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More than anything else India means people - a teeming, surging, swelling, bursting tide of humanity borne along on bikes, bullock carts and auto-rickshaws, on camels and mules, crammed into buses and trains fit to split at the rivets, in cars, lorries and on foot. And in India, it seems, no-one ever goes anywhere empty-handed: here are babes in arms with kohl-blacked eyes, there shouldered sacks of grain, baskets of fruit and trays of seeds and spices, bolts of cloth, stacks of hay, caged chickens, tiffin boxes for office lunches, and everywhere pitchers of water balanced on heads, swaying and dripping above the crowds. The idea seems to be that if you're going somewhere you might as well carry something - or push it, or drag it, or wheel it or herd it. And Delhi, the country's capital, is no exception. Beneath the red domes Sir Edwin Lutyens' sandstone government buildings and in the shadow of the monumental arch of India Gate, the city overflows with life - endlessly unfamiliar, extravagantly colourful and always tirelessly mobile.

It is this same crush of pressing humanity, however, that finally makes one long for wide open spaces, sharpening the appetite for the empty plains of Rajasthan that lie to the west of Delhi. Here are stranded desert forts built by the great moghul emperors and the sumptuous palaces of the Maharajahs, the royal families of Rajasthan who ruled their principalities for centuries, enjoyed almost feudal sovereignty over their subjects and lived lives of legendary extravagance until, in 1970, the then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi introduced an amendment to the Constitution which effectively put an end to their power and privileges. Suddenly, the good old days were over and the Rajput princes found themselves firmly bound by the unfamiliar constraints of a fiscal imperative.

"Initially there was a lot of anxiety about how things would work out," recalls His Highness the Maharajah of Jodhpur, educated at Eton and Oxford, the fortieth generation of a family that has ruled this principality since the thirteenth century. "We had to do a lot of replanning and rethinking and adopt a commercial approach to estate management. And on the whole, things have worked out reasonably well."

For the Maharajah, and for many Rajput princes, the commercial approach meant opening his family home, the Umaid Bhawan Palace, as an hotel. Commissioned by his grandfather in 1929 and designed by the British architect H.V. Lanchester the palace took 16 years to complete and stands now as a perfectly-preserved monument to the art-deco style of the 'Twenties. Inside, it's a treasure trove of elaborate furnishings and finely worked objets shipped out from Europe with little regard to cost. Arriving at Umaid Bhawan today is like climbing aboard one of the old transatlantic liners, but a liner left high and dry on the edge of the Thar desert, its endless corridors and teak-panelled public rooms cooled by traditional, locally-woven tata screens which are doused in cold water, to temper the fierce summer breezes that whip off the desert plains. With its 347 rooms the Umaid Bhawan Palace is also one of the largest private homes in the world. Set beneath a cathedral-sized dome and arranged in a pattern of ever-decreasing concentric circles, the palace is so vast that it is no easy task finding your way around. "If you get lost," the Maharajah always advises new arrivals, "just aim for the centre".

In the neighbouring state of Udaipur, Gandhi's 1971 amendment was similarly accommodated by the princely Singhs, oldest of Rajasthan's ancient dynasties with a history that dates back fourteen centuries. Of the many princely palaces belonging to the Maharajah of Udaipur, two have now been turned into world-famous hotels. Perhaps the best known is Jag Niwas, the Lake Palace Hotel, anchored like some marbled Mississippi paddle steamer in the centre of Picchola Lake. But for all its elegant marble mosaics, its courtyards, gardens and splashing fountains, it is the Maharajah's other, lesser-known palace hotel that deserves the attention.

Set high amongst the towers and cupolas of Udaipur's City Palace on the edge of Picchola Lake, the Shiv Niwas is a 16-suite penthouse which must rank as one of the hotel world's best-kept secrets. A two-level semi-circle of ornately furnished apartments opening onto an oval courtyard and marble roof-top swimming pool, the Shiv Niwas was originally built to accommodate visiting guests of the royal family. It has continued that tradition by playing host to the likes of Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth the Second, the late Shah of Iran and the Kennedys. Modernized and refurbished by interior designer Elizabeth Kerkar the guest rooms and royal suites (prior approval is needed before booking the latter) are plushly luxurious and suitably regal, filled with the finest ivory and mother-of-pearl inlay work, crystal glass, Persian carpets and gleaming white marble. Each suite has its own ornately fashioned balcony, or jharokha, where guests can soak up the sweeping lake views or simply play pasha.

After the domed splendour of Jodphur's Umaid Bhawan Palace and the rarefied eagle-nest setting of the Shiv Niwas in Udaipur, the Rambagh Palace in Jaipur has a more modest, though no less exotic character. Neither as grand nor as ancient as its neighbours, the Palace was originally built in the eighteenth century as a collection of small pavilions set outside the old city walls. It was converted into a hunting lodge in the nineteenth century. After a programme of modernization initiated by Maharajah Madho Singh II at the turn of the century, it became the principal residence of his successor Maharajah Man Singh II and his wife Princess Gayatri Devi of Cooch Behar.

Both rulers had a great affection for England and the influence of their many visits there is plain to see - the European furnishings, the spreading lawns and neatly trimmed herbaceous borders. However, there is still a strong and abiding sense of old India in the Rambagh Palace's succession of royal suites and grand staterooms, in its shaded verandahs and scallop-arched loggias, and in its troop of attentive, turbaned and mustachioed retainers.

A quarter of a century ago Mrs Gandhi may have sought to abolish their princely powers, but the style and the spirit of the Maharajahs lives on. If you doubt it for one moment, order yourself a Gin Sling in the Rambagh Palace's Polo Bar, listen to the peacocks calling in the gardens of the Umaid Bhawan Palace or watch the sun sink below the Aravalli hills from the terraced heights of Shiv Niwas and try to persuade yourself that these magical palaces are just hotels.

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