Riding Through Desert Rain

Mahesh Tharani rides through the dust bowls of Rajasthan experiencing the effervescent face of Ajmer and Pushkar with unexpected showers thrown in along the way

The town of Pushkar as seen from the ghats                                                               All Pics: Jiten Suchede

Shalom! An Israeli garbed in a rabbi's attire greets us as he passes by, riding his bicycle. The greeting was meant for many of the rabbi's fellow travellers sitting around me on the ghats that circumvent the lake in Pushkar. ‘Bon jour’, ‘howdy’, ‘gutentag’ are as commonplace as ‘namaste’, or ‘ki haal hai’, in Pushkar, a favourite congregation point of foreigners in Rajasthan. The drums begin to play and the didge (as the Australian playing it, called the didgeridoo) resonates, a mellow hum in the air. The American joins in on the drums and the jam session picks up pace as the sun begins to dip behind the town. Swirling fire chains light up as dusk turns to night and it's another glorious day that has just begun in the little vegetarian, non-alcoholic town of Pushkar.

Life in a town with the only standing temple dedicated to Brahma in India, and more famously known for its annual Pushkar mela or camel fair in November, is glorious. So what if we are here in the month of July and not during the camel fair. It is in the monsoons that the Desert state of Rajasthan dresses up in her finery. It was on a hot grubby Friday morning couple of years ago when my friend Jiten and I took a spontaneous decision to hit the road. We threw a few clothes in a rucksack, kick-started the Royal Enfield and were cruising on the highway heading to Rajasthan. An hour and a 100-kilometres later we stop over for our first meal of the day and over parathas and sweet tea we decide to head off to Ajmer to listen to traditional Sufi music. On the way though we stop over at the Amer Fort just outside Jaipur.

A marble swing that Raja Suraj Mal ransacked from Delhi for his queen at the monsoon palace at Deeg	A girl dancing at sunset on the ghats at Pushkar

We stroll about behind tourist groups who have hired guides and try and overhear whatever information we can eavesdrop on without appearing like people who use the services of the guide for free. The fort is large and cavernous with people walking about marveling at the magnanimity of a bygone era. The two-hour walk in the fort gets us to Ajmer even later than scheduled. But we are not bothered since we don't have any planned itinerary and are not in a hurry to get anywhere. We head out and after a nice long drive with nothing much by way of landscape, we get our weary bodies off at Ajmer to visit the dargah of Moinuddin Chishti. And as if in a blessing, the heavens open up and it pours. The unexpected shower leaves us startled and we scurry in the lane leading to the dargah and settle in a room at a lodge. We buy skullcaps and head to the gates of the dargah and are immediately accosted by a khadim (descendants of Moinuddin Chisti) to buy a `chaddar' (most often used as an offering) from a shop he recommends.

The entry to the dargah is through Dargah Bazaar that leads to the inner courtyard. The high gateway has beautifully carved silver doors. We enter the dargah, which is sparsely populated at that time of the day. In the courtyard are kept two huge cauldrons with capacity of 2,240 kg. and 4,480 kg. On special occasions, 'kheer' cooked in these cauldrons is distributed among pilgrims. The grave of the Sufi Saint is surrounded by a silver railing and is partially covered with a marble screen. On one side of the grave is a prayer room for women devotees built by Chimmi Begum, the daughter of Shah Jahan. On the premises are tombs of Bhishti (tomb of Saint's daughter - Bibi Hafiz Jama) and that of Chimmi Begum. The otherwise tranquil atmosphere of the inner shrine is breached by a group of Sufi singers. Their rendition is far from mellifluous. We emerge after the evening prayers and head out for dinner. The night is wet with rain as are the streets and under a temporary shelter by the road with the rain pattering over our heads, we reach an unanimous decision to wind our way over the snake mountain to Pushkar, 11 kilometers away, the next day.

Foreigners jamming it up on the ghats at Pushkar	The fountains and the structure used to create thunder at the monsoon palace in Deeg
The entry arch of the monsoon palace in Deeg	Women filling water from the palace at Deeg

The ride is pleasant and short. We settle down at the ghats to sip lemon and mint tea and watch the rains wash the town clean. The cool air suffused with the scent of wet earth is quite intoxicating. The rains cease by the time we are on our second cup and a combination of nationalities begin their gig. It's evening and the beats resonate as night falls. We get invited to a so-called gypsy dance in a wayside café on the other side of the lake. Circled by some five hundred odd temples, the lake has 52 ghats, which connect the temples to the water. The ghats constructed by the rulers of different erstwhile princely states of Rajasthan are aptly named after the states. Prominent among them are, Gau Ghat, Brahma Ghat and Varah Ghat. Also called Main Ghat, Gau Ghat is the place from where ashes of Mahatma Gandhi were sprinkled into the lake. The night grows chilly and we make our way to see the dance. We are stopped near the gate of the café and Jiten is told suspiciously in Hindi, "I don't think I have met you!" by the person who is organising the event. I looked at the crowd and understood the displeasure of the organiser at seeing Indians at an event organised exclusively for foreign clientele.

The dance begins and Jiten and I look at each other and realise why the programme had been organised solely for foreigners. Beer flows in Brahma's Pushkar as the dancers continue in their effort to invent and innovate a gypsy's dance while they get fleeced for the cost of food and beverage. Since the monsoons have just begun, Deeg in Bharatpur district with its monsoon palace, became a natural choice for our next destination. After a lot of riding over dustbowls and flower-dotted landscape, we finally arrive at the palace that is simulated to showcase rains in a state that receives very little of it. It has 2,000 water fountains and two giant metal balls that were made to create the sound of thunder. Few people are present in one of the best-maintained monuments of India. We walk around the palace until we get to a massive edifice, the meeting hall of King Suraj Mahal.

An old attendant sits on the steps outside, reminiscing about the heydays and the glory of the Bharatpur empire. The tales are about the king’s valour in holding back an entire Mughal army while protecting his kingdom and later ransacking Delhi to bring back edifices and reconstructing them in the complex for his queen. "The queen used to get scared of the sound of thunder being created by the contraption of the two giant metal balls. But she loved watching the fountains spewing out coloured water," says the old guard. He confesses though that he was very young and could only remember glimpses, the rest of the pieces of the jigsaw had been fitted into place by his father who was the caretaker before him. The fountains aren't flowing these days and the yearly ritual isn't anytime soon. We leave the palace and are back on the road quite pleased with our decision to flee Delhi, blessed with a stroke of good fortune to be able to witness the Desert State bloom in the rains.

Evening prayers at the dargah at Ajmer	The inner courtyard of Brahma temple in Pushkar
A woman asking for the Khwaja’s blessings at Ajmer	The monsoon palace at Deeg