- the scent that lingers in the air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has gone, the trace of someone's scent
Saturday, 30 April 2016
AHAR, ELKINGJI AND NAGDA - UDAIPIUR SURROUNDS
What to do..the temperatures are above forty and there are finite daylight hours. Nothing starts until after nine or ten in the morning. Hire an auto rickshaw, why not. Drivers are always boasting they have natural air conditioning. As for comfort, after you have navigated the twentieth set of speed bumps any ride starts to become uncomfortable. At least this driver is slower and more aware of the damage they cause.
Final destination is twenty three kilometres from Udaipur. The first stop is Ahar. This was the ancient capital of the Sisodias, the past Mewari rulers, bloody war after bloody war, and is a profusion of Royal cenotaphs. The driver has only been here once and is a local of forty three years. We take a journey around the block, past the only open entrance I could see. Thankfully not afraid to ask questions we find an entrance and as per everything synchronistically here it turns out to be a bonus. There are only a few cenotaphs reachable from this entrance with slumbering men occupying the spaces because of the shade they offer.
Laughter and fun can be heard. An old temple surrounded by water is alive with underwear clad brown bodies playing a game of tag and throw. Ages range from about ten to fifteen and they are having a ball. Even when I venture down to have a look and photograph the relief statues embedded in the walls they run around and welcome me with 'Hello Uncle', ' What''s your name', ' Where are you from' to ignore me as the threat of being caught comes closer. Once I am used as an excuse for not being caught. I suspect this daily bath is a ritual after school. In this heat I have no idea how real learning takes place in the classroom.
Leaving this merriment the driver heads back to the only open looking gate, now closed. That is not a deterrent. The gate gives and opens into a field of cenotaphs, large and small in an unkempt ground, weeds struggle for survival, some thriving. Visually it is fantastic. Various angles and multiples and I relish exploring, hugging the shade where possible. Someone is looking after the gods. Representative are Nandi, the Bull and four headed Shiva. Above Shiva in most of the temples is suspended a clay vessel, decorated, filled with water. Even the gods need a drink. A row of them is lined up next to a water tank that is very low on water. Most of the cenotaphs are in excellent condition, some are deteriorating and it is interesting to see the construction techniques.
Dogs roam around freely, a pack of them, I suspect very active at night, but not now. They languish in the shade provided by the cupolas, tongues out, panting. Others are sitting in a shallow tank of water, only heads showing, cooling off. I snigger to myself and wonder if they are waiting for the boy's game to be over before claiming that as their own.
The journey to Elkingji and Nagada is another twenty kms. The journey wends through back streets until it reaches the main road to Ajmer. This is a highway and carrying the superfast cars, buses, trucks and the rickshaw. For kilometres we passed marble works. Sellers, cutters and transporters. Beautiful colours from the deepest green through pinks to white. Slabs and slabs stacked against each other in rows of colour. White slurry is piled everywhere and the debris fields are littered with blocks of marble. Land has been created and business opened atop these piles. White dust covers the landscape and vegetation.
We managed to overtake a few trucks on the way up hills and they would catch up to us on the downward leg. I thought the engine would erupt in a ball of flames or explode for all the rumbling and grumbling evident on it's mammoth journey. The driver, very amicable and helpful, ensuring I had water before we started. He filled up as well. It did not take long to be back in desert, dry, landscape. The cactus, in flower, small clusters hugging the ends of the stumpy branches. We reached the top of a hill and were caught by a cross wind. I think the driver was thankful of the weight in the back as he quickly said a prayer. He hugged the side of the highway as much as possible.
We finally turned off onto a non-descript laneway, with ten speed bumps for good measure, entering a valley. Rural in nature, small houses, barns, cattle, some sugarcane and sugarcane cold presses by the side of the road. These hubs collect small groups of men as they are usually under the shade of a big tree. They are well set up, either the traditional wooden style operated by water buffalo or man, or the more modern machine press. Either way, they strip the sweet juice from the stalk leaving a husk.
Not much further and there is a pond or small lake. It is filled with water lotus. At the edges groups of men and women go about their business. This is so far removed from Udaipur. People don't venture very far for many reasons and this was rustic and agrarian. A beautiful idyll if it was not baking. A low rise a heritage hotel is evident in the distance. Small individual rooms poke out into the landscape over looking the same scene. I wonder the viability of the location.
The driver stops several times to ask directions. He has only ventured out here once before about fifteen years ago, so the travel thing goes both ways. A groups of old men offer a variety of instructions pointing this way and that. We take the that way and stop at a gated monument. An enterprising time rich man lazily lounges in front of his wares adjusting as we pull up in the hope of some interest. He lets us know the gate is unlocked and the security has gone so we let ourselves in. Just inside the gate there is a water supply that I see the locals passers-by take advantage of. I suspect the huge padlocks on the gate are never locked for this reason.
