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A fairy brings to
man what the stresses and strains of life take away. The steam
locomotive built by Kitson, Thompson & Hewitsons of the United
Kingdom now precisely does that, hauling a train in five hours from
Delhi Cantonment to Alwar, Rajasthan, flying into the lives of so
many men and opening up vistas of fun and cheer
Imagine a Fairy
Queen, all decked up in finery, a twinkling star wand in her hand,
leading you past a phantom lake to a tiger den. Sounds more like a
dream sequence. But all this is true and more. There is a Fairy
Queen, which does not fly, but instead glides on wheels. It rides on
the wings of poesy; it still has the power to transport you to a time
warp; it brings together man and nature completely in a bind; it
holds you enthralled by the spectacular display of smoked stars
streaming out of its wand; it perhaps can still grant you magically,
a wish.
The engine built for
the then East Indian Railway in 1855 and christened “Fairy
Queen” by its fond makers, lives a life true to its name.
This petite engine
worked from Howrah to Raneegunje (121miles) on its maiden journey in
1885. Till 1908, it was a faithful servant to its masters, hauling
trains, chugging distances, when it was considered for retirement.
The years 1908 to 1971 were spent in oblivion, but it survived the
ravages of time. In 1971, it became an exhibit of the National Rail
Museum as many fossilised items do. But, in its chequered history,
destiny had written many great things. Life changed for the Fairy
Queen dramatically in 1997 when after a complete overhaul in Perambur
workshop of the Southern Railway, it panted back to life. It pulled
its first tourist load on October 18, 1997, and graduated to the
Guinness Book of Records as the world’s oldest working
locomotive in January 1998. It is wonderful to be part of history, to
re-live the lost world. And that is precisely what you do on the
Fairy Queen Tour.
So we boarded the
coach led by the Fairy Queen on a bright Saturday morning. The Queen
was all gloss and shine. A bronze chimney was spewing out thick smoke
from its crown into the air, which thinned to a misty vapour as the
engine warmed. There was a metal wind-sock consisting of four cups
fixed on a pole, for the wind to be playful. Steam gushed out in
spurts from various crevices, until the driver decided to let it out
in a rush. Some show of strength it was! All those present around
were impressed. The Fairy Queen in its effort of building up steam,
had caged the power of vapour so studiously. Finally, a sweet long
whistle, then it heaved and hawed, and puffed, and coughed, and
panted purposefully to Alwar, some 145 kilometres away. It kept on
guzzling coal and water till it deposited us in a medieval setting at
Alwar.
The
tour group proceeded 13 kilometres to a lake called Silserh. The
place was in the back of beyond. Medieval stone water ducts were
company on this route. Occasionally one or two regal peacock tails
would be sighted colouring the earth. Mud houses in a village, under
the shadow of a cliff, children playing happily by the haystacks... A
sharp turn later and the contours of a lake emerged. The lake was
bound by barren mountains on all sides. To one corner stood a
beautiful palace, its chhatries (canopies) raising their proud
heads to the sky. The expanse of water was to three sides of the
royal preserve. A circular structure of interest in the midst of the
lake, was revealed to be the Raja’s band playing stage. It was
sited far enough for an appropriate visual break but near enough to
ensure audio clarity. A village at one end is a grim reminder of the
Rani’s humble origin. Legend speaks, that Vinaya Singh, the Raja
of Alwar, once on a hunt fell madly in love with a girl of this
village and expressed his desire to marry her. Not wanting to leave
her old father, the bride wished to be close to her village. A palace
for Rani Sheela was erected at one end of this lake from where she
could see her father’s village every moment. So the Raja and
Rani lived happily ever after.
The
sun, disappearing behind Silserh mountains, we left for Sariska, the
tiger den. Dusk does not fall in this region at once. It takes its
own pleasant time to slowly express itself. Mountains start assuming
queer and weird shapes, birds can be spotted flying homewards. It is
time for evening fires. An unusually sharp pair of mountains en
route, which were about 200 metres away from each other is known as
Natni Ka Bara (natni, being the nautch girl). It is
believed that one natni tied a rope between the cliffs and
crossed the distance without experiencing fear of any kind. When the
ecstatic crowd showed her the distance and told her the consequence
of a fall from such a height, she collapsed of a heart attack.
A
cultural extravaganza initially welcomed us. Local artistes danced to
the welcome hoot of a bankiya, and the beat of dholak. The
steps and the rhythm were swift and upbeat. The flowing mirrored
skirts reflected the flames of the evening campfire. Then came the
man spitting fire to the night. Beside him, danced the girls with a
pot of blazing flames placed on head. It was indeed a fiery dance.
The morning after
was launched ‘Operation Sighting The Tiger’. Sariska, the
home of Indian Tiger was entered at 7 a.m. The sun had begun
spreading its forceful presence on men and animals below. Peacocks,
to the plenty, inhabited the forest. The prettiest were the young
ones. Blue bull families, were swishing their tails or munching on a
high bush. Spotted deer felt lazy and were not in a mood to jump and
hop away. Wild Boars, quite boorish, were in the company of Sambhars.
We scoured jungle
pathways, ducked under low branches, craned necks from an open jeep
to the right and left, and finally stopped dead — pug marks of
tiger, fresh on mud. A frightened call of a Spotted Deer confirmed
the majestic presence. One of our company luckily saw the ferocious
beast chasing his breakfast. The thrills and pleasures of the wild
are indeed more powerful in nature, than those of the civilised
world.
A
mere 37-kilometre-drive back from Sariska brought us to the City
Palace Museum erected in 17th Century by Maharaja Vinaya Singh.
Though built high and grandiose, age has brought signs of decay. The
Durbar Hall is still kept with its gold work intact, for use during
ceremonial occasions. The most outstanding of exhibits is a group of
18th century Mughal miniature paintings, based on classical music
ragas. Each depicts the transformation of nature brought about
when the raga is sung — the effect on clouds, wind, sky,
human moods of that particular raga — so aptly that they
singularly classify as a work beyond parallel. The others are
ancient, priceless manuscripts and the arms of the bygone era —
a surprising presence were the swords of Emperor Akbar and Jehangir
with their pictures engraved upon them. The Egyptians had presented a
sword to Hazrat Ali 1400 years after the event, and the sword can be
seen at Alwar. Bird-shaped wooden barber kits are amusing. The most
awesome is, however, the Zirahbakhtar (armour) of Muhammad
Ghauri, the legendary invader. Each small iron piece of the woven
armour has verses of the Quran inscribed upon it, perhaps for
granting him protection.
The afternoon
whistle of the Fairy Queen at 1.00 p.m. brought us to the station
from where return was imminent. Some determined puffs, and off the
Queen sped at 60 kilometres per hour, the maximum speed it can
attain. We were delivered by the evening back to the maze of concrete
realities.
It is wonderful to be part of
history, to re-live the lost world. And that is precisely what you do
on the Fairy Queen tour.
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