We caught a 17 hour train out of Delhi that afternoon to Jaiselmer. The day tripping we did only showed us the shiny side of Delhi. Riding out of town on the train, we began to see a different side—a harder life, the term “under belly” came to my mind, even though I am not really sure what that means, I am fairly sure I saw it. Shelters made of plastic and any scavenged material. Densely populated, and I am quite certain that there was no sanitation. Yet, even here, as we chugged past, I saw men dangling children on their knees, children laughing and playing, women talking together throwing their head back in laughter. How can people living such difficult lives know joy? Something to learn here. The evening settled slowly as the landscape became dustier resembled Eastern Africa—scrubby trees and tumble weeds. As total darkness took over there were brilliant flashes of lightening in the night sky. I rumbled asleep, and when I awoke I wondered, “Where AM I?” The Great Thar Desert. Watching out our windows we gaped at the men in huge white turbans and women with chiffon veils covering their faces—sticking my camera out the window to grab my first impressions to have people wave and step in front of each other to get their pictures taken. Some women peeked shyly around their sari veil and stared me in the eye. We saw houses made of stone—no trees for building. Some of the houses were made of granite slabs cut 12 inches wide and 5 feet tall with thatch roofs. Herders with their goats and women with pots on their heads gracefully wove through the tapestry of the land, offering splashes of color in the bleak landscape.
I realized in the morning that my passport and small purse were missing—it felt like such a small blister on my foot—nothing to do about it. We arrived in Jaisalmir in the morning and were met by a little car to trundle us off to our hotel. We were offered rooms for $1/day, but decided to stick with our reservations--$3/day, right in the center of the old city with breathtaking views of the fort and the city. The Jeet mal Hotel was a 350 yearold building still lived in by the original family, with modern amenities added. Clean, with the most amazing chief (a former camel driver) and a not so honest hotel owner, who seemed to think that we were women of very little brains or understanding. We left our bags and headed up to the Golden Fort—the only living fort left—meaning that life there continued as in the past, with shop owners, shops, temples and workers living within the fort. 25% of the city still resides within the fort walls. And of course The Palace.
Jaiselmer was founded in 1156 on the camel train routes between India and Central Asia. IT was a city of wealthy merchants who constructed the fascinating design of Havelis—grand mansions built of the yellow Jaiselmer stone. The amazing thing about them is that they have great windows cut of the stone with intricate designs cut out for light to come in and to allow women to look out at the world passing them by. Built by the Rajputs ,a warring people, they went through endless sieges and wars. The development of Mombay caused the decline of the city.
Entering the fort there is a maze of small narrow paved streets—7 beautiful Jain temples (12th -16th century), and lots of tourist stalls and shops. There is a large square in front of the 7 story palace of which part is open as a museum of opulent wealth. The first night there was an old man sitting on the palace terrace playing a stringed instrument and singing in a high thin wavery voice. He wore a multicolored turban and dhoti and sat cross legged for hours singing his ballads. I am told that he has been doing this for20 years and sings songs about life in the villages. He smiled and singed to sing to each person who came by. Spellbinding.
The following day was the festival of Gargol—a goddess of fertility. At 4:00 we heard singing and followed it to find a group of women and girls going house to house and singing. The mistress of the house came out to give each of them sweets, and they went to the next house—all this on the way to the center in front of the palace. 30 camels decked out in extreme finery standing at attention—drummers pounding and thousands of people from surrounding villages all there for the envent. Girls and women in sequined saris and bangles and nose rings and disks. Children with kohl in their eyes darting in and out of the crowds. A festive crowd filled with anticipation. The Maharaja arrived in a land rover and went into the palace to do “puja” (prayer) with the goddess and then after a few hours returns to the masses with a 4 foot tall statue carried on shoulders, while he follows (unsteadily) on his white steed to walk to the small lake at the far end of town, for the goddess to have a drink of the water to ensure all women fertility and good marriages. The girls carried coconut wrapped in cloth with faces drawn on them to set afloat on the lake. Being in such a loud, hot, raucous crowd was exhilarating. The people so happy, laughing, talking—reunions taking place. We went enmasse to the lake as the sun was setting.
