VINAYAKA CHATURTHI IDOLS 2015

SWEET GANESHA 2015

(By Subbaram Danda)

Mysorepauk Ganesha

It is Mysorepauk Ganesha this year.  A majestic 15-foot tall image of Vigneshwara made of 1,008 pieces of the famous Indian sweet was on display at a vantage point in Chennai on the Vinayaka Charturthi day, September 17, 2015.  The image had been installed on one side of a street off Venkatanarayana Road in T. Nagar.   The idol was flanked by statues of the Lord’s consorts Siddhi and Buddhi.  Alongside, an icon of Hanuman was also showcased. It was a puzzle how the organizers were able to keep ants away.

Hanuman statue

Every year groups of devotees come up with new ideas to present the deity in novel ways and put up statues accordingly.  A short drive in the vicinity of our home gave us an opportunity to see the impressive images. 

Ganesha riding a bull

In Rangarajapuram it was Ganesha riding a bull. This depiction was considered a rarity. 

Ganapathi in the style of Mahavishnu

On an interior street in the same area a standing Ganapathi was resplendent with Sanku, Chakra and Gadha in the style of Mahavishnu.  Here the Lord had a multi-headed serpent offering a hooded cover over his head. 

September 19, 2015       

MY BREEZY SHORT STORY IN "WRITER'S EZINE"

Writer's Ezine, a popular literary online monthly, has carried a breezy short story of mine in its September 2015 issue released today.  It is a special celebratory edition, brought out to mark a milestone in the journal's onward journey.

The Musings of a Balding Man

Suddenly one morning Vijay looked intently at his framed photograph hung on a wall in his bedroom. It was taken years ago shortly after his marriage, with his better half standing next to him.  Neatly groomed thick dark hair on his head stood out prominently, adding a touch of smartness to his overall appearance.  

He rushed to the bath room and stood in front of the mirror.  What a contrast!   His reflection showed only a few streaks of hair that too silvery.  They also threatened to enter the annals of extinct species any time.

In a moment, various thoughts flashed in his mind.  How do cine actresses and actors manage their ‘hairy traditions’?  Despite advancing age, erstwhile dream girls of the silver screen retain their glamorous looks with dark tresses cascading down their head.  Macho men of yesteryears too show off their attractive manes. 

Science has made a lot of progress and he wondered why he should not take advantage of it to fix his receding hairline.  He hit the Google search engine and soon several advertisements popped up, confusing him to the core.

Seeing his predicament, his wife came to his rescue.  A nice and understanding woman, she advised him not to worry and asked him to give a “missed call” to a number.  Obviously she was taking a cue from an advertisement on the television. 

He called the number and disconnected after some rings.  Within a few minutes he got a call back and he could hear a sweet feminine voice.  “Sir, we are specialists in solving your hair problems.  After decades of research we have produced a gel brand-named Dintan.  It is essentially made from rare herbs found only in the dense jungles of South Africa.   It will stop hair-fall and ultimately halt balding.”

He heard the sales talk patiently but she would not give him an idea of what damage it would inflict on his wallet.  He finally asked her, “How much a can of Dintan would cost and how many cans I should use before I could see results?”

She parried the question ably and went on with her well-tutored torrent.  “Sir, we have our consumers throughout India and abroad.  You should have seen our advertisements on various television channels, several times a day.  Our products are very popular.”   

Obviously she was trying to brainwash him about the product’s popularity.  He started losing his cool.  It became clear to him that the product had a high price tag, judging from the way she was avoiding his question.  Also, they had been shelling out a lot of money on TV ads, which they should make up.   

At last she came to the point. “To answer your query, Sir, each can of 100 grams of Dintan would cost only Rs.1,999.99.  And by the time you complete using ten cans, you would have grown thick lustrous hair.  You have my guarantee.”

Who was this woman to give him a guarantee?  She was not an authorized representative of the company.  She was only a call-centre girl.  He said immediately, “Thank you, madam.  I will come back to you.”

Next day Vijay broached the subject with a close friend of his.  He suggested using a Korean cream prepared from the excreta of a rare species of crocodiles.  It should be applied on the head at least twice a day.  Vijay had always abhorred the very sight of crocs.  Now he should buy their poop and rub it on his head!  What an idea!!  Anger laced with snigger raced through his head.  He shouted at his friend and they stopped talking to each other since then.

