Rajasthan – Page 3 – The Timber Trawler

A Wandering in Mewar: Udaipur and Chittorgarh

March 2013. It was that time of the year again – the spring slowly receding to give way to the advancing heat of the Delhi summer. If I did not make my foray into Rajasthan now, then I would have to wait till the monsoons had gone. After testing the waters with a short venture to Jaipur the last year, I was now ready to take a bigger leap, and naturally, that leap would have to land me in Udaipur, the city of lakes, that I had heard so much about – Chittorgarh, that famed land of brave hearts, would be a nice addition.

On 29th March 2013, just like on my previous trip to Rajasthan, I boarded an ordinary road transport bus to Jaipur after office from Iffco Chowk in Gurgaon. Listening to one studio album after another, each from start to finish, of my favorite band Michael Learns to Rock, I reached Jaipur around 10 PM. After a quick dinner and some inquiring, I got on a private operator’s bus headed to Udaipur – in hindsight, I should have taken a state transport bus only, for the seat was uncomfortable, with pathetic headroom. I remember getting woken up more than a couple of times due to bumping my head into the hardwood baggage shelf above, leading me to some soreness on my scalp.

I remember the bus passing through Bhilwara in the middle of the night when I was yanked out of my sleep, and as the dawn descended, the bus cutting through mist that shrouded the less-than-usual vegetation and isolated huts and houses sprinkled across the landscape in an envelope of haze. The next time I opened by eyes, I was informed by the bus conductor that the railway station had come – that was my cue to get down. Soon, just walking a few steps on the road running parallel to the railway station, I checked in to a hotel. Not wasting too much time, upon advice of the receptionist, I booked a cab to take me around Udaipur for about 1400 rupees.

Seeing Udaipur and Nearabouts

We started by heading off to the outskirts of the city, to the Eklingji temple located at Nagda, the first capital of Mewar, 25 km away from Udaipur. The original temple dedicated to Eklingji, the ruling god of the Mewar princely state, was built by Bappa Rawal, the founder of the Guhila Rajput dynasty, who established the Mewar kingdom in the 8th century AD. The temple underwent cycles of destruction by Turkic forces and re-construction, most notably in 14th century by Rana Hammir, the progenitor of the Sisodia clan to which Maharana Pratap belonged, and in 15th century by Rana Kumbha. The last major re-building with installation of the current idol was done in late 15th century by Kumbha’s son, Rana Raimal, after the temple had been devastated by the Malwa Sultanate forces.

After offering my prayers in the temple, we drove through a valley in the hills, which I was told were the Aravallis, that seemed largely yellow but splattered with patches of green. After about another half-hour of driving through alternating patches of flat land, clusters of hamlets, flanked by the Aravallis, we reached the Chetak Samadhi, built at the location where as per legend, Maharana Pratap’s horse Chetak breathed its last after taking its master to safety in the Battle of Haldighati against Akbar’s forces on 18th June 1576. Just another kilometer further, the road cuts through a narrow pass in the hill whose sides are barren and coloured pitch yellow with an orange tinge – the is the legendary Haldighati Pass, located at around a distance of 44 km from Udaipur.

Retreating from the Haldighati Pass, near the Chetak Smarak, I checked out the Maharana Pratap Museum that depicts the life and times, the exploits and achievements of Maharana Pratap. Maharana Pratap, the eldest son of Udai Singh II who founded Udaipur, was crowned in Gogunda as the 54th ruler of Mewar in 1572, inheriting a kingdom that had been weakened by the 1567-1568 siege of Chittorgarh. His refusal to form an alliance with and become a vassal of the Mughals and conitnued conflicts with the latter led to the legendary Battle of Haldighati on 18th June 1576, which the Mughals won although they could not capture Maharana Pratp or his close family members.

Forced to flee to safety of the hills with a trusted coterie of warriors and loyalists, amidst annexation after annexation of most key areas of Mewar including Gogunda, Udaipur, Kumbhalgarh etc., Maharana Pratap led sustained attacks using guerilla tactics against the Mughal forces, and won back major chunks of Mewar, with an exception being Chittorgarh, leading to Mewar’s revival by 1588 AD. Celebrated as a folk hero in Rajasthan, Maharana Pratap’s legend later spread to Bengal where he became a symbol of resistance for anti-British revolutionaries, leading to him becoming a leading icon of heroism, alongside the likes of Rani Laxmi Bai, in India’s freedom struggle.

