Well fortified.

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We left Udaipur on a small little bus that shook and strained its way to the Jain temple at Ranakpur. When we departed there were several seats still available, half way there and they were all taken, along with all the standing room. I had given up my seat so spent the rest of the journey attempting to stay upright. Every time the bus lurched into a curve the group of us who were standing did our best to brace ourselves and lean into the corner. Whenever the bus unexpectedly braked we would all surge towards the front, before being forced to the back seconds later when the driver accelerated. I could have sat down at any point in the journey as all the passengers, including the old and infirm, pregnant and disabled, tried at least once to offer me a seat. Everyone on this packed little bus was smiling and laughing. Babies were being passed between the women, food shared and beedies bummed. It was fascinating to watch the easy interaction of these Rajasthani tribals, especially as I assumed that they were all perfect strangers.

We had not planned on visiting Ranakpur, but when I mentioned to a shopkeeper in Udaipur that we were travelling to Kumbalgarh he recommended we stopped of at Ranakpur on the way. Ranakpur proved to be not exactly "on the way", but it was a beautiful temple and most definitely worth the diversion. From the outside it looked much like many others we have already seen; from the inside it proved to be totally unique and extraordinarily beautiful. Upon entering one is met by a virtual forest of white marble pillars, each one exquisitely carved and all totally unique. The canopy of this stone jungle is also made of finely carved marble and as many individual carvings graced the ceiling as there would have been leaves in a forest. After walking round the temple we were invited to join with the Jain faithful and sit down with them for lunch. In a large room with long benches arranged school dinner style, we were served a simple but delicious Jain thali that was consumed by all with both speed and reverence.

We then had to continue our journey to Kumbalgarh which, we were assured, would entail jumping on a bus from just outside the temple and travelling as far as Saira, where we would have to change buses. Some days when travelling nothing ever seems to go right, other days, and this was to be one of them, you just know that nothing can possibly go wrong. Sure enough, as we exited the temple we found our bus, the only one for the next three hours, sitting idling and apparently waiting for none other than ourselves. We even managed to blag the last two available seats. We got down at Saira, a tiny little junction village with a few shops and several head of cattle, and made some enquiries about the bus to Kumbalgarh from the first man we met. Following his excellent advice we positioned ourselves with a colourful throng of women to await our bus. We were told it would be half an hour but in ten minutes it arrived. There then ensued an almighty fight to bag the available seats. Women were elbowing and shoving each other out of the way and men were wrestling and grappling with each other to gain themselves a seat. Believe it or not this was all conducted with great good humour and a vicious civility, especially by Anny who managed to scrummage us both a seat.

The journey from Saira to Kumbalgarh was only thirty five kilometres but it ended up taking almost three hours. The bus would stop every thirty yards to let someone off, pick up a family or to load something onto the roof. The terrain was so undulating and the bus so full, that every time we came to a steep incline (which was often) most of the passengers had to get out to reduce the weight sufficiently to allow the bus to climb. When we were eventually deposited at what the conductor assured us was Kumbalgarh, but what looked mostly like a place next door to the middle of nowhere, and had shrugged our dusty packs from our backs onto the roadside wall, we found that our luck was still very much in and in lucky would we stay, literally. We were approached by the decidedly mad but supremely lovable Ghisu, who informed us that he was the proprietor of "Lucky Guesthouse" and that he would be honoured if we stayed with him. Ten minutes later and our bags were in our new room and we were sipping masala chai on the simple veranda of a small Rajasthani farmhouse.

This very simple three room guesthouse was to be our base for three very enjoyable nights. We ate breakfast and dinner downstairs with the family and were given a homemade packed lunch to take with us on our excursions. Dinner was always great fun as we would sit with the family in their simple kitchen area and watch as Ghisu's wife cooked up an absolute storm on the wood burning stove. On our first night Ghisu asked us if we like our food spicy, we replied in the affirmative. We are a pair of old chilli heads and can handle it as hot as it comes (man), but we were both unprepared for the vicious ferocity of Ghisu's wife's curries. We were forced to suffer in silence and with smiles of gratitude as our mouths, lips and throats suffered from internal immolation. The food was hot and so was the conversation, sort of. Ghisu had rudimentary English, his wife and children had none. As we were planning on taking a jungle safari during our stay the conversation, such as it was, turned to animals.

Ghisu: "Do you have leopards in your country?"

"Unfortunately not Ghisu," I replied with a laugh, "we have no leopards."

This answer seemed to concern him a little but being a positive sort he tried again; "you have buffalo?"

"No Ghisu, we have no buffalo in England, only cows."

"No buffalo," he echoed concernedly, before turning to his wife and evidently repeating this staggering fact to her in Hindi. Her face immediately dropped and I could see her looking at me with confusion. "Elephant?"

At this point I could not suppress a laugh; "Ghisu my friend, we have no Elephant. No wolf, no tiger, no crocodile, no parakeet, no camel and no peacock."

"No peacock," he exclaimed, clearly troubled now. This new information was then shared with the family who received it with a mixture of hilarity and sadness. I could see that they were thinking what a strange and boring country it must be that these foreigners come from, no wonder they are all in India. They had pity in their eyes. "What animals do you have?"

