Day Seven: Miles of Mustard

A very blissed-out Hanuman in our room at Karauli Palace

Bumping along the highway and its assorted dirt-road turnoffs, I couldn’t help but notice the trees, which were bereft of leaves and most branches. At first I thought, “Well, it’s winter.” Then I realized the tree branches had been cut as high up as a man (or woman, most likely) could reach—for fuel. We passed numerous bright green and yellow mustard fields, huts made of rushes, and cleverly stacked piles of “poop chapattis”:  bullock dung patted into neat pancakes of burnable fuel. The air smelled like wood smoke rather than what one would assume.

We arrived at the village, and our stay for the night, Karauli Palace, the estate of the former landowners (who still live on the property). It was, hands-down, absolutely fantastic. The grounds were immaculate, and included stables, cowsheds, orchards and a lovely and productive garden. Our room was decorated in red and white with beautiful red-mirrored spreads plus a long satin pillow in bright red, and a heavy carved-wood door that locked with a funny old padlock. Outside the heavy door: a wide lounging bed with a futon-like mattress and more satin pillows to nap on. The room was lovely except for the odd position of the toilet and the bucket shower not five feet from each other; when you took a bucket bath (shower would have been worse) the marble floor became as slick as a Bollywood hero. Since broken legs would have cramped all our styles, wet towels on the floor were the perfect antidotes. After lunch in the sunny courtyard, we repaired to our rooms or to the outside lounging beds for a rest; I went to the little shop on site and had my hand hennaed. Interesting process, and very relaxing…

Later that day, the group walked into the village of Karauli to the Hindu temple to witness the fire ceremony—the ritual worship of Lord Krishna. Night was falling, and we were the main attraction all the way through the village. I literally shook hands with dozens of little kids who would shyly come up and say, “Hello”. Everyone stared, but in India, this was commonplace.

There was a puppy in the street when a tractor came along. It ran over his tail (not harming him apparently) and the rest of us stood in horror as the double wheels of the tractor were about to crush him; a quick-thinking boy bravely reached under the oncoming machine and threw him aside. The puppy squealed in protest, and the boy walked away as though nothing had happened.

We reached the temple just before the fire ceremony.

Me and "the hand"-- I'm looking pretty blissed-out myself.
photo by Joe Trinidad

To see specific reviews of guides/travel companies, places to eat, stay and shop in India, see my custom guide to the golden triangle on GoGoBot.

Day Three, Night: Dazzling

There was a Hindu wedding procession—a barat--on the street that night—probably one of many taking place in the month of February, an astrologically favorable month for marriages in Delhi (I learned lots more about the significant role astrology plays in Hindu life at the Pantar Mantar Observatory in Jaipur). Most Hindu wedding ceremonies take place late at night and last from three to seven days. A tent was put up blocking both lanes of the street a few doors down from the hotel (this is typical for families of brides that do not have a courtyard or large private space). The groom—who carried a baby--was slowly pulled along in a carriage by a white horse—he, the child, the horse and the carriage were all decorated in glittery white trappings. As the procession slowly moved forward, he exchanged the baby for a blanket of rupees. A rag-tag band of musicians played (quite possibly itinerant bandwallahs that make a living moving from wedding to wedding during the season) and a dozen young men danced wildly as a small group of beautiful young women in glittery saris walked along with the carriage. A battery truck preceded the carriage, powering two or three hand-held towers of lights about the size of small Christmas trees. The lights were carried by men and were connected to a long power cord. Unfortunately, the power on the truck failed so there might have been a noisy discussion about this when it came time to pay up (the bride’s family pays for the wedding). The music went on until 1AM and started up again at dawn. The groom was on his way to meet his bride, and the ceremony would take place over the next few days accompanied by joyous, noisy celebration. I would have loved to crash THAT party…