Soon a half-page advertisement in a newspaper caught Vijay’s attention.  It promised “simplified” hair transplant!  It offered an “innovative method of performing surgical hair replacement” through a “painless and seamless” process.  It guaranteed growth, density and permanent hair on the scalp.

That kept him wondering.  “Where from are they going to get hair for the transplant?”  He shuddered.  He had always been scared of surgical operations.  He detested even a small pin prick.  So he brushed aside the idea of a hair transplant. 

Finally, Vijay thought of approaching his cousin, who was into everything and was believed to be knowledgeable about all things under the sun. 

“Don’t worry, dear.  Right now a sage from the Himalayan holy town of Rishikesh is in the city.  Swami Arogyananda has solutions for all health-related problems -- physical, psychological and emotional.  He has specialized in matters of the scalp.  Seek his advice and you will be happy.  Take my word,” his cousin assured him.  He gave him the address of the place, where the sage was staying -- the guest house of a top ranking film star -- and its telephone number. 

Religiously, Vijay called the number and got an appointment – for a time slot a week later.  As the swamiji had a tight schedule, he could be with him for only fifteen minutes. 

The day arrived and Vijay landed at the place, dreaming about his head gleaming with thick lustrous hair again.  At a counter with the sign “May I help you” he enquired about his appointment and he was delighted that his name had been correctly listed.  He was asked to pay a fee of Rs.5,000 for consultation with the sage.  With trepidation he paid it and got a receipt for the amount.  At the bottom a phrase in fine print stared at him—“no refund under any circumstances.”   He wondered what it all meant but hoped he would get true value for the money spent.  Anyhow, he was happy that everything was being accounted for and was going on in a streamlined fashion.

His turn came.  It was a dimly-lit room with flower-bedecked, framed photographs of several gods of the Hindu pantheon hung beautifully on a wall straight ahead.  Aroma from burning incense sticks wafted all around.  Sage Arogyananda was seated on a tiger skin at the centre.  He wore long flowing saffron robes and a silky green headgear adorned with strings of milky white pearls.  He had no beard.  His jaws were prominently set.  His eyes glinted mesmerizingly.  He was at least ten years younger than Vijay.  The sage looked at him very benignly.  In a moment Vijay came under his magic spell.  He narrated his story to him. There was none else in the room.

Sage Arogyananda smiled at him at first and then burst into laughter.  “Dear Bhakta, what you need is not a gel, a cream or a transplant but a fresh frame of mind to understand and appreciate the tenets of universal truth.  I will make you realize them.  Take my word.  Have confidence in me.  You will be alright,” he said.  In a jiffy he ran his right hand under the headgear he was wearing and pulled it off.  Behold!  He had a bald head, shining demurely!  So, he was Swamy Sunyakesananda!

In encouraging words he advised Vijay, “Don’t despair.  Hold your head high.  Don’t go against the nature.  A receding hairline, or a scalp shorn of hair, is not a disaster.  It has its own unique advantages – at least ten.”  He then went on narrating them – his pearls of wisdom. 

1. The bald man does not have to bother about going to a barber shop every month.  More important, he can put a stop to the snide comments of his wife after every visit to the shop about how his hair has been groomed.    

2. His wife need not buy his preferred brand of hair oil.  Instead, she can buy nail polish for her own use.

3. He can forget head bath with coconut oil and shampoo.  Just pouring a few mugs of water over the head is enough.

4. If this is done daily, his head will remain cool too.  He would not mind his wife nagging him.

5. He finds no need to comb his hair.  Smearing a few of drops of oil on the smooth surface will do. The oil can be stolen stealthily from the bottle of his wife.

6. The most gratifying thing is that there is no necessity to search for grey hair and pull them out without the knowledge of the children.

7. He can enjoy his grand children rubbing his head with their tender palms, accompanied by shrill giggles.  This is a rare gift by God given only to a select few.

8. He can be easily identified in a crowd if lost in an exhibition or in a mall.  

9. With the overall savings, he can take his wife and children to a film and let them enjoy it, while he himself can have a blissful sleep.