Again driving through the Aravallis, we re-entered Udaipur city, where I straightaway where we first stopped by the Fateh Sagar lake, and then proceeded to the City Palace where I dismissed the cab. The construction of City Palace on the bank of Pichola lake commenced in 1559 AD, when Rana Udai Singh II moved his capital from Chittorgarh to Udaipur on the advice of a hermit, much before the siege of Chittorgarh by Akbar in 1567-68. Successive rulers of Mewar, including Maharana Pratap and Maharana Amar Singh I, occupied palace adding more layers to it. The palace complex, built entirely in granite and marble, comprises components such as courtyards, palaces and balconies, with intricate mirror work, murals, marble work etc. are a fine representative of Rajput architecture.

Taking in the grandeur and aesthetics inside the City Palace, coupled with amazing views of the Pichola Lake with the Aravallis in the background and the city, I exited the City Palace to directly walk into the Jagdish temple. Built by Maharana Jagat Singh in 1651, where Lord Jagannathi in the form of an idol carved out of a single black stone is worshipped, the temple is a fine example of Māru-Gurjara architecture. Spending some more time by Pichola lake, and admiring the spots of illumination emanation out of the Lake Palace (Jag Niwas) and Jagmandir Palace lying in the middle of the lake, I walked through the streets and then the main roads back to my hotel near the railway station, following a day well spent.

Chittorgarh

The next day I pondered over two options – to go to Kumbhalgarh or to Chittorgarh. At that point in time, I knew only of Chittorgarh, being enamored by sketches of a tower called Vijaya Stambh that appeared in an issue of Tinkle magazine. Perhaps at the same time in the same magazine or later, I had read about the legend of Panna Dai, who replaced the prince with her own son when the prince’s uncle attacked. Later came the story of queen Padmini. With the image of the Vijaya Stambha and the name Chittor stuck in my head for so many years, and the prospect of seeing the Vijaya Stambha for real knocking at my doors, it was rather easy to choose which place to go to.

By 9 AM next morning, I was in a state transport bus headed to Chittorgarh, which I reached by 11 AM. There, I hired the services of a middle-aged autorickshaw driver who doubled up as my guide for tour of Chittorgarh fort – the package costing me 500 rupees. Right from where we started, I could see the fort wall streaming up and down over the rugged edge of the hill in the distance. As we drew closer and closer to the hill above which the fort lay, I saw the outline of several structures jutting out into the sky – a narrow vertical structure stood taller than the others, and I wondered aloud if that was the Vijaya Stambha, to which my guide replied, yes.

Soon, the autorickshaw was clattering up the winding road, passing through multiple stone arched gates, called pols, one after another. At long last, passing through a cluster of normal but old looking houses, looking very similar to a village, we came on to an open clearing on flat around where the ticket counter stood. Buying my ticket, we rode further on the road towards the south until we reached a crossroads with multiple structures occupying the space on all sides of the crossroads. A palace stood right beside me, which I learnt was Kumbha’s palace. A cluster of marble built Jain temples stood on my left side, while two stone-built Hindu temples stood diagonally opposite side.

I got down at the crossroads to first see Kumbha’s palace, and then proceeded a little to the south to see the aforementioned two temples, namely, Kumbhashyam temple and Meera temple, the latter being a Krishna temple where Meera Bai from Merta who had married into Chittor, immersed herself in devotion to Krishna. Back outside the temple complex, as I turned my gaze a little to the south-west, I saw that right in front of me at a distance stood a tower that looked eerily similar to the one I remembered from the sketch from the magazine – it was indeed the Vijaya Stambha. Without further ado, I beckoned my guide to head straight to the Vijaya Stambha.

Reaching the foot of the Vijaya Stambha, I beheld the physicality, the carvings and the design of the structure with glee and wonder that would only be elicited in a child that has finally seen something that it had seen in a dream or on TV. The Vijaya Stambha was built in 1488 by Rana Kumbha to commemorate his victory over the forces of Malwa in the Battle of Sarangpur. Dedicated to the god Vishnu, it is said to be visible from anywhere inside the fort, and also from the city. What is more – it was possible to climb up the tower using the staircase located inside the structure, which is what I did with sheer excitement. Reaching the topmost of the 9 storeys, I got a breathtaking view of the city underneath and other structures inside the fort on the hill.

Getting down from the tower, I proceeded from beside the Jauhar place to Samadhishwara temple, which houses a three-faced Shiva idol. Behind the temple is the iconic water tank appearing in most circulated posters of Chittorgarh. Descending the steps I went to a crevice in the hillside from where emanates a water spring from an stone opening built in the form of a cow’s (Gau) head (mukh) filling up the water tank, thereby giving it the name Gaumukh Kund. From there, I got back on the autorickshaw and moved further south past a water tank to reach the Kalika Mata temple. Then further to the south, I stopped by the Padmini Palace, where a legend, albeit with no historical backing, of Ala-ud-din Khalji getting a glimpse of queen Padmini through the reflection on a mirror, is rooted in.

