<p>The sun had set over a sea of almond-hued dunes. A ceremonial cavalcade waited in the dark, before whisking us away, flags fluttering in the cold desert wind. We drove through high fort gates flanked by gleaming cannons to the porch where moustachioed guards smiled in greeting. Petals were showered as oil lamps glided about our faces and gentle fingers anointed our foreheads with vermilion tikas. A nagada (royal drum) resounded welcome beats into the vast barrenness beyond. <br /><br /></p>.<p>We had arrived at Suryagarh to experience Thar in all its magical magnificence. From our balcony, the all-encompassing Great Indian Desert stretched far into the western frontier, its sanded tongue swallowing 61 per cent of the state’s landmass. The early morning drive was delayed by an elaborate halwai breakfast in the open courtyard. From a lofty jharoka (latticed window), a turbaned manganiyar (traditional musician) blew dulcet notes on his tassled algoza (double flute) as peacocks danced around. Our host Manvendra Singh Shekhawat recounted charming anecdotes before whisking us off on a personalised itinerary. Retracing the ancient Silk Route, a desert trail was specially crafted to showcase the region’s rich history, people and practices. <br /><br />Historic significance<br /><br />As we drove out into the Thar, the wavy outline of Khaba Fort emerged in the desert haze. A smattering of info boards, relics and fossil rocks retold stories of how 60 million years ago, Jaisalmer was washed by the waters of the Arabian Sea. Around 2,000 years ago, the Thar was part of a flourishing trade route along the Silk Road from China to Central Asia. This strategic transit fort at the junction of Sindh and Jaisalmer served as an important caravanserai for merchants. Here, taxes were collected and traders got their travel papers stamped, bought or sold animals, and were given safe passage on their journeys. We walked around the 14th century fort, a dowry gift to the Paliwals. From the ramparts, we viewed Khaba’s forlorn ruins, one of the 84 Paliwal villages abandoned overnight. The sight evoked a sense of anguish, which deepened as one descended the fort steps. Manvendra’s voice filtered in… “5,000 homes, 35 chhatris (pavilions), six manmade lakes, 80 courts, 125 temples, all abandoned…” <br /><br />Words rearranged in our heads like a jigsaw, trying to fit together a past that was down to dust. In the debris we discovered sublime architecture — symmetric patterns on ceilings and pillars, latticed jharokas and perfect walls of stone blocks and cantilevers. Such skill indicated a highly advanced, prosperous society. Several elements in the resort’s architecture were inspired by these recurrent motifs, an ode to the region’s historicity. The Shiv mandir at the village centre rose over the rubble, somewhat intact. Sculptures in niches around the empty sanctum depicted unusual images of Ganesha, Durga and a four-armed Shiva holding a severed head with a dog licking its dripping blood. A curious Chinese lion sculpture below the temple tower suggested trade links with China.<br /><br />We reached the ancient reservoir Joshida Talao, once a pleasure haunt for kings. Replete with stone pavilions and khejri trees leaning poetically into the waterbody, we settled down for a royal repast. Local goatherds guided their flocks as women in vibrant veils collected firewood. Time stood still under the feathery canopy of trees that twittered with bulbuls and warblers. Propped against bolstered divans listening to rapturous tunes of love and bravery, we yielded to indulgent hospitality. Unveiling platters of grilled meats and fusion starters in clay bowls, the staff plied us with generous refills in our goblets.<br /><br />Post lunch, we explored the ghost town of Kuldhara. Story goes, in 1273 AD the Paliwals were persecuted by the Delhi Sultan Nasiruddin Muhammad Shah who destroyed their village. Forsaking their homes in Pali, they re-established themselves in the unforgiving remote tracts of Jaisalmer. Kuldhara became an important tradepost for passing caravans. However, two centuries ago, they confronted a similar situation at the hands of Salim Singh, the dewan of Bhati ruler Maharawal Mulraj II. <br /><br />Some claim the evil dewan lusted after the Paliwal chief’s daughter. Fearing his advances and punitive measures, the entire community came together and abandoned their dwellings overnight! Others allege their waters were poisoned. Where they went remains a mystery. Kuldhara became accursed and even today, no one dares to live there. In the afternoon sun, the scattered gravestones acquired a golden hue. Besides dates and details of the deceased, the etchings also revealed textile traditions, physical features and traces of foreign influence. Some displayed typical beards and headgear attributed to travelling Phoenician traders who had died enroute! Heart-breakingly, the cemetery lay unprotected, ripe for pillage and vandalism.