10. He can chuckle within himself appreciating the scientific fact that bald men are more virile than others. 

Vijay listened to the sage in rapt attention. He was overwhelmed by his exceptional erudition and worldly wisdom.  All his ideas would stand test of time.  Vijay offered his pranams to the sage and turned back.  Instantly he felt reformed and emboldened.  He could feel a new transformation overtaking him. 

He realized that soon he would be a sunyakeshadhari.  So what?  He would go about it nonchalantly. As advised, he would hold his head high and his chin up. This would be his attitude always.  It was acquired at a cost.  How could he forget its price tag of R.5,000?  

"THE TERRAINSPOTTER" HAS MY TRAVELOGUE

A REAL-TIME TRAVEL ESSAY ON JODHPUR 

The Terrainspotter, India’s premier real time travelogue portal, where real travellers share their real experiences, carried on July 01, 2015 my article “The Citadel of the Sun – Mehrangarh” with several photographs supplied by me. 

It begins with an introduction of me as follows, supplemented by a photo: 

“Mr. Subbaram Danda is an author and a former journalist. Two of his books "Marvels Very Majestic" and "The Rustles of Pleasure" have been listed at Amazon.com and Flipkart.com.  He was Chief of News Bureau of a multi-edition economic daily and later Media Relations Chief at a foreign diplomatic mission.  His contributions have been carried in The Financial Express,The Hindu BusinessLine, Industrial Economist, The Newsman, Merinews, Qpeka, SPARK, Writer's Ezine and The Criterion.  He has travelled extensively.  Photography is his passion.”

Then the write-up starts:

As we drove down the narrow and bustling streets of Jodhpur in Rajasthan heading for the mighty fort of Mehrangarh (Citadel of the Sun), our expectations ran high. Former US first lady Jacqueline Kennedy had described it as the eighth wonder of the world. Noted English writer and Nobel Laureate for literature Rudyard Kipling had called it “the work of the giants” having been overwhelmed by its “colossal proportions.” 

Mehrangarh Fort

Then on it runs similar to the narration in the post “The Jewel of Jodhpur” carried sometime ago on this blog.

A week later the Terrainspotter carried a sequel to the above essay.  Titled “Jodhpur – Exploring Further” it said, “While the Citadel of the Sun – Mehrangarh – is the most appreciated tourist attraction of Jodhpur, the city offers several others, which have their own unique appeal.  My wife and I went in search of them during our visit of the city in March 2015.”

Then the story talks about the attractions of Jaswant Thada, Umaid Bhawan Palace and the Mandore Garden.  It is similar to the write-up “Jodhpur Potpourri.”   Several photos supplied by me are also carried alongside. (Ends)

July 2015

THE DARKER SIDE OF "EMERGENCY"

THE TRAVAILS OF PRESSMEN

(By Subbaram Danda)

India was under a State of Emergency from June 25, 1975 until it was withdrawn on March 21, 1977.  The then Prime Minister, Mrs. Indira Gandhi, got the emergency declared by the President, Mr. Fakruddin Ali Ahmed, in view of "internal disturbances." A major fallout was that the Press was censored.   Forty years have gone by since its declaration.  I look back at those times.

The days of Emergency are still sordidly green in my memory.  I was a Senior Staff Reporter in "The Indian Express."  All newspapers were subjected to censorship.  My newspaper was particularly targeted because its owner Ramnath Goenka was a staunch supporter of Jan Sangh, which was the arch rival of the ruling Congress party.  Also the newspaper was known for its forthright news and views. 

In those days we did not have computers and news items had to be composed on Lino machines.  Work on “making” pages would start early in the night and would go on till the deadline for each edition. 

During the Emergency, every page had to be cleared by the censor, which was the Press Information Bureau (PIB) of the Government of India located at the Shastri Bhavan in Chennai.  On night shifts I had to go to PIB for its clearance and I know what it all meant. At the same time, it should be said that PIB officers were very friendly to us as they had always been, though they had to do an unpleasant job.  They would not, however, take any risk.  They would cut out mercilessly any news item that was “objectionable” and approve only the rest of the contents.  

