Tribal Heartland of Rajasthan

Every trail has a unique character; be it the solo travels in the Karnataka countryside; the group excursions around Mumbai; the family pilgrimages to the otherwise dull temple towns. But, this one was surely a different one from the previous ones. Two main characteristics that I believe will stand the test of time and remain afresh in my mind would be (a) the speed and (b) the excitement of knowing the Unknown; exploring something really wild terrains with even wilder degrees of uncertainty. Our driver could have abandoned us! The police may had taken us for an enquiry to the police station; we could have landed in an underground Baoli; bitten by a poisonous snake; taken hostage by the veteran dacoits or may be could have been tempted beyond control and brought back some souvenirs from that invincible fortress of Timungurh. But, what, indeed, we brought back were loads of memories, a bagful of pictures, taken with three cameras by four shutterbugs and a good amount of muscular pain.

The trip itself had a lot of planning into it before we zeroed in “KARAULI” as the destination for the extended weekend starting 15th August 2008. SP, Sunita, Syam, and I were the team members with no declared captain as such, in short 3S+M, sounds like a management concept. Although, the journey bookings had been done by Sunita quite in advance when the moment actually arrived everything seemed entangled and at the eleventh hour we were exploring the alternate ways of reaching Karauli, if our train ticket remains waitlisted. But, all our fears proved false as our tickets got confirmed. I, left Sarojini Nagar, well I advance, as it has now become a real difficult to move past the heavily beefed up security cordon in view of the Independence Day celebrations. On my way, I came very close to being frisked by the young Delhi Police Constable, but probably my big black glasses and shaven head made him to undone his previous decision. He asked, “Kahan ja rahey ho?” I replied, “KARAULI” in a serious tone. Bidding adieu to the constable I moved past only to be stopped a further ahead because of a VIP movement. At this point of time, I did have a few moments of nervousness.

At last, I reached new Delhi Station well before the scheduled departure time; 3Ss could not be seen anywhere. I reached the designated platform and waited when Syam spotted me in the crowd. It was a small chat and some leg pulling as usual before our train chugged in. We had to walk quite a distance to board the train. SP was quite excited at the very thoughts of finding some gorgeous Punjabi co-passengers. After those rounds of tea made with tea bags, we had our breakfast. By this time the terrain has changed considerably. The pools were overflowing because of the last night downpour and the sky was quite dull, pregnant with clouds.

As they say, “When you stomach is full, your mind starts to work”. The plain bread slices and pale cutlet/ omelets have already kicked our nervous arteries as I took out my print-outs on KARAULI. Literally, every one has done some level of research on the subject, but, no one was willing to accept the same. Just as I started to read on the script loudly, Syam came up with his knowledge of the Geography strengthened by the District Website. Soon, Sunita chipped in with her knowledge of Timungurh Fort. A week before the trip, I had scrapped some links on her Orkut Profile which she had read very seriously. I do believe girls are more sincere when it comes to studies. Need any proofs! Just see the Boards Exam Results – Every year the girls over power the nalaayak “boys”. After a lot of deliberation we decided that we must get down at MAHAVIR JI and from there, should go to KARAULI via Timungurh. A few minutes later we were at Mahavirji Railway Station, totally clueless about our next course of action and welcomed by hoards of local jeeps, Marshals, and a bus meant for Jain Pilgrims.