The three-faced Shiva in Samadhiswara temple

Pushing further south, the road curved around a water tank with a deer park occupying the outer side, and turned 180 degrees towards the north, with thin jungle flanking on both sides. Now heading a couple of hundred metres, we came upon the main gate of the fort, which overlooked the sparsely inhabited valley below. A stony curving path led from the valley below to the gate, with a low flat hill stretching from one end to another in the background, while ramparts streamed along the edge of hill from both sides of the gate. Moving further to the north, we came upon a cluster of Jain temples, amidst which stood another tower, looking like a prototype of the Vijaya Stambha, called Kirti Stambha, which is dedicated to Adinatha and was built in the 12th century.

The restored main gate on the east side of the fort

Pushing further north for another kilometer or so, we reached the north end of the hill, where a full fledged village is located. Again turning a full 180 degrees, we were headed in the south direction again, first passing through the village and then, meeting the road by which we had first entered the village on our way up to the fort. As we rolled down the hill through the numerous gates on the winding road, I looked wistfully at the ramparts above me, a little dismayed that I had to say goodbye to the place that I had been fascinated with for so long. As we stumbled back into the city at the foothill, I took one last glance at the hillside that wore the the stone ramparts as a crown and supplemented it with structures as if bedecked with gems.

A parting shot of the fascinating Chittorgarh as seen from the foothill

It was 5 PM when I took a road transport bus back to Udaipur. After a quick dinner, I boarded a pre-booked 9.30 PM bus to Delhi, and fell asleep, only waking up when the bus arrived in Dhaula Kuan in Delhi the next morning.

Post-script

In the end, what struck me most after visiting Chittorgarh is how it is a self-contained city spread upon a vast flattop hill, like on a plateau. The palaces and structures are far-flung interspersed with water tanks and jungle. If you’ve read The Lost World, then imagine a place that is removed from the remaining world that lies beneath, and one that transports you to another era as a time machine. All said and done, Chittorgarh, a place I had loved since I was a child, since before I even set foot in Rajasthan, turned out to be place that lived up to and went beyond the hype and visuals I had created in my mind.

A Jaunt through Jaipur

March 2012. Spring was drawing to a close, and before the Delhi summer started knocking on the city’s doors, I decided, emboldened by first ever solo trip from the previous year, to set out on my next solo trip – my first ever trip to Rajasthan.

My fascination with Rajasthan had begun while growing up in Odisha through a myriad of stimuli – black-and-white pictures of the Hawa Mahal and Jantar Mantar in an English literature textbook, a travelogue of Bikaner and Jaisalmer in my Odia literature textbook, sketches of the Vijaya Stambh and the legend of Panna Dai of Chittaurgarh in Tinkle Magazine, images of Sambhar Lake and Dilwara Temples of Mount Abu in geography textbook, and so on. And now, close to three years after I had moved to Delhi, it was time to indulge the fascination and see in person what I had seen only in pictures. What better place than Jaipur, the city in Rajasthan nearest to Delhi, to begin the exploration with?

On the many occasions that I had passed through Dhaula Kuan, I had seen buses having Jaipur written on their boards waiting to pick passengers up, and had wondered as to when I would get a chance to board one of those. I had seen the same buses stopping at Iffco Chowk in Gurgaon very close to where I worked. And so on the evening of 23rd March 2o12, an evening that I remember very clearly, leaving the office at around 4.30 PM, I stood at Iffco Chowk, squinting through the fog of dust enveloping the area, for the next road transport bus headed to Jaipur. By 5.30 PM, I was on a bus, not seated by the window, but comfortable enough at the fourth row from the rear.

The bus kept moving through the suburbs of Gurgaon for a while, and then rose up a gentle slope through a jungle of shrub, and a while later passed through another wooded area that seamlessly melded into a barrage. These are the sights I remember from around the time of sunset and the twilight before darkness fell. The bus stopped at multiple places, interspersed with spells of zooming on the highway whenever possible, even as people alighted from, and new passengers boarded the bus. A air of Haryanvi and Rajasthani-flavoured Hindi hung inside the bus, while I sat in utter anticipation of my arrival in Jaipur.

Around 10, the city walls appeared and the bus passed an arched gate – Jaipur was here. Soon, I got down at the Sindhi Camp bus-stand, looking clueless, which was obviously picked up by an cycle-rickshaw puller, who accosted me proposing to take me to a hotel. Not knowing anything better, and given the time of day, I was soon on the rickshaw, when the rickshaw puller asked me if I would be interested in staying in a hotel that featured in a movie Chalo Dilli, released the previous year, to which I agreed. Thus, in half-an-hour I found myself inside a room with no window in Hotel Red Tomato Palace. Needless to say, thanks to the absence of ventilation, compounded by the excitement of seeing Jaipur the next day, I did not get a wink of sleep the whole night.