This question threw me and I struggled to come up with an answer. "Um, we have deer, fox..."

"Squirrels," added Anny helpfully.

"And hedgehogs," I announced proudly, "we also have hedgehogs."

"What is a heggerhogs?" asked Ghisu.

I gave him the answer but although he nodded politely I could tell that he wasn't really that impressed. And, you know, looking at it this way, it did seem to me that we in England have a definite paucity of fauna when placed in comparison to India's. I'll still always love hoghegs though.

The main reason for us visiting Kumbalgarh was to explore the fort that gives the place its name. Rajasthan does not quite have a monopoly on forts in India but it certainly has a majority holding. Of all the forts it possess, Kumbalgarh must be one of its most valuable as, even in a land of superlative fortifications, it has many uniquely incredible features. One of these, and the principle reason that lured us here, is that it is located in such splendid isolation. Kumbalgarh possesses fortified walls that traverse the steeply undulating terrain in a circle some 36km in circumference. Seen from a distance, as we did when making our approach on foot, the wall seems to perfectly adorn the flowing ridges of the hills like a pale yellow tiara; up close and the sheer size of this defensive fortification becomes imposingly clear. Forty meter high walls sit atop the already immensely imposing cliffs and are joined by great circular knuckles of stone. From the top of these the view is of nothing but forested hills that stretch further than the eye can see, a view that clearly demonstrates Kumbalgarh's perfect defensive position. No army could have snuck up unseen on this place.

I spent a great day exploring the battlements and towers of Kumbalgarh which reminded me so much of my childhood, when my summer holidays would be spent, in the company of my Mum and brothers, being dragged around by my Dad as he explored the castles of Wales and the West Country. Those days were full of fun, mystery and adventure; my day at Kumbalgarh was just the same. We poked our heads out of murder holes and imagined boiling the enemy with hot tar, we scanned the forested hills for approaching armies, rode imaginary horses along the wide battlements and gave the call to close the city gates (quietly). The area inside the fort is absolutely huge and far too much to see in one day, but we did manage to explore a few of the temples and have a good look at the fort's crowning glory, the yellow palace that sits proudly on the highest promontory of the fort's fortifications. Dad, you should come and visit this place one day as you would find it absolutely fascinating; I did, and that is all thanks to you.

The second day's activity took us deep into the surprisingly lush forests that carpet the steep hills that surround the fort. We entered the forest just below the palace, and for the first hour we were constantly aware of its looming presence high above our heads. After that and the forest closed in, shrinking our world and forcing us to focus our eyes much closer to home. We trekked for almost eight hours through some stunning scrub jungle and occasional small clearing. We traversed deliciously cooling rivers and climbed sweaty ridges, all in the attempt to locate some wildlife that, unfortunately, stayed resolutely hidden. We did see several pug marks of leopard and bear, as well as those of their prey. We saw scratch marks and even a trail of blood from a recent kill, but not a single large mammal was spotted. What we did see was a huge king cobra disappearing swiftly into the grass, many langur and a pair of pretty parakeets. There were clouds of butterflies, swarms of insects and thousands of gorgeous birds. So, although a relatively unsuccessful day in terms of sightings, it was a day to be remembered for the simple pleasure of spending some time in a uniquely beautiful environment.

The rest of the time was spent in and around Ghisu's little smallholding. Afternoons would be spent snoozing on a charpoy by a stream in the corner of his land, or sipping tea with the family or catching up on some reading outside our room. Other times we would be learning how to make chappaties (not as easy as it looks) or to milk a buffalo. The most fun we had though was always when conversing with Ghisu. This loveable madman has absolutely no short term memory and a definite disinclination towards affording his guests any time alone. We would often find ourselves in surreal conversational loops that were surprisingly hard to extricate ourselves from without offending our host. Trying to tell Ghisu what "today's programme" was going to be would entail half an hour of chasing the same answers tail in ever decreasing circles of frustration. Watching him happily explain, with much theatrics, waving of hands and comical genuflections, the contents of the evenings menu was hilarious, if a little exhausting. When it came time to leave his sadness was touching and the solemnity of his rambling parting speech quite beautiful. The cucumber that he handed to "my sister" as a parting gift from his garden was a little twisted, a bit grubby but actually very sweet; a little like Ghisu himself.

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Comments

[EdVallance]

A beautiful blog about an incredible place and lovely people - if I ever manage to get there the first thing I do will be to seek out Ghisu's guest house!

[Keep Smiling]

Where do you find all those words?
Scott - another very readable and descriptive blog that makes me feel like I'm back in my favourite country. It's many years since I was last at Kumbalgargh, although I've visited that fabulous wedding cake of a temple at Ranakpur a couple of times in recent years. Indeed, Rankpur's one of the reasons I've become such a regular visitor, although you'd have to read one of my very first blogs from 2005, Life is like an ice-cream [diary=31461], to understand why.

[Karnail Singh]

Info Needed
Wonderful where was this home stay and any contact phone number for ghisu? [e-mail]

[scottandanny]

There is only one man offering accommodation on the small road to the fort, and that is Ghisu's Lucky Homestay. It is extremely basic accommodation and he has no phone, or at least he didn't when we were there. You'll find him though, or more likely he'll find you when you get down from the bus. Enjoy