There are many cons of not knowing the exact pronunciation in local language, I mean, the Phonetics, at times could actually prove quite vital. As we asked for “TIMAANGARH” what should be “TIMUNGARH” it took quite some time to make them understand where we intend to go. At last, keeping aside the omnipresent worries of some really bad roads, “Girdhari” came forward to be our sarathi. This association will stay for next few days. Before starting GL did his bit by warning us that at TF it would be difficult to get even a glass of drinkable water. The breakfast had already done its part and I was feeling really hungry. A local shop selling some freshly made local snacks came to our rescue. We packed some Kachoris, Samosas, Jhewar and some bottles of Bisleri. Having cleaned the eatables and taken the fuel we moved towards the abandoned medieval fortress of Timungurh, amidst the erstwhile infamous dacoit territory.
My failed attempts at those IAS Exams with history as optional had given me a fair idea of Indian History and I do remember some of those odd dates even today. Just imagine the time when Allaudin Khalji was marauding the Northern Plains to strengthen the Delhi Sultanate and the temples that stood on his way were simply razed off the ground. This was not new and unprecedented as a few years earlier Ghori had already done some real damage to the priceless Indian Heritage – no point arguing Hindu or Muslim. Malik Kafur, the general appointed by Allaudin had even gone as far as Rameshwaram in the south. In the years, to follow Delhi Sultanate is only going to be strengthened and many more Hindu Temples were to lay into ground. During such times, when religious identity was in crisis, some of the Hindu Rulers decided to move many of the temples and idols from their original location to a place of safety. Timungurh was an easy choice. It’s inaccessibly and adjoining rough terrain provided the natural defense and Timungurh, thus, became a warehouse, a treasure trove of many priceless idols hidden deep within its womb. I suppose this was somewhere in the 12th century. But, how thereafter this fortress went into oblivion is quite an unanswered puzzle. Centuries later, it was nearly taken over by the forest and no one tried to venture into these uncharted terrains. However, during the later half of 18th Century local cattle grazers frequenting the terrain found some of the precious artifacts that led to a spree of loot and pillage in the next few decades to come. It is said that the whole thing became quite organized as helicopters were also used to airlift some of the idols. Today, because of sustained efforts of local MP and deliberations held in the Indian Parliament, the area, now classified as “Gair Mumkin Qila” (Fort land unfit for cultivation) is in the process of being notified as “Protected Monument” and some efforts are already underway to create awareness about the whole area as a Tourist Circuit. For interested in History and particularly historical dates, Timungurh Fort that traces its initial fortifications way back to 12th century, was reconstructed by one Timun Paal, who shared the same family lineage as the Rajput Rulers of nearby Bayana. The vast expanses of this fort even came under the Delhi sultanate followed by the slaughter of Mohamed Ghori.

The journey was refreshing and rejuvenating, punctuated by those bumpy potholes and overflowing rivers and some unstoppable chattering by SPS –Qualtee n Engining. For some potholes, at first it seemed that we may have to take a different path altogether when GL did his heroics to move us through. I still remember those fantastic lines, “RANA NE SOCHA IS PAAR, TAB TAK CHETAK THA US PAAR” that we had in our Hindi Grammar Book explaining “ATISHYOKTI ALANKAAR”. Also worthwhile noting were the colorfully painted local houses all along the ride. One more thing caught my attention –was a skeletal structure of a Hut done with Sandstone Slabs, what is usually done in rest of India with steel sections. The ride also reminded me of my visits to the tribal villages around Massanjore in Jharkhand. Just as in Jharkhand here also the natives mostlty the fierce tribals of Meenas and Gurjars prefer a topless bath irrespective of gender. At that point of time, GL was our Chetak, and no one can actually stop him. The only vehicular traffic that caugt our attention largely contained some local made JUGADS. Every time a jugad passed I added, “ek aur gaya.” At this Sunita said, “Tum kya issi tarah KARAULI tak jugad dikahtey dikhatey jaaogey?”

Now for the novice let me explain what a Jugad is. Jugad, literally meaning facilitator, was designed by a farmer using his diesel water pump. Technically Jugad is an absolutely basic four-wheeler, with scavenged gearbox and rear axle, no bodywork and a diesel engine normally used for water pumps. Because of the cost considerations, Jugad is used as a prominent mode of transport in parts of Rajasthan, Haryana and Punjab although it is neither registered nor legally recognized. A typical country made Jugad costs around 30,000 INR can attain speeds as high as 40 km/hr and 30 persons can enjoy the joyride at the same time.

A journey of roughly an hour took us to a serene spot – a lake skirting the lines of fortifications. It looked pretty shallow as we could spot some local women taking out “PAANI WAALA SHRIGARA” from the lake bed. A few more local beauties could be spotted near the main ghat taking an all open bath. I decided not to intrude into their moment of privacy and kept on clicking the interesting flora. This is also the place that offers the best views of the fort in terms of coverage. The main gate could be clearly seen and so were the fortifications on the periphery of adjoining hills. Sunita went to have a chat with the local ladies as we 2S+M kept ourselves engrossed with the team of langurs sitting on the tree nearby.