The consequence of such deletions would be a major headache back at the newspaper office as those pages had to be redone.  One way of getting over the problem was to remove the “objectionable” items and leave blank space there.  From the point of view of the newspaper, it served a good purpose too.  Readers would know that news items there had been censored.   My newspaper had several blank spaces every day.

Some smart guy in the Central Government wanted to plug this “loophole.”  Censor rules were changed overnight and fresh orders were issued that the newspapers should not leave any blank spaces when distributed to the public.  This meant additional time-consuming work for the newspaper and getting fresh clearance from the censor.  The net result of it all was that newspapers would be printed late and the distribution mechanism would be thrown out of gear. 

That was the state of Freedom of the Press during the days of Emergency.  I cannot forget those days.  Later I moved over to “The Financial Express” to be its Chief of News Bureau. 

(Ends)

July 02, 2015 

"GALAXY" PUBLISHES MY SHORT STORY

GALAXY, an international multi-disciplinary Research Journal held in high esteem by the academic world, has published my short story titled "Black is the Colour of Ecstasy."  It is a bi-monthly.  Here is the full text of the story as carried in the journal:

Black is the Colour of Ecstasy

Subbaram Danda

A gleaming white car screeched to a halt at the Statue of Labour on the Marina of Chennai.   A fair lass in her late teens stepped out of it, stark naked.  She was ravishingly beautiful.  The vehicle moved on in slow speed.  The young woman ran behind it.  After three solid minutes it stopped again.  She caught up with it.  A burly man came out of the car and dragged her inside amidst loud giggles from its occupants.  In a jiffy it sped away.

The time was about 6 a.m.  The sun had just risen spreading its soft crimson rays all over.  The morning walkers on the promenade of the world’s second longest beach watched the entire incident in shocking disbelief.   They could not make head or tail out of it.  No one cared to call the Police or the media. 

The young adult was Pratima, an M.B.B.S. student doing her final year in a reputed medical college.  After the episode she got dropped, fully-dressed, at the hostel, where she was staying, as if nothing had happened.  None of her room mates came to know of it.   Days and weeks passed. 

A brilliant student from a small town down south, she had been a class topper.  The college dean had been hoping that she would score the first rank in the university.   But her performance started slipping gradually.  Her health appeared to deteriorate.  One day, a team of doctors examined her and found to their utter dismay that she had become a drug addict. 

Her parents rushed to the city and got her admitted in a de-addiction and rehabilitation centre.  There she disclosed how it all began.  Her initial curiosity, kindled by senior classmates, took her to a rave party, where she had her first brush with mild intoxicants.   Subsequently, her progress to “getaway substances” was fairly fast.  Finally she became a slave to addictive drugs.  She had experimented with all types of hallucinogens.   She had inhaled a few, smoked some, orally consumed several and got many others injected.  They had generated in her feelings of exotic fantasy, elevated excitement and incredible euphoria.  

She had finally reached a stage where she could not remain without drugs on a regular basis.  When she ran out of money, she would beg with drug peddlers for free supplies.  They would ask her to do demeaning things and she would obey them helplessly to get the substance she badly needed.   The horrific three-minute streaking incident was one such.

Fortunately, she responded well to the treatment at the de-addiction centre.   Her recovery was miraculous.  Within a few months she became almost normal.  Her rehabilitation programme too did not pose any problem.  With an unusual determination she got back to her studies, completed her degree and joined the centre as a doctor.  She devoted herself full time to the care of addiction patients and also research.  This gave her an opportunity to understand the changing contours of the drug demon. 

Pratima was distressed to learn that young professionals in India, particularly in the Information Technology industry and call centres, were increasingly falling prey to the temptation of drugs.  The segment of women in this horrendous circle was not insignificant.   New-found affluence, unbridled freedom and peer pressure were the prime contributing factors.  She was shocked to learn about another emerging trend.  Illegal outlets calling themselves pharmacies offered drugs online and arranged for their delivery by couriers.

