The Peace Correspondent (32 page)

“Your conveyance is approaching sir,” the giant Punjabi doorman in the tightly wound turban announces, a smile as bright as the desert sky creasing his fierce, bearded face.

A white Ambassador Nova, a replica of a 1950s British Morris Oxford with rounded fenders and roof, pulls up under the Oberoi hotel's porte cochere. The uniformed attendant opens the door, stiffens to attention, and throws a snappy salute worthy of a Rajput warrior.

I am off on a tour of maharajahs' palace hotels in Rajasthan, the desert state south of New Delhi, India's capital. Until Indian independence 50 years ago Rajasthan, Rajputana of old, was a turbulent land of fierce people, of 22 warring princely states. But the maharajas and maharanis lived in regal splendor rarely seen elsewhere in the world, creating an imposing architecture of magnificent forts, palaces, castles and sandstone cities scattered across the desert.

I settle into the back seat on the carpet-like tiger print seat cover as Suress, the driver, points the blunt-nosed car into Delhi's morning traffic of soot-belching buses, three-wheel scooter taxis, ancient khaki colored motorcycles, numerous other lumpy shaped Ambassadors and grazing sacred cows. Road travel in rural Rajasthan is for the adventurous who can tolerate some discomfort and intimidating traffic, I quickly discover.

On The Road

The main Delhi-Jaipur highway is like the world's longest dodgem-cars track, the chaotic animal and mechanical traffic reflecting the anarchy of India. Jeeps, cars and huge TATA brand buses with passengers overflowing out the doors weave past Sikhs on cycles, bicycles piled high with carpets and baskets, tricycle taxis bearing a half-dozen passengers, bullock carts, white oxen with brightly painted horns, camels and donkeys.

Caravans of boxy, brightly decorated trucks embellished with illustrations of Indian gods crowd the road, every one with the elegant script on the back urging “Horn Please.” It is an unnecessary exhortation on this highway, as Indian drivers use the horn as much as the accelerator or brakes. With the chaos, color and craziness, India is not for the faint-hearted, but it provides endless entertainment.

In roadside villages, men in loose-fitting white cotton dhotis sit or lie around on their charpoys (rope beds on simple wood frames). Barefoot women with ankle bangles and flowing. brilliantly colored saris balance huge tin or clay pots on their heads as they stride along the dusty road, as graceful as models. India is a land of incredible color, from the iridescent tails of the peacocks, India's national bird, to the fantastically decorated temples and the fluorescent flash of women's saris.

And it is a land of constant surprises and anomalies, such as village merchants naming their businesses for deities -- the Ganesh Cleaning Service, the Siddhartha Restaurant, the Shiva Metal Works.

Loo With a View

After two hours (and just 76 miles) of frenetic driving, we spot the Neemrana Fort-Palace, like Disney's castle clinging like a limpet high on a cliff in a fold of the Aravalli mountain range. The incredible structure, India's oldest heritage resort and the closest palace hotel to Delhi, was built over five centuries, starting from 1464 A.D..

Halfway up the hillside, we park at the foot of the stepped palace, spreading across three acres. Beyond the imposing gates, a steep, winding stone ramp leads into the fantastic, multilayered structure, with four wings rising nine levels up the cliffside. It is a maze of hallways, stairwells, overpasses, turrets and dead ends. Meals are sometimes served on balconies or terraces atop small towers, with views over the plains far below.

The 35 suites and rooms with such romantic names as the Palace of Breezes, Cloud Palace, Sky Palace, Palace of the Goddess and Abode of Peace all have private balconies or courtyards facing panoramic vistas, perfect for the old Indian custom of sundowners. One suite even has a “loo (bathroom) with a view.”

Time for a Tiger

Further south, a road off the main highway leads through ancient, rural India, with horse and donkey carts, women in vibrant dress working the fields, and farmers in huge, bright turbans herding long-horned cattle, water buffalo, camels and goats. The temperature rises into three figures Fahrenheit as the surroundings become more desert-like, and bridges cross over rivers of fine sand.

At the entrance to the Sariska Tiger Reserve, once a maharajah's private hunting grounds, we reach our second palace. Huge gates lead to palatial grounds, and the grand, if not particularly maharajah-like, Sariska Palace Hotel. Maharaja Jai Singh of Alwar built the place at the turn of the century as a royal hunting lodge.

