Camels immaculately dressed, knowing it, and standing with their noses in the air, supercilious in their knowledge of what we mortals have no idea about. And their riders, with moustaches which covered cheeks in florid designs, the final masculine symbol somehow making them look effeminate. And the sand lying strewn on the stadium. And a blue and white tamboo across the length of the stadium. And villagers and foreigners and tourists basking in the sun, the cool breeze fiddling hair and cooling heated brows.
The beautiful Desert Festival of Jaisalmer, which we just stumbled into, out of sheer luck.
And what we had in front of us was a fun localized version of everything! First an obstacle race (locals who started out in kuttchas, first putting on dhotis, then turbans, than putting harnesses on camels and then racing to the finish line on their camels!), then tug-o-wars (locals - men and women - vs foreigners which the latter were winning for the last many years!), followed by the matka race, where ladies ran 50 meters, picked up earthen matkas full of water, put them on their heads and ran all the way to the finish line, which was another 50 meters away. The fun was when matkas broke half way, and the women got drenched or cracked open even as they picked up the pots!!
And then the funny fun of a camel polo match and a camel race!!
The polo was a five-a-side, and in two parts of ten minutes each. There were referees, linesmen, goalkeepers, et al. Sounds serious? Ah, but you had to be there to see what a riot it was. These serious looking, luxuriously-mustachioed ten men with long polo sticks swung it all around, almost never ever getting to hit the ball. But they did hit the reedy feet of many camels, who obviously got angry and ran to sides opposite to where the players wanted them to. And then the ball got hit all over by the camels themselves, and one goal was scored exactly that-a-away!
And this was only to set the mood for the three camel races, which were the grand finale! And here was where the camels decided to show men who was the boss. So, as soon as the gong sounded, two camels ran to the right of the race course towards the stands, one ran towards the back gate, obviously wanting to go back home quickly, another refused to start, one took off straight into the track - a perfect start. Now the two running towards the stands created total panic amidst the onlookers, and the BSF guards in front of the stands ran helter-skelter to save themselves from camels gone crazy!! And then one camel ran right next to the stands, weaved itself between parked cars and reached the finishing line - but from the opposite end!!
The feel and atmosphere was totally dehati, except that the local voices all around mixed with French, German, Spanish, Japanese, English and sundry languages and accents. And it was langrous and disorganized and sleepy and fun. And like much else in our nation, it could be construed as a test of patience or a waste of time or the acme of poor planning. But the truly evolved know that this was the way to dusty nirvana: we don't have spaces between action. We have spaces to revel in, disturbed only by sporadic action. Rest of the time is for contemplation of ones atmosphere, the special feel of a place which is sandy, and brimming with a strange character of relaxed hurry.
In the evening there was the culture-vulture program, with a French woman singing a terrible local folk song, a Bombay comedian cracking jokes on the local collector, a host who was choc-a-bloc with Urdu shayiri, and a small kid in the audience who danced to shenai-vadaan. And all of this, as the near-full moon and the stars like bulbs smiled benevolently down at us, and the sand dunes somewhere nearby sent cold messages! Oh god, I lobe my country to total siyapaan!!
The next day was the grand finale. The day when culture went into the dunes - and (we hoped) didn't die a dusty death!!
It was exciting to ride into Sam dunes, as the vegetation all around was sparse, though mum could identify sangari trees and kair bushes, and the rest were all babool bushes and the like which camels eat as their staple food, though they're full of thorns. We stopped at Kuldhara village, which is one of the 87 abandoned villages in Jaisalmer district. The story goes that a corrupt (and horny, I might add) vazir, who enjoyed a new girl every night, fell for a nubile Brahmin girl. Her father knew the dire consequences of a choice, either way, and asked for time from the vazir. A 'niet' from the father meant sure death for the family, and a 'yes' would put the poor girl's life into perpetual misery. As a consequence, the elders of all the villages having this strain of Brahmins decided to abandon their villages overnight, leaving everything behind, barring the bare necessities. And till date, these villages lie abandoned.
The place had nothing but broken huts, cow sheds, and a partially restored temple. But there was a certain poignancy to see this large area of destroyed and broken houses, lying like carcasses in the desert air.
Sam is a village, but has got known because it forms the spot from where you can take camel rides into the dunes. It was also the spot where the last day of the festival was going to wind up.
The road through the village is strewn with camels and their owners hustling tourists for their bucks for real and illusory rides. We took a camel cart for a ride upto the place where the evening program was gonna take place. He promised a half-hour ride, and took money in advance. Ten minutes to the place and he asked us to get down. We protested and refused to get off. A major fight ensued, and we held our guns. He had to give us a ride over the dunes for another 20 minutes. At the end of it, he comes and asked us for a tip! The sheer cheek.
But it was easy to forget everything, as we entered the spirit of the place. There were large bright kites flying and there were people taking camel rides all over the undulating dunes which stretched as far as the eyes could go. There were the ubiquitous tea stalls, and pakoda kiosks and cold drinks and cute little toilets made out of cloth, right in the middle of the desert. The stage was at a height, atop one of the higher dunes, and in front were large sheets laid out for people to just come and sit down and enjoy the show.
It was, yet again, a village fair, and it was as full of locals as there were Indian and foreign tourists. And it was more crowded than the previous days functions - definitely 7000 or more people. The programme started bang on time. And the ethereal part of the experience was that across the stage, behind the audience, the sun set in a glorious orange orb, and as it set, right behind the stage rose a silver huge moon, unencumbered with clouds, and forming a shimmering background to all the music and dance being preformed on the stage. It was sublime.
The programming was seamless, and the artistes chosen with care and variety. There were maand performances, kalbelia and fusion dances, gorgeous solo stints on local instruments, contortionists who did amazing stunts with glasses, spinning wheels and pots, artistes who danced and played with cymbals which were attached all along their legs. Their were singers who sang local satires and transvestites who danced with Japanese partners!! The final dance was a Krishna-Radha Ras Leela, which ended with a Holi of flowers