Over the years, the types of drugs consumed had undergone a dreadful transformation.  In the past the most commonly-used drugs were naturally-derived mood changers like opium, ganja, and hashish.  In course of time synthetic substances took over the reins.  Every city in the country had its preferred potion.  Mumbai raved wildly on Ice, Delhi on Ecstasy, Chennai on Ketamine, Calcutta on Meth and Lucknow on Yaba.  The last one, highly popular in Thailand, was supposed to be four times more powerful than some of the others. There were also “designer drugs.”

Pratima, an erstwhile drug user herself, was aghast at the new developments. This redoubled her resolve to be of unstinted service to her patients and wean them away from drugs permanently.   Her attention was drawn to a male inmate, whose case history made unusual reading.  He was Victor, a handsome youngster.  He hailed from a respectable family.  His grandparents and close relatives enjoyed good reputation in the society.   But his father was a jarring exception.  A steam engine driver, he had fallen victim to drug abuse.  He refused to undergo treatment and became a critical consumer of hard drugs.  The most shocking part of it was that he constantly used Victor, even when he was a small boy, to run errands for him and fetch drugs from peddlers.  In course of time he passed away but Victor partly acquired his habit.  Fortunately he took drugs only occasionally. 

After graduation the young man got a job in a call centre.  His position involved working in different shifts, including night.  Long hours of grinding work, abusive callers and rigid targets made him a distraught person.  He turned to drugs on a regular basis.

Pratima took pity on Victor.  She paid special attention to him.  She reasoned that a young man, wrongly introduced to drugs by his own father, should not be allowed to destroy himself.   She counselled him frequently.  She narrated her own story to wean him away from the bad habit.  He appeared psychologically convinced.   Gradually, a strange chemistry developed between them and blossomed into love.  As his condition improved, they went out often together.  Their relationship grew from strength to strength.   She also sought his cooperation to realize her dream of working towards eradicating the menace step by step in co-operation with the authorities.  He helped her, while still undergoing treatment inhouse.     

She drafted a plan of action and got it approved by the board of directors of the de-addiction centre.  Accordingly, it adopted a five km radius area around it and sought to make it a drug-free zone.  Schools, colleges, civic authorities, district administration, corporate entities and the police were roped in to clean sweep the area of drugs.  Public lectures, distribution of leaflets, surprise checks on suspected vendor outlets and stringent punishment started showing results.    

At an international conference on “Drug Eradication: New Challenges” held in New Delhi, Pratima’s pet project came in for appreciation.  Several non-governmental organizations offered to adopt it as a model for implementation in their respective areas.  The Union Government announced special grants to the centre for sustained action.  “On this occasion I swear it will be my endeavour to drive the drug traffickers out lock, stock and barrel,” an emotional Pratima declared.

On return, one day she was on her night shift.  While going on rounds around midnight, she heard a cell phone ring.   It was from the bed of Victor.  He was fast asleep.  The mobile instrument lay by his chest on the bed.  After ringing for ten seconds it went off.  Half a minute passed.  It rang again.  He was still in his deep slumber.   With trepidation, Pratima picked it up but before she could answer, it fell silent.   Could it be a very important call for him?  It rang again but differently.  This time it was an SMS.

Pratima read the message.  It said: “Operation White Rose will begin at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow.  Do as planned.  No failure or slippage will be tolerated – Red Rocket.”  Something flashed in her mind.  The name was familiar to her.  She strained hard to recall her drug days.  Yes, it was how the chief drug handler in South India was known in his circles.  In fact, she remembered, it was this rogue and a few others of his tribe that had forced her to run mercilessly behind the car in the attire of the primeval beings for three solid minutes on that fateful day. 

She started thinking feverishly.  What was Operation White Rose?  What role Victor was going to play in it?  Certainly, it should be a major assignment.  Otherwise, the local chief’s call-name would not have appeared at the end of the message.  She wanted to find out everything -- in her own way, discreetly.  This was very important to her because at stake was her relationship with him.  She went to her room quietly without disturbing him.

Next morning around 7:45 a.m., when she was getting ready to go home, Victor entered her room with a strange smile on his face.  “Good morning, doctor madam!  Today I am in a very good mood.  Let us go out for a walk in the park round the corner.  I was told that white roses are in full bloom there.  It will be exhilarating to take a stroll by them.”  A bell rang in her mind.

