Land of the Gods

Weaving through picturesque villages with their mud brown houses and miles upon miles of dazzling yellow sarson fields, we pulled up at a roadside hotel for a quick bite. Refreshed after a hot meal, the bus roared to life again with its full complement of dusty passengers and a dozen extra travellers on the roof of the bus on our way to Abu Road. On reaching Abu Road, we were jettisoned out of the bus along with the luggage, while the bus drove off in a cloud of dust.

At Abu Road we hired a jeep to take us to Mt Abu, situated 3,000 ft above sea level. As the jeep purred its way up the steep ghat roads, the air trickled crisp and cold, while the golden orb dipped behind lilac hills. As we rounded the final hairpin bend winding serpentine-like through the craggy limestone rocky outcrops, Mt Abu shimmered into view, against a backdrop of majestic date palms. Houses huddled together seeking warmth in numbers as waves of tourists spilled onto the streets of Mt Abu, infusing colour and activity in this picturesque hill station. The next day enveloped in a pearly haze of a bitterly cold morning, we set off for the famous 11th century Shivji Temple. The green marble Shivling heaped with flowers and incense sticks held us spellbound by its ethereal splendour and air of serenity. The temple bells chimed melodiously as devotees filed past the sanctum of sanatorium, softly intoning a prayer or two. From the Shivling temple we were whisked off to the Ambaji temple afterclimbing 350 steps.

But our fatigue melted away as we entered the cool dark cave interiors and glimpsed the glowing deity of Mata Ambaji. We then drove off towards the world famous Delwara Temples which, nestling in the bosom of the Aravalli hills, remains inconspicuous from the distance. The five Jain Swetamber temples were built in different centuries, these architectural wonders defy description, for words pale into insignificance by these sublime hymns in marble, an ode to the gods.

In the post lunch session after savouring Rajasthani delicacies and hot jalebis, we trooped off to the Brahma Kumari Centre for a visit to their universal hall of peace. Inside, it felt as through we were drifting into a zone of timelessness, cocooned in the silence around us, conducive for meditation and self-assessment.

From here on to Gurushikhar, the highest peak of the Aravalli hill range in Mt Abu and the abode of Lord Shiva, whose temple draws devotees from all over the country. At nightfall, the wild beasts roam the environs bristling with thick flora and fauna. But during the day it remains a beehive of activity with loads of tourists climbing up the rocky steps to the temple above. Saffron flags embellished with silver fluttered from atop the temple ramparts as loudspeakers sprayed the surroundings with devotional bhajans.Unmindful of the freezing temperature inside the cave, everyone fields past for a darshan of the Shivling with a small brass lamp throwing needles of light. As the sunset hour drew closer all tourists converged on Sunset Point, a scenic place on a jutting lip of solid rock from which an unforgettable panorama of the setting sun is viewed. Just as suddenly darkness crept in and suffused the hills with its inky black shadows, and the birds’ sonata of eventide music too fell silent. In reverential silence we left for our hotel, satiated with the days happenings especially memorable was the grand finale at Sunset Point.

In the morning I really looked forward to our visit to Gaumukh which was famous for its natural water front in the shape of a cow’s face in the interior of the forest. The road shrunk into a narrow strip as we neared our destination. An eerie silence prevailed as giant squirrels scurried by and startled pigeons swooshed above our heads in a rush of wings. As we stood in front of the magnificent 10-feet deity of Lord Hanuman, we heard a cough. A very old man emerged from the dimly-lit temple interiors. White hair flowing, draped in simple white dhoti and kurta, Baba greeted us with folded hands, motioning us to sit down. Rheumy, tired eyes peered at us as he said in a deep baritone, “Kahan se aaye ho?” On being told we from Pune, he crinkled his eyes and said, “Bahut log waha se aate hain, main 110 saal ka hoon!” Words came thick and fast with short bursts of laboured breath as Baba would relapse into a shuttered world of his own.

The only touchstone of modernity was the telephone on a small makeshift table and an air gun resting close to it. Questioned about having to live all by himself and the fear of wild animals close at hand, Baba replied, ``Beta, dil saaf ho to kuch nahi hoga. Sabse khatarnak janwar to admi hai. Mujhe kisi baat ka dar nahi hai.” Recently, Baba’s temple has been blessed by the advent of electricity too. Leaving the old man in his world of simplicity and peace, his earthy logic spun a magical band around our hearts. In the evening, a walk down the busy, popular mall, bursting with shops and eateries at the seams was a must, warming our hands on pine-scented log fires burning on the roadside, a sure way to beat the cold!

Of course, the perfect mis-en-scene was the silver pendant of a moon impaled by its incandescent moonbeams, splashing the hill station in its reflection. All too soon it was time to bid all revoir to Mt Abu and journey onwards to Udaipur and Jaisamund Island for another unforgettable sojourn into Rajasthan, with its kaleidoscope of brilliant colours, lakes, palaces, people, food and of course, its folk dances, music, which reverberates in one’s ears long after the last echoes have died down.

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