Driving along the Narmarda River

Trip Start Feb 27, 2006

Trip End Mar 29, 2006

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Where I stayed

Hotel Rupmati Mandu

(Mandu hotels)

Flag of India Omkareshwar, Maheshwar and Mandu, India
Thursday, March 2, 2006

Up at 6am to the discordent sounds of the temples, I felt (and probably was) the only guest in the hotel. A monkey jumping off the roof of the balcony startled me as I had breakfast. Crossing the bridge with the other locals and pilgrims going to do their daily 'puja' rituals at the temple on this sacred island, I was struck how poor the area was with no real street to speak of, muddy and smelly with the most basic housing. At the temple, I was hassled by the Brahmin priest for money as I stared at the somewhat unremarkable lingum (this one was tiny!!!), the temple itself was nothing special. I got out of there as quickly as I could and wandered down to the ghats to watch people washing themselves and their clothes in the crocodile infested Narmarda River. Bare-footed, dirty children with the cutest faces made their way to the other temple or to school in some cases in their tatty uniforms (still no shoes) for a few hours.

Back in the car, my driver tooted his way (the Indians toot at the slightest moving object in the road even if it's not in the way - the noise never stops day or night pretty much everywhere!) an hour down the road to Maheshwar

A heavy load

. The old town is tiny but peaceful and deserted (again no tourists). It is a lovely ancient temple town which plays a part in some of Hinduism's epic folklore. Queen Rani Alilyabi of Indore revitalised the city in 18th century by building templeas and a fort complex which I explored with no-one else in sight all morning. I also came across the famous Maheshwar silk and cotton checked or striped saris being woven in a women's co-operative. The material all needed dry-cleaning so no use for me using in India (saris for the rich I think!). I sat for a while in the tranquil cool of the fort looking down on the busy ghats awash with colour of the women in their saris.

After a quick and delicious lunch of aloo matar (potatoes and peas) and rotis, we were back on the road for the two hour, exceedingly uncomfortable ride to the hilltop fort of Mandu. Climbing up the hillside, looking down on the valley with brown fields, I could imagine how richly verdant the fields would be during monsoon time, when many tourists across India come to visit. The last 3km up the mountain was painful as the track was totally unsealed and covered in broken up rubble.

I took a room at the Rupmati Hotel set in lovely gardens, away from Mandu village, overlooking the deep valley

Maheshwar shrines

. Despite the faded threadbare room, I knew that this would be a welcome retreat for a few days with the birds singing, a refreshing breeze, clean air and total quiet. I sat and read all afternoon and then after my chana masala alone in the deserted 'restaurant' with seven hotel staff watching my every mouthful, I stumbled back to my room in the dark as there was a power cut (in fact most of my stay was without lighting or electricity as the power was permanently out!).

The next day, I got up to watch the sun rise over the valley before my motorbike 'guide' whisked me through the empty lanes of Mandu, dodging the odd crossing buffalo or goat to various ruined Mughul palaces spread over the plateau. The 6th century fortified town became an important centre of Muslim rule, although all religions co-existed there. The ruins were certainly impressive and you could imagine a lot of royal entertaining and nights in the royal harems. My guide short-changed me really, as he didn't show me all the stuff he should have. So I visited the large deserted Jama Masjid (mosque) myself and then failed to find the final (and apparently most impressive) ruins as it turned out that my map was wrong!

Mandu is inhabited by a mix of Indians including tribal people in their mud/cow dung/straw/plastic bag huts

Mandu

. There was nothing written in English anywhere and no-one spoke English.... and yet again there was not a tourist in sight! Later that evening, I spied another few guests in the hotel (the only ones) and they turned out to be English. We sat in a power cut sharing 3 delicious curries (malai kofta - a favourite of mine, egg masala and kadhadai (?) curry, whilst a massive electrical storm played out across the valley. Totally unseasonal and will probably ruin the mango crop apparently.

The following day, after finally finding the 'Royal Enclave' of ruined palaces and then reading in the peace of the hotel gardens, I caught the direct bus to Indore, 4 hours away along the roads of Madhya Prasesh which are famed across India for being so appalling! It was a squashed, hot, rickety journey and I had been told to sit by the engine, so the mix of the fumes from inside and outside had me coughing and spluttering all the way, as countryside folk got on and off at different points along the road. At a bustling town, a lady got on and squeezed herself in beside me and another Muslim woman (totally covered in black) - the Indian's love their proximity even if there is a seat further back! This Hindu lady spoke reasonable English and was manager of the general telecoms depot in the town. She commuted every day for 2 hours each way from Indore and spent her time making little bundles of grass up to give to the elephant god, Ganesh - 'because he really likes these very muchly'

Omkareshwar

! The god protecting this particular bus journey (there's always a statue at the front of every bus adorned with a garland of flowers) was the happy, woman-loving, flute playing cowherder Krishna (son of Shiva or was it Ram?).

The bus stopped at what turned out to be a totally different bus stand to the one I needed to be at for the next day's journey. Totally exhausted, I hailed an auto-rickshaw - well actually you never have to hail one, as there are usually several hovering nearby or cruising along at your side even if you don't want it! Even though the driver didn't speak a word of English and didn't know the lodgings I wanted to check out (owned by MP Tourist Council), he grasped that it was on the other side of town and the street name. This has to have been the most exhilirating and crazy night-time rickshaw journey I've ever experienced in India. Of course, now the madness of the traffic doesn't phase me at all. There must have been tens of thousands of motorbikes, bicycles, cars, auto-ricks and pedestrians on the streets that evening going home from work and not a single traffic light or lane marking was respected by anyone! Eventually we ended up on the street I wanted, although it turned out after some vague attempts at being understood that I needed to cross the busy dual-carriageway with my little bag. Well in India, you just walk and everything else has to dodge you (as life is of course sacred!!). I finally found the little Tourist Bungalows at the back of an Indian hotel hosting a wedding and checked in to the mosquito and ant infested room for a mere five pounds and sat under the mosquito net watching an American film until late bringing me back in touch with a bit of the West.