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In India you always have an option. It is so big that if something
is happening somewhere, quite the opposite is happening somewhere
else! For instance, the monsoons don't pour over the whole of India
at the same time. And there are some places that they studiously
avoid. Then, there are some places in India that are really at their
best in the monsoon.
The
preferred monsoon retreat of the Mughal Emperors was Mandu. For one
thing, Mandu is far from the coast. It does not have the sort of
sluicing rain that inundates some of our sea-board destinations.
Moreover, Mandu is on a plateau in our Central Indian state of Madhya
Pradesh. Regardless of how much it rains, the water pours off in
streams and silver threaded waterfalls that, apparently, gives it a
sort of designer magic that no designer, but nature, can replicate.
And finally -- and this is a big plus -- many of the monumental
buildings of Mandu have been fashioned to use this play of water and
rain-heavy thunder clouds to superb effect.
Mandu
is most closely associated with its ruler, Hoshang Shah, who founded
the Ghuri dynasty, in 1401. His descendants, and his successors, the
Khaljis, added to the manly assertiveness of the town. You'll get an
inkling of what you should expect in Mandu when you are driving
through the sub-montane lands that lead up to the plateau. Rising out
of the tangles of scrub vegetation are no-nonsense, four-square,
staging posts for horse mounted messengers, and guard houses. Some of
them have domes which look rather like the qullas, or
foundation caps around which some turbans are tied. Then the road
winds up and pierces the edge of the escarpment through a succession
of massive gates. It is only then that one enters the hamlet of Mandu
flowing through the old monuments. The living hamlet and the well
preserved ruins now form a seamless whole and it is virtually
impossible to see where one ends and the other begins.
There
are over 40 monuments to chose from. But if you have limited time
then there are some you absolutely should not miss. The Jami Masjid
should be your first port of call.
According
to the Archaeological Survey of India, it is "by far the most
majestic building in Mandu .. it is said that the builders had
designed it after the great mosque in Damascus." The best view
of this monument can be had from the Ashrafi Mahal rising in front of
it. Do, however, go inside. Wander around, examine the decorations on
the lintel of the doorway, the jali (filigree) screens and
the curious little domes of the prayer hall. We believe that they are
acoustic devices to amplify voices and absorb echoes.
Move
on then to the tomb of Hoshang Shah: a massive, four-square,
monument with a huge dome. There is an inscription on the right jamb
of the door saying that, of the four architects who came here in
1659, one was Ustad Hamid who was involved with the building of the
Taj Mahal in Agra.
We
find two other monuments particularly attractive. The first is the
Jahaz Mahal, the ship palace: an enormous pleasure-pavilion set
between two lakes. Near it is the unusual Hindola Mahal: the
so-called swing palace. Its a large hall supported by sloping
buttresses which, presumably, resembled the supports of a swing.
According to local legends, both the Jahaz and Hindola Mahals were
popular with the Mughals who had parties here on monsoon evenings.
The
Mughals, possibly, preferred such sequestered views of the monsoons.
We don't. Donning raincoats with hoods, we climb down the steps of
the Nilakantha Palace, a Shiva temple, stand at the edge of the
escarpment, and watch the clouds roiling and thundering, and
lightning forking like the incandescent tongues of brazen serpents. A
different view is afforded from the verandah of the Tourist Cottages
at the edge of a lake: its rather unreal and Never-Never-Landisk as
if, should you ever rub your eyes, it would all vanish. Finally,
there are the palaces of those star-crossed lovers: Baz Bahadur and
Roopamati. The first gives a 360 degrees picture of
the rains marching and counter-marching across the plateau.
Roopamati's Palace, on the other hand, looks out over the distant
river valley of the Narmada. From the pavilion at the end of the
terrace of this palace one feels as if one is standing on the prow of
a great ship, surging through a rising sea of clouds, with water
streaming away in cascades as you ride the swell of your imagination.
Its a heady feeling.
