Jodhpur and the Maharajahs

　
Two Lone Swordsmen rode away in a northerly direction towards Jodhpur. One Black Maurauder south, towards Mt Abu.
It was smooth sailing as we whooped with joy for an hour or so on the open road until we rested for some much needed chai. The roadside shops had rows of brightly coloured stalls selling flowers, clocks and keyrings sporting a random Sadhu figure in a turban, plastic rings, beads, and just a whole heap of other useless junk. Rolling on, by the time we hit Jodhpur the weather had turned extremely hot. Lana, now Chief Navigator, (aka Jungle) had taken the time to study the road map, and corresponded our direction of approach with the rudimentary mud map supplied by the LP guidebook. We felt confident that navigation through Jodhpur would be straight forward; the main highway leading directly on to Station Road, passing the railway station on our right hand side, we would take a left about 0.5 km further up onto Old Fort Road and ask for directions to the Clocktower. Bizarrely we rode past a railway station to our left, then found ourselves inextricably disoriented, and up against a communicative brick wall conveying the concept of a clock tower, let alone to determine it's location. Eventually after some eagle-like circling we entered a crazy market place with a decorative stone clocktower crowning the centre. The map said continue straight, but gave no indication of the T-junction we were then confronted with. When in doubt go left. We gave up the Lousy Planet's basic map drawing and drove on. Stopping to ask directions, sweaty and cranky we quoted a 'named' guesthouse we were seeking, however we were intercepted by a kind looking gentleman who recommended his brother's guesthouse situated just behind us for 200 rupees a night. Lana went to look at a top floor room, bright and airy, spotlessly clean, with a view looking directly up to the fort from the massive double bed. The selling feature was the cheerful coloured hand paintings on the windows which faced out to the landing and on the inside doors. With some re-negotiations on the price which had suddenly risen by 75% on the way up the stairs, we checked into the fabulous and friendly Discovery Guest House.
The Discovery has a fantastic roof-top restaurant, which is a perfect spot to wile away hours in quiet contemplation and enjoy the panoramic view of the dense coagulation of the blue city below and the towering walls of the elevated Mehrangargh Fort. There is a mosque in every direction, and the call to prayer and other tones of worship drone out and are independently audible from each, at least 5 times each day. From the onset of darkness, the now familiar melodies of prayer are accompanied by short bursts of fireworks from invisible launch-pads all around the old and new city. The clocktower chimes on every quarter hour throughout the day and night, as your ears quickly adjust and you no longer hear it. A big brown eagle circles the guesthouse roof for most of the day, and if you are lucky you catch sight of him swooping in to rest on a communications tower to eat his fresh catch. He has spitefully managed to evade Adam's attempts to capture him with the zoom-lens however...but it's not over yet!
Jodhpur is seemingly chilled out for a hectic city. The main part is constantly busy and the traffic has an air of agitated urgency, but the area where most of the cheaper lodgings are located is relatively quiet. With a network of narrow streets each lined with fortunately fast flowing, charcoal grey waters of the foul drainage system that spews out of the housing community, passing the guesthouses which are stacked back to back.
On our first day we slept late and relaxed, apart from the inevitable visit to a mechanics...something about a carbourettor and new points? The nearby market area sported a good mix of 'Foreign Interest' with everyday Indian life. The many spice shops tried hard to lure in the tourists with painted signs claiming recommendations by Lonely Planet or 'Guide Books'. Spices we discovered, after questioning a couple of stall owners on what we may do with a kilo of coriander powder on the road, are famous for their varieties and quality in Jodhpur. Looking past the standard, empty, handicraft wall hanging emporiums, were the fresh fruit and vegetable stalls, fabric wholesalers, independent women selling a handful of saris from blankets on the road, with their babies and toddlers cradled or playing patiently nearby, and other trolleys wheeled in for the day selling childrens' fashion, toys, and ladies products including hairbands, nail varnish, bindis and henna. We discovered a gem of a book store, rammed with new and second hand books, novels and stacks of art and textiles editions and interestingly old magazines of past antique auction items. Everything inside, even those in plastic however were coated in a soft layer of grime that only a constant and uncontrollable level of Indian road dust and vehicle pollution could achieve. Looking up the main street leading into the centre of Jodhpur the sky glowered down an angry, opaque, dirty peach colour. We realised we were staring not at the beauty of the earth's sky at dusk, but into the thick and heavy smog that was weeping up from every street across the city.
