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Carvings at Ranakpur
Just a small sample of the intricate carvings on the Ranakpur temples.Today, we went to Ranakpur. I was glad to leave Jodhpur, a busy polluted city. I had not expected to dislike the cities so much. It was only a three hour drive to reach our next hotel - the Ranakpur Hill Resort. It was a pleasant retreat with expansive green lawns and views of the mountains, but not much compared to the Balsamand Lake Palace. It seemed like the kind of place that Indian families would go for relaxation, to get away from the bustle of Jodhpur. The buffet lunch here, however, is not recommended. It is made for a Northern European palate, judging from the happy German tourists declaring “it’s not too spicy!”.
The main reason for our visit to Ranakpur - such a melodious name for a place, is it not? - was to visit the famous Jain temples. Several large white temples covered head to toe with unique carvings. Jain temples frequently have trees growing in their centers, and this one was open to the air, a forest of columnades with glimpses of open sky. The head priest walks around the temple and his main job seems to be to exchange blessings for money. He blessed me
Small Girl
Small village girl I met while hiking in Ranakpur. and gave me a little orange dot. I’m not sure - is this what they call puja? I handed him a generous donation, put my hands together near my forehead and gave a little bow, saying “Namaste Ji.” For this, he called me a nice, respectful girl. Finally, I get something right!
Later, I ran into the head priest again as he was ushering an Australian family into a nook of the temple for a prayer. He invited me to join them. He sang a prayer in his language, although I caught the words “American” and “Australian”. We closed our eyes and listened to his melodic singing. I concentrated on remembering this moment. Post-prayer, we all gave another donation.
We exhaustively photographed and wandered the main temple area when I noticed people walking along the top of the temple. I wondered how they got up there, and I was soon to find out. A young priest, sweeping the walkways with a stick broom, came up to me and offered me the chance to go upstairs for 100 Rs per person. That is a little more than 2 dollars American. I asked Alli if she wanted to do it and we both agreed - after all, we’d never have this opportunity again. After the priest unlocked the door to the staircase and ushered us upstairs onto the roof, which was just as meticulously carved & decorated as the rest, with domes and pillars and flags of orange. The surrounding mountains and cool breeze made it a very pleasant environment for contemplation.
There was an old man washing the temple. He pointed out, in his best English, that there was a secret stair on one of the stupas arising from the center of the temple, and if you climbed the stair, there was a window-seat of sorts where you could have your picture taken. Of course, this service isn’t free. There’s no way to barter for these freely given services. If you listen, politely, as anyone would to a stranger, then you hear the advice and then are asked for compensation. It is difficult to determine whether someone is merely being friendly, which also happens, or whether they are looking for a tip. It was a pretty good tip, and provided us with a cute photo-op, so we gave him 10 Rs for it.
At another temple in the area, the guard told us about his coin collection. Apparently, he was collecting coins (or paper bills in another guard’s case) from all around the world. Through some strange chance of fate, he had never received an American bill or coin. Can you believe it? I can’t either. I wonder if I disappointed him by giving him a Costa Rican dollar!
That afternoon, we wanted to take a nature walk in the local preserve. However, no one at the temples knew how to reach the preserve. We heard there was a path and walked around all the temples, unable to find it. We were nearly there, but became frightened by the prospect of walking down an unknown road without our driver knowing where we were. It’s amazing how we got to this point, where we were afraid to strike out on our own. That wouldn’t have stopped us anywhere else in the world, not in Istanbul where we nearly wandered into the Roma neighborhoods near the edges of the city, not in Hanoi, where we navigated our own way through the narrow, crowded streets of the old quarter.
Instead, our driver took us to his own version of a nature walk. I never quite figured out why he took us here. It was a dirt path created by local people who lived in huts on this land. The path did lead over a hill and to a water reservoir. But as it wasn’t a nature preserve, there were not many animals to see, and we were essentially tramping through the backyard of the local villagers. As we were hiking in the woods, we came upon a four year girl by herself. We think we may have seen her mother far away, over by the reservoir’s dam. She asked us if we wanted to take a photo. Of course, she wants a picture because other tourists have taken her picture. I used my little Canon Elph and showed her her own image afterwards. She wasn’t impressed. Instead, she said “rupee?” and then “pen?”. I happened to have a rupee and I gave her one. The summary of the day is that we felt like walking dollar signs, and I never wanted to have that feeling. It shouldn’t be about the money. But it seemed like we couldn’t have a genuine interaction with someone without money coming into it. But perhaps money always comes into it when there is such a vast gap between two people’s situations in life. It seems as if there are many ways to make a living in India, not all of them in traditional jobs. Perhaps we just do not understand all these situations, since they occur rarely in the states, but they are part of the local economy. You never know whether to say no or yes, whether you are doing more harm than good by helping. I’ll never forget what happened when we were stopped at a train crossing. A little girl begged a pen from us and we had one left, a glow-in-the-dark pen. We handed it to her, because she seemed very sweet and immediately two other girls came and grabbed it out of her hands and a scuffle began. By the end, the pen was destroyed and the little girl was crying. What had we done with our attempt at kindness?
That evening, we ate at Roopam. It was a wonderful little restaurant, and also a budget hotel. Our driver was staying there. A young couple was also eating there and recommended the Govinda Mutter. I may be pronouncing it incorrectly. These were wheat-based “meatballs” in a curry sauce, completely delicious. We also had the Aloo Masala. To top off the meal, we were offered Tequila, free of charge. “It is made by the owner of this restaurant”, the waiter told us, as he brought out two water glasses full of a clear liquid. This was our Anthony Bourdain moment, when we would have to partake of the local alcohol for “politeness”. I felt I was up to the challenge. At the first taste, it had a similar mouth-feel to Tequila. The next sip brought to mind glass cleaners. The third sip induced a terrible headache. Later that night, I read the section in the LP where it warns against drinking any local moonshine, as blindness is known to result. “How soon will I know if I’m going blind?” I asked aloud.
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I love the picture of the village girl...great shot!