We ate our delicious Rajput meals on the roof top of the hotel watching the fort and havelis change colours in the sunset. Beautiful. Wandering through the little streets, with open sewers running along side, I was pushed and nudged by the many cows here—a brazen group who people place left over food for and bring in hay from the fields. They wander at will and traffic and people all defer to them. The town was not as crowded as one might expect, and I saw no beggers or homeless people. Certainly not wealthy, but looking as though they had “enough.” There are many shops here for the tourist, rich mirror work and embroidery done by local people. I bought a slew of pillow covers at a “cooperative” which claims it is a direct dealer for the artisan…hmmm. There were antique tribal dresses and bead work—weavings and paintings. Wandering through them a man teaches how to tie the turban—how could I have left without one? People encouraging to come in and “make your eyes happy—no buy! Look is free!” They are master sellers, showing you a lovely piece and then asking how much you would pay for it—even if you had no intention of buying they get you to bargain and you leave feeling you got a great deal, only to realize you never really wanted it in the first place. I bought a beautiful tribal dress all hand stitched and embroidered—I can’t wait until it is cold enough to wear.
We arranged for a 2 day camel ride into the desert to where the dunes begin to form. Leaving at 5:30 to watch the sun come up out of the desert—an orange ball at the end of the road. We rode 60 km out of town before we turned off onto an unmarked road? Place that led into the scrub. We rode several miles until we spied 2 men huddled over a small fire who turned to look at us. Hamja and Suban, our guides for the next two days. Both of them were stunningly handsome and smiled easily. Iwas astounded to hear their excellent English uttered in soft tones. They served us tea as our gear was unloaded. We could hear the bell of a sheep in the distance, other than that complete silence. An older man wandered in—“This man is the father of the desert,” Suban said. They laughed and joked with him, and we shared our breakfast of hard boiled eggs and bread/jam. The shepherd appeared in tattered clothes and wouldn’t make eye contact. I would catch him looking at us, and was slightly crosseyed. His sister joined in out of no where—a stunning beauty with a large nose ring, and beautifully appliquéd and stitched clothing. She tossed her hear, and laughed loudly—grabbing my camera and exclaiming about herself. She was 20 years old and looked much older. Everyone was laughing and it was a precious moment. The realization of being in the desert with people in a setting that could be 100s of years ago---Is this my life? The camels were off grazing and they rounded them off, packed us up, we climbed aboard and they rose carrying us into the blue sky above the dusty ground. We headed off into what looked like no where in particular. The men talking and laughing in a friendly banter with each other—offering us bits of information about the landscape and answering our questions with a cheerful air. WE passed compounds where 4-5 families lived. Children run out to stare at us yelling, “One pen? One pen?” Sheep the only opportunity, as they haven’t had rain in 2 years. A pipe line brings water in from some river to the north, as long as it stays flush. Without that, no one could survive here any longer.
At mid-day we stop under a rare tree to sit the heat of the day out and let the camels rest. Hamja and Suban gather sticks and cook a feast for lunch of fresh vegetables sautéed and rice and fresh chapattis—we try our hand at them and laugh at the results. Laying under the tree I realize it is alive with lizards and insects and birds. One bird made 9 different calls from the perch inches over my face. The sky through the branches was clear and blue and there were no sounds of people anymore. Everyone took a siesta and I was left to my musing on the enormity of the moment.
In the afternoon we headed off again. Another man had joined us with his camel. I commented on how good he smelled—like clean laundry and herbs. The men laughed and whacked his back—this was his last safari. He was getting married in 20 days to a woman he had never met, never seen. He was planning on staying home with the sheep and his new bride. Suban rode behind me on the camel and talked softly to me as we plodded along into the endless horizon. He told me of growing up in his village and going to school until 3rd grade when he took up working with the camel safaris, learning English and a little German from the tourists. He told me that is exciting to go to your wedding day with anticipations and dreams of what your wife will look like. I am sure his wife breathed a huge sigh of relief when she saw him. He is 22 and has 2 children. He sees them for about 2 months in the summer when it is too hot for safaris—and then maybe 2 other times a year. His wife/children live with his parents about 60 miles away in a very small village, which seems to mean a compound of an extended family. He talked about trying to save money and find a way that his children will not have to be camel drivers. HE talked about being part of the desert, and knowing his way anywhere, even in the dark. “It is part of me,” he said with no sentimentality. We passed wild girl camels, who are left to roam the desert and not work—“Their job is to have strong young, they are not strong enough for this work.” Hamja burst into song and sang love and marriage songs as we rode along. We passed dead sheep and a cow in the deserted desert—they weren’t eaten, because they only eat the sheep if they do a ceremony in killing it. They left the skin as well. Curious. And then over one rise—a dead camel! It had died when it broke his leg and they killed it, leaving its bones in the sun to bleach. So of course, I came home with a camel skull and jaw bone much to the amusement of the drivers. Near dusk, we first spotted the dunes—small ones but so pristine and beautiful. There are large sprawling dunes south of us, but they have become a huge tourist attraction with buses of people coming and stands of food and trinkets. Plastic bags and litter plentiful. We opted for this smaller version, hungry to be away from the madding crowd. Standing on them you can see for 360 degrees the horizon—only on Lake Superior have I experienced that. This was indeed a sea of sand and sky.
