We took the high road, struggled past city traffic and eventually found ourselves on the low ones that don’t bypass life altogether. Languid, dusty roads broken by bursts of colour, as a juggad, the enterprising farmland vehicle, powered by an irrigation machine, heaves past, carrying an impossible number of vividly clad women and brightly turbaned men in the makeshift cart. Deeply rutted roads in the villages, where you slither by a whisker past buses, trucks, dogs, camel carts, cycles, pedestrians, peacocks… baleful neelgai, sprinting children… workers on the interminable highway, breaking, broadening, tarring, modernising.
A detour to visit the baoli at Abaneri, an amazing ninth-century step well. We ask for directions to Gangapur at one point. “Straight,” says the old man. “How is the road?” we ask. “Straight,” he replies, equally laconically. He’s right. Everything is straight and just ahead. You just have to know where you’re going.
Finally, up dark and sheer turns, through narrow gates, we are at Ramathra Fort. As forts go, this is not a very large one but its ramparts are no less imposing and grand.
Ravi, Gitanjali and young Udhit, our ever-affable, unwaveringly hospitable and most engaging hosts, welcome us at the entrance to the 350-year-old fort.
In 1645, the Maharaja of Karauli gifted this jagir, this province, this hill, to his son Thakur Bhoj Pal. On this hill the fort was built. The family lived there for many generations, through dark and bright times, till the time of the grandfather of our host, Ravi Rajpal. The family found it tough going in the fort itself and moved down to their farmlands below the fort and eventually to Jaipur. Abandoned to the elements and the plunder of the ever-hopeful treasure-hunters who scour the hills for hidden gold, the fort shrugged its sturdy ramparts and let down its stones, let the wild grass overgrow its grounds and waited.
Thirty years later, Ravi and Gitanjali returned to reclaim and restore the ancestral home. Not a task for the feeble-hearted. In three months, they completed a gargantuan task and met the deadline of their first booking. Off with the offending jungle that had encroached to clear the courtyard. The foundation of the six large tents is laid, the tents in cheerful whites and yellows and dark teak furniture made to order, large pristine white fixed bathrooms constructed. Structured, ordered, simple but delightful, soothing and most comfortable, much like everything else in the fort, where discreet staff bring you your tea on the lawns or the sundowner under the darkening skies around the fire, under the eyes of the vigilant hosts. These tents will come down at the end of March and await the next season, but many other plans are afoot. The summer will see restoration of the original building itself and the addition of four large suites by the beginning of the season in October.
The fort can be the trip in itself, but there’s more. Keep in mind that this is a pure, probably self-indulgent, getaway. There is electricity, erratic though it is (but with a genny back-up), but no blaring television. You do have cellphone connectivity, but if you position yourself cleverly, you could be out of reach! There are no restaurants on the outside, something that is unlikely to be missed with the fresh farm fare and local delicacies served at the fort and included in your tariff. It is quiet, barring the sounds of nature, the distant drone of irrigation pumps, and the machines and trucks at the one blot in the landscape on a facing hill — where quarrying has already denuded a sizeable chunk. You are most unlikely to run into tourists other than the ones at the camp.
Left to your own devices, there are ample options for lazing around but there are also a good many jaunts you could take on foot, depending on your stamina — my sedentary city lungs and legs were stretched fine but willingly and with an accompanying smugness.
Up the hill are the ruins of the first intended site for the fort — they had clearly progressed a fair amount before they changed their minds — leaving the broken house — phuti gadi to the toll of time. The hilltop affords a spectacular view of the valley and neighbouring hills. The guard-cum-guide of the fort points to a distant obscure spot in the cliff face where a sadhu camped in a cave for twenty years. The stuff of legends. The name of Ramathra is in fact derived from Ram-tehera. It would appear that Lord Ram too took some time off to soak in the ambience on his journeys… Down the hill from the old Shiva and Ganesh temples are the farms, canals, sleepy hamlets and omnipresent goats.
We went boating on the Kalisil lake on a misty day where the sun shimmering through the shrouds made it seem like the large flock of cormorants had landed on a sheet of ice. Binoculars and bird book in hand, quite alone on the waters, we could study at leisure the myriad birds, from storks to stilts, with only bird calls and the regular beat of the paddles to ripple the silence. Young Udhit, the keeper of the book, circles the pictures of every newly-sighted bird. He has a number of circles now. We spot no crocodiles.