The next morning under a clear blue sky and with a fully functional, purring Bullet, we took the short ride up to the Mehrangargh Fort. We signed up for the complete works and grabbed head/handsets for the Audio Tour of the grounds. This was absolutely brilliant and definitely worth the diminished street cred as we wandered mercilessly around looking like the epitomy of an entranced but slightly detached sight-seeer. We were led up gradually through the fort whilst given a briefing of it's interesting history and architecture. After viewing some hollows (highlighted by a circle of sloppy red paint) representing cannon ball damage we watched a solitary musician seated on a blanket underneath the sparce shade of a young tree. He was wearing white with a green and orange turbin playing a single-stringed instrument with a bow and singing in accompaniment. He was really good, unintrusive and added to the atmosphere. Stop number 4 was replayed several times for it's random comedy value; a lonely story about the 'Lord of the Birds'; a hermit who inhabited the hill prior to the erection of Mehrangargh, and who cursed it when he was unhappy to be denied squatters rights. Also in the same spiel, we were invited to observe a plaque in the wall which paid homage to a (deductively mad) 'volunteer' who stepped forward in order to alleviate the Mehrangargh Fort of it's curse, as the sacrifice, agreeing to be buried alive in the stone foundations. Apparently Mehrangargh has always suffered serious water shortages, although the construction of a water wheel system relieved the pressure of this on the occupants of the Fort most of the time. As far as we could see, a worser curse remains in the form of several large flocks of verminous pigeons who coat the exterior walls and turrets of the entrance to the palace.
Walking sluggishly up the steep cobbled ramp to the next gate there was a classical quartet playing in short powerful bursts. Despite their obvious talent, they were a little too loud, perhaps the music was amplified due to their perch under the tall vaulted archway of the gate, which drowned out the audio-play. After a couple of re-starts we learnt that the gate had been deliberately constructed in two parts. Two heavy gates forming a right-angle so that elephants, or men for that matter would waste their energies on the steep sloping run-up whilst bombarding their way through the first gate, only to be confronted by an equally re-inforced second gate, of which was strategically placed after a short 90 degree bend allowing only 4 metres to build up speed for door bashing (not particularly easy when you are almost 3 metres long and weigh over 2 tonnes). The doors to the gates were laden with thick steel spikes, which we had seen prior to Jodhpur at other forts, however now making sense that these served the function of further detering the elephants' charge.
The Palace itself was beautiful, as are all Rajasthani Palaces and Forts, but this was exceptional. It's smooth sandstone structure was heavily carved, with each window and balcony etched into a screen which purposefully protected the Queen, princesses and ladies of the royal family and court from the letcherous eyes of the King's nobles, servants and other male visitors to the court. The elaborate screens seen all over the palace would allow the women to view clearly the activities below in the courtyards and meeting rooms while unseen, beyond perhaps hints of their brightly coloured saris and coronal dress. We were shown an alcove set up as the King's personal opium den as the importance of the role of opium in the history of the Maharajahs, and Indian social culture was explained which made Adam very interested. The noblemen and soldiers used to take opium on their way to battle, as it gave them visions of their pending victory and also steadied their nerves. They took opium into battle with them as it numbed the pain of the wounded or dying and 'stemmed' blood loss...
There was a story of how the present day Maharajah became 'Raj' (King) at the age of 4 years; quite astonishing really. The audio included an interview where he described what he remembered of his coronation on the marble throne. We looked at a couple of fanatically decorated meeting rooms and bedrooms, and were excited to see the origin of baubells; huge glass ones hung like lampshades in a lighting retailer's showroom in all different colours for the full length of the wooden rafters of the ceiling. We mosied around the museum, marvelling at the ferocious range of weaponry available in a variety of stunning craftsmanship of highly decorated, water-finished steel swords and a deadly collection of daggers, some of which performed a messy scissor action once inserted and released to make the task of stitching up virtually impossible. We were then, unavoidably subjected to more Miniature paintings, although these were fortunately different to the stylised designs found in excessive quantities in vast number's of handicraft shops all over Rajasthan, as they actually showed stories of the King and portrayed images of battles between good and evil featuring Hindu Gods. One of the guards befriended Adam as he asked him to pose for some photographs, and preceded to show us a blocked corridor where a family of bats hung out during the daylight hours.