<br /><br />Clock strikes 12<br /><br />The night drew in and a lavish dinner unfolded, while the desert slowly slipped on its dark cloak of intrigue. Our dinnertime banter seamlessly turned into an exchange of ghost stories. Eerily, a red moon rose in the starry sky and clouds floated like ghosts above our heads. At the witching hour, Manvendra announced it was time for the Chudail Trail (Haunted Tour), sending a chill down our spine. Snug in our coats, with thudding hearts and nervous smiles, we bundled in for a spooky drive to Kuldhara. Our headlights painted a terrifying chiaroscuro making every road, shrub or stone that seemed harmless by day, a thing of doom at night. At the cenotaphs, our guide fed us with fearful tales of Salim Singh’s victims and chudails (witches) who had been drowned in wells. <br /><br />We entered the home of the Paliwal Brahmin chief and groped our way to the basement with flickering cellphone lights, where he buried his daughter alive. In the dank interior, we almost felt the moistness of her breath and stumbled out. Around the powerful Muhar Mahadev shrine, small lingas and nandis marked ghostly encounters by locals. Out of the inky blue darkness, a white owl burst out of its perch, lashing its great wings as a shrill cackle rent the air. Banshee or hyena, we didn’t care as we bolted into the SUV and zipped back!<br /><br />The next day we visited the Parshwanath Temple in the old trading town of Lodhruva and a cluster of Jain shrines at Amar Sagar. The evening was spent exploring Kuldhara’s ravines on foot, where River Kak meandered 300 years ago, slicing through hard rock in splendid ripples. We went off the grid to Mundari’s ancient kuans (wells). A villager drew sweet water and poured it into our open palms. Each cool drop felt like a precious gem in this unforgiving land. “If you hug the sacred gnarled tree and make a wish, it will come true,” we were told. We promptly complied, before continuing to a Bhil dhani (settlement). <br />Back at the hotel that night, we were led down a fairytale setting to the Lake Garden.<br /><br /> Every few steps, a musician was perched on a rock, playing his instrument of choice — algoza, ravanhatta (bowed violin), morsing (Jew’s harp), khaartal (castanets) or singing with full-throated abandon. Lights twinkled in rocky niches around the large waterbody, which reflected the radiantly lit edifice as kaalbeliya dancers gyrated in mirrored cholis and flared ghagras to soulful music. Flaming sigris (braziers) kept us warm as we raised a toast to the Thar. The chefs wowed us with flavours inspired by Rajasthan’s legendary hunting traditions — grilled bater (quail), khad khargosh (smoked rabbit), and spicy lamb. The taste of the Thar lingered on our lips and The Desert Remembers trail ensured we’d never forget. <br /><br />Fact file<br /><br />Getting there: <br /><br />Jaisalmer is 300 km from Jodhpur Airport and a 5-6 hr drive. <br />Where to stay: <br /><br />Suryagarh is 20 minutes from Jaisalmer on Sam Road. Stay in palace rooms, suites or the new residences, with signature Rajasthani cuisine in various fine dine settings.<br /><br /></p>
<p>The sun had set over a sea of almond-hued dunes. A ceremonial cavalcade waited in the dark, before whisking us away, flags fluttering in the cold desert wind. We drove through high fort gates flanked by gleaming cannons to the porch where moustachioed guards smiled in greeting. Petals were showered as oil lamps glided about our faces and gentle fingers anointed our foreheads with vermilion tikas. A nagada (royal drum) resounded welcome beats into the vast barrenness beyond. <br /><br /></p>.<p>We had arrived at Suryagarh to experience Thar in all its magical magnificence. From our balcony, the all-encompassing Great Indian Desert stretched far into the western frontier, its sanded tongue swallowing 61 per cent of the state’s landmass. The early morning drive was delayed by an elaborate halwai breakfast in the open courtyard. From a lofty jharoka (latticed window), a turbaned manganiyar (traditional musician) blew dulcet notes on his tassled algoza (double flute) as peacocks danced around. Our host Manvendra Singh Shekhawat recounted charming anecdotes before whisking us off on a personalised itinerary. Retracing the ancient Silk Route, a desert trail was specially crafted to showcase the region’s rich history, people and practices. <br /><br />Historic significance<br /><br />As we drove out into the Thar, the wavy outline of Khaba Fort emerged in the desert haze. A smattering of info boards, relics and fossil rocks retold stories of how 60 million years ago, Jaisalmer was washed by the waters of the Arabian Sea. Around 2,000 years ago, the Thar was part of a flourishing trade route along the Silk Road from China to Central Asia. This strategic transit fort at the junction of Sindh and Jaisalmer served as an important caravanserai for merchants. Here, taxes were collected and traders got their travel papers stamped, bought or sold animals, and were given safe passage on their journeys. We walked around the 14th century fort, a dowry gift to the Paliwals. From the ramparts, we viewed Khaba’s forlorn ruins, one of the 84 Paliwal villages abandoned overnight. The sight evoked a sense of anguish, which deepened as one descended the fort steps. Manvendra’s voice filtered in… “5,000 homes, 35 chhatris (pavilions), six manmade lakes, 80 courts, 125 temples, all abandoned…” <br /><br />Words rearranged in our heads like a jigsaw, trying to fit together a past that was down to dust. In the debris we discovered sublime architecture — symmetric patterns on ceilings and pillars, latticed jharokas and perfect walls of stone blocks and cantilevers. Such skill indicated a highly advanced, prosperous society. Several elements in the resort’s architecture were inspired by these recurrent motifs, an ode to the region’s historicity. The Shiv mandir at the village centre rose over the rubble, somewhat intact. Sculptures in niches around the empty sanctum depicted unusual images of Ganesha, Durga and a four-armed Shiva holding a severed head with a dog licking its dripping blood. A curious Chinese lion sculpture below the temple tower suggested trade links with China.