Traveling north by private taxi out of Udaipur to Mount Abu Hill Station, the road traffic changed from honking rickshaws and motorbikes to camels (whuit) and goats (baya). The farmers wore coils of red cotton in turbans and majestic, upturned moustaches. Their presence on the road was commanding. This region of India was especially colourful and spirited and every garment added to a different part of the rainbow’s acuity. A green and stone walled farmland remindered me of some northern moor in England, wild and fertile.
Stopping briefly by the roadside to look at the branches of a huge tree, I saw big fat bats hanging upside down in their day sleep. A well nearby engineered water from a wheel and a bullock yoke, although I am sure that there was a redundant pump hidden in the wooden chamber nearby. It was a beautiful day with huge clouds and a blue sky overhead. There was also an open highway ahead, trafficked by the occasional camel and goat train.
The driver played a funky melody on his radio, sounds blending one girl’s shrill singing with a man’s heart reaching response. Then an instrumental chorus/refrain and a simple rhythm, now and again, honking to warn the rushing flocks of our way. Along the way, children leapt up from the hedgerow whipping the air with sticks and women ploughed the earth with simple tools hacking over their heads, backs bent to the soil, and others carried asphalt on their heads in hand-woven baskets. A few gentle souls washed clothes in the river and sat talking in the shade. Colourful TATA goods transport passed us towards Udaipur, blessed with flowers, painted with signs and avatars. Grinning smiles from Hindi women holding scarves over their heads as the road raced under their hawai chappals, and all balanced 20 to one small-engined rickshaw. We pulled up the windows and let them down again as the fickle monsoon interrupted the death-strong rays of sunlight. We reached Ranukpur and walked towards the camera fee temple, a marble rock impression of a spiritual way. Here the biggest and most significant Jain temple in all India draws all sorts of people together.
Quickly stopping and putting down material possessions, including anything made from leather, I stepped upwards to the security-guarded entrance and accepted an empanada leaf of petals to lie on the inner sanctum altar. I accepted a tour from the teenage priest and he walked proudly and talked pointedly about the leaf of the sacred tree, which skilled hands had carved into the rooftop. Circulating clockwise we passed so many sculptures and he tried to present the virtues of internal values over the superficial. Here are 29 halls and 1444 columns supporting God’s power in earth in almost ornate perfection – wait, one column was wonky! There were so many different stances and dances in the marble, but only one doorway in the four directions was open.
Leaving the temple, I forgot to wish for my heart’s desire, and entered Parasanth temple and had my photo taken with a young Hindi family. The dogs outside started barking, so I put on my shoes and left quickly.
After lunch at a roadside café, the driver turned off the radio and we started to climb the winding road up to the hill station. The temperature cooled and the mountain views were really fantastic. I paid a tax for the mountain access and then entered the hill station, which was buzzing with roadside repairs, boys galloping on horses and local street stalls. Passing the polo field, where a helicopter had drawn a crowd, we found Jaipur House, a hotel established by the Raj of Jaipur.
After checking in, I looked out from the terrace onto toad rock and the lakeside where Indian families were pedaloing in plastic swans in the cool breeze. Here, I chatted to a young Canadian couple and drank and ate good food.
The next day, I walked through the market and saw glittering bags swinging from the doorways, piles of cotton for saris and other items such as bullet “toys” which apparently are for tourists to spend on? Nice. After the failing electricity and generated electricity had ground the atms to a standstill, I decided to check out and catch the local bus back down the mountain again. We left 30 minutes after the scheduled time, but at least I had a seat. The passengers took photos on their mobile phones and laughed at the dangerous drops. Some time after the first stop, the tyre burst. Most of the passengers who were interested in such banalities got off the bus and watched the skinny driver crawl under the front to jack up the bus with a metal rod. After jumping on the lever and loosening the nuts, he changed the flat for a bald tyre and, before the last one was tight, we had all climbed aboard the happy-go-lucky bus. We passed the millionaire's cement factory, which looked quiet and a small group of workers in filthy shirts had just finsihed their shift. Boys passed us with their carts and wer passed by scooters, heavy loaded rickshaws and us. As dusk approached, the bats started flying...Concerned about the shorter drinking time in Udaipur, the driver showed no mercy and drove like a madman to reach his 8.00pm time. Thank god we arrived at 8.10pm alive.
