Around Every Bend

The road from Kumbulgarh Fort to the exquisite Jain temple at Ranakpur winds through narrow valleys of woodland dotted by primeval villages inhabited by man and beast in a cauldron of fairy tale life. As we turned another bend along our route our driver came to a sudden halt as we faced head-on a barrier of five pitch black water buffalo lolling their way gently to their destination guided by a stick-brandishing, skinny farmer dressed in white dhoti and brilliant red Rajput turban. Every bend seems to reveal secrets of former times when simplicity structured the day. These are scenes that we dream of, that we watch on TV; but these are also daily rituals and routines of the very people of this land, kind and open, living their lives.

Along the road we see:
A woman in a red sari crouching to pick onions in a lush green field.
Brilliantly painted trucks sporting sparkling tassels and advertising only praise to god.
Intricately carved stonework or wrought iron on the oldest and most dilapidated buildings.
Flowing multi-colored saris seeming to float along roadsides worn by women effortlessly and gracefully carrying huge loads of wood or metal water containers.
Fields of yellow mustard stretching for miles.
Tractors on the highway with white-turbaned men unwavered by the ride or the fact that they are clustered to overflowing.
Half-naked toddlers stumbling to catch up with their mothers.
A family bathing with water drawn from a well and warmed by the midday sun once the coolness of morning has passed.
Overladen vehicles carrying unimaginably huge sacks of hay that blossom like billowing turbans over the sides.
Wooden carts pulled by two oxen driven through narrow alleyways.
Camels pulling cartloads of rice sacks as vehicles pass at breakneck speed.
Whitewashed temples set into nooks and crevices in every village we pass. Devotees sitting around chanting, chatting, communing.
A saddhu, or holy man, pacing gazelessly through the turmoil carrying only his iron trident.
Bright yellow, blue and red advertisements painted on walls offering backdrops for the melee of activity in each small town.
Tiny tea shops large enough for one crouching chai wallah, his stove, a pot, and a crowd of thirsty squatting villagers.
The cows teach patience as they wander across the road unperturbed by the onrush of humanity. Everywhere patience.