Moving past the main gate, we entered the Timungurh Fort. The entrance reminded me of the one at Badami Fort, quite like siq in Petra, Jordan but somewhat smaller in scale. The gate has been created by cutting into the Rocky Mountains enveloping the entire fortress. We were all alone inside the Fortress – No one could be spotted in the near vicinity. Getting down from the otherwise cramp rear seat, I did some stretching before deciding to climb up the crumbling blocks. Syam and I found a way through the fallen walls with overgrown creepers right into the top. The views were simply awesome. Timungurh was silent – nothing could be heard except for the buzzing jungle background sound. The photographer in me took charge of the situation as I did some decent photo shoots. The atmosphere was quite like KALINJAR near KHAJURAHO. By the time we finished off the photo shoot, 2S also climbed up and the crew was ready. But, where to move now; the climb looked quite steep and no path could be tracked on the ground. And then came our messiah, “Ramesh Ji”. Ramesh Ji was a local man who frequently ventures into the unknown corners of Timungurh with his herd of Goats. He readily offered to show us the fortress however we later felt that his GANIT is pretty poor. What he claimed to be a 15 minute trek actually took close to an hour.
Our trek into the fort started through a fortification entirely fallen with Ramesh Ji leading the entourage. Nearby an age old Baoli could be easily spotted. Although the Baoli looked quite a mystery we could hardly garner the courage to venture into its dark corners. Initially the slope was gentle and it’s quite a fun, intermittently we found some loose rock stacks purposely kept to create a hindrance for an outsider, not familiar with the jungle trek. Adding to the prevailing sense of mystery, Ruined Temples made their routine appearances just as we traversed through the jungle. By this time, Syam was leading with Ramesh Ji, followed by Sunita, while I was third, busy capturing the jungle life and somewhat troubled by the creepers tangling with my floaters. Last but not the least, SPS followed us. “This used to be the market places,” Ramesh Ji explained pointing to an abandoned labyrinth of stone pillars. The silence was shrouded with mystery. What, if, I get an asharfi! May be an Ashta Dhatu Figurine, or may be map suggesting the way to some hidden treasure. All my childhood dreams came back in a flash. The Main Temple that looked so near actually drifted in space like a mirage.

Further ahead, a big pool of water waited for us. It seemed that the water body was man made for the obvious reasons of supplying water. Actually such pools are quite a common feature in all of the hill forts from the medieval times – Gwalior, kalinjar, Ajaigarh, Deogarh, Talbehaat, Narwar and others. Once again the stillness of its water made my imagination go awry and I could see an under image of whatever lies on its bed. Images of Rani-ki-Vav, Patan taken during British times when the Vav was completely filled with mud and silt instantly came to my mind. Who knows what lies beneath these stagnant waters? “May be, we will never be able to know that. Who cares for that after all? Moving past the lake we saw the many buildings that at one point of time were shopping Malls. Creepers have taken over the entire structure and we felt it prudent not to venture. Even though, many centuries have passed and many slaughters have been impounded the fallen pillars, the carved panels, all indicate to a glorious past. We waited for a while for a photo session near another group of ruined structures. By this time, we all were in heavy sweat but spirits were still undaunted.
The architecture was predominantly Hindu – Trabeate Style with Pinkish Sandstone being mainly used. Many local variants of Pratihara Form of Temple making can actually be seen all over central North India and Timungurh is no exception. Apart from the massive blocks Timungurh environs had a lot of animal life within its overgrown jungles that drew my attention. A whole lot of creepy reptiles – some visible by naked eyes others not so; families of wild insects – quite unaware of our presence – could be seen in plenty. I took some really good, macros with my H1, have a look and decide for yourself if they can be tagged with the prefix “GOOD.”

“Saab! This where the helicopters landed, and airlifted the idols,” explained Ramesh Ji. We were at the top of Timungurh Fort on the Main Mandapa of probably the loftiest of many temples encircled by the massive lines of Fortifications. I can bet and others can testify that the experience was one of the out-of-this-world experiences that will remain etched in our memories for rest of our lives. It was all vibrant, green and dense – as far as we could see. It was even difficult to make out the route that brought us to this location. Dismantled pieces were lying in the near vicinity; Sectional blocks that once adorned the ceiling, the stone blocks supporting the horizontal slabs spanning the vertical ones with elephantine figurines, and many other unidentifiable components were lying in total neglect. An evanescent tempting idea of taking one of those souvenirs back home did cross my mind for a fraction of a second. Enjoyed the views for quite some time and much against the repeated advice of Ramesh Ji, we decided not to go for a climb up to the top.
The very thought of reaching Karauli at time drove us to pack up and descend down to the foothills. “What shall be our next course of action if Girdhari has abandoned us? I enquired. “How can you even think of such horrid things? Sunita replied. “What’s there? We will walk down to Karauli, Syam quipped in with his usual tone of dare devilish style. I told them my Kalinjar experience to take off some of the time and fatigue. This time Ramesh Ji took a different and short path and within a few minutes we could actually spot our vehicle. Girdhari was still there but was visibly anxious. He had a whole new story to share – the drama part. The last stretch of descend sprinkled with loosely held stones was a particularly difficult one. SP Sir! As expected was the last man to come down the indomitable Timungurh.

