Colours of the desert

Jodhpur royalty

There is no dearth of stories in Jodhpur. From stories of brave Rajputs to Hollywood celebrity weddings.

Our journey opens on a less glamorous note, with a small story. The central character is a young army officer. Location courtesy, the Indian Railways. To kill his rail time, he empties a small bottle into his mug, and we become his chosen audience. He was headed to Jaisalmer with his fellowmen for a duty, which he is not supposed to reveal. After several sips and an animated conversation, he not only shares the secret, but passes out. The story ends prematurely as we reach Jodhpur.

Devinder Singh and Poornima, a couple in their sixties, were awaiting us at their farm house. At the dinner table, Devinder shares stories about his closeness with the royal family, and his stint at the royal office. Devinder’s courtyard is the place to be in the morning. Warblers and squirrels are on indefinite argument, as if they are on Arnab Goswami’s news hour. Poornima waters the climbing plants and leaves water and grains for the sparrows. Devinder walks in and out of the kitchen with a newspaper in hand. He suggests we spend an entire day exploring in and around Mehrangarh Fort.

Mighty Mehrangarh

The sunlight has a distinct tone in Jodhpur, hence the name Sun City. Driving past a bridegroom in a vintage car, we head to Mehrangarh Fort. The imposing fort commands admiration and respect. So does the man in the dark trench coat with a bushy moustache, manning the entrance. There is an elevator, which takes you atop the 125-metre-tall fort. We decide to explore the fort on foot. As we walk past the cannon ball marks on the wall caused by attacking armies, and hand imprints of queens who committed sati, we get catapulted into history.

Passing through the gates built to commemorate victories, weland in a maze of courtyards. The royal living quarters, which have lattice windows carved out of sandstone, offer a view of the courtyard without being seen. The carvings mostly depict flowers, which our guide says has a purpose. In a desert, these are the only flowers you get to see, he smiles. The fort has a rare collection of Marwar paintings. The armoury speaks volumes about the valour of the Rathore Dynasty. A small artefact with two conical sleeves draws my attention. “It’s an opium filter,” our guide cuts in. Opium was extensively used during battle to fight fatigue. The palace complex has a number of period rooms, added over the centuries by successive rulers. Moti Mahal, with glass-painted windows, hosted many a secret meeting. On closer look, the room has five alcoves leading to hidden balconies for the queens to listen to the meetings. That is why they say even walls have ears.

Painting the town blue

The town below the fort, Brahmapuri, lies splashed in blue. The colour subdues the summer heat and also has a significance here. It differentiates Brahmin homes from others. The narrow streets of the blue town open into Sardar Market. With a clock tower at the centre, the market uncans all the colours we missed in Brahmapuri. Shops selling bangles, turban cloth, bed spreads and chiffon sarees, perspire colour.
The next day, we go on a trip to the village of Bishnois, believed to be home to the first environmentalists in the world.

The same village where the Dabbang actor had a taste of real life, years ago, when he shot a blackbuck. Our guide, Dev Singh, says it was the Bishnois who made sure that the actor did not get away. The jeep takes a detour from the highway, cutting across mustard fields, on to a scrubby land with no asphalted roads. The Bishnois have been protecting nature, even at the cost of their own lives, for centuries.

A senior member of a Bishnoi family, in white clothes, welcomes us to his thatched hut. As a gesture, he ties a colourful turban for us. At one corner is an opium filter, similar to the one I saw at the Mehrangarh Fort Museum, but made of wood. He takes a small piece of opium in a shallow wooden bowl, crushes it, mixes it with water, filters it twice, and drinks it. They call it an opium ceremony or a way of relaxing. The irony is that one of the 29 tenets, on which Bishnoism is based, disapproves opium use. On our way to potters’ village, Dev Singh narrates the story of a Bishnoi woman, who in the 18th century was beheaded for trying to save a tree from the axe of king’s men. Soon, 300-odd Bishnois chose the woman’s fate by hugging the trees. Out of remorse, the king pulled out his men and tendered an apology. So began the crusade to protect nature, that continues to this day.

Large pots, decorative lamps and camel figurines greet you at Iqbal Khan’s workshop-cum-house. Taking his eyes off the spinning wheel, he gestures us to come in. His life revolves around the clay figures that comes off the wheel. He loads fresh clay onto the wheel and asks me to give it a try. Cool and super soft, the clay yields to my imagination. After trying out all possible shapes, I choose to leave the wheel to skilled hands.

Buying a few earthen lamps, we drive to the weavers’ village. The huts are as beautiful as the patterns they weave. The family has two cone-shaped huts within a small courtyard decorated with white illustrations. It takes days before a rug comes out of the loom.

Stopping to show us deer and gazelles, Dev Singh asks, “Want to do a Salman?” We laugh as we drive away, leaving a trail of dust behind.