Jaisalmer - day 2 (Eleanor)

Our second day in Jaisalmer was spent in the Maharaja’s Palace in Jaisalmer Fort. But before we were allowed inside we had to pass the gauntlet of women with anklets. We did not make it. After sorting through many, many pieces, we decided on a few sets. Mom tried to be fair and buy something from everyone, but it wasn’t easy. And we still hadn’t bee to the ATM to get money so we couldn’t afford anything anyway. I was convinced to stay while mom went off in search of an ATM and I’m really glad I did. I became the ‘sister’ of one of the women; she gave me a little necklace and introduced me to everyone.
Somehow I ended up sitting on a flight of steps outside a fairy tale fort, surrounded by gypsies in lovely, colorful clothes and enough jewelry to keep anyone happy for life, playing a traditional Rajasthani instrument that was similar to a violin. The husband of one of he woman would play a phrase and I would play it back. There were more strings than on a violin, but only one is fingered; the rest are drones. And there were bells ties to the end of the bow that jingled every time I switched directions. After a short while we had a small crowd surrounding us but I didn’t care. I felt like I’d gone back in time.
Mom caught the tail end of my Moment, and snapped a few pictures, but when she came the women expected her to buy jewelry – and more jewelry, and more. They hadn’t bothered me because they liked that I was playing their music and because I had no money anyway, but Mom was fair game. So we beat a somewhat hasty retreat. We got invited to their houses to play music and dance and eat dinner, but decided not to go. It could have been wonderful, a gem of a night, but was more likely to be awkward and uncomfortable, a show of poverty to gain our pity, a dinner we couldn’t eat for fear of getting sick, and no easy escape. Still, part of me wishes I had dared to venture beyond my safe little bubble.
We went on the Audio Tour in the Maharaja’s Palace, which I recommend. It is a nice way of getting information about the place while still taking all the time you want and not having to worry about a guide. Guides, people guides that is, can be either excellent or obnoxious. The Audio Guide is a way of playing it safe.
The palace was beautiful. Built from golden sandstone, which changes color and warmth throughout the day depending on the sun, and with exquisite carvings both outside and in, it is a sight well worth seeing. The view from the seventh storey is not to be missed. Stretching out below you in one direction is the Great Thar Desert, while on the other side is the bustleing little city of Jaisalmer. The Rang Mahal (Palace of Color) was, once again, my favorite room. It was the private quarters of the maharaja and is decorated with mirrors and murals. The colors in the murals and on the painted walls are wonderful: bright reds, rich blues, and deep greens accented by embellishments of gold leaf. I don’t know if I could hav slept in such a room, but it was certainly a nice place to linger in for a while.
We also learned a bit about the history of the Jaisalmer rajas and their families. The Jaisalmer royal family believe themselves to be descendants of the moon. Their motto was ‘death before dishonor’. Jaisalmer Fort was only taken three times – and each time here was a jihar. After a long, complicated ceremony, all of the royal women, in their finest silk clothes, jump into their own funeral pyre. The men, wearing saffron turbans and armed to the nines, ride out into their final battle, determined to take as many of the enemy with them into the next life as possible and die a heroic death.
I think this became a vicious circle. In Europe during the middle ages, if a city was captured the nobility was treated with respect and were often ransomed (in the best circumstances). However, in Rajasthan a woman who did not take her own life was dishonorable and a man who did not die gloriously in battle was a coward. Neither deserved respect and so they were treated as the lowest of the low – and were probably killed in the end anyway. So there was no mercy. ‘Death before Dishonor’ was a code taken seriously by everyone.
We left the palace after noon, and so lost the opportunity of seeing the Jain Temples once again. We went to the July 8 Restaurant for a snack and were served, as a treat, fresh Mango pulp, chilled, golden, and delicious. I imagine that ambrosia, the drink of the gods, must taste similar to that divine drink.
We wandered around the fort for a little bit and observed the hustle and bustle of happy people at work and children at play – I even joined in a cricket game with some boys for a while – before leaving to set up a camel safari. I’d been told by Sarath, the Ayurvedic Doctor, not to risk it, that it was better to avoid things like camel safaris and ice cream for now in the hopes that in a few years I will be completely cured. I agreed for the ice cream (I’ve been very good, but it’s been difficult.) but the camel safari was too much. I might never have such a chance again! We did play it safe, though. I packed all my medicines – my inhaler, three disgusting Ayurvedic drinks, and two homeopathic remedies – as well as an extra change of clothes. I also went camel sniffing beforehand to see how or if I reacted (I did but it was just a little sniffle, which I figured I could handle) and told the man arranging everything about my asthma so he would arrange for an extra blanket to be put on the camel and make sure the bed and sheets were clean and hair-free.
Mr. Desert, the agent at Sahara Travels, is quite a character. His real name is Mr. Bissa, but I only learned that through reading the Lonely Planet. After setting up our safari for a short overnight trip (3pm – 11 am) we talked for a while. Or rather he talked, Mom encouraged, and I listened. His entire business was created, and has survived, on the basis of his impressive looks. Back in the ‘80s he was a poor, simple truck driver. But in 1989 he entered the first annual Rajasthani ‘Mr. Desert Competition’ – a manly beauty pageant – and won. In 1990 he entered again – and won. He won again in 1991 and 1992. But after 1992 he received a certificate naming him Mr. Desert for life and making him one of the judges in the competition. They also changed the rules so a person can only win for one year, making him the only life-long Mr. Desert. About this time, his friends started encouraging him to stop driving trucks and enter the tourism business – he had a reputation to maintain, they said. Since he couldn’t afford to open a hotel, he started a travel agency – Sahara Travels. Six months went by without a single customer, despite an excellent location right next to the fort. He was told he needed to go to the bus and train stations and meet tourists as they came into town. But he was not cut out to be a tout, apparently. “I say ‘come on my camel safari’ and they say ‘no’. ‘Well’, say I ‘No means no, that is fine I will ask the next person’” He couldn’t hassle, couldn’t ask fifteen times until the tourist finally said yes out of simple desperation. He decided to close shop, go back to being a truck driver. That week, some tourists with cameras wanted to take his picture, not in his office but out in the desert. He had nothing else to do so he went along with them. They entered the photos in a competition and he won – his face was seen across India on a cigarette advertisement. So he hung the picture behind his desk and decided to see if that helped at all – after all, his lease was not up for the office. It worked. The next day, a young woman entered his office to ask if he was the person in the picture – and she became his first customer. The original picture, along with many others, still decorates the walls of his room.
He obviously enjoyed telling his story – it was much longer than the version I have given you. But it was nice to get to know someone, to hear of success even if it was based upon good looks. After talking over chai, he let us take his picture – I even got to try on his turban, which was a little small and bright pink. Then we went back to the hotel (a new hotel – one without bed bugs or walls in an unfortunate shade of green) to rest and eat dinner.