North India Journeys
A while ago I wrote a few stories for the Aman Resorts - for their gorgeous book that lives inside every single one of their rooms. This particular adventure is such a favorite meandering of my mind and of one of the most beautiful trips of my life - and such a perfect reverie of my beloved India…so I felt I must share it here.
Traveling across the great state of Rajasthan to discover a wildlife-riddled kingdom fit for a Moghul nobility, Daniel Scheffler is rewarded with natural and historic wonders as well as wisdom from an ancient land, from Aman-i-khas to Amanbagh.
Rajasthan may be in India, but it’s not Indian. Even with a sparse population the pride here is all Rajasthani. It is a state parked at the western part of this epic country as the silent observer of the nation. It truly is the Land of Kings. Bordering Pakistan and then breathing out its honor to the rest of India. The motley landscape is of discreet topography. From the immortal color-shifting desert far from the scrub-thorn bushes to lofty hill ranges and rocks dozing in ravines and even some wetlands ultimately presenting lush green forests – it’s a world in flux.
Lakes appear like mirages, waterfalls surprise around a bend in the track, and camels wink as we drive by. The scalding sand of the desolate Thar Desert engulfs a large part of the state and the pink city of Jaipur rises as its capital. Its fables endure from 5,000 years and fall full throttle into current day with a modern-day princess, Padmaja Kumari Mewar.
Marwaris sitting on street corners chewing aromatic betel leaves still mention the legends, such as the 16th-century warrior Maharana Pratap. Present-day Rajasthanis proudly remind you that the country’s first female President, Pratibha Patil, and the billionaire Lakshmi Narayan Mittal are also from this sprawling western section.
This north India state’s history is entangled in a self-proclaimed aristocracy where a warrior clan, the Rajputs, emerged in the 6th century and ruled until the British arrived. The Rajput claim to fame, of course, was their thirst for handsome things – and so the famed forts stuffed with riches and ornate palaces littered all over the state were created and lavishly maintained for centuries.
“We know how to live in beautiful ways,” my Rajasthani driver Lukesh tells me. We’re on a barely tarred road, with dust creeping around both sides, driving southeast from the capital. Drivers of loud and lurid buses with festive decorations honk and smile as they speedily overtake, and in the distance we see the rise of yet another postcard palace. The perfect Indian moment of nobility and humility, all in one, small breath. “This is beauty,” I whisper to my beloved. As the vegetation changes to a thicker sylvan setting, we reach Aman-i-Khás.
My homely tent is seemingly floating through the tree cover. The dust settles; night falls hard, and I slip into my deepest dream state. Mornings are simple here. Before the sun comes to nuzzle, I open my eyes as I wake up inside my curd-colored tent. I call this a tent, yet, in truth, it is finer than most of the world’s five-star hotel guestrooms or high-end apartments. What its designer, Jean-Michel Gathy, understands about restraint in design is on my mind even this early in my day.
Fumbling, my fingers find the switch next to my low-slung bed and light up the room around me. The world outside is invisible and we are inside what feels like a cocoon of perfect simplicity. Coffee, strong and resourceful, is on the table outside ready for my indulgence. I don’t have to remind anyone how specific I am about it.
Leopards are said to roam these lands freely. Unlike the big cats in Africa these stalwarts live, and thrive, among locals. The incidents have been so few and far between that villagers don’t even remember hearing about the harmony being disrupted.
“Tigers are different,” says my game-drive guide, Mohar. “There just isn’t anything as majestic as this beast of the jungle,” he smiles. We’re sitting on the back of a gray 4x4, so much more suave than the traditional green; we’re slowly driving around the Ranthambore National Park. I get a glimpse of the sun and a meditation of nature comes over me as a flash of stripes and orange appears.
At night, I stretch out quietly at the gentle fireplace. The privilege of access sits with me. I, a simple human, was able to find just a moment of coming face to face with the power of the animal kingdom. The beauty of knowing this very simple fact whirrs and caresses me - and I find a small moment of reflection.
The drive from this National Park to the Aravalli Hills in the north is just a morning’s work. Hard-plowed farmlands, waving jewelry-laden ladies in vibrant saris and the optimistic Indian sunshine, show us the way. A green-marble pool in a pastel-pink palace complete with a range of palm trees and manicured gardens might sound like a fable. The waking dream awaits.
My voice is loud, and my accent distinct, so I understand how this occasion’s tidings trickled out. I had nothing specifically planned for the occasion, so when I entered my Mughal-era-inspired pavilion and realized that I was basically ambling into my very own honeymoon, my heart swelled. The rest, as some might say, is just history. This too shall pass. As part of the custom, every single staff member of the palace world I’ve been hiding in comes out to say farewell. I recognize almost everyone and smile as I think of the private interactions I have had with most of the family of staff.
Whom will I never forget? The farmer who grows beautiful summer squash in the vegetable garden reminded me what real tomatoes from the best earth should taste like. The giggling yoga teacher who encouraged me to keep practicing my headstand with no fear of falling over. The young lad who showed us how to chant along with the loudspeakers, while paying respects to the replica of the Hindu monkey god Hanuman, when we visited a nearby local temple.
The Rajasthanis have a reputation for being humorous. They certainly smile every time I look in their direction; but underneath that ostensible friendliness lies a deep respect for fellow man. Rajasthanis are said not to worry too much about a storm. They would rather learn to dance in the rain. And as the dust envelops my departing vehicle the driver Ajeet says, ‘Rajasthan will stay in your navel forever; just look down and you’ll find it again.’