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But
first, a shampoo! I had asked for somewhere to get a good professional
shampoo, the the desk has sent a woman and her daughter here. I guess
when you live in a palace you don't go to beauty salons...The woman
is the first person I've met who doesn't speak English, but we manage
to haul the desk chair into the bathroom and station it near the sink.
Whoops, she drops several of her red glass bangles, breaking one on
the bathroom floor! Her daughter cleans it up, and we proceed with
shampoo she's brought in her purse. But the dryer doesn't work. We
try everything, and Amy finally finds a plug in the bedroom that works.
What a great shampoo. She is much gentler than anyone has ever been
with my head, it takes a really long time, but at the end of it I
am extremely relaxed and each hair is fluffy and shining and attended
to...all the while her daughter and my daughter watching us. It feels
like a court scene from long ago...
The sun is setting when we head out the door with our badges to identify
us as legal residents of the palace for tonight. We make our way down
to the ferry boat and take our places with the others. Its a beautiful,
very short ride, and we are dropped off at the dock of the Lake Palace
Hotel. For me the highlight of the experience is neither the entertainment
before the meal nor the buffet and dinner which was good enough, but
the beautful views of the city of Udaipur and the city palaces at
sunset and after dark. As we return home and enter the hotel-palace
grounds, the guard motions to a royal car that has just pulled up
before the Maharaja's person entrance. "The Maharaja is tired
tonight, " he confides, "he's just got home from Mumbai."
What fun to be part of the palace gossip. We order very early breakfast
and wake-up calls, and I do not remember dreaming in this place, either,
but that's probably because the whole thing is a dream and I wake
up when I go to sleep!
 
 After
a quick breakfast in the room (orange juice, hot chocolate, and bananas
with cold cereal is our standard early morning order, and we don't
skip itbecause
we are processing
our malaria pills and foodhelps a lot) we head back to the Udaipur
airport and the friendly skies of  Jet
Airways. SNY is waiting for us at the Jaipur airport, and we greet
him happily like a long, lost friend and settle into his white curtained
car like it is our home in India, which it is. He has even put an
English newspaper in the back for me, knowing how addicted I am to
early morning news. We begin the long ride to Ranthambhore. What a
ride! Narrow roads, everything that moves on wheels, hooves, or feet.
After several
hours we confess we need a toilet, but there just isn't one around.
After another half hour SNY pulls over apologetically and shows us
an abandoned building. "Your toilet is here, today," he
says, smiling, then after us, uses it too.
When we finally pull in to the town near the game reserve, he stops
to ask directions. I see evidence of drought everywhere. The livestock
are thinner here, and we see one or two dead animals on the roadside.
We pull into the Tiger Camp, not knowing what to expect, when a tall
handsome smiling man comes out to greet us warmly and takes our luggage.
It is parting time from our wonderful driver, and we hug him. He says,
"I am an only son of an only son and my mother was praying for
me on the road today. Knowing that he has to go all the way back,
I say, "I will be praying for you too," full well knowing
that his mother's prayers are much more effective! As he hugs Amy
he says, "This is my little sister," and he bows his head
to receive my parting kiss on his forehead.
Then we are whisked inside of a most wonderful space. There is a reception
area, a large green lawn, and tents lined with madras cloth that have
everything we could want, even shower and toilet. The afternoon ride
leaves in an hour. Will we be going? "Yes," I say. "I
don't think so," says Amy, who is a little sick from flying on
her malaria medication. She takes hers a day later than I do...so
I had the weekend to recover. But then as we unpack, settle, and drink
the tonic water I've ordered which is my best way out of any stomach
problem, she looks at me. "What if we only see one tiger, and
it's this afternoon, and you see it and I don't. I'll be mad for the
rest of my life," she reasons. So Amy is coming . We sit on a
table on the lawn for a quick lunch, and it’s so pleasant out
there that by the time we leave, we really feel refreshed.
We walk out the front door and are introduced to Punkaj Joshi, the
park naturalist. I instantly like him. Amy does too. We are the only
ones in his jeep this afternoon and we really bond with him and the
park, which are one and the same animal! He sniffs, points out animals,
foliage, tracks, and, toward the end of the ride, just as we are on
the way back out of the park, he hears a sambar deer sound an alert.
He directs the driver back to the waterhole...what a waterhole! It
looks like an abandoned palace foundation from long ago. Even if there
is no tiger there, I can just see one, sprawled majestically on one
of the stone walls. We turn away and dash down another road, Punkaj
reading the dust along the road for more paw-prints. No, those are
old, no, yes, yes, all of the sudden, the tiger just walks out onto
the road in front of us and sits down!! Two other jeeps suddenly pile
up along side of us, and one behind. Cameras are clicking and rolling.