At the camp fire another camel boy of about 10 came to sit with us—clearly enjoying the company of Hamja and Suban. They laughed and sang and we sang and ate the wonderful food they cooked for us. WE watch many peacocks strutting down in the valley, their blue shocking on the drab sand. They make wonderful squacking calls in the night. We had thick bedrolls rolled out for us with heavy blankets and white sheets. The sky was overcast, and no stars when we went to sleep—waking up in the night, there they were in glorious twinkling and the sound of the camel munching near my head. The sky meeting the horizon in a full circle around me with me in the center. The air was cold and crisp. I looked over to see Suban and Hamja rolled in quilts. A perfect moment.
Breakfast and coffee and off to meet some of the people that live here. Of course they knew we were coming—it is an arrangement with the camel drivers—and the news of our arrival came in on the wind. Their compound was so clean—swept, no trash or mess. The clay walls surrounding the homes were painted with colored clay. WE were invited in and everyone wanted their pictures taken. A 8 year old boy took my camera and shot a lot of photos there—many of them excellent—and now I have some of me. Generous people of the desert—I had a glass of milk, freshly milked from the cow. I peered into their homes, almost totally bare with small drawings on the wall, that the boy took pictures of. The women tried to take my rings off, and laughed at the toe rings and mendhi. Each person eager to show us their home, their goat, their mother and grandmother. A woman shows us how to grind the rice in an ancient stone contraption she rotates. Children touch us and laugh and stare—makes it even—I stare back. There is a grace and elegance in these women. Quiet and hesitant but comfortable in their homes and surrounding. Proud of what they have made there. A bus now comes by to take the children to a school—we heard it pass in the distance—the kids stayed home to see the foreigners. Ah, well.
The next village we were told was a village of “untouchables.” An old idea outlawed, now—but clearly representing a lower class—the lowest class. They also welcomed us in, and I took a picture of 2 small boys. Their young father taps me and points to himself—pleased to see his image in my small camera. I don’t understand what it is that fascinates me so about seeing people living in such conditions. I am mystifies and tear at my mind trying to grasp what it would be like—what their lives are like. How is it that I am me and they are they?
Nearing our destination Subhan tries to talk us into staying on—so many things he could show us! The desert is so vast! He can tell we have a special feeling for it! Yesl we are different than others. Of course he is right—I am SO special, but his plea had more to do with possibly being the last safari of the season with the heat just around the corner---With genuine gratitude, we said our good-byes, feeling all the richer for this taste. It makes sense to me that it is hard to find words to explain the desert—it is silent and filled with space.
We still had 2 days in Jaisalmer and spent them weaving in and out of the small streets, watching the men play cards and the children play tag in the streets. Drinking sweet chai in the shade and drinking in the sights and sounds of this magical place stuck in time. On afternoon there was a lot of drumming and trumpets and singing in the street where we saw what I would call a parade—led by a sabu (holy man) sitting on front of the tractor which was pulling a trailer covered with flowers and people and an alter with a idol perched drenched in marigolds. There were some horses and motorcycles and many sabus dressed in orange followed by girls and women singing. They are going to temple we were told. We were there long enough and it is small enough that people greeted us as we came by. We looked in endless shops at the wonders made there for pennies. Again, people only kind and curious—no resentment or hostilities felt.