With the main structure curved like a ship's hull and towers at each corner, the architecture seems Indo-art deco with Saracenic touches, such as arched doorways. It is grand enough, but needs a touch up. Fortunately, renovations are proceeding and painters are at work in the dining room as I check in.

Several stuffed tigers prowl the lounge, and the hall walls are hung with ancient black-and-white photographs of hunters posing before supine felines. The great hunting parties of the past
included hundreds of men: maharajah's cradling their rifles, fierce retainers in tight turbans, dozens of beaters, gun bearers, professional hunters and elephants with costumed mahouts posing sternly on the howdahs. And standing among them is an occasional colonial Brit, out hunting in pith helmet, three-piece suit and tie. No wonder they sang of mad dogs and Englishmen out in the noonday sun.

Like many of the remote palace hotels, Sariska is not deluxe. Accommodation is clean, but basic -- heavy on character, light on maintenance. “In India, we are big on ambiance, light on amenities,” shrugs one mustachioed retainer.

Jackals and Hide

At dawn, an open Maruti Gypsy jeep appears in front of the palace. As in the African game parks, the lodge provides game viewing safaris into the park, daily at 6 a.m. and 4 p.m.. It is offseason, so I am the only guest going out.

Past the entrance, we follow the paved road into the park a short distance before turning off on a dirt track through the dry brush, thorns, bamboo, prickly cacti and flame of the forest trees. The Sariska Sanctuary, spread over 335 square miles of dense, dry forest, streams, steep ridges, valleys and hills, is considered one of India's finest. The number of tigers here has increased from 15 when it started in 1979 to 24 now. While April to June is sizzling hot and dry, it is the best time for game spotting, as the animals come down to the waterholes.

In a sudden flash of color ahead, a peacock flutters across the road trailing its iridescent tail behind it, like a flamboyant opera star flaunting a flashy cape. These grand creatures are everywhere, perched in the trees, flying through the air, scurrying along the ground.

Deep in the bush, the driver points out some high stone watchtowers. Not so long ago, hunters would dismount from elephant back onto these hides, and shoot tigers from the vantage point.

Small herds of ungulates graze these dry, scrubby trees -- spotted
deer, four-horned antelopes and large blue bull antelopes, who give warning honks like a TATA bus horn before leaping into the bush. In the open jeep, we approach within yards of porcupine, mongoose, civet cat and wild boar crusty with mud. And we see large groups of two kinds of monkeys: rhesus, with no tails and dangerous dispositions; and gentle brown langurs, with long tails and black faces.

At one waterhole, adolescent langurs playing like errant schoolboys drop out of tree branches, furry cannonballs hitting the water with a splash. A brilliant peacock, tail spread out in a great fan, does a strutting mating dance, trying to impress a pea hen with its avian antics.

When the driver stops and turns off the engine, it is remarkably peaceful, with only the wild sounds of the high, two-toned screams of peacocks, bird calls, the shrill clicking of cicadas, animals rustling in the underbrush. It is remarkable that tiger, leopard and panther prowl these forests just a few hours from Delhi.

Later, on a jungle walk, we follow an ancient aqueduct along the river and into the forest. The guide, armed only with a makeshift swagger stick, points out a spot nearby, where tigers come down to drink. Farther on, we find a pile of peacock tail feathers. “A leopard had his lunch,” he explains.

A half-hour later, we reach the Royal Watchtower, from where the maharajah and his fellow hunters once shot tiger. Guests can stay overnight here, sitting up by candlelight, and in the morning watch game coming down to the river to drink. From the hide, they might spot jackals, deer, boar or even, if they are lucky, tiger.

Although it is the dry season, it rained a few days ago, and there is water in the forest. There will be no tiger for me today.

Pink Gin in a Pink City

Several hours later, driving into Jaipur, Rajasthan's capital, we turn off towards the hilltop Amber Palace and Fort. The city's major attraction is noted for its pink stone architecture, and its
shops. Approaching the palace, the driver speaks his first English words today.

“Factory looking?”

“Factory no looking.”

Rajasthan is known for its great variety of arts and crafts. Shops and factories sell hand-woven silk and wool carpets, tie-dyed fabrics in shimmering colors, hand-blocked printed muslin and silk clothes, wood and ivory carvings, and lacquer and filigree work.

