement from our presence. As the grandfather (head of the family) looked on, one of the sons (perhaps early 40s) set up a traditional potter's wheel on a sharped wooden spike, maybe six inches off the ground. He got it spinning by hand, put his hands into a bowl of muddy water, then quickly produced a couple of small items. As he finished each one, the grandfather passed around a completed, fired example of whatever his son had just made: Oil lamp for Diwali, "piggy bank" (no pig involved, but there was a coin slot, and one had to break it to get the money out again, and a small jar. He asked for volunteers, and one woman from our group gamely put her hands in the mud bowl and (though clearly with no prior pottery experience) made another small oil lamp, with a bit of help from her mentor. Many photos were taken.

Back on the bus we learned that these potters were from the "untouchable" class, so only others of the same caste would buy pots from them. Most of their products were taken by truck or camel cart into Jaipur and sold in bulk to a member of the merchant caste (one level up the ladder) who would, in turn, sell to the higher castes in the city. It was OK to use the pots, but not to deal with the untouchables directly.

We continued on for about four hours, through fields and villages. Most of the crop was mustard or wheat, with some patches of millet and various vegetables. The land was so flat, in most places, that it made Nebraska look hilly. There were few trees. Once in a while we would see a very tall brick chimney, which was actually a brick-making kiln. Chaff from the grain is used as fuel for the kilns. Nothing is wasted, not even the dung of cattle or camels, which was laid out in neat paddies to dry in the sun until it could become fuel for cooking fires in the village homes. Many homes used the roof of the house as the place to dry dung paddies. We noted women working in fields and men sitting at the village chai shops, talking, smoking, and reading newspapers. Once in a while we saw men working on a construction project or at some skilled craft, but mostly they sat. Women did all of the heavy work in the fields, carried water jars or bags of grain on their heads, usually with a couple kids in tow. Villages were very simple -- these are not prosperous people by any means, but we were told that these aren't the poor, because in this region, people are able to eat.

We stopped a couple times for photos, whenever our guide spotted something of interest, including once to shoot a passing caravan of camel carts. The guide traded individual cigarettes to the cart drivers for our permission to photograph them. We also stopped at a very tourist-oriented "truck stop" for a bathroom break. Some also bought a cup of tea here. After all, the sign out front promised that the restaurant was open for "Break Fast, Lucnch, and Deener!" Traffic was mostly trucks hauling goods, some buses hauling people (usually packed full with more sitting on top), and lots of motorbikes. Indian cities top anyplace we've visited for traffic chaos, but on the highways the Chinese still hold that title. There were only a couple times that we had near head-on collisions from oncoming trucks passing one another -- this happened every few minutes in China!

As we approached Ranthambore National Park, our guide began to "prepare us" for the spartan living conditions we might experience here in rural India. Sujay is quite the joker, because the Nahargarh Hotel is, almost literally, a palace! Only about eight years old, it has been constructed around the theme of a 19th century hunting lodge for a Maharajah or British Viceroy. Rooms are spacious, with marble floors, Victorian style furnishings and light fixtures, and even old fashioned padlocks on the French doors entering each room. 

There are large wooden wardrobes instead of closets. Bath and light fixtures look antique, etc.  To keep the theme, there are no TVs in the rooms (not that we miss them), only in the "library," where the books are under lock and key, but you can watch CNN. Musicians and dancers dressed in colorful mock-British regimental uniforms play traditional Indian instruments all day in the courtyard (which, by day two, was beginning to get a bit irritating -- they seem to only know a few tunes).

Luncheon buffet was served at a long, banquet table under a huge chandelier, with walls lined with portraits of maharajah's on horseback or in hunting gear. There were also drawings of tigers. Fortunately, there are no mounted trophy heads. The food is Indian, and quite good, but prepared to tourist standards. So our guide requested a few dishes brought to our table that were spiced up a bit.

After lunch, we piled into one of the open air, 17-seat tourist trucks that are ubiquitous here (Americans fill it with 13, but groups of Indian tourists, of which there are many, pile in at least 30). We drove into the national park to a base area, then hiked up about 250 uneven stone steps to Ranthambore Fort. Thanks to living at the top of a hill in Decorah, we had no trouble with the 250 steps and were still fresh when we reached the top. Not so for many others in the group.

When all had caught their breath, we walked another mile or so through the ruins to a functioning Hindu temple, where we received a blessing from Ganesha, the elephant god, in the form of a marigold garland, bright orange tikka smudge on our foreheads, and a red-orange string on our wrists. The marigolds came off right away, because the monkeys love them as snacks and will attack a person to get them. 

We solved that problem by setting them on a railing where the monkeys could help themselves. However, a couple of holy cows, who also apparently fancy them, got to them first. The tikka came off (mostly) with a piece of tissue paper. But we wore the wrist string all the way back to the hotel. Our guide assured us that the blessing would still be in effect, but when we took off the string it should not be put in the trash or thrown on the ground where people might walk on it, but hung in a tree or bush for the birds.

Calling this a "fort" is somewhat misleading. It was more of a walled city covering many acres, with some 5,000 permanent residents, only a fraction of whom were military, when built 1000 years ago. There are five lakes within the walls, and plenty of room for growing crops. They could survive a siege for a very long time. The fort fell to the Mughals in the 1300s, but only because of a traitor in the king's guard, not because they were able to conquer the fortress. Restoration is ongoing, and it is truly an amazing site.

After returning down the steps, we returned to the hotel and ate again around the banquet table.