“With pleasure,” she replied without displaying any anxiety on her face.  She was sure something terrible was going to take place there.  She was prepared to face any eventuality.  Following the SMS message the previous night, she had arranged for two private detectives to shadow Victor and report to her all developments.  Now she would also be going with him.

The road was deserted.  As they kept moving on the sidewalk heading for the park, a white sedan with tinted glasses fully raised stopped suddenly by them.  A tall brawny figure emerged from the driver’s seat, rushed towards them and stood in the front blocking their way.   It was Red Rocket.  With a derisive laughter, he growled at Pratima:  “Hey, you think you have become an angel?  Recall your past.  Don’t imagine you are smart.  You want to remove us from the scene?  Forget yourself.  Victor is your death knell.  We have planted him in your centre.  He is our man.”  

The head trafficker’s face turned ghastly.  “We are in the process of kidnapping you.  Soon you will be dead and Victor will be rewarded….”  Before he could complete his monologue, the two security guys pounced on him and immobilized him.  Strangely, Victor did not try to escape.  Nor did he try to go to the help of the drug chief.   Soon he and Red Rocket found themselves behind the bars of a police lock up.  A pistol was recovered from Victor.

That night, when Pratima entered her room at the de-addiction centre, she found a letter on her table.  It was from Victor.  He should have discreetly left it before they went out together for the fateful walk, she thought.   It read:  “Dear Pratima, first of all my apologies to you.  You have been taking good care of me and I know you want to make me turn a new leaf.  I am beholden to you.  But now, I am in a mess.  Drug Handler Red Rocket, whom you also know well, wants me to trick you and hand you over to him.  Yes, I have been planted here by him. Twice in the past, I managed to foil his attempts.  But he has threatened to kill me, if I fail this time.  I am putting into place a plan of action to save you and myself.  Trust me.  My pistol will not betray me.”

This development perplexed Pratima.  Should she help him out of the present mess?  She decided in his favour.  His letter became a key document. During interrogation Victor co-operated well with the police and disclosed everything he knew about the drug distribution networks around the hospital, near his residence and his call centre.  This led to many arrests and seizure of a variety of substances.  In the special narcotics court, no charges were framed against him and he was cited as the main prosecution witness. The case progressed fast.  Ultimately, the kingpin Red Rocket and ten others were sentenced to life term.  The judge commended Victor’s role.

Yet, Pratima was not prepared to trust him in full measure as in the past.  Could he be playing a game?   She wanted to wait and watch.  After rehabilitation sessions, he was discharged from the centre.  He tried to keep in touch with her, but diplomatically she managed to maintain a safe distance from him.  

Victor felt happy that he had come out of the muddle unscathed.  However, he had a major battle to win.  Now his plan was to join hands with Pratima and lead a contended life.  He formally proposed to her to tie the knot but she sought time to respond.  She was in a dilemma, whether to marry him or not.  Though his credentials had now been proved, there was a new complication.  Every drug cartel was well-entrenched and had its own international connections.  After a setback it would lie low for a while but soon would rear its head in some form or the other.  Once a man had testified against a drug setup, she knew, it would track him down ruthlessly and kill him sooner or later.  Victor was one such person. 

Her thoughts continued.  For all she knew, she had disappeared from the hunter’s radar.  If she moved closer to Victor now, she would also be targeted.  Her dream of eliminating the drug menace would be shattered.  After days of agonizing deliberation, she decided to stay single and devote herself totally to the cause very dear to her.  Her desire was to live to serve the afflicted humanity and deal a death blow to the perpetrators of the drug crimes.  This threw Victor into total disarray.  

One day, when she was in the Out-Patient Ward, a disheveled man in tattered clothes with an overgrown beard was brought in a stretcher.  He had been found lying in a semi-conscious state behind white rose plants in the park near the hospital.  It was Victor.  He cried out looking at Pratima, “Don’t save me.  Your rejection of my hand was the least I had expected.  Though the drug lords have apparently wound up their operations in this part, they have been after me to taste my blood.   I could go nowhere for support or solace.  I decided to end my life, instead of facing their bullets.  I have consumed a heavy dose of sleeping pills.” 