Water bottles that we had stacked up at Mahavirji came handy for pumping back some life into our bodies. “Where you all have been? The Police had come to question about you people. I did call you people but got no response. They have asked us to wait till they reappear for investigation”, Girdhari spilled out in an uncontrolled manner. “Don’t worry, let him come, we answer them suitably, replied SP. So, necessarily we had to wait. Sunita n SPS went for a refreshing face wash from a nearby primitive hand pump, while I abstained and enjoyed my puffs. Waiting, as usual can make you feel boring and the same happened to us. We decided to move on and meet up with the inspector at the local police station rather than waiting there. Waited on our way back near the main fort entrance to photographs some beautiful and playful butterflies and water drips coming from unknown sources. The ride from Timungurh towards Masalpur was refreshing and provided an ideal setting to show off my singing talent with some of my golden favorites of Kishore da. “Heera ki Tammanna hai……..” A brief interruption by a gorgeous monitor lizard was like an icing on the cake. What more we could have asked for?

The inspector waved off his stick and that was enough for us to understand that he wanted to inquire us about our intentions in connection to our venture into the otherwise uncharted territory. SPS took the lead and handled the case very well; further the whole episode made us to conclude that Police in Rajasthan is not as bad as in many other Indian states. Having satisfactorily answered all their queries, we moved forward and after a dusty and bumpy drive we reached Karauli. Girdhari did propose to show us some waterfall near the outskirts, but we turned down his proposal as there was “no” consensus. The toil had just started to take its toll on the body and mind, and what we all needed badly was some rest. Without wasting any further time, we reached the grand and only good heritage property of Karauli – Bhairon Vilas Palace. Struck a deal with Girdhari for the next day and bidding adieu to him we logged in, only to realize afterwards that we had left our only packet of Classic Ultra Milds in his Marshal and the best brand that one could get in Karauli Town is “Wills navy Cut”.

Standing in stark contrast to the native Rajasthani environment, the palace has an undoubtedly colonial look with supporting Steel sections from Middle borough, U.K. and Electrical fittings from General Electric. But, what was rather abnormal about the building is the lack of symmetry in the layout. Usually all colonial buildings in other parts of Princely India by R. F. Chisholm, Charles Mant, Henry Irwin, Emerson, and other largely follow a symmetrical layout. For Karauli, a 17 gun-salute Princely State this was really something of a super luxury. While the Gaekwads called in Charles Mant, and the Scindias went for Filose, Karauli might have taken help of some minor practitioner of Indo-Saracenic style Architecture.

We stayed in one of the less-illustrious, cornered, palace especially identified for Indian tourists, known for their lack of manners and civic sense, amongst the cluster of colonial constructions dating back the middle of the 19th century. But, none of the palaces could make an impact for their architecture and execution. Rather, I would say many of the Dak Bungalows in the provincial capital of Audh were larger and grander than these palatial mansions. Even the Zamindar Baari of “Mookhopadhyas” at Gobardanga near my native place in rural Bengal is more impressive in terms of architecture and landscaping. But, what was unmistakably present was the rustic charm that abound the environs. A small sleepy princely state waking up to the British way of life, slowing rubbing & opening his eyes to a new world, new mannerism, new habits, new pastimes. There was a race to be the front runner in acquiring the Rolls Royce, the lavishly designed saloons, own hill stations, railways, and in pleasing the residents and the viceroy. Close your eyes and you can actually see that lost world, but being in Karauli does help you to simulate that bygone era quite easily.

Tring! Tring! Come our of your dream and read on. A plateful of crispy pakoras made with coarse besan came and vanished even before the tea could be served. “One more plate please!” I asked the young guy with SP cautioning us not to go for it. By the time we finished our pakoras and chai, the stomach was nearly full. SPS and Syam went for a local stroll as I freshened up with a great rejuvenating bath.

