I nearly skipped Rajasthan. For that matter I nearly skipped Varanasi and Agra also -- too heavily touristed. But I decided that I had to go at least once -- just as the Pyramids are a must in Egypt, and the Tower in London. Varanasi was definitely worth visiting -- it has a life, a reason for being, altogether apart from the tourists. It's been a spiritual center for centuries -- millennia -- and you can feel it.
Rajasthan, on the other hand, seems to have little left but tourism. The wealth that built the forts, the palaces and the havelis that are now tourist sights came from commerce that is long gone. I asked the tenth-grader leading me round a small town in the Shekawati region about job prospects. The last factory closed a few years back, now there was a choice of tourism, agriculture, or moving away. The same question posed to a cloth merchant outside Jodhpur fort produced the same response. Agriculture, on the edge of the desert, looks marginal at best.
Even with the slump in tourism, Rajasthan had more foreigners than I'd seen in quite a while -- although mostly independents, and mostly Europeans or Australians. The loss of the Americans hits the tourist business especially hard, because they're the shoppers. Places like the fort at Jaisalmer are full of little shops selling handicrafts -- beautiful, embroidered patchwork quilts, mirrored fabrics, tie-dyed fabrics, carved sandstone, carved sandalwood, jewelry, paintings... But in the fall of 2001 there were few buyers.
Are the sights worth the hassle? Well, yes, but only for so long. The golden sandstone of Jaisalmer is really golden (think Cotswolds in sunshine), and there is wonderful, intricate carving everywhere. The forts at Jodhpur and Amber (outside Jaipur) are impressive, and the interior of Amber, where you are left to wander at will, has good mirror work. The Palace of Winds at Jaipur, a towering facade of pink sandstone, looks like the photographs (although I thought the pink city more orange than pink).
The painted towns of Shekawati, north of Jaipur are less popular, and are in danger of succumbing to neglect. Much smaller, they are an interesting change from the big towns and cities. Although no cleaner, they are much quieter. Off the main street, overloaded with buses, jeeps, carts and motorbikes, the streets are sand or mud, used by livestock and pedestrians. The merchant families that built the havelis (mansions with interior courtyards) and had them painted moved to places like Kolkata in pursuit of trade a long time ago -- even while the building was in process. A few of the houses are still lived in -- but these are the families that failed. The others have caretakers -- the families may visit for Diwali or Holi, but often to stay in a hotel rather than the deteriorating house. A few of the houses are cared for, but at many the paintings are fading, defaced by ads or whitewashed over during the pre-Diwali cleanup. The paintings are mostly primitives by self-taught artists, but some have power, and they cover everything from religious mythology to trains and planes, from Krishna and his gopis ("girlfriends") to English ladies and gentlemen. (For some reason all the Englishwomen look sour.)
Public transport in the Shekawati area looked problematic, so I had planned to hire a car and driver -- in India. I figured it would be cheaper that way. So, in Jaipur I needed a car and driver. Traveling alone, I needed a reputable car and driver. I started the search at Thomas Cook. The Indian woman on the travel desk had never heard of Shekawati -- an area immediately north of Jaipur. The Rajasthani Travel Service on the other hand, was delighted to help. A car and driver for two days, plus a night in a midrange hotel (a virtually deserted former palace) was 4000/-. Adding three more days driving and three nights in hotels in Central India brought the total bill to just over $300. If anyone wants a travel agent in Rajasthan -- you can book from abroad -- this one really looked after me.
One bad habit the Hindus acquired from the Muslim invaders of India was purdah. In the havelis of Rajasthan it was so strict that women might veil their faces even from each other, might never see their father-in-law. It has only recently been abandoned there, and in the countryside women still cover their heads, and often their faces, in public. In complete contrast were two women from Bombay, a mother and daughter, whom I met on a Rajasthan Tourist Development Corporation tour of Jodhpur. (The state TDC tours are a good way to meet Indians -- foreigners don't seem to know about them.) They were the first Indian women I had seen traveling alone, and the mother was the first woman older than late teens or early twenties I had seen in western dress -- trousers, shirt, hat. We were so busy talking we got lost in the Mandore Gardens, an otherwise unmemorable sight.
I was in Rajasthan during the Diwali holiday, and spent the most important days in Jaisalmer. Diwali is the festival of lights that celebrates the return to Ayodhya of Lord Rama (an incarnation of Vishnu) with his wife Sita, who had been abducted by the king of the demons. (Notice that Ayodhya is the site of recent Hindu-Muslim rioting over whether a mosque or a temple should occupy a particular site.) Diwali also marks the start of a new fiscal year, and on the second day of the new year sisters give sweets to their brothers, who give jewelry or money in return.
For Christmas houses are decorated with electric lights and the streets with luminaria candles, for Diwali houses are decorated with oil lamps -- wicks in little earthen bowls. The houses will have been cleaned, and often painted, beforehand. The lights, and little red painted footprints, are to guide Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, on a midnight visit. This is also a time for fireworks, although in Jaisalmer they seemed to produce more sound than light. I had run into a couple of guys at Jodhpur fort who told me that I had to stay in room 9 at the Deepak Rest House in Jaisalmer so that I could watch the Diwali fireworks from my room. I followed their advice, and enjoyed a good vantage point with a commanding view.
The festival lasts several days, and many Indians take advantage of the holiday to travel. I resisted the camel safari into the desert that tourists to Jaisalmer are expected to take, and even the camel ride up the dunes to watch the sunset -- I had had enough of camels in China. But I did take a jeep trip out to watch the sunset, and the three Gujeratis in the jeep with me rode camels, along with lots of other Indians. It was the only time I saw a sari be a real inconvenience. Later I sat by a camp fire with a group of Gujeratis, listening to folk music and watching some lively audience participation in the folk dancing. With minimal light pollution I could really see the stars for perhaps the first time. Impressive.
Instead of a camel safari, I spent money on massages. I had been having some trouble with my left leg, so I figured an ayurvedic massage would be therapeutic. It was certainly oily! I lay on a wooden tray on a table, and by the time the masseuse had finished I was practically swimming in oil. The masseuse came from Kerala, and was already having problems with the "cold" in Rajasthan. Since I thought the nights had merely become pleasantly cool, I suspected I might find Kerala a little too warm. The ayurvedic massage was at my hotel in Jodhpur. In Jaisalmer I visited "Bobby's Heena House". She used a herbal paste that certainly got a lot of dirt off my skin, but I suspected my next train trip would replace it. I liked Bobby. She was a Brahmin of the highest sub-caste, and had scandalized her neighborhood by going into business for herself. I was depressed to discover that her mother, whom I had taken to be in her sixties, was actually in her early forties. I liked Bobby enough to let her talk me into having my hair hennaed. It does feel thicker and softer, as advertised. It is also a bright red-orange.
Sent from Agra, Uttar Pradesh, India, Nov. 17, about Rajasthan, India, Nov. 5 - 16
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