He gasped, paused for a few seconds and resumed his talk in a feeble voice, “Don’t let your vigil drop.  They can set shop again at any time.  Please carry forward your good work with renewed zeal.  May God be with you!”  They were his last words. (Ends)

UDAIPUR'S COLOURFUL ATTRACTIONS

THE DIARY OF A TOURIST

(By Subbaram Danda)

A traditionally caparisoned white Mewar steed

Udaipur offers to tourists a colourful mosaic of attractions, besides an exhilarating boat ride on the placed waters of Lake Pichola and a unique opportunity to stay in exquisite palaces-turned luxury hotels.  It provides a rare insight into the lifestyles of the kings of the former princely state of Mewar, now a part of the state of Rajasthan, and the cultural background of its people over the centuries.

City Palace

One major attraction is the City Palace, an enormous white edifice that stretches along the waterfront of the lake.   It encompasses several mansions, courtyards, pavilions, terraces, corridors and halls built over a period of more than three hundred years by successive rulers of Mewar. 

A significant portion of the palace has been converted into a museum, which is what the tourists mostly see today.   In the course of our Rajasthan tour in March 2015, my wife and I spent more than two hours going round it, accompanied by an official guide. 

At the entrance, a huge masonry arch with three large portals greets visitors to the City Palace.  Once through it, we entered the museum.  Inside, on a wall we found a large mural of an elephant charging in a battle field.    Then on we had to wend our way through a labyrinth of pathways and stairwells.

An arch with three portals

Entrance to the City Palace Museum

A mural of a charging elephant

    

Some sights in the palace were fascinating.  The Sheesh Mahal (The Mansion of Mirrors) had reflectors, glass panes and glazed tiles all over its walls and the ceiling in a colourful scheme.  Similarly, a large room used for royal dining displayed a comparable décor.  On the wall of a hall a huge ornamental artwork portraying Sun God glistened gorgeously.  

Sheesh Mahal (The Hall of Mirrors)

Royal dining hall

An ornately crafted image of Sun God

A narrow staircase had on both its side-walls neatly-plastered glazed tiles with floral designs.  Interestingly, it had vertical metallic grab bars at intervals, in addition to regular ones.  At the Mor Chowk (The Peacock Square) we could see artworks on buildings reflecting the peacock theme.  From a courtyard overlooking Lake Pichola, we enjoyed a beautiful view of the “Floating Palace” – the Lake Palace on an island in the lake.  

A staircase with vertical hand-grabs

A building in the Peacock Square

The "Floating Palace" as seen from the City Palace

Among the museum’s collections were old weapons, paintings, artifacts, sculptures, royal paraphernalia and models of animals that served the rulers.    Of interest were a gold-plated howda (seat for a ride on an elephant), a palanquin, a horse-drawn carriage, a model of a caparisoned white horse ready to participate in an official procession and an all- silver cradle for royal children.    

A gold-plated seat for use during elephant rides

Another artistically crafted seat for royal rides

A horse-drawn carriage used by the royalty

An all-silver cradle for royal babies

Chetak

The cynosure of all eyes was, undoubtedly, the life-size model of Rana Pratap Singh’s gallant white steed Chetak.  Its exploits are legendary.  We were told that the horse displayed its incredible valour and loyalty in a battle fought in 1576 against the forces of the Mughal emperor Akbar at Haldighati about 40 km from Udaipur.  Wearing a long mask that resembled the trunk of an elephant, it carried its master Rana Pratap on its back and charged forward.  The mask on a fast-moving horse was intended to confuse the enemy elephants.

CHETAK, the loyal white steed of Rana Pratap Singh.  See the
long mask of an elephant trunk attached to its mouth.

When the Rana decided to take on elephant-riding Man Singh, a Rajput vassal of Akbar and commander of the Mughal forces, Chetak pounced on the elephant and pounded its head with its forelegs to immobilize it.  The Rana threw his lance at Man Singh but he ducked and avoided it.  In turn he threw a sword at Chetak and succeeded in badly injuring its right rear leg.  As enemy forces tried to surround it, the horse galloped out of the battle field on its three legs carrying Rana Prathap and ran for more than five kilometres, saving its master.  Finally on the banks of a stream it collapsed.   At this spot stands a memorial erected by the grateful Maharana for his truly loyal horse.