If I am asked to pile up Top 10 Best Advertisement Campaigns in recent times, then I feel the one titled “KEEP WALKING” with Roberto Baggio sporting that ponytail is probably the best among the latest ones. And we were also on the same philosophical mind set. While Sp & Syam came back from their stroll, I was ready with Johnny Walker + Cranberry Nectar + Haldiram Bhujia. We had to ask for some extra chairs in the room. Enjoyed the drink to the fullest while reviewing the photographic exploits of the day. Three Cameras and infinite visions – each photograph told a different story. I did really well with my macros. “Tomorrow morning I will take even better macro shots, said SPS. Sunita replied, “Why are you competing with him? Do it if you really desire so.”

Having done with the drinks and with hardly any space for Dinner, we moved into a large hall, remodeled to work as a Dining Hall for Guests. The Hall was simple, not extraordinary like the one at Jai Vilas Palace, Gwalior or Lukshmi Vilas palace in Vadodara. Food was really good, less spicy, and less oily somewhat the same that we get in our mothers kitchen. After a post dinner walk in the palace complex and some moments with the chained canines of Karauli Maharaja, we retired to bed. As soon as I put my head on the pillow the unconsciousness crept in however a little chat with Syam was the prelude to a good sound sleep for the next six hours.

I got up quite early even though the usual freshness was missing. There was some laziness in the neural networks however connectivity was intact. Just as I kept looking around for my specs, this thought came into my mind. “What a miss!” I had missed to put my batteries into the charging station. That meant no photographs for the day. Well! For my sort of guy who even skips a place where photography is prohibited, this meant a real disaster. What’s the fun of visiting a place if I cannot picture that, after all I don’t have powerful prose like Ruskin Bond. For me blending is necessarily required to capture and convey my experiences. The reason for the miss probably fatigue caused due to long slog in the day and walker in the blood.

Immediately putting the batteries in place and freshening up, moved out for a walk. It was still dark and because of the morning dew quite comfortably cold. There was no trace of Girdhari as of now. Syam was ready by the time I moved in and was ready in a few minutes with my partially charged batteries. The delay of around 45 minutes for the initial kick off could be attributed to SPS and Girdhari for sure. Anyway we embarked upon our first excursion into the Karauli Wildlife sanctuary. We left Karauli town and moved on towards the famous Kaila Devi Temple with no intention of visiting the temple as such. It was a conscious, unanimous decision to skip the breakfast and soon we were at the temple complex of Kaila Devi. Huge humps of divine garb were spread all across; roads were dusty to the highest imaginable extent; ram shackled shops on either side of road offering food, divine offering and what not. All drew attention of my skeptic iconoclastic mind immediately and to put it simple for me there was nothing divine that appealed my senses.

Let’s start a brief discussion on Karma, Dharma, and God. Firstly what do you think is the purpose of a human life? Are the Buddhist monks right in their abstinence from the worldly desires or the Sikhs correct in accepting worldly responsibilities and living to the fullest? May be the Zoroastrians are right for their interpretation of usefulness of human being, although in physical form, even after death. I have even heard Cyrus Broacha on record that we would like to be gorged upon by vultures after he dies. Does that serve the purpose of a life? I find much aligned with the sayings of Sri Ramakrishna and Vivekananda. What we do in our life times is actually much more important than being gorged upon by the scavenging vultures. And what’s the point of putting the scavengers on the job when some of those body parts can benefit many needy human beings – calorific v/s functional use. A new pair of eyes could open up a new surprising world for someone who had not seen the light of the day. Further, the never-ending gaps between spiritual and scientific must be reduced to the extent possible. What can be termed as a good act that adds on to your “PUNYA” account is highly relative. For a four standard school drop-out, trained rigorously at military camps, killings the KAFIRS is actually a pious job and purpose of his life.