The tiger knows it, so she takes her sweet time twitching her great
white-tufted ears, parading her colors which seem so fiery and vivid
to me in the dusty brown landscape. At last, after about four or five
minutes, full well knowing that she has us all mesmerized, she ambles
down the road moving her hips proudly like a fashion model down a
runway, and with a toss of her head in our direction, finally disappears
into the bush....everyone exclaiming and happy at the long sighting
of her. At the exit from the reserve, a gang of locals try to sell
everything that could be printed, stitched, or drawn here. I buy a
hat with a tiger on it and black lace at the back, in memory of her!
When we get back to Tiger Camp everyone is happily recounting the
four minute tiger drama, and Amy is very glad she rose to the occasion.
Dinner is served outside under the stars around a fire, and it is
really fun to talk to the other guests. One of them is a game photographer
from London, and I try not to get jealous of all of the tigers he's
seen! He has a jeep and driver to himself, and permission to follow
the paw prints wherever they lead, whereas the rest of us must stay
on pre-designated routes to prevent too many vehicles in one place
at one time. He stays out all day and just sees tigers! It would be
fun to get a look at some of his prints. We have an interesting discussion
about memory: group memory, photo memory, place memory, communal memory...
 Morning
and evening rides to see tigers that are not letting us see them anymore.
The
beauty of the park seeps in. I suddenly understand why my mother's
good Spode china is called "India Tree!" for there is a
delicatebeauty to dry, deciduous forest, yellow grass, and her china
is all rust colored
with touches of
gold just asthis is. I can now spot a tiger paw print in the dust
from pretty far away...the closest we got to our phantom today was
some very artful poo which he/she deposited close to the road for
our inspection.
This morning I dreamt of a small, dead lion, foreshortened, at a pond
full of green algae. On our way to pick up a young British couple
at a camp called "Tiger Moon" we passed through a beautiful
village, Sher-pul, which we were told meant "Tigertown."
But "Sher" also is the generic name for a large cat, leopard,
caracol, etc. and "Bagh" means tiger in Hindi. This particular
village is green, at the edge of so many drought-ridden ones. A single
sunflower bloomed in the center of a green wheat field. In another
field, a large red cart of some sort upon which hay was being dried.
As we drove through the town, everything was carefully painted. Blue-shirted
and blue-dressed children waved at us from their school (I counted
about twenty of them.) In the little barber shop (also brightly painted)
there was one man being shaved, another being barbered. And all around
the colorful saris, some having just been washed, were drying on the
rooftops. Camels, colorfully tattooed, brought wood and hay to the
town, water buffalo and white cows with horns painted red and green
wandered, and people on the road carried piles of greens on their
heads or dug patties or, one man, a turban with a log lying across
it and a bundle of mint on top of that.
My head is so full on the inside and empty on the outside!
At the end of our tigerless day Punkaj invited us to his home to meet
his family, so after we jumped down to freshen up after our final
exit from the park (stripping our dusty clothes for the laundry which
will be returned to us by leaving time tomorrow), we met him at the
drive and went to his house. It was painted pale lavender and his
father's name was written on it. His mother, a gifted teacher at secondary
and college levels, met us together with his retired father. Then
out came his young pregnant wife.She was the only one in the family
who doesn't speak English, but then she reads Sanskrit! She looked
a little pale and sweet, beautiful and quiet, as she brought out tea
and snacks. All I had to give them as a gift was a few chocolate power
bars from my suitcase! It was fun talking to them and seeing a real
home instead of hotels and tents, museums and palaces.
Then we were treated to a slide show of Punkaj's portraits of tigers
and other animals. Wow! He really is privileged in Tiger world. They
let him right in to their lives. It’s beautiful to see how close
they let him get to their intimate behavior, their moods, and yawns
and roars. We encouraged him to find a place to get them published.
In the kitchen his mother confided that she had been tense about his
arranged marriage (of course in the kitchen, where else?) but that
it has turned out well. She smiled and stuck a bindi on my forehead
and on Amy's. His father laughed to see me with a bindi! It was interesting
to hear the call to prayer out in the street and have everyone in
the house stop what they were doing and pray right inside the house.
I have this feeling in India that prayer is such an invisible integral
part of many people's lives...in many more ways than I can imagine.
As we drove back to the Tiger Camp we saw lots of lights and excitement.
"Weddings." said Punkaj simply. "They are all getting
married! "It looked like a circus with music, lights, crowds.
We saw our tall host from the camp milling around as one of the guests...
We plunged directly into quite a happening back at the campfire. An
entire lawnful of puppets, music, and a little girl furiously dancing.
She spied me and immediately came over and pulled me in to dance.
It was fun, but she was so fast she left me breathless!