Across the river, decorated and adorned elephants, their ears and trunks painted with vivid floral patterns, carry tourists up a rampart to the imposing hilltop fort. But the vast complex of ancient palaces, pavilions and fortifications is a fort for looking at, not staying in, so we continue on to Jaipur, the Pink City.

This 18-century planned capital, modern by Indian standards, was built of pink sandstone in the Mughal style, which makes it appear much older. Driving though the city, slowed to a camel pace by the frenzied traffic of vehicles, people and animals, we pass the elaborate Palace of Winds. The peculiar five-story facade of pink stone fronting the street was a kind of elaborate modesty curtain. Palace ladies could look out onto street activities through some 953 latticed windows without being seen.

On the outskirts of the city, the deluxe Rambagh Palace is one of the few palace hotels of international standards. As in most Rajasthan hotels, doormen are dressed like Rajput dandies, cultivating immense, curved mustaches, and wearing brilliant turbans, some with flowing tails flapping down the back.

The sprawling palace is a peaceful retreat of long, shady corridors, arched passageways, latticed screens, delicate cupolas and fountains. In the courtyard outside, snake charmers lure cobras out of their baskets and mahouts pose with their painted elephants for photographs.

Lunch is a delicious biriani -- sweet basmati rice with pieces of lamb and cashew nuts flavored with saffron and mint and served with raita (yogurt with grated cucumbers and spices). Musicians
in turbans and dhotis sitting cross-legged at the end of the room playing the taula (drum) and the tanpura (a long-handled kind of sitar) provide the appropriate subcontinent background music.

Samode - The Far Pavilions

Some 25 miles (40 kilometers) north of Jaipur, Samode Palace sits majestically above a seedy village. Massive doors, high as a house and bristling with great metal studs to deter fighting elephants, swing open to let the Ambassador pass. Four-hundred-year-old Samode, a blend of Rajput and Mughal styles of architecture, is one of the most ornate, and best known, of Rajasthan's palace hotels.

From the parking lot (a few shade trees), a series of steps lead up to ascending courtyards of the multilevel palace. Bare stone stairwells and hallways lead to frescoed walls and audience halls, such as the twinkling Hall of Mirrors.

The ornate Durbar Hall (maharaja's court), patterned like an Oriental carpet from wall to ceiling, was the main setting for the British television production of author M. M. Kaye's The Far Pavilions. The maharajahs and maharanis must have abhorred the unadorned; every square inch of my room seems covered with some pattern or picture, from flowers and geometric shapes to battle or hunting scenes with warriors, fighting elephants and tigers in the forest.

During the day, guests can ride a camel three miles through villages and dusty desert roads to the hotel's Samode Bagh Mughal garden, to use the swimming pool and lawn tennis court. Or they can walk through the adjoining village, viewing the ancient wall paintings on merchants' homes and experiencing Indian peasant life in the raw. Outside the palace gate, two village boys, claiming to come from a long line of artists, display distinctive Rajasthan-style miniatures -- traditional paintings including slightly risque works featuring generously proportioned village girls in see-through blouses.

Next to the palace, a steep staircase of 376 steps leads up the slope to the 400-year-old ruins of one of three hilltop forts protecting Samode. At the top, a watchman unlocks a heavy door and I have the huge, well-constructed fort to myself.

Although in ruins, the basic structure is in good shape. It is a classic stone fort with parapets, loopholes, turrets, bastions and battlements. The watchman points out machicolations, holes in the floor over the outside walls, that were the soldiers' toilets.

It is peaceful up here, alone. The braying of a camel far below and the distant chattering of pilgrims walking along a path disappearing over the dry hills.

Castle Mandawa

Beyond Jaipur, the countryside, and the castles, become harsher, less genteel, but even more colorful. Sword-bearing guards with fearsome beards welcome travelers to Castle Mandawa, where two venerable cannons on large spoked wheels stand guard at the massive, spiked gate.

Much of the rambling, 240-year-old castle is still unrestored, with peeling walls, unpainted hallways and building materials piled in the corners. The rooms, though, are large and lavish. Mine is like a harem, lacking only the female companionship, with ornate white marble arches, delicately carved woodwork, little alcoves and a maharajah-sized bed.