The so-called Wildlife sanctuary is actually devoid of any wildlife. We did move along for few kilometers but nothing of significance could be spotted. We got down at many intermediate locations offering picturesque views of the whole area, but no wild life for sure. The mild arguments with the forest officials at the main entrance had actually added up to our expectations. Having moved quite some distance, we reached another office structure of State Forest Department. The ageing forest personnel did gave us some inputs about the nearby places, but also cautioned us against venturing too much deeper into the jungles. By this time, I was getting quite impatient as images of City Palace that I have seen on internet as part of my pre-tour research were reappearing again and again. At last, much to my relief, we decided to wind up and head towards the City. An interesting talk on various frivolous matters kept us engaged on our return journey. While SP could not stop enumerating the many aspects of Bengali girls; Sunita asked, “Yeh Bangali ladke itney thakey huye kyon hote hai? I believe to tease me hoping that the comment would help instigate a sense of identity in me and could lead to a fiery reply. Contrary to the expected outburst I replied in a cool and calculated way, “Thake huye nahin, who log mature aur intelligent hote hai; unka taste different hota hai.” While all this went Syam remained quite like Jai of Sholay…….Attitude, Haan!

The local bazaar near the Kaila Mata Temple provided us with some great snap provoking locales and some freshly drawn out Kachoris from the nearby local eatery. The Kachoris were really good, stuffed with onion and served with Saunth – deep red colored sweet chutney made with a mixture of Indian spices and tamarind. Having stuffed beyond our capacities, we moved ahead. And yes! Its here I found my photograph of the trip, have a look. It was Raksha Bandhan that’s the reason for an unusual buzz among the Bazaars. Raksha Bandhan is an Indian festival that is quite popular amongst the North Indian Rajput Populace and has a historical significance. Here, a sister ties a Rakhi (a decorated piece of thread) on her brother’s wrist and in return promises to protect whatever may be the consequences. However, now-a-days the festival has changed considerably and when our class teacher forced upon her pupil this tradition requiring the girl students to tie down on their Boy classmates, surprisingly our class room was literally emptied on the day this fanfare of love & caring was supposed to take place.

Although, we were supposed to go the hotel and freshen up before moving to the city Palace Complex, lack of time forced us to directly move to City Palace. Moving past the dusty by lanes of Karauli town we reached the epicenter of Karauli Citadel.
“Karauli always sleeps” This sums up very well for the inhabitants of this medieval settlement. Sounds pretty much like the Citibank punch line. May god please save Vikram Pandit from being sacked? Planning is something that is totally missing here. The streets follow no fixed pattern and so are the adjoining clusters of houses that have cropped up along these streets. With literacy percentages close to the half mark and a skewed sex ratio this place is still to come out of its medieval shackles and welcome the tides of modernity. The guys roaming around here and there, gossiping and intermittently laughing at the tourists could hardly tell where the City place is, which sat hardly 300 meters from them. That’s how this place is, largely consisting of the Meenas and the Gurjars – both of tribal origin but the former have got the official status, while the latter strives to do so under the aegis of Mr Bainsla, this palace lacks sophistication in any sense. Even for the royal families, the rays of western education and modernity are something of a taboo. Karauli remained the capital of Jadon Rajputs who were known for the stubbornness and stupidity. Their connection with other ruling houses of Jadons such as Sabalgarh in nearby Madhya Pradesh is quite well established. They had many attributes common to the dacoits of Chambal and believed in “Pran Jaye par vachan na jaye” sort of Rajput valor. Rough inhospitable Terrain and lack of new ideas flowing-in could be the reason of this. When I asked the Palace attendant, “How many gun salutes did this state had during the princely days?” he was clueless. “Maximum - the highest that any other Indian state had” he replied showing his full faithfulness for the family that had fed his generations. When other progressive states like Baroda, Gwalior, Mysore, Kapurthala, Patiala, Cooch Behar were busy building great mansions, sending their wards to British universities, eying European wives, organizing tiger shoots for the British Resident and trying aggressively to imitate all British things, these guys remained busy among themselves fighting with other and protecting their prestige. That’s how the overall psyche is – and somehow I got a feeling that the population is still be liberated from inhibition of their past. Please excuse me if I sound a bit sound a bit snobbish but I must tell you that even lower middle class masses clinging on to the overcrowded buses in Kolkata suburbs are years ahead if compared to the socially upward population of Karauli.

The presence of present maharaja at the City palace for Raksha Bandhan kept us waiting at the entrance, while some foreign tourists slowly crept in. Although the place is now managed by a trust, it is being used by the ruling family as their own belonging. With every passing minute, I was pressing the side button on my mobile to scan through the time. Syam tried his best to know about the various timing details about the train from Mahavirji Railway Station. We even tried to convince the gate keeper to ignore our dark skins and allow us to enter as we are also staying at the new palace as guests. Our arguments endorsed by the Palace attendant over phone also proved futile. At last, the maharaja passed by in his FORD ENDEVOUR and we all heave of a sigh of relief.

