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My plan was to rough it out in the desserts of the Rajasthan, India, to the pink city of Jaipur. Although modernization has taken over the city there is still a primitive touch among the natives, which makes the tourist understand their different perspective on life.
Adorned with palaces and forts depicting the royalty of the Maharajas and Rajputs, a reminder of the Indian cultural heritage before the British Raj, I roamed the streets, eyeing the mouth-watering delicacies prepared in large cauldrons. A signboard flashed amidst the vines of a bougainvillea tree. “Rooms To Let.” The deserted courtyard was well-maintained with various fruit trees against the backdrop of a large mansion. The doors and windows were bolted and the interior of the house was pitch black. I stood contemplating for a minute, then turned around and bumped into a huge man, dressed in white, wearing a turban and holding a large, wooden stick. The sun’s brilliant rays blinded me and I took refuge in this abominable man’s shadow.
“Room?” he asked in a booming voice.
“No,” I replied meekly, trying to dodge him and reach to the gate.
“Don’t let his size or moustache scare you,” said a voice from a distance.
A man stood on the verandah of the second floor, smiling and waving.
“Hold on, we have plenty of rooms here,” he said.
I waited for him to come down, eyeing the turbaned man who had the biggest and bushiest moustache, I had ever seen.
“Hi, I’m Ravi. Welcome to my Haveli (Mansion).”
After the introduction, he led me to the main house. There were twenty-five rooms separated by various partitions. Family feuds and huge maintenance costs led him to rent out his ancestral home. Veeru, the mustached man, was his trusted servant whose ancestors had served Ravi’s family for five generations.
A refreshing cup of cardamom tea jumpstarted my weary body and I then went sight-seeing to Hawa Mahal, literally translated as Air Palace. There I saw intricately carved stone windows called Jharoka. It is said that the Queen and her close companions used to watch the festivities of the palace through these intricate meshes which guarded them from public view. A narrow, winding stairway led me to the rooftop to enjoy the breath-taking view of this picturesque city. The old and new ramparts of the city blended together creating a fascinating example of how people still presevered and respected their heritage. It really doesn’t take much to knock off these ancient walls and create uniform structures around the city. But the people here take immense pride in remembering their ancestors’ efforts to build them their identity.
As the sun set, lining the streets, the small shops selling household items, clothes, food, spices and jewelry, lit up like stars creating an exotic fanfare, making it easy to find my way back home.
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I returned to my cozy room and settled to enjoy a quiet evening writing in my journal. Suddenly, there was a power failure. The moonlit night was a blessing, and I stepped onto the balcony to enjoy the pleasant breeze. Veeru was pumping kerosene into old-fashioned lanterns below. He saw me and with a hand gesture indicated that he was going to bring me one. I decided to take a nap before dinner. As I turned towards my room, a lantern’s glare from the adjoining section of the balcony caught my attention. A woman stood there. Before I could get a good look at her, she disappeared inside.
The next day, I decided to visit the forts - Amer or Amber Fort, Jaigadh fort, and the Nahargadh fort. An elephant ride to the Amber palace, seated under an embroidered umbrella and swaying with the walk of Balu, my elephant, made me feel like royalty. After the ride, I fed him bananas and distributed peanuts among the tourist friendly monkeys. Sheesh (Mirror) Mahal in the centre of the courtyard was covered in every nook and cranny with tiny pieces of mirrors. A flash from the camera created a spectacular vibrant effect and a surge to the senses. No story could explain the grandeur of these architectural marvels. Each fort had its history, a legend hidden in every brick of its walls. Every queen had her tale and each king had his battlefield encounters to narrate.
That evening, I wandered around the mansion, peeping through dusty glass window panes, admiring large oil canvases, chandeliers and furniture. The fruits trees were watered and the fragrance of wet, fertile soil spread through the evening air. I stood taking photographs of the mansion’s architecture, when I noticed through my lens a woman standing on the balcony.
“It must be the same woman I saw other day,” I thought.
I continued with my camera and soon found Ravi walking along with me.
“Hope you are enjoying your stay here?”
“Yes, I’m having a great time.” I smiled. “Do you have someone else staying here?”
“No, we three are the only people. Why do you ask?”
“Did she disturb you? I will have a word with Veeru.”
“No, that’s quite alright. I was just curious.”
Ravi seemed annoyed and walked to the house.
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The pink city of Jaipur
My fascination with the lifestyle of the queens of the bygone era urged me the following day to visit Sisodiya Rani ka Bagh. This was a lavish spread of well-maintained greenery with fountains, marble carvings, and a two-storeyed miniature palace. They had well-preserved rooms where the queens resided and enjoyed various cultural festivities that took place in the garden. Their beds were covered with traditional bedspreads and each room had a beautiful ornate swing. The carvings on the wooden partitions which separated the dressing area, the large wall clocks and the oil paintings were all truly magnificent.
That night, when Veeru came to serve dinner, he seemed nervous. He remained with me in the room, pretending to tidy up the place, fluffing my pillows and watching me eat.
“What’s the matter?”
He paused, trying hard to explain in English.
“That woman you see…she’s ghost.”
I stopped munching hungrily for a minute, and stared at him.
“Sir doesn’t want to believe.”
Quickly, I swallowed the rest of my food trying to understand this haunting. I was intrigued because I have only read and seen these occurrences in the movies.
“Who is she?”
“Great grand aunt of Ravi Sir. She committed suicide. You want me to sleep in the veranda?”
“No, Veeru. I’m not scared. I’ll be fine. Good night.”
Goose bumps covered my skin as I switched off the light and lay on the bed.
“Oh My God! I saw a ghost.”
My eyes scanned the room, then gazed at the balcony door.
“It’s locked. But can the ghost pass through it?” I decided to sleep with the lights on.
The next day, I decided to check out, not because of the spirit but because I had decided to spend the evening at an ethic village a few kilometers away from the main city. As I reached the gate the wind blew ruffling the branches of the fruit trees like they were whispering something. I took a chance and turned back to see the balcony.
Phew, there was no one.
by Nayna Chakrabarty
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