Lost in thought, this kid looked so aloof from the world

Title: The Ghost Town of Bhangarh

‘God, I am no Harry Potter! Better get out of here in time!’ I murmur out loud. Loud enough for the pigeon sitting on the far end of the stony arch to flap its wings and acknowledge this fact with a wild flutter. ‘Damn, even he knows this!’I murmur again, and hurry out of the broad archway taking frantic steps, suddenly realising that everything around me is not so bright anymore.

The sun is now hiding behind the palace walls, gearing to sink down the grounds. Soon it would be dark, and there are warnings that this place is forbidden territory after sunset. I am standing amidst the colossal ruins of Bhangarh, the deserted ghost city in Rajasthan, India. I have no magic wand to ward off ghosts of the dead, so standing here, all alone on the grounds acknowledged as one of the most haunted around the country, I am more than a little nervous. The adventures of Harry Potter seem unreal now. Only thing real is the dreadful remnant of a once bustling town, now haunted by its past.

A few hours ago, when the sun moved high in the sky, I had stood here, taking in the panoramic view of the ruins, marvelling at the gothic expanse of stone structures around me. The crumbling walls and pavilions standing against the rocky Aravalli hills seemed to tell tales about the town’s tryst with all things living. The elaborate ruins spoke of the grandeur of the town – temples dedicated to various gods and goddesses, a main road flanked by bazaars on both the sides, leading to the havelis, and then further up to the grand palace, at the far end of the town complex.
What remains of that grandeur now is the shadow of a once thriving kingdom.

Legends wield the reason behind the demise of Bhangarh. The town was believed to be cursed by a wicked sorcerer Singhia Sevra, who lost the favour of Queen Roopmati, the beautiful ruler of Bhangarh. As a result of the curse, the town was destroyed and abandoned overnight. Whatever the reason behind the destruction, the town never recovered from it. Even today, no one ventures around its ruins in the dark, and the many stories of the dead haunting the fort complex and holding court under the giant banyan tree keep the villagers away during the day.

Now, as the sun bids farewell to this part of the world, and darkness closes in, Archaeological Survey of India’s warning signboard flashes before my eyes: ‘Entering the borders of Bhangarh before sunrise and after sunset is strictly prohibited.’ There are other flashes too – images of a lively town levelled to the ground by a raging tempest. Beautiful maiden adept at black magic, lustful wizard’s evil curse or famines, whatever be the cause of its devastation, Bhangarh now stands abandoned – desolate and forsaken, except for the omnipresent monkeys and pigeons. And its resident ghosts.