We hardly had 45 minutes to explore the whole palatial complex – what a pity! My first glimpse at the wall frescos gave me a thrust to explore in finer details. But, contrary to other fresco hubs of Shekhawati, frescos in Karauli, fade out when you go in for a closer look for sheer lack of restrained execution. The frescos come nowhere close to those painted havelis of Mahansar or Nawalgarh or those painted palaces in Junagarh Fort in Bikaner. The patterns are repetitive and the colours have faded. Some of the frescos have been badly redone by the modern painters. Imagination is also missing. No experimentation as such rather the overall motive it seems was to cover the entire area. The color BLUE has been used predominantly. The wall surface lacks that bouno fresco finish and some of the wall plaster has stared to fall off. The tour was a guided one – with one attendant kept busy by those mongering monkeys that now control some of the palace quarters.

The first hall that served as Diwan-e-Aam has an array of pillars, relatively better painted is a visual treat. Floral motifs could be seen all over the pillars and the ceiling. Some of the royal carriages laden with dust have been put up to give a glimpse into the royal lifestyle of those days. Hidden staircases were also a common norm here, just like Bundelkhand, however the latter are more innovatively and delicately designed. Taking one such set of staircase we moved into the upper levels. The palatial chambers at upper levels are also in a bad state of upkeep with no lighting arrangements at all. Took some photographs with flash light that’s something I usually hate to. Peeping into the dark and ghostly alleys of this erstwhile palace one can gauge the oblivion it is now into. Although, it is usually publicized is that the palace treasures have been robbed off by looters the fact is it the royal family that organized all those loots and the objects of desire could be still be spotted in their new European Palace of the maharaja. One of the more outspoken attendants, seemingly not having the same allegiance what his forefathers had, even testified the same. With the advent of democracy, peoples other than those belonging to ruling class have found voices and are able to put together their own government.

Today power lies with them and the ignorance of centuries occasionally finds a vent for its violent expression. The tribal majorities of Meenas and Gurjars have tasted power and there are in no mood to accept and acknowledge the superiority of any maharaja, even symbolic in nature. Actually with abolition of Privy Purses of these princely states, former prime minister and probably the most dominating lady in the modern Indian political history nailed the final pin into the coffin limiting their status at par with other ordinary citizens of Indian Union. The initial breach of trust by Lord Mountbatten and then the gradual dilution of their symbolic rights have left these states with nothing more than a glorious history. They could no more use their “KRL” registration for their imported cars and “RJ” was the only option left. No subjects to follow their orders; no grand palaces to match with the royal lifestyles; no honorary titles; no special privileges; no gun salutes. It’s really difficult to think off the pain a maharaja has to gulp in to adjust to these new realities of post-Independent India.

Moving past the various Mahals – some relatively well kept while many languishing in shambles, we reached the roof top. The designs are predominantly Hindu and follow the general pattern of Mahals bordering the rectangular sides of the open courtyard. The jharokha, meant for giving visual pleasure for the women in the Zenana, were adorned with faded paintings. The use of mirror for decorating the ceilings is quite pervasive and was soothing to eyes. Having clicked a satisfactory number of pictures, all along, we moved on towards the area facing the main fort entrance. This fag end of the massive palace complex has wide and open courtyard quite different from the other cluttered ones. Laced with some carved stone plaques this courtyard had a different architectural flavour, and signifies a change in the royal taste with time. This did give us some really good aerial views of the fort entrance and nearby areas. By this time, we have already gone past the time deadlines and were only hoping that our delayed arrival of our train at Mahavirji. Finishing off the last quarters in a hurried manner, we left for our Marshal, waiting outside the palace. “Straight to hotel and then to Mahavirji” a command was delivered to Girdhari and he responded with flawless and timely execution.

