Articles > The Colours of Rajasthan

‘Good horn, good brake, good luck. You come?’ The driver grins, the garlands sway and we hop aboard the glittering three-wheeler taxi, ready to explore the town local style. Jolting and honking, we swerve past cycles and trucks, a few camel carts and one painted elephant. The morning market is in full swing, brimming with oversized carrots and aubergines, pomegranates, peanuts, kumquats, cricket bats and milk cans. Business is brisk and on the pavement, the barbers have set up shop.

Jaipur, the ’Pink City’, greeted us with head-spinning scenes of a bygone age and swirling colours. We watched the monkeys play hide and seek in the Wind Palace and a wedding party dance its way to the family shrine, followed by a holy cow. Beyond the glowing city gate, craftsmen cut and polished gems, printed cotton with carved wooden blocks and dyed hand-made paper with rose petals and marigolds. On the edge of town, the lovely Jal Mahal Palace mirrored itself in the lake while caparisoned elephants carried scores of wide-eyed visitors up the hill to Amber Fort.

Amber is breathtaking, graced by Mughal Gardens and an ornate Elephant Gate, a dazzling Hall of Mirrors and sweeping vistas across the Aravalli Hills. Wander through passageways and courtyards, sniff the breeze in the Glory Temple, imagine the perfumed water pipes, the concubines peeping through latticed screens and the past just floats within reach. Far below, Jaipur basks in the sun, bustling and chattering, with its City Palace full of wonders and an 18th century Observatory which indicates the local time and auspicious days.

Will Jaipur achieve its goal of World Heritage Site within five years? The astrologer wouldn’t be drawn but the smile in his twirling moustache said it all.

That night on the train, we left far behind the lush green fields and golden rape of the previous days, and the haystacks with twisted tops marching like aliens across the farms. We woke to dramatic views of Jodhpur Fort perched on a rock and an old weathered man singing ‘Welcome to my desert land’. Ganesh, the Elephant God, guarded the entrance to the bastions and near the gates bristling with spikes, we stared in awe at the golden handprints of ‘sati’ who died on their husband’s pyres. A flute echoed along the walls, haunted by the relentless beat of a drum, bats flapped and squealed in dark corners but the lofty tracery of the Palace Apartments and the Brahmin city, spreading pastel blue into the distance, were quick to dispel the gloom.

Later in town, we browsed around the bazaar with not a souvenir in sight, indulged in a leisurely lunch under the neem trees then set off into the countryside on a jeep safari. Dunes soon made way to a thorny desert, endless and flat under the vast sun-bleached skies. Wild peacocks and antelopes gazed unconcerned, camels stretched their neck like giraffes to reach the juiciest leaves in the sparse trees. Here and there, the red turban of a goatherd splashed colour in the burnt land and a tiny cluster of thatched roofs betrayed a lone hamlet. We met the potter’s family, the men weaving rugs, the farmer bringing home the precious camel milk in a copper pot. Sky blue peacocks were painted on the mud walls and in the setting sun, the scrub turned all shades of red and gold. In the morning we would head south into the jungle and we dreamed of leopards and farmers who wear masks on the back of their head to scare them off.

But there were no leopards in Ranakpur, the beautiful Jain Temple set jewel-like in the lush forest, open to the breeze, with sculpted pillars of creamy marble, fluttering flags and tinkling bells. White-robed pilgrims chanted among scented offerings of roses and saffron and the hills looked on, silhouetted against a deep blue sky.

We enjoyed the scenic drive over the pass, stopping to watch a couple of Sanur cranes entranced in a courtship dance, and arrived in Udaipur after dark. Garlands of lights twinkled along the lake and on the hilltop, the Monsoon Palace stood all lit up, reaching out for the stars. Udaipur, the ‘City of Sunrise’, is a warren of rambling palaces and temples and colourful lanes which smell of incense and sandalwood. Here, artists pursue the ancient tradition of miniature painting, using 300 year old techniques to reproduce original designs on paper and silk.

Udaipur claims a beautiful setting and a special place in history. Unlike other Rajput states, its people never compromised with the Mughals and the present Maharana, the 76th, is said to belong to the world’s oldest surviving dynasty. It is no wonder his residence is the grandest City Palace in Rajasthan. Founded in 1567, glowing honey-coloured above Lake Pichola, it is haunted by tales of courage, wealth and generosity as rulers once distributed their weight in gold to the poor. Today the main courtyard is the scene of lavish weddings where the rich and famous gather from across the world.

But we were content with the displays of marble and stained glass, the Crystal Gallery and the bird’s eye view of the Lake Palace, made famous by James Bond, even though the drought had left it on dry land.

The rains may fail in Udaipur but the magic remains. At the first shiver of dawn, great shreds of mist drift on the lakes and the purple hills seem to float like islands. Soon the sun rises, bright and bold, and across Rajasthan, myriad colours begin to glow, chillies drying in the yards, sparkling bangles of silver and gold, lakes and forests, desert, and vivid saris sprinkled in the fields like poppies and marigolds.

Articles

• More from Solange Hando