If,
however, the delights of rising mists and falling water and are not
quite your cup of tea; if you prefer something drier, starker,
crystal clearer, then head for the high, rainless, magnificently
austere mountainscapes of Leh in Ladakh, which, in turn, is in our
state of Jammu and Kashmir. Its in the rainshadow area of the
Himalayas and, we were assured that, it seldom even snows here though
the mercury plunges way below zero in the frigid winter. In summer,
which is May through July, the air is bracing, the sky is clear and
the voice of the tourist is heard in the land.
Most
people fly into Leh, rest a day or so to let their lungs and hearts
grow accustomed to an altitude of 3,536 meters, and then set off on a
stroll-a-bit-jeep-a-bit tour of all that there is to see.
Amble
through the town, exchange smiles with the vegetable sellers, banter
with the trinket and souvenir shops and munch on cakes and pastries
bought from local folk who have learnt their art from homesick
European bakers.
Then
grab a bucking-bronco of a wild jeep-cab and do the
palaces-museums-monasteries round.
You
might feel as if you've ridden in a rodeo after you cover the 16 km
drive to Shey Palace. But it is worth it. Built in 1633, all the
Kings of Ladakh were, by tradition, born here and, according to our
driver, the future of the baby prince was predicted by looking into
the mirror-bright reflections of the Palace in the lake at its feet.
`Shey', apparently, means `mirror' in Ladakhi. Inside the palace is a
two storey high gilt bronze Buddha built by Nepalese craftsmen for
the Muslim mother of a Buddhist monarch in the 17th century.
Trudge
down from Shey and drive on to the monastery of Thiksey: its
buildings cluster like swallows nests on a hillock rising out of a
plain. Its a fair climb up so don't rush it. Take your time, pause
frequently to look around. You are standing at the suture, the
dividing line, where the sub-continental wedge of peninsular India
stitched itself onto the mass of Eurasia. Thiksey is built around a
courtyard. To one side of this open space is a new shrine housing a
powerful golden Buddha. An older shrine, on the other side, is fairly
dark and contains some interesting images of Mother Goddesses said to
be over 500 years old. When the non-theistic faith of the Buddha
merged with the old and shamanistic Bon religion of Tibet to evolve
into Lamaism, the reverence to powerful goddesses, the manifestation
of psychic abilities, began to play a major role in the religion of
this area.
If
you have the time, you can immerse yourself in the deep mysticism
practised in the many monasteries of Ladakh, but even the most casual
of visitors makes it a point to see the famed monastery of Hemis
tucked away among rocks and concealing poplars. There are a number of
shrines around the great courtyard, all of them of considerable
interest. Some scholars even believe that Hemis holds ancient
documents which speak of the hidden years of Jesus Christ. Hemis,
however, it best known to tourists because of its colourful festival
held in July. At this time, monks perform their traditional dances to
celebrate the birth anniversary of the monastery's founder, the
Indian missionary Padmasambhava.
We
also make it a point to visit the Stok Palace: home of the former
rulers of Leh. Their museum holds the personal collection of their
family: beautiful tankha hangings, a sword twisted like a
pretzel by the super-human strength of a man in a religious trance,
genuine dzi stones whose eye-like markings are said to ward
off evil, and a priceless royal headdress encrusted with 401
turquoises,
One
of the many pleasant things about Ladakh seems to be the blurring of
social barriers. The difference between the headdress of a queen and
that of a commoner is not as great as that between a crown and a
cloche hat. Commoner Dolma, who lets out rooms to tourists, also had
a perak studded with turquoises.
And
if we needed further proof of this egalitarianism, we found it in a
willow grove at the foot of the palace hill. Here, a prince led his
people in an archery contest. And then he joined them in a slow, and
graceful, dance through the cool and shifting shadows of the trees.
That
evening, however, we could not discern any blue blood among the
pounding contestants in a fierce game of Ladhkhi polo.
In
this strenuous sport, in the rarefied air of Leh, it doesn't matter
who you are but what you are made of.
That,
in short, is the ultimate test of an enjoyable holiday in the monsoon
haven of Leh.
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