As the tiny airplane comes to a juddering halt on Udaipur’s sunburned tarmac, I grab my luggage and walk dispiritedly into the spanking new terminal of the Maharana Pratap Airport. Hungry, careworn, this is the grumpiest I have been in months — thanks, in part, to my flight from Delhi falling a full six hours behind schedule. But things take a dramatic turn once I meet my amiable cabbie, Faruk, who sets off on the winding course to Deogarh, 160km to the north of Udaipur, with necessary haste. “Is there anything to see on the way?” “Not much,” he replies. “The rainfall has been really poor this year, so Udaipur’s lakes are mostly dry.”
Don’t let locals like him trick you into thinking there’s nothing but glistening waterbodies here to keep an eye out for. For, looking out of my window, it’s a scene worthy of the purplest prose — browns, rusts, khaki and olive merging into one rustic, earthy canvas that’s worth endless detours and revisits.
After three hours of quiet travelling and cutting through Rajsamand district, the heart of India’s marble and granite quarrying business, we’re ready to trundle into our final destination, Deogarh, a little town which stands at the convergence of the borders of the once-powerful provinces of Mewar, Marwar and Merwara.
This bustling thikana of Mewar has as its crown jewel, a majestic 17th-century palace ,called Deogarh Mahal. Standing imposingly atop a hillock, its ochre walls taking on a dull glow in the fading evening light, you can sense the historic significance of this magnificent structure and the clutch of fortresses that have mushroomed around it. Currently home to Rawat Sahib Nahar Singh II (15th in a line of powerful barons who pledged their allegiance to the Maharana of Udaipur), his wife Rani Bhooratna Prabha Kumari and their two sons, the family decided to restore their palace, converting it into an 80-room hotel about 10 years ago.
I’m welcomed at the gate by the Rawat Sahib’s son, Vibhu and budding hotelier grandson, Mukul. After a quick snack, they whisk me off to take a tour of their one-time abode. We meander through what were once elephant and horse stables, now completely refurbished plush suites bedecked with precious Deogarh miniatures; up steep, narrow, medieval torch-lit stairways to explore nooks and cubbyholes concealed in its 10-foot-thick walls; across what seems like miles of terrace space, with its bulging turrets looking out onto the sun-baked brick houses piled on surrounding hills in a haphazard manner.
By now, with the sun playing hooky, I’m itching to get to my final destination for the night. For it’s not Deogarh Mahal that I have been assigned to visit, but Fort Seengh Sagar, a smaller, quieter medieval hunting lodge, once a hidey-hole for the princes’ concubines, five kilometres away from the main palace. The royal family converted it into a boutique hotel a few years ago. But the Rawat and Rani are reluctant to let me go. I’m the only guest in this four-room hotel for the next couple of days and they reckon I’d be terribly lonely eating there alone. So it’s decided that I will dine with the family at the Mahal before I’m dropped off for the night, and who am I to disagree with royalty anyway?
We troop down to the main moonlit courtyard and Vibhu orders some “sula and kebabs” for starters. I sink into my comfortable wicker chair, eagerly anticipating a glass of chilled chardonnay. Instead, what arrives is a large bowl of the most tender, spice-soaked, smoky meat that one can imagine, a Rajasthani delicacy grilled to perfection over hot coals.
Stuffed to the gills with skewer after skewer of sula and down four pints of beer, we finally set off for Seengh Sagar in an open-top 4WD. It’s about 9pm now. The town is asleep, and its empty, unlit alleyways are barely wide enough to walk a bike. Seengh Sagar must rank quite high as a hotel with the most difficult approach path. For 20 minutes, we’re cutting through thick, eerie bramble (“panther country,” Vibhu calls it) and negotiating steep rocky inclines, until, all of a sudden, without any notice, the dull silhouette of this little fortress on a rock peeps into view.
Since the hotel staff has already retired for the day, Vibhu and Mukul show me to my room. It’s not very large, but it exudes a genuine charm, with its old-world furniture upholstered in resplendent indigenous Rajasthani fabrics. There are Kota block-printed divans, and hot pink and black bandhini razais and rich, Gajji silk bedspreads beckoning me in a sultry come-hither sort of way. But the most fascinating architectural feature is the restroom. A steep flight of steps leads you downwards into a fantastic-looking bath space that looks as if it has been hewn out of a single piece of rock. Water spews forth from a trickling fountain in one corner, and the floor of the bathtub is encrusted with a layer of shiny, blue-green marbles. Washed, changed and horribly sleep-deprived, I sink into a sound, dreamless sleep, the most tranquil I have had in months.
I’m awakened the next morning by the persistent calls of two plum-headed parakeets perched on the edge of the balcony. Stepping out, I get a full, unbroken view of the surrounding countryside — a vast, parched lake-bed surrounds the hotel. Suddenly, the 1807 miniature of Seengh Sagar that Nahar Singh had shown me the previous night — an old painting which originally sparked off the idea of renovating this palace hotel — comes to life. Brushing my teeth, I strained to spot a hut or human settlement in the distance, but to no avail. Disconcerting as it may seem, you can bathe comfortably with the windows wide open, for the only creature for company was a lone camel in the distance nibbling at the leaves of a gnarled keekar tree.
At precisely 8.30 am there’s a sharp rat-a-tat on my door. It’s Colonel Randhir Singhji, Nahar Singh’s brother and caretaker of this property. After breakfast with the Colonel — a simple but satisfying spread of upma, poha, cut fruit and freshly brewed coffee — I set off for a heritage train ride along a short, 24km stretch of metre-gauge track from Khambli Ghat to Phulad, where time, for the last century at least, seems to have stood still.
It’s here, on this nine-rupee ride, that I meet Eshwar Lal, the real find of my trip. He’s a wizened old man of 65, the family’s maalishwala-turned-guide, who can tell you things about the place only a native raconteur would know. “These tracks were laid in 1894 when steam engines were still in use,” he says in immaculate English. As we’re chugging along, the train making wide, sweeping arcs through the Aravallis, we have to stop more than once for the driver to check his brakes.
At each stop, Lal pulls out chapatis from his coat pocket, throwing the titbits to hordes of hungry langurs outside. The view outside is breathtaking. The ground beneath your feet seems solid one moment, and then, like a trapdoor, suddenly swings out on its hinge to lead you onto a narrow, rickety looking bridge, taking you across a steep gorge.
That afternoon, after a lunch of laal maas and baajra roti, Mukul takes me out in his 1947 Dodge, a black, gleaming 10-seater to visit an ancient Shiva temple. An old stepwell stands before the temple complex with a tortoise swimming lazily in the thick algae. Legend has it that a leprosy-afflicted king from Jodhpur once came here to seek the advice of a hermit and, after dipping himself in these waters, was miraculously cured. But right now, looking at the poison-green liquid, I wouldn’t be caught dead sticking my little toe in the gloopy stuff!
As dusk falls Mukul drives me to the Deogarh Khayyam, a row of 16 spotless white boutique tents by a now bone-dry lake. It reminds me so much of the Masai Mara, for here too, you can wake up in the morning to find antelope grazing outside your tent. With a four-poster bed, a dressing room, a pukka commode and shower, hot water, 24-hour electricity and a pleasant sit-out area making up the interiors of this 30×30-foot tent, this camping experience is unlike anything you’d ever expect. That night, it occurred to me that for the first time on this trip, there was no ambient noise. No car engines, no people’s voices — just the birds and the insects.
Morning comes too soon, and I’m wishing there was more time to soak it all in. I’m going to be back, I promise myself. Quickly. Before anything changes.
The information
Getting there
BY AIR The nearest airport is at Udaipur (160km). The drive to Deogarh takes about three hours and taxis are easily available on hire at the airport. An A/C Indica cab costs Rs 1,800 one-way.
BY TRAIN Deogarh has a railway station. But most visitors prefer to reach Udaipur by train and then do the last leg by car.
The hotel
The stunning island fortress of Fort Seengh Sagar (Rs 17,250 for a single room) has just four rooms, wonderfully decorated in rich Rajasthani textiles. Each room has a private balcony and a super-luxe bathroom overlooking the lake. The whole fort can be booked for Rs 48,000 per night.
Apart from the fort there are two other resorts, run by the same management. Deogarh Mahal (Rs 6,950-25,000), the main palace built in the 17th century, has 59 luxurious rooms and each room comes with its own attached bath. The Mahal has been restored to preserve the old architectural style of the building. The third option is for those who love the great outdoors. The Deogarh Khayyam (Rs 8,500) is a campsite comprising 16 boutique tents arranged around a eucalyptus grove by the edge of a lake. Contact: 02904-252777, www.deogarhmahal.com
What to see & do
Enjoy peaceful morning walks.
There’s plenty of bird life out here, so be sure to pack your binoculars and cameras.
The hotel also has polo ponies on rent so you can take in the surroundings on horseback.
Be sure not to miss the heritage train ride. The train leaves every day at 10.30am from Khambli Ghat station, and try to book a seat next to the knowledgeable Eshwar Lal.
Just before sundown, take a jeep safari for a ride through the countryside, and a glimpse of native Rajasthani village life.