More adventurous were the ‘jeep safaris’ — Ravi’s hardy, open Willys jeep negotiates rather ominous terrain with the sureness of a goat. We went to visit Chuha ki Kho — one of the gorges along the Daang plateau. A short climb down from the rocky plateau with its short and sturdy dhok and ber trees is a little cove into which a perennial stream flows. The ubiquitous lingam and eternal sadhu shelter in a cave temple. We meander alongside the stream and arrive at a vast stony expanse with looming cliffs on both side and a waterfall gushing into an emerald pool. One must sit — the place can take your breath away! Ravi tells us this was once tiger country, ‘once’ being the operative word. Leopards and bears apparently still prowl the land. Set into a cliff face is an old, cleverly disguised, square hideout built in the same stone, with a little window for the brave warrior to take cowardly aim at a tiger. It is clearly in disuse now for want of victim.
The second and longer jeep safari took us to the hinterland on the Daang plateau, across more rocky terrain to cross to reach Ghanteswar ki Kho. Another gorge, another cave temple, another mysterious water source, another wonder. The approach is down steep but neat stairs of stone slabs, over a deep thickly wooded abyss in striking contrast to the plateau of grey stones and yellow scrub above. To add to the colour are many peacocks strutting carelessly down the slopes, a little surprised by visitors. We had gone there with a purpose — word had it that a tigress had been spotted in the region a fortnight ago. It was speculated that she had come in search of a secluded spot to have her cubs, but alarmed by the over-solicitude of large numbers of forest personnel, she had moved on, her movements now being tracked with more discretion. Mission accomplished though unfulfilled, we returned, regularly crossing open jeeps laden with an impossible tangle of people being bussed back to their homes from various fields. As I mulled over the adroitness of a driver who managed to proceed unhampered by feet hanging over his windshield and a passenger wedged between his leg and the door opening, the sun turned into a bright orange circle, a veritable ball of fire.
We were back in good time for the ritual of the evening. A little something to warm our souls. Then, the portable chulha is pulled out on to the lawns, the fire stoked, and Ravi and the old family cook, Latoor, take turns, one with the show-and-tell family recipe of the day, and the other with ghost stories, the kind that abound in the hills… Latoor’s personal victory was with two singing, dancing bhootnis who beguiled him on his solitary path home, and then jumped on his shoulders (they turned into short demons) attempting to bring him down. He managed, albeit with a mighty struggle, to wrench them off his shoulders and dash them to the ground. He does not venture out alone now after dark, fearful among other things of losing his last remaining tooth. There was a moment though in the recent past when he and other staff members were struck with horror, believing the bhootnis had invaded the fort, when a guest splintered the quiet of the night with opera music. The strains sounded all too familiar to Latoor…
No ghosts trouble my sleep at the conclusion of this superlatively wonderful but all too short stay — the hot water bottle has been neatly tucked between the sheets and my mind takes flight as smoothly and gently as the geese printed on the panels of the tent.
The information
Getting there: Ramathra is 350km from Delhi, 180km from Jaipur, 225km from Agra, 175km from Bharatpur and 82km from Sawai Madhopur. By road from Delhi or Jaipur you would have to cross Gangapur; the final approach from all of these places is through Sapotra. While the road is good most of the way, there are patches which are better tackled in a car that is not low slung.
The closest railhead is at Gangapur (36km) with several daily trains from and to Delhi — try either the overnight Dehradun Express (leaves Delhi 9.45pm, arrives Gangapur 4.08am) or the Kota Jan Shatabdi Express (leaves Nizamuddin 1.15pm, arrives Gangapur 5.18pm).
Ramathra Fort: There are six well appointed tents with attached bathrooms but it is also entirely a homestay, with Ravi and Gitanjali Rajpal on hand to extend every courtesy in the finest traditions of Rajput hospitality. It is ideal for breaking journey, particularly from any of the ‘Golden Triangle’ cities. But it is a destination in itself too, for a weekend or a longer stay, for relaxation or exploration.
Tariff: Rs 10,350 + 10% tax for double. Includes all meals, non-alcoholic beverages, boat tour of Kalisil lake, nature walks, hike to fort ruins, visits to temples and to Meena hamlets along the lake.
Contact: 07465-215175, www.ramathrafort.com
What to do
– Jeep safari in the countryside, visits to Gujjar hamlets and cave temples (Rs 1,350 per head).
– Cross-country jeep safari to Ranthambhore Fort with a lunch stop (Rs 1,750).
– Trip to Kaila Devi National Park and temple (Rs 1,350).
– Trip to Karauli City Palace, Madan Mohanji temple, with lunch at Bhanwar Vilas (Rs 1,750).
All excursions are led by the hosts.