Loving the whole Fort experience we shot away on the bike pausing momentarily to view the marble tomb we had viewed from the top of the palace. For dinner Adam decided he wanted chicken. Big chicken, on the bone...Speaking to Raju the hotel owner about what they had, Raju whisked him away on his motorbike down to the chook butcher. Within 4 minutes, a healthy live white feathered chook, went from squarking in an overcrowded cage, to slit, drained, plucked and quartered; ready to go. Adam returned to the guesthouse with the bagged corpse - still warm. The initial queasy gut-reaction resolved itself quickly with thoughts of how well roasted chicken works with a cold beer...
Back on our rooftop haven, during breakfast the following day we were approached by an Argentinian and German who are involved in the production of a documentary on cultures of the world, with the ambition of selling their film to The Discovery Channel or National Geographic with the right promotion. They were seeking an English speaking man with a powerful voice and had obviously overheard Adam talking from the middle level of the guesthouse...or possibly the street below :) They teed up to meet Adam that evening to spend a couple of hours putting together the voice over narration for their trailer to be uploaded to their website the following day and sent off to New York. But evening came with a crisis...Adam hurtling back to the hotel stating he had just lost his passport, credit card, vaccination papers and cash from his pocket whilst riding 3 km across the centre of Jodhpur. OK, there was cause for panic. There is only one rule to travelling, if you manage to break every other one in the book, this is the worst! To lose your identity and access to all of your personal data in the middle of any country is bad...but India! We re-traced the route he had taken, now under the cover of darkness, teeming with people and vehicles, trying to spot his passport amongst the trash on the streets. Asking at a couple of fuel stations if anybody had handed in anything and trying to communicate to some street children with actions and words they had no comprehension of whilst they giggled and looked at as as though we were crazy, we realised that efforts were fairly futile. The gas station attendant insisted on calling the police, who finally turned up with an interpreter who also spoke no English. We followed them to the police station and lodged a crude formal statement, printed off copies of the passport and visa details, and finally returned to the hotel and made shockingly impossible attempts on all 6 numbers we had to hand, to contact the bank with regards to the card loss.
Giving up we resigned to drink beer, and lots of it as we got stuck into the guesthouse's famed Fungi Pizzas. With no other option but to wait and see what the morning brought, we celebrated the loss of the passport with Raju - the hotel owner and some of his high profile police friends who were already set up for the night with some expensive bottles of rum. The tipsy Chief of Police left late, vowing to do what he could to locate the missing passport. We slept heavy and the morning bought good news. Just after we had spoken to NAB about freezing the credit card, and found the Australian Government website for reporting missing/lost passports, we decided at the last second to wait til the end of the day before formally submitting our situation which would render the passport permanently cancelled. Then the Chief of Police turned up. Miraculously it had been found by a young boy near the clocktower in the middle of the chaotic market place and handed in to one of the shops. The cash was missing, as expected, but the card, passport and other documents were entact! Thank God we were in Jodhpur and not somewhere like Mumbai, where the technological know-how of how to wipe your account and sell your passport on the blackmarket within only a matter of hours is rife - Adam was convinced it was already on it's way to Pakistan! There is definite truth in the whole Kharma concept - what goes around comes around :)
All was not lost in regards to Adam's opportunity for fame, as the documentary crew captured him the following day. Lana is convinced that he sounds a lot like Bear Grylls, but his budding talent as 'voice over man' is evident as you can now hear for yourself at http://www.powercultures.com (click the link to Rajasthan and the trailer will appear).
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The following morning with our passports secure, we were back on the road:- destined for more desert fun and camel action than we could handle (or so we hoped). The 2010 Jaisalmer Desert Festival in the deep west situated very close to the Pakistani border, awaited us.