A brief break of 10-15 minutes at the hotel and bidding adieu to SPS+S, we, I and Syam left for Mahavirji. But, the leftover JW made us to stop at one roadside shop to stack up some fluid filler. And then started an act of great restrain and art, much like those NATS walking on tight ropes – to mix up the things and make two equal parts. The drink was simply great – JW, Cranberry nectar, 7up all mixed up in unknown proportion served with Kurkure and Lays American Cheese & Onion. The ride was rejuvenating after that whirlwind trip and visually unmatchable for the brilliant clarity attributable to recent rains and all-pervasive fluorescence. The rivulets were oozing with water, slightly muddy but full of enthusiasm. Soon, the drink started to act on the nervous system, and the things became even better. All our worries related to getting the train were subsided by the nervous curfew. But, Girdhari did his job, very well, and dropped us at Mahavirji quite well in time. Having paid him with a handsome tip and taking the tickets – ORDINARY – we headed for platform No. 2. The neural curfew was in total command with demands for doses of nicotine. But, it was really difficult now-a-days to get tobacco products near railways stations, thanks to Ambumani Ramdoss, and at a remote place like Mahavirji that was a distant possibility to get anything to smoke. Syam bhai came up with an amazing display of his newly acquired PR tactics to salvage something out of literally nothing.

Tau and Tai were on their way back to their village and Tai was going furious. The reason her fury was quite obvious as Tau had her to walk a few miles to reach the railway station. Sympathizing with Tai paid back immediate dividends as she started to treat us like her own kids; I can only say with conviction, that even today the emotional bonding in villages is much stronger than of the metropolises and with the advent of the materialistic mindset we are definitely losing some of our emotional warmth. “Dekh na beta, kahan se paidal chala kar laya hai!” complaining about Tau. Tau took the comment very sportily and smiled. That was enough for Syam to ask, “Tau, Bidi to pilao?” and thus came out the Great Indian Bidi, tobacco elegantly wrapped in tendu patta and delicately knotted with a light white thread. Some say it is less harmful than cigarettes putting together their valuable knowledge. Munglure, 501, and Bungaal are some of popular brands with shiny photographs of their creators on the paper packing for a bunch of 15 sticks. This bunch is usually priced at pocket friendly 5-10 Indian rupees. Technically, a Bidi is really economical when compared to a cigarette for the sheer number of puffs, directly related to the overall length of stick, it offers. That’s because after initial 5-6 puffs, the cigarette looses its charm and finishing off is a mere necessity. A Bidi however, is more compact; has less per unit cost; can be heated when damp; the only possible con is the lack of a filter if you can discount that long lasting smell that simply refuses to die down. But, otherwise in terms of nicotine intake per stick is somewhat compensated because of the lesser number of puffs per stick that a Bidi has.

Enough on Bidis! I will surely add on once I get some new updates about immortal timeless pastimes of Indian male – rural as well as urban. The bidis supplied by Tau went in smokes in a whisker and the impact was immediate. Just as the train was about to chug in, we had a brief chat with Bhuri. Bhuri was on her routine round plundering the fresh grown loads of grass near the railway tracks and taking some of it in her mouth with her maneuvers. A slow chew on that had left her mouth foamy, and she was in no mood to stop that. When we did some poor imitation to communicate with her, she did respond to my haeaaaaa with a nod.

Ticket less Rail Travel in Northern India is not much of a problematic proposition however, that was not our idea. Our problem was that we had an ordinary ticket and needed a place to sit in an air-conditioned coach. Even this is not a very difficult job, but, I somehow, am not comfortable in managing such situations. Saxenaji, Traveling Ticket Examiner (TTE) usually referred as TT by most of the passengers because of the phonetic similarity of the two and laziness coupled with lack of appropriate knowledge on part of the speaker was the person in-charge of the Air-Conditioned Coaches. To the benefit of ours, Saxenaji, epitomized the typical Indian TTE, greedy and corrupt to the core; will even haggle for 10 bucks and can even rent out his own seat if paid amply. “Please sit in AS2 and let me see what I can do for you?” replied Saxenaji to our anxious looks. That was sufficient for us to understand that the deal is on. Soon after the train left Mahavirji, Saxenaji appeared like the mythological creature of Narada, and asked us to come out of the air-conditioned areas for a negotiation near the Toilet. ‘Do you want an Excess Charges Bill? Definitely not, we replied. He asked us to sit at No. 51 and with an assurance coming afterwards to collect his service charge.

Shrugging off the immediate worries, I moved the curtains to one side to glance the outdoors while Syam kept himself busy by looking at his co-passengers. Bayana Fort perched atop a moderately sized hill and a few minutes ride from Mahavirji drew out attention. Syam came up with an unfeasible idea of getting down at Bayana and explore the fortress. “We have got down at Bayana and now heading to the Fort,” we informed SPS over telephone just to make him feel jealous.