Every home in Rajasthan is likely to have a room of an alcove
dedicated to the almighty. Here, residents fold their hands and say their
prayers before calendar images of their gods, seeking benevolence from their
gods. In this hostile landscape, it is easy to be superstitious, and they
pray to the terrible image of Kali, the wrathful form of Shiva's consort, to
protect them form the demons of the elements. Outside their homes, and in
their villages it is not unusual to find images of local deities daubed with
vermilion, and kept in the gnarled roots of a peepul tree, or set into the
steps leading to the village pond. There are images of Bhairuji who keeps a
vigilant eye over his community, and Sagasji who, when propitiated, can
provide a proper harvest. And there is Pathwari who's task it is to look
after those setting out on journeys and pilgrimages. And there is the
plethora of folk heroes and gods who provide immunity from everything from
snakebites to cattle diseases. When one lives so close to the elements, it
is natural to want to bow before these deities as one passes before them: a
little obeisance can mean so much in the struggle for existence.
A settlement that grows even a little larger immediately marks out its space
with a more formal temple for its gods, and these are temples to Krishna or
Ram (Manifestations of Vishnu or Shiva) and they are usually on one edge of
the village, surrounded by a dense plantation of trees that are nurtured by
the villagers. Such spots are ideal for a little meditation, for getting
away from home to sit in probably the village's only leafy spot, and to set
the temple bells pealing with an air of celebration as the air resounds and
then swallows up the sound of their chimes.
Temples are one of several
places in a village where people gather, the others being tea-shops or the
village `square' which is usually an old, leafy peepul tree with a large
platform built around it for people to sit on. Wells are also gathering
points, with the men bringing their sheep and cattle to drink in the
mornings and evenings, and the women gathering to fill their earthen pots
with water that they carry home for use in the kitchen, and for bathing.
Since water is so scarce, wells are often elaborately decorated, and have
tall pillars that would indicate their presence for travelers on long
journeys through the desert. Songs about wells, and walking long distances
with pitchers, from part of the repertoire of music that swells in the
state.
At home, women confine themselves to the kitchen where
rows of shining brass and copper vessels and platters are lined up on
shelves against the wall. The stove is wood fired, into which cow-dung
patties are fed for fuel. Over this stove, set into the floor, women place
earthen pots for baked bread and porridge is served with a yogurt curry
called karhi, and with vegetables that may consist of dried beans, or, now,
increasingly fresh produce grown and transported from neighboring states.
For most families, breakfast is a glass full of hot tea gulped down with
stale bread, before rushing off to attend to the day's task, and lunch is a
frugal meal of unleavened bread eaten with a spicy chutney of chillies and
garlic.
Most meals are vegetarian, and though they eat meat, the
Rajputs too do not consume it regularly. In the old days, game would be
hunted, and the spoils shared with families in the village. With the ban on
hunting, meat now comes from the goats raised in the communities, but they
are slaughtered only for special occasions, and at the time of festivals
that demand offerings of blood. It is this frugal diet that keeps the people
of Rajasthan in fine fettle, slender of build, and not given to fat, and
with a posture that is erect.
Betrothals, marriages, even deaths
are occasions for the entire village to come together, as much in a show of
solidarity as of participation in each other's good times and bad. Cooking
for wedding feasts calls for the cooks to dig pits under the ground where
the fires well be lit for the huge cauldrons in which the food will be
prepared. The entire village dresses up festively to welcome the wedding
procession, and the Dholis and others of the singing caste lead the party to
the house where the wedding is being celebrated. Such celebrations can last
for a few days, and can become the social event of the season.
Just as the women adorn themselves, and decorated their houses, and the men
wear rings in the ears and slip their feet into gaily embroidered shoes, so
too it is not unusual for them to create special jewellery for their camels,
or to cut their coats in intricate motifs. The camel is the beast of burden
ideally suited to the climatic conditions of the desert. Its ability to
store enough water in its stomach to last it for a few days makes it ideal
for long distance travel along routes where even wells may be a rarity. No
wonder there is such close amity between the long legged beast and its
owner. From transport to ploughing in the fields to pulling carts, the camel
even provides milk though its sweet, thick consistency is not pleasing for
saddles, bags and shoes.
A visitor will find smoke still curling
from the kitchen window-modern; gas-fired stoves have still not arrived in
the villages of the desert. The postman carries mail on camelback. Most
villages now boast electricity, though strong gusts of wind can interrupt
its supply, so that the twinkling lights of kerosene lamps still illuminate
the night. The government has provided telephone lines, and even the
smallest village has at least one would the villagers have for telephones,
where their neighbor's are no more than a shout away? The television is a
new marvel in their homes, something they watch when there is electricity,
but from which they are strangely detached: it reflects, after all, cultures
far removed from their own. And a network of roads means that they can
travel more easily between villages, and to the neighboring towns. There was
a time, till a few decades ago, when villagers would sing of rain to
children because it was a rare visitor: today, with the increasing green
cover, as a result of the network of canals and of electricity-fed tube
wells, rain is less of a rarity.
Children are no longer surprised
at the fact of motorized transport. They are beginning to forget too the
fierce desert storms that would shift entire sand dunes and snuff out
everything in their way: once again, the increasing fields under green
cover, and the spread of the habitations has put a check on the harsh winds
that once raced through empty landscapes. Life in the desert is in a stage
of transition: but the traditions remain-they gave desert life its unique
flavor.
The
Palace on wheels is one of the world's most exciting and enchanting royal
journey through the by gone era of the erstwhile maharajas. Palace on wheels
is an experience of a lifetime that you are not likely to forget when you
live the lavish lifestyles of the Indian Kings. 
