To Bundi with a Saint

Monday 12th May

- we leave Chittaurgarh - finally!
- the train to Bundi
- the elephant stables

leaving Chittor was the prize at the end of the day, but our train further East to Bundi did not leave until the afternoon. so, after a drinks-only breakfast (to avoid a pepper overdose this early in the morning), we went to the nearest internet place and discovered that it was the cheapest we'd found in India so far as well as fast and quite reliable. unlike the day before when we'd briefly darted our head around the door, it also no longer smelled like a male teenager's bedroom. we caught up on several hours of emails and blogging, although it has been a week, now, since we have been able to upload any photographs without incurring prohibitive additional charges. as soon as we hit Southern Rajasthan, uploading seems to have been outlawed in internet cafes.

feeling almost well-disposed to Chittor after that, we braved the Meera's restaurant for what simply had to be the last time. Igor slouched his way through a hefty lunch to get us through the afternoon and our train ride. then a little rest before we pretty much floated downstairs in pure joy because we were checking out of fleapit central. although the manager had already agreed to let us stay past the midday check out, the guy on reception tried to add on a whole day's extra rent plus some other spurious additional charges. we just gave him the correct amount for two days and left. from his actions and tone, he clearly knew we knew he was trying to con us, so we don't know why he bothered.

for anyone reading, we want one of these for Christmas.
one almost exactly like this, to be honest. perhaps you could all club together?

blessedly free of the Meera, we passed the long truck stop that made up the road to the railway station. all signs except the station's name were in Hindi script, so we tried to get an indication from enquiries as to our train and platform, with limited success. the platforms were pretty crowded with people in the afternoon, all at the very least intrigued by the two white Westerners in their midst. there were large numbers of very proximate stares, particularly aimed at Philippa, and at times it was a problem. but there were enough middle class families with inquisitive children to act as a counterbalance, with several people keen to try and help with information, including a smiley man in a black pork pie hat who was leading a party from a business school. a train finally arrived around the correct time with no English signage or script. pork pie hat and others confirmed it was going to Bundi. we were in second class sleeper again, with a very polite family, the father of which spoke no English but was very keen to find out where we had been via the medium of our guide books plus photos and pointing.

a final look at Chittaurgarh Fort from some distance. the tower in the middle is the Vijay Stambh.

the train to Bundi was a local service and stopped at virtually every station, some of which were only signs and a cleared patch of ground, many of which had only a small platform on one side. our carriage filled and emptied with a huge range and collection of local people; families carrying sacks within which were all their worldly possessions, large groups of traditional women with covered faces led on by skinny, wiry men in simple robes and bright orange turbans, young men and occasional beggars.

at one point, we stopped next to dozens of goods wagons, their contents cunningly and securely sealed from prying eyes and thieves by, er, wax seals.

from his appearance and first impressions, we both assumed that one man who got on would have no English, so it was good to have our preconceptions punctured when he started up a beautifully cadenced and fluent conversation with us. it's not often that you can honestly say that you have spoken to someone who has started a conversation like this in plain and simple seriousness; 'I was 20 years old when I decided to become a saint.' he even spelled his name 'St. Ram Karan Das.' he was wearing the ultra basic khadi robe of a holy man and carried the simple metal pot for water and cooking you see such individuals always carrying, as well as the extent of his life in material things in one small bag. he had the most magnificent smile in the world, twinkling weatherworn and wrinkled behind magnificent beardage and beneath a white turban. a Nepalese, he'd worked in publishing for the Nepalese Traveller magazine, visiting Frankfurt and Toulouse on work, before taking the decision to literally walk away from it all at such an age and follow a more introspective, simple life. that was 30 years ago.

meeting someone like the saint makes one wonder. it's easy to project onto such a person, but the animation and life in the eyes of this highly intelligence individual, cut off from the standard stimuli of the West - and frequently of India - for so many years was undeniable. what had he thought about and what conclusions, if any, had he reached...?

saint and sinner, on the tracks to Bundi. he's invited us to the next great gathering of sadhus and saints in a few years' time, by the way. all we have to do is find him in a tented city of 200,000 similarly dressed and bearded individuals.

we spoke a great deal for the remainder of our journey, through sparse fields and hills, a welcoming change from the heavily industrialised factory landscape around the tracks leaving Chittor. the train wound its slow path along an extensive ridge, one side dropping away to a wide flat plain. we were much later than we thought that we'd be, but the company was good, the scenery pretty and the weather not too hot. and it wasn't Chittor.

we finally pulled into Bundi's small station around 7pm, an hour later than we had expected. Edd wasn't even convinced that we were on the correct train for a very long time! we found a rickshaw driver willing to take us into town and clambered in. our first impressions of Bundi were that it was busy, vibrant and colourful, a small town set beneath a huge palace, with that somehow beneath the ramparts of its fort even higher up, a little like the set up at Amber. the streets were full and the rickshaw genuinely almost crashed twice into a wall and cow respectively, rather than just the usual lucky escapes. we knew from our guidebooks that we were somewhere near the palace walls, in the old elephant stables, but we did not expect to be quite literally underneath the palace walls in a quiet courtyard filled with a 500 year old tree.

a small spot of bother with payment and a torn bank note later, we were shown to our room, one of only three owner Raj has at the moment, although he is building two more. he has rented the property from the local maharaja and is clearly trying to do his level best for his wife Neema and adorable, devoted daughter Aiashi. his younger brother, named rather regally Jai Singh, does nothing except pester us to use him for local tours and stare with unsettlingly bulging eyes, mostly at Philippa.

we checked in at this wonderfully evocative place, really more of a family home in the way that it felt, although Raj told us that he had only just had 8 people leave. we drank chai as dusk fell in the peaceful shadow of the steeping, turreted palace. suddenly, thousands upon thousands of bats flew out from recesses and windows in the structure and out of three openings in particular, a thick steady current of wing beats and high pitched squeaks for the best part of half an hour. this happened on schedule every evening but, for the entire time we stayed with Raj, neither of us ever managed to get a good photograph, stymied by low light and the sheer speed of the flying mammals. high above us, monkey silhouettes crowned the ramparts. we felt you could not have had a greater contrast from fleapit central in Chittaurgarh, or indeed anywhere else in the world.

Raj offered us dinner from their menu, but we were still full from lunch and he'd already had to go out once on his motorbike to buy the cold drinks he'd offered, so we declined just for tonight and went to our room, unexpectedly tired. the room is clean and huge, with a shower and a squat toilet at the lower end, which rises to 10 feet, and our large bed at the other, a further 5 feet up its sloping ceiling. we say 'our' bed, but all bar two 'double' beds in India have been singles placed together, which can be a lot of fun when the beds rest at disparate levels. on this occasion, we had elevation parity, a luxury! the room also boasts chairs, an electric fan and an air cooler system. it lies in the base of the walls of an amazing palace beneath a high fort. the courtyard is peaceful and open. they charge R200 for the room, around £2.50 a night in total. what a lovely change.

all our best

love, edd & philippa