No tourist can afford to miss the City Palace. 

The Jagdish Temple

A prominent place of worship in Udaipur is Jagdish temple, an architectural splendour dedicated to Lord Jagannath, an avatar of Lord Mahavishnu of the Hindu pantheon of Gods.  The presiding deity is the same as in the famous Jagannath temple at Puri in the state of Orissa.  We saw a large number of people, including many foreigners, visiting the Udaipur shrine. 

The exterior view of the Jagdish Temple

The temple is located close to the main entrance of the City Palace.  Built in 1615 by Maharana Jagat Singh I on a hillock, it can be reached by climbing a flight of 32 steep steps.  The stairway is flanked at the top by a pair of massive elephant statues with their trunks raised in a greeting fashion. The temple rises majestically in tiers with its main tower soaring high at the rear.  All the external walls and the plinth are replete with exquisite bas reliefs of elephants, horses, alligators, musicians, dancers and celestial nymphs.  They are well-preserved.  Inside, ornate halls, carved pillars and painted walls cast a mystic spell on the visitors.  

The temple rises majestically in tiers

Tastefully carved sculptures on the walls of the temple

Another set of sculptures

The sanctum enshrines a magnificent four armed black marble statue of Lord Jagannath in the standing posture.  There are also idols of Lord Krishna and Goddess Mahalakshmi.   During the times of worship, sacred chants and chimes of bells emanating from there can be heard all over the temple premises.  Around the main shrine there are four smaller ones dedicated to Lord Ganesh, the Sun God, Goddess Shakti and Lord Shiva.

The Jagdish temple is undoubtedly a grand icon on the skyline of Udaipur. 

Eklingji

It is an ancient temple complex located 22 kilometres north of Udaipur.  Within its high walls there are 108 shrines.  The main temple, dating back to the 15^th century, was rebuilt on the ruins of an earlier one.   It is dedicated to Eklingji, a form of Lord Shiva, believed to be the presiding deity of the Mewar rulers. 

The high outer wall of the Eklingji temple

 

In the sanctum the image of Lord Shiva appears as a linga with four faces.  It is made of black marble.  The temple features an enormous double-storyed elaborately pillared hall under a vast pyramidal roof.  Facing the main sanctum is a life size idol of Nandi, the bull mount of the Lord. 

Nathdwara

It is a 17^th century temple dedicated to Lord Krishna, known locally as Lord Shrinath, located about 50 kilometres from Udaipur. We were told that it is one of the richest shrines of India and attracts millions of devotees from all parts of the country every year.  The magnificent black marble image of the lord enshrined in the sanctum is believed to be over 600 years old and was brought here from Govardhan Hill near Mathura in 1669 in a bid to protect it from the fanatic hands of Mughal emperor Aurangzeb. According to a legend, the place where the temple came up was the site where the chariot carrying the idol got stuck and this incident was interpreted as the divine direction not to move it anywhere else.  

From the point where our car was parked, we had to walk a long distance through narrow lanes flanked by small shops before reaching the main temple.  People thronged it and we had to wade our way inside for darshan.  The security was tight and foreigners were not permitted inside.  Photography was prohibited.

Sahelion ki Bari

Sahelion ki Bari (The Garden of the Maidens) is another tourist attraction to the north of Udaipur.  The garden was designed and raised by Maharana Sangram Singh in the 18^th century.  It was presented to his queen to be used by the 48 young companions she had brought with her as dowry.  It was a place of pleasure and relaxation for the royal maidens.   Vast lawns, flower beds, ornamental trees, pools, ponds, fountains, paved walkways and huge portals enrich the beauty of the garden.  Raised on the banks of the Fatesh Sagar Lake, its fountains function through water-pressure coming from it and no pumps are used.

A doorway at the Garden of the Maidens 

The neatly-tended lawns, bushes and trees

Another view of the garden

“Udaipur is a jewel among the cities of Rajasthan” -- this is how our tourist guide described it and we have no reason to dispute his claim.  (Ends)

June 13, 2015