The whole night, questions swam in my mind – how would Jaipur city would look like? The GK book I read as a child addressed Jaipur as the Pink City – would Jaipur really look pink, and if it did, would be it because of the houses, or because of the soil or the skies? At long last, morning came, and I headed, with a foldable brochure on Jaipur sight-seeing in hand, to the bus-stand. As informed by the hotel receptionist, there is a system in place in Jaipur, whereby auto-rickshaw drivers offer fixed price package tours of Jaipur. Arriving at the bus-stand, I did not even have to try, as an autorickshaw driver promptly approached me with offers for many types of package tours – I chose a single day tour worth 700 rupees.

The tour started with the Jaipur Zoo, which I only agreed to keep in the package because I was curious to see what a zoo in a city with a desert in the vicinity, looked like. Sauntering through the zoo, I moved just across the road to Albert Hall Museum, the oldest museum in Rajasthan, where artifacts displayed also include those from Ancient India and Egypt, the highlight being an Egyptian Mummy. It was also at Albert Hall Museum where I learnt I could buy a single consolidated ticket that would allow entry to many of the monuments in Jaipur, including for Jantar Mantar, Amer Fort and Hawa Mahal. From there, as I moved towards Jantar Mantar, a site that had captured my imagination from when I was a kid, I first beheld the arrays of shops painted pink, explaining the epitaph of ‘the Pink City’.

Built in between 1728 and 1734 by the avid astronomer king Sawai Jai Singh, the Jantar Mantar comprises 19 astronomical instruments built from stone and marble, that allow observation of astronomical positions with the naked eye. This, along with similar observatories later built at 5 other locations, including in Delhi and Ujjain, helped in more accurate calculation of celestial positions for the astronomical tables that were continuously used in India for over a century. After going through alternating periods of use and disuse, interspersed with some spells of restoration, including some during the British colonial rule, and a final restoration by 2006, it was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2010.

From Jantar Mantar, I moved through the street lined by pink-coloured shops through the Old City centre towards the hills that stood overlooking the city in the north. Soon, the autorickshaw passed by the expansive Man Sagar Lake, and climbed up the road that ran into the hill. A little up the hill, I stopped at Kanak Vrindavan, a beautiful garden with a temple, fountains, trees and chhatris, built by Sawai Jai Singh 275 years ago, where scenes of many movies, most notably, Lamhe, have been shot. Further, passing through a long stretch of the road cut through the hill and was lined with wood on both sides, the autorickshaw finally reached a wide section on the road, where countless vehicles were parked. Beside the section lay a lake with a spice garden in the middle, and above on the crest of the hill stood an imposing fort – Amer fort.

The Amer fort, built in 1592 AD by the Kachhwaha king Man Singh, became the mainstay of the ruling family of Amer or Dhundar state, which was ruled by the Kachhwahas since 1037 AD. Amer, the area ensconced in the Aravallis where the fort is located, was the capital of the Kachhwahas until 1727, when Sawai Jai Singh II built a fortified city called Jaipur at the foothills of the Aravallis. The fort itself was expanded by successive kings, and today consists of the six main sections, with the temple dedicated to Sila Devi, prominently standing in the first courtyard, a Diwan-i-aam or Public Audience Hall, many palaces including Sukh Mahal, Sheesh Mahal and that of Man Singh I. A tunnel, that runs partly subterranean, leads to Jai Garh fort, a military fortress situated at a nearby peak. Views of the landscape from the fort are breathtaking.

Now it already being 3.30 PM, I headed back towards the Old City centre, again stopping by the Man Sagar lake, and reaching the Hawa Mahal just in time before it closed for the day. Hawa Mahal, another structure that had fascinated me since my childhood, perhaps best typifies the character of the Old City, with its pink coloured facade. The palace, built in 1799 by Sawai Pratap Singh, the grandson of Jai Singh II, the founder of Jaipur, is unique because of the rows of latticed windows, small and big, with some decorated with coloured glasses, adorning the facade making the facade resemble a honeycomb. Walking through the multiple levels of the Hawa Mahal, I got excellent views of the city skyline as well as of the hills in the distance.

With the day drawing to a close, I bid adieu to the autorickshaw driver, and rested for a couple of hours in the hotel room. I pondered about what to do the next day, but soon started feeling a fever setting in – something that I had encountered on my first ever solo trip the previous year too. It may have been a combination of sleep deprivation and the day-long exposure to the sun, but I decided it was best to rest at my place in Delhi as opposed to in Jaipur. So, I checked out, had dinner, and caught an overnight bus to Delhi. Slipping in and out of consciousness, I was in Delhi the next morning, glad to get the whole Sunday to rest and recover from the fever.