Down a manicured pathway under overhanging laden mango trees offering deep shade and a couple of degrees cooler air, it opens out into a series of beautiful temples cut in stone. They are rich with decoration and offer beautiful visuals to photograph. Two main structures survive in good condition. The entrance is an out of place torana, standing by itself, facing another lotus lake. On a point close by a small group of boys has stripped off and are jumping enthusiastically in the water. Their life uncomplicated by time.
This is Nagda. I learn that this dates back to 626 AD, these are the ragged remnants of the ancient capital of Mewar. Most of the buildings were either destroyed by the Mughals or submerged by the lake, which has expanded naturally over the centuries. All that survives is this pair of tenth-century Vaishnavite temples known as Saas-Bahu – literally “mother-in-law” and “daughter-in-law”. The more impressive mother-in-law temple has lost its shikhara (tower) but preserves a wealth of carving inside. Laying around the site is evidence of the older structures with blocks of carving resting on the ground. Water again helped locate the city. I have a field day. Alone in this history, this beauty, and camera happy. I spend about an hour immersed, if it wasn't mid forties I could easily have spent the day.
Behind Elkingji temple is a small dam created lake. The surface half covered by huge lotus leaves that in the breeze all flap making the surface look alive. To one side the temple continues behind a wall forming a ghat down to the water level. The steps travel around and are alive with locals bathing and washing. The village people are uncomplicated. Time is not rushing so bathing is leisurely. Once an area has be cleared of weed and flotsam immersion is the first order. A soak in the cooling water is welcome. Others are washing their clothes and laying them out to dry on the marble steps. The radiant heat from the steps, dryness of the air means clothes take little time to dry. Personal washing is next and this starts with a full lathering of soap. Head to toe. White figures crouched on the step before another full immersion to remove the soap. The women are not bashful with the mature women bare breasted whilst washing and bathing. Privacy, like elsewhere in India, is in psychological space with an unspoken respect between all.
Across the lake another group are bathing using cenotaphs as their base and drying spot. Blue dragon flies occupy a layer close to the water, iridescent colour hovering, landing on floating weed or lotus leaves and taking off again. Just beneath the surface hiding amongst the same fish lie in wait and quickly act snatching a meal. It happens so quickly. At times the dragon fly wins and the fish finds another hiding spot. Cormorants raise their heads briefly among the green leaves, quickly submerging, looking for the fish. A white heron carefully, slowly moves from leaf to leaf in hunt for smaller fish. Pheasant tailed jacana, with long tail plumage, have perfected dragging the pond weed onto the lotus leaf pad to hunt through.
It is good to slow down to the pace weather allows. Almost a standstill.
Final destination is twenty three kilometres from Udaipur. The first stop is Ahar. This was the ancient capital of the Sisodias, the past Mewari rulers, bloody war after bloody war, and is a profusion of Royal cenotaphs. The driver has only been here once and is a local of forty three years. We take a journey around the block, past the only open entrance I could see. Thankfully not afraid to ask questions we find an entrance and as per everything synchronistically here it turns out to be a bonus. There are only a few cenotaphs reachable from this entrance with slumbering men occupying the spaces because of the shade they offer.
Laughter and fun can be heard. An old temple surrounded by water is alive with underwear clad brown bodies playing a game of tag and throw. Ages range from about ten to fifteen and they are having a ball. Even when I venture down to have a look and photograph the relief statues embedded in the walls they run around and welcome me with 'Hello Uncle', ' What''s your name', ' Where are you from' to ignore me as the threat of being caught comes closer. Once I am used as an excuse for not being caught. I suspect this daily bath is a ritual after school. In this heat I have no idea how real learning takes place in the classroom.
Leaving this merriment the driver heads back to the only open looking gate, now closed. That is not a deterrent. The gate gives and opens into a field of cenotaphs, large and small in an unkempt ground, weeds struggle for survival, some thriving. Visually it is fantastic. Various angles and multiples and I relish exploring, hugging the shade where possible. Someone is looking after the gods. Representative are Nandi, the Bull and four headed Shiva. Above Shiva in most of the temples is suspended a clay vessel, decorated, filled with water. Even the gods need a drink. A row of them is lined up next to a water tank that is very low on water. Most of the cenotaphs are in excellent condition, some are deteriorating and it is interesting to see the construction techniques.
Dogs roam around freely, a pack of them, I suspect very active at night, but not now. They languish in the shade provided by the cupolas, tongues out, panting. Others are sitting in a shallow tank of water, only heads showing, cooling off. I snigger to myself and wonder if they are waiting for the boy's game to be over before claiming that as their own.