Another
long, lovely dinner with drinks, campfire, conversation, entertainment,
and good food. The hostess sat next to me and told me the history
of the place; how she and her husband had fixed it up and risked that
the tents would work. She looked at the jacket I was wearing, a brown
cotton one with elephants appliquŽed on it. "Where did you
get that?" " A catalog in San Francisco" was the answer.
"They are sold here," she laughed, " in this town."
I have paid three times what this is worth in San Francisco, but then
we would have to factor in the air transportation, not to mention
the ground transportation! Easier to bring the jacket to me than me
to the jacket!
 There
is a black rabbit under my table as I write this at the monsoon breakfast
room in Ranthambore. His tail is longer than I am accustomed to seeing,
and as Amy sits down he tests her with his tooth! We are all packed,
except for the laundry, and ready for our last morning with Punkaj.
We are going to Ranthambhore Fort. As we set out he says, "You
are lucky. It’s a special day at the temple for the god Ganesh.
You will see lots of action! " As we pass the entrance to the
park the guard tells Punkaj that a tiger has just passed very near.
"These guard are very brave," Punkaj says as we pull away.
"They just sit here unprotected!"
 The
fort is a crumbling ancient marvel overlooking the entire game reserve.
We climb the stairs ("Can your mother make it? Can you make it,
Mommy?" I make it.) to the elaborate three-gated entrance and
Punkaj tells us the history of the place, a romantic tale of a prince
who beat out two brothers by scaling the walls on his horse (See the
hoof mark here?) to win the hand of the princess and become King.
And the damsel in distress who fleeing with her love, a military officer,
begged the kings protection, which was granted, and led to a blood
bath years later when her husband sought revenge. At the top, there
are stunning views, mosques and graves built by muslim conquerors
years later, and, the Hindu Temple. On the way to the temple tiny
monkeys perch on shrines, bony white cows wander, pilgrims come in
beautiful saris, and Punkaj says "hi" to half of his town
who is here this morning. At the courtyard to the temple I purchase
six garlands for Ganesh and a riot breaks out, people yelling at me
hold them up, the monkeys and cows will eat them, waving hands at
me, and I quickly pull off my shoes and dash unceremoniously into
the temple with the garlands before me. What a crowd inside! Punkaj
leads the way to Ganesh's shrine and instructs me to give the garlands
to the priest, who gives one back to me, plus a little sweet. "Whenever
you give a gift to a god, he gives one back!" says our guide,
and then shows us all of the wedding invitations from all over the
country and world that Ganesh has received. He asks where we are from,
and pulls out several in English from the U.S. to show us. In one
corner there are hymns being sung. In another space people are on
their knees praying. A constant stream of people move past Ganesh,
and out the door to make room for another stream moving in, ringing
the bell, and approaching the shrine. It feels happy and chaotic,
bright colored, hot, and like nothing I've ever experienced named
worship!
On our way out of the park the hordes descend on us again. Amy has
purchased a large drawing of a tiger and it is rolled up and waiting
for her. Everyone tries one last time to sell us something, and I
buy a deck of animal cards for my suitcase. We get back to Tiger Camp
just in time to put our clean clothes in the suitcases, (Amy has to
wear her pants because they're ironed but slightly damp), collect
our box lunches for the train, and pay our bill. Gitu (the tall and
handsome host of this place who scolds me: "Don't wait in the
sun! You'll get hot!) and Punkaj smile and wave and wave as we depart
from the train station and I feel like I've left a little piece of
myself here in Ranthambhore.
Sawai Madhopur Railway station it is a confusing jumble. The man who
is supposed to deliver us to the train does just that, and we are
sitting on a bench beseeched by one small untouchable child who insistently
clings to my black skirt and several brightly dressed porters who
want to carry bags that we've already carried! We don't know how we
will ever find the right train, but after about five minutes, our
escort miraculously reappears and gets us on board.
And the third tiger? I think he is bound in some way to future of
the little boy, hopeless, nose running, sores on his face, probably
about five years old. His hand print clings to my skirt as we speed
toward New Delhi and my heart says good-bye to Rajasthan: the blue-clad
school children sitting in concentric circles around a tree, brilliant
saried women in the fields, mustard, wheat, trees circling the fields
like guards, water buffalo, shrines. Two chains of marigolds, gifts
from the god, Ganesh, surround our box lunches of cheese sandwiches
as we hold them in our laps and watch the straw sties passing, tiny
rows of mysterious plants planted, dung carriers with tin platters
on top of their heads, camel wagons, green water ditches, temples,
people eating in a circle, donkeys, flags flying over shrines in the
fields, scarecrows. "I think we may have brought the rain"
says Amy as a few drops start to fall.
I hope so!
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