<br /><br />We reached the ancient reservoir Joshida Talao, once a pleasure haunt for kings. Replete with stone pavilions and khejri trees leaning poetically into the waterbody, we settled down for a royal repast. Local goatherds guided their flocks as women in vibrant veils collected firewood. Time stood still under the feathery canopy of trees that twittered with bulbuls and warblers. Propped against bolstered divans listening to rapturous tunes of love and bravery, we yielded to indulgent hospitality. Unveiling platters of grilled meats and fusion starters in clay bowls, the staff plied us with generous refills in our goblets.<br /><br />Post lunch, we explored the ghost town of Kuldhara. Story goes, in 1273 AD the Paliwals were persecuted by the Delhi Sultan Nasiruddin Muhammad Shah who destroyed their village. Forsaking their homes in Pali, they re-established themselves in the unforgiving remote tracts of Jaisalmer. Kuldhara became an important tradepost for passing caravans. However, two centuries ago, they confronted a similar situation at the hands of Salim Singh, the dewan of Bhati ruler Maharawal Mulraj II. <br /><br />Some claim the evil dewan lusted after the Paliwal chief’s daughter. Fearing his advances and punitive measures, the entire community came together and abandoned their dwellings overnight! Others allege their waters were poisoned. Where they went remains a mystery. Kuldhara became accursed and even today, no one dares to live there. In the afternoon sun, the scattered gravestones acquired a golden hue. Besides dates and details of the deceased, the etchings also revealed textile traditions, physical features and traces of foreign influence. Some displayed typical beards and headgear attributed to travelling Phoenician traders who had died enroute! Heart-breakingly, the cemetery lay unprotected, ripe for pillage and vandalism.<br /><br />Clock strikes 12<br /><br />The night drew in and a lavish dinner unfolded, while the desert slowly slipped on its dark cloak of intrigue. Our dinnertime banter seamlessly turned into an exchange of ghost stories. Eerily, a red moon rose in the starry sky and clouds floated like ghosts above our heads. At the witching hour, Manvendra announced it was time for the Chudail Trail (Haunted Tour), sending a chill down our spine. Snug in our coats, with thudding hearts and nervous smiles, we bundled in for a spooky drive to Kuldhara. Our headlights painted a terrifying chiaroscuro making every road, shrub or stone that seemed harmless by day, a thing of doom at night. At the cenotaphs, our guide fed us with fearful tales of Salim Singh’s victims and chudails (witches) who had been drowned in wells. <br /><br />We entered the home of the Paliwal Brahmin chief and groped our way to the basement with flickering cellphone lights, where he buried his daughter alive. In the dank interior, we almost felt the moistness of her breath and stumbled out. Around the powerful Muhar Mahadev shrine, small lingas and nandis marked ghostly encounters by locals. Out of the inky blue darkness, a white owl burst out of its perch, lashing its great wings as a shrill cackle rent the air. Banshee or hyena, we didn’t care as we bolted into the SUV and zipped back!<br /><br />The next day we visited the Parshwanath Temple in the old trading town of Lodhruva and a cluster of Jain shrines at Amar Sagar. The evening was spent exploring Kuldhara’s ravines on foot, where River Kak meandered 300 years ago, slicing through hard rock in splendid ripples. We went off the grid to Mundari’s ancient kuans (wells). A villager drew sweet water and poured it into our open palms. Each cool drop felt like a precious gem in this unforgiving land. “If you hug the sacred gnarled tree and make a wish, it will come true,” we were told. We promptly complied, before continuing to a Bhil dhani (settlement). <br />Back at the hotel that night, we were led down a fairytale setting to the Lake Garden.<br /><br /> Every few steps, a musician was perched on a rock, playing his instrument of choice — algoza, ravanhatta (bowed violin), morsing (Jew’s harp), khaartal (castanets) or singing with full-throated abandon. Lights twinkled in rocky niches around the large waterbody, which reflected the radiantly lit edifice as kaalbeliya dancers gyrated in mirrored cholis and flared ghagras to soulful music. Flaming sigris (braziers) kept us warm as we raised a toast to the Thar. The chefs wowed us with flavours inspired by Rajasthan’s legendary hunting traditions — grilled bater (quail), khad khargosh (smoked rabbit), and spicy lamb. The taste of the Thar lingered on our lips and The Desert Remembers trail ensured we’d never forget. <br /><br />Fact file<br /><br />Getting there: <br /><br />Jaisalmer is 300 km from Jodhpur Airport and a 5-6 hr drive. <br />Where to stay: <br /><br />Suryagarh is 20 minutes from Jaisalmer on Sam Road. Stay in palace rooms, suites or the new residences, with signature Rajasthani cuisine in various fine dine settings.<br /><br /></p>