The journey to Elkingji and Nagada is another twenty kms. The journey wends through back streets until it reaches the main road to Ajmer. This is a highway and carrying the superfast cars, buses, trucks and the rickshaw. For kilometres we passed marble works. Sellers, cutters and transporters. Beautiful colours from the deepest green through pinks to white. Slabs and slabs stacked against each other in rows of colour. White slurry is piled everywhere and the debris fields are littered with blocks of marble. Land has been created and business opened atop these piles. White dust covers the landscape and vegetation.
We managed to overtake a few trucks on the way up hills and they would catch up to us on the downward leg. I thought the engine would erupt in a ball of flames or explode for all the rumbling and grumbling evident on it's mammoth journey. The driver, very amicable and helpful, ensuring I had water before we started. He filled up as well. It did not take long to be back in desert, dry, landscape. The cactus, in flower, small clusters hugging the ends of the stumpy branches. We reached the top of a hill and were caught by a cross wind. I think the driver was thankful of the weight in the back as he quickly said a prayer. He hugged the side of the highway as much as possible.
We finally turned off onto a non-descript laneway, with ten speed bumps for good measure, entering a valley. Rural in nature, small houses, barns, cattle, some sugarcane and sugarcane cold presses by the side of the road. These hubs collect small groups of men as they are usually under the shade of a big tree. They are well set up, either the traditional wooden style operated by water buffalo or man, or the more modern machine press. Either way, they strip the sweet juice from the stalk leaving a husk.
Not much further and there is a pond or small lake. It is filled with water lotus. At the edges groups of men and women go about their business. This is so far removed from Udaipur. People don't venture very far for many reasons and this was rustic and agrarian. A beautiful idyll if it was not baking. A low rise a heritage hotel is evident in the distance. Small individual rooms poke out into the landscape over looking the same scene. I wonder the viability of the location.
The driver stops several times to ask directions. He has only ventured out here once before about fifteen years ago, so the travel thing goes both ways. A groups of old men offer a variety of instructions pointing this way and that. We take the that way and stop at a gated monument. An enterprising time rich man lazily lounges in front of his wares adjusting as we pull up in the hope of some interest. He lets us know the gate is unlocked and the security has gone so we let ourselves in. Just inside the gate there is a water supply that I see the locals passers-by take advantage of. I suspect the huge padlocks on the gate are never locked for this reason.
Down a manicured pathway under overhanging laden mango trees offering deep shade and a couple of degrees cooler air, it opens out into a series of beautiful temples cut in stone. They are rich with decoration and offer beautiful visuals to photograph. Two main structures survive in good condition. The entrance is an out of place torana, standing by itself, facing another lotus lake. On a point close by a small group of boys has stripped off and are jumping enthusiastically in the water. Their life uncomplicated by time.
This is Nagda. I learn that this dates back to 626 AD, these are the ragged remnants of the ancient capital of Mewar. Most of the buildings were either destroyed by the Mughals or submerged by the lake, which has expanded naturally over the centuries. All that survives is this pair of tenth-century Vaishnavite temples known as Saas-Bahu – literally “mother-in-law” and “daughter-in-law”. The more impressive mother-in-law temple has lost its shikhara (tower) but preserves a wealth of carving inside. Laying around the site is evidence of the older structures with blocks of carving resting on the ground. Water again helped locate the city. I have a field day. Alone in this history, this beauty, and camera happy. I spend about an hour immersed, if it wasn't mid forties I could easily have spent the day.
Behind Elkingji temple is a small dam created lake. The surface half covered by huge lotus leaves that in the breeze all flap making the surface look alive. To one side the temple continues behind a wall forming a ghat down to the water level. The steps travel around and are alive with locals bathing and washing. The village people are uncomplicated. Time is not rushing so bathing is leisurely. Once an area has be cleared of weed and flotsam immersion is the first order. A soak in the cooling water is welcome. Others are washing their clothes and laying them out to dry on the marble steps. The radiant heat from the steps, dryness of the air means clothes take little time to dry. Personal washing is next and this starts with a full lathering of soap. Head to toe. White figures crouched on the step before another full immersion to remove the soap. The women are not bashful with the mature women bare breasted whilst washing and bathing. Privacy, like elsewhere in India, is in psychological space with an unspoken respect between all.
Across the lake another group are bathing using cenotaphs as their base and drying spot. Blue dragon flies occupy a layer close to the water, iridescent colour hovering, landing on floating weed or lotus leaves and taking off again. Just beneath the surface hiding amongst the same fish lie in wait and quickly act snatching a meal. It happens so quickly. At times the dragon fly wins and the fish finds another hiding spot. Cormorants raise their heads briefly among the green leaves, quickly submerging, looking for the fish. A white heron carefully, slowly moves from leaf to leaf in hunt for smaller fish. Pheasant tailed jacana, with long tail plumage, have perfected dragging the pond weed onto the lotus leaf pad to hunt through.
It is good to slow down to the pace weather allows. Almost a standstill.
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