The Complete Yoga Community

MAHARANI IN THE MAKING

By Archarya Christine Henley

I am an India junkie.   I visit the country twice a year and every time I fall in love with it all over again.   But I’m very careful these days of waxing too lyrical about the place because my enthusiasm rubs off onto others who then want to accompany me on my next trip.  And this is not a good idea. Despite the fact that I stress to them the importance of leaving behind all concepts of life as they know it, the poverty and dirt of India is none-the-less a shock to most people.  As with all things, carrying the baggage of one’s own history wherever one goes is a guaranteed recipe for losing out. To live spontaneously and to relish the adventure of the unknown, even if it means falling flat on one’s face occasionally, is the only way to evolve.

Maybe I live in a permanent state of maya (illusion) but I prefer to rise above the impoverishment of India and see its splendour. And that’s what I always find.

Take this last visit of mine in March. As always, I had no particular plans but nourished the thrill of anticipation at the unexpected. I was met at the airport by my usual driver, Umesh, and back at the office of his Company we discussed the ‘programme’, as they call it.  Because  I’ve visited most of the places in Rajasthan  they have to wrack their brains a bit to find somewhere new for me.  But they always manage to succeed.

I’m not a back-packer and I don’t have the funds for five-star living.  This isn’t a problem however because I prefer to stay in Indian hotels and imbibe in the local energy.  One has to be careful though because local hotels are often dodgy, to say the least, ranging from gorgeous to ghastly.

The owners of the travel company, who have become a kind of extended family for me, understand my requirements and always manage to book me into the very best of the range.  They know my love of the history and opulent life style of the maharajas and their wives of that bygone era.  And maharanis do not do slums….

It was Umesh who hit on the idea of visiting a place called Roopangargh.  He’d heard from the other drivers that its claim to fame was an ancient fort that had been recently converted into a pretty cool hotel.  Although the Company owners hadn’t been there they took his word for it.

We set off on our journey, stopping first of all at Jaipur to visit some jeweller friends there.  Karnot Mahal is, as the name implies, an old mansion (mahal) that has also been converted into a splendid hotel.  (It was recently used in a Bollywood movie)  I am always greeted there as an old friend and I just love the recognition factor!

A few more stops and then we were off to the unknown Roopangargh. Driving through desert plains that became increasingly more and more desolate, I began to wonder if my impulsive need to visit this new place was such a good idea.  We eventually came to a village and wound our way through tiny streets with the usual cows, goats and plenty of stares.  We were clearly an unusual sight.  Umesh had to ask the way a couple of times and finally we came to a stone archway, beyond which was an enormous wooden gate. We went through and found ourselves staring up at a magnificent palace.  Although we had not realised it at first, we were now in the centre of a massive old fort.

Parking the car along side a few camels dozing in the afternoon sun, we climbed out and made our way up a pathway leading up to the main entrance.  It was eerily silent.  I understood why once the manager explained  I could have a choice of rooms  since I was the only visitor! What a pleasure!  Each room was more exotic and gorgeous than the last as I followed him up and down stairs and passages and into each of the vacant rooms.  They were hardly just rooms, however, since apart from the main magnificent double bed, each had its own sitting room, dining area and at least two other sleeping places.  There was a large swinging bed for children as well as a wooden bed with an amazing elevated sprung-like centre. (An Indian version of a water-bed?) The alcoves were also designed to become convenient conversions of beds. They were covered in a soft cotton mattress with curtains to pull all around and could comfortably sleep at least one person.  I figured it all had something to do with the rather large Indian families who definitely would have needed plenty of sleeping arrangements.

It was a huge problem for me trying to decide which of the enormous rooms I should stay in and I spent at least twenty minutes going back and forth into each while Umesh and the manager decided to take a seat in one of the passageways waiting patiently for me to make up my mind.  An elegant tray with an antique-looking brass pot holding tea and a matching tea-strainer at its side (maharanis do not do tea-bags), milk and sugar bowl plus biscuits was brought to aid in the making of this extremely difficult decision.    I finally settled for one that had turquoise and silver furnishings but subsequently wrestled with the fear that I might be missing out by not choosing one of the others.  Quite what I felt I would be missing out on I’m not sure because I really did feel most maharani-like in mine.

Walking out of my room onto my very own parapet I had a panoramic view of the village.  No television aerials, no noise, just peace and absolute perfection in every sense.  Peacocks and camels were the only other living things I could see.

The manager asked if I would like to have a camel ride.  I’m not keen on the animals but since it was apparently all part of the package and, further more, he would accompany me on the journey and give me a run-down on the place and its history, I couldn’t resist the opportunity.

So the next afternoon found me being presented to a gaudily decorated camel, kneeling in readiness for one very reluctant rider. With the aid of a not-too-elegant shove by the pint-sized camel driver I was hoisted onto the back of the camel and, trying hard not to grip the harness too tightly for fear of sliding onto his head, he eased himself up into standing position.  Camels are obviously used to the fear-factor of tourists because he suffered the indignity of my clumsy effort without a murmur.

Not only the manager and the camel boy, but an elderly hashish-smoking man in the traditional dress of white pantaloons and loosely-wound turban, accompanied me into the desert.  I felt as if I were participating in a shoot for Lawrence of Arabia.

Despite all my misgivings, the journey was fantastic.  As we slowly moved along through sand dunes, palm trees and occasional grassy tufts, the silence, warmth and gentle rocking movement of the camel sent me into a kind of pratyhara – a withdrawal of the external senses.   It was almost as if my life, my history, my  aspirations had suddenly melted away leaving me living only in the now.  I had become one with myself and the universe.  I guess it was the kind of feeling one has when one is able to move deeply into meditation.  Except that here one didn’t have to make the effort.   It was merely a question of experiencing the moment.

At the end of a two-hour trek we returned to the palace as the sun was setting.  I am smart enough to always take some South African wine with me on my Indian sojourns and that evening Umesh and I sat on my parapet consuming claret and the most divine curry.   This was definitely nirvana.

Being the good yogi that I am I will continue to perform my chosen roles on the stage of life, accepting the pleasures and pains that go with the process of evolving. I have, however, had a serious talk with my gurus about the need to polish this latest one.  I still need lots of practise at it so they must just continue to provide the necessary actors and props for me to achieve becoming the perfect maharani.

A review of my ego would also be a possible consideration for them….