Bundi, where doing nothing is doing something

The bus screeched to a halt, raising dust into air for people around to cough. Here in this city of Rajasthan tourist is barely noticeable, people jostle for space, streets are rarely cleaned but the place is too friendly to be forgotten.  To an average traveler it’s a groundless destination but to the unorthodox it’s worthy to turn loafer without cortical idling.

Bundi is 266 meters above sea level surrounded by hills on three sides and I am sure the highest point at 440 meters is unreachable through forest. Still the summer here at fifty degrees can melt away your skin and the winter is harsh too.

I reached Bundi one December afternoon feeling comfortable in pullovers. The bus bay at the city center where the historic market had existed for centuries was too crowded to lay my foot and my suitcase when I dethroned. In the omnibus I was sitting on a one foot by one foot luggage kept perfectly at the center of the passage, but passengers didn’t seem to bother. In this heavily crowded bus one passenger referred the luggage owner as a descendant of donkey clan but the other passenger was too reluctant to pick up a fight. As I waited for the slang to fly under everyone’s nose and participation, the bus has reached its destination.

I crossed the road wheeling my luggage for a tea shop, persistently keeping my shoulder away from three –wheeler drivers ready to hook a tourist not acquainted with the lanes, bye-lanes and shortcuts of Bundi.  These outsiders appear lucrative. After I had sipped the last drop, the shopkeeper came to my rescue. He asked me to get an auto-rikshaw, pay him not more than forty, to a stay at the higher reaches of the city away from the humdrums.

Bundi Market

The lanes here would be familiar to those who are conversant with Benaras, narrow, never eminent, persistently cool, appearing haunted at night and looking overcrowded at day.  But they are undoubtedly a haven for the weary traveler. The descending slope from my hotel brought me soon into a lighted street with shops over looking pedestrians ready for a time consuming chat. The shopkeepers in a courteous manner waved tourists for a visit. It matters little whether you buy a product from the shop or not. At least at one shop inside the fort I was astonished to find a little girl, so naïve, refusing to charge me for a bottle of soft drink. I didn’t find a wine shop but there were approved official sellers of edible preparations of cannabis. There are shops selling kites, a tea-seller uninterruptedly preparing tea, hesitant for a rest. He told us that he graduated with a technical degree, a degree in arts and one in commerce. Why is he selling tea? I wondered. Another man was weaving a cotton saree, a visual delight indeed. But who buys his linen in a power loom age? Or maybe he is sleepwalking into the twenty-first century.  More down the lane sweet-meat shops were in plenty. Two men in lathe rooms made exquisite daggers, masks, toy pistols, key-hangers for decorating. Stray cows block roads but no annoying please, I was told. They are old, and most of them do not produce enough milk and are an infuriating burden to the owners. Two wheelers fly pass walkers but no grazing was to be seen. Some three hundred years old lofty stone walled gates at the middle of the road form junctions making it easier for lovers seeking appointments. The road zigzags, cunningly serpentines but rarely brings automobiles face to face, ultimately liberating itself into the sprawling grand old bazaar. Here everyone is selling everything at the crest of his voice, from cheap vegetables to fresh fruits. A lane dedicated to shoe shops is so winding, it made me lose my orientation. After a cup of fuming but aberrant tea laced with spices I found myself sitting only next to an ornate gate I had visited yesterday. I can reach my room safely now.

The next morning I followed the narrow lane encompassing the fort and encountered ‘Nawal Sagar’. On its tranquil surface wind blew without begetting ripples. After I had followed the road more, I found the massive yellow fort has produced its large format reflection on the water, standing still against the lapis lazuli sky. On a Sunday afternoon, in a clean empty park, a young mother played with her children. This side of the city appeared cleaner.

Nawal Sagar

It was lunchtime for a rather uncommon oily, fried ‘kachori’ (a bread made from onions blended with flour).  It is large and keeps your tummy filled for hours. This bread goes well with a cup of tea from the over educated tea seller. I kept sipping the tea lazily and it bothered the shop keeper little as you commonly find in metropolis. In fact I had nothing to do when someone reminded me about Rudyard Kipling’s stay in this city in a small room overlooking another large water body called Jait Sagar. The room stood empty with only a few photographs of Kipling, now bothered by the state. The adjacent government archeological museum too was empty of visitors, the sentry engrossed in a chat to shy away boredom.  The road smelled of pigs and cow excreta mixed with cooked dishes blowing from a nearby hotel. I walked for two more kilometers back to the over educated tea seller for a chat and a cup of tea without milk this time. An embarrassment awaited me when the tea-man refused to charge for this extra cup of tea. After I had come back to my city, the little girl and the tea-man repeatedly evolved whenever I thought of Bundi.

If you are not a dawdler, at Bundi one thing you must never miss, the fort itself. Half way at one moment of time I thought of giving up the steep climb, unable to find a grip on the slippery stones that paved the abrupt near vertical way.  Ascend was strenuous, risky and rigorous, ready to wring your stamina before it showcases the ever beautiful stance in blue. After the stones had stopped losing my grip, a lovely piece of flat land embellished with colorful bougainvillea attracted me. The garden is so carefully crafted with evocative flowers and green foliage in this land of sand and heat that it distracts you from witnessing the sprawling city beneath, whitewashed in blue. It reminds you of a similar view of Jaipur’s blue houses likely earmarked with a casteist philosophy. The view is enthralling and relaxing at the same time.

Blue Bundi

But I must neither be kept away by the bougainvillea dressed in pink nor the city in blue. For what I had come here is the exquisite expression of mind scaled down in size but not its beauty. It’s Chitrashala, the gallery harboring innumerable Rajasthani miniature paintings. When measurements, ratios and proportions are of utmost importance in miniature drawings, Bundi is ahead of Mewar miniatures. The use of full spectrum of colors and the refinement is superior to other Hindu drawings.

Chitrashala Entrance

The gallery is not that big but hardly a spare inch is to be found without a stroke of brush. Many a king had patronized the miniatures but it was Rao Ummed Singh who initiated the gallery. Perfectly drawn miniature paintings in bright yellow, Persian blue, crimson and orange depicting stories from Hindu mythology attract your eyes. A touch of gold harnesses the imaginary. These drawings are so unique that from them rises the Bundi School of Art. It’s undoubtedly a mixture of the Mughal art form from Chunar in Uttar Pradesh and the Hindu style around seventeenth century. It’s foolish to describe these paintings when so much is written on them throughout the world.

Chitrashala Wall

The Boston museum of fine arts in USA has some thirteen Bundi miniatures which when seen can only be intensely felt but cannot be put to papers. Use of blue is so passionate here that it blends the sky and the city into oneself. Only when your ears had felt music flowing in the frescos your appreciation of Bundi miniatures comes closer to the artist’s feelings.

Chitrashala Fresco

If you are floored by the frescos in Bundi, I would suggest Jiwan Sodhi’s book ‘A study of Bundi school of painting’ for further gratification.After I lay in trance, the gallery keeper comes to me and says, its closing time, Sir. The frescos still lingering in my head secreting endorphins, I tried to locate a secluded tea shop to eschew what mesmerized me in blue. Only then the over educated tea- man waived at me smiling.

Chitrashala Roof Inside Closed Door

I climbed down those slippery pebble stones, out of the fort gate.

‘Did you see the Chitrashala?’, he asked. I was flabbergasted still not aware of how he came to know of my visit to the gallery only a few minutes back.May be they read tourist’s faces, I wondered. More than an hour I spent with him talking rubbish about Chitrashala and how rain water seeps into the fort wall destroying sculptures.

Chitrashala Remembering Persian Miniature

Here in shops the modern generation still draws miniatures, alas in papers and old postcards and not on walls as in frescos. The paint comes from the color boxes and rarely from the natural colors and pulverized semi precious stones. One painter had collected a bunch of old stamp papers from the Bundi Estate and draws kings and queens and royal scenarios on them, looking much like a fake paper. A young man works in his father’s shop making tiny silver pendants shaped like a mango. This hollow mango can hold ‘atar’ or the perfume to be worn as a necklace. Still they are excellent to be watched and be bought.

Chitrashala Roof

Now feeling comfortable after my feet had beguilingly rested itself over a cup of tea, I got up in search of the ‘Baori’ or the step-well. This huge ‘raniji ki baori’ or Queen’s Step-well, built in 1699 has excellent carvings in stone and was meant for collecting water and also as a bath in this desert land. After this visit another bout of milk-less tea soothes me for a kilometer walk to the only cinema hall in the city. The shows ran house-full and so I had to calm my mind for a fresh pair of apples at a cheap rate

Now my legs ached after I had almost covered the best part of the city. I thought of the over educated tea-seller only to find him near the kite shop.

 ‘Not brewing tea?’, I asked.

He smiled, ‘ I must get a kite for my child, I keep forgetting everyday’

‘Can I buy you a kite?’ I asked. He didn’t answer but only his face told me how happy he felt with humility.

That very moment it struck me, how happy I felt too, buying a kite for the child I have never met. It’s   bonus point, ‘buy one get one free’ I thought.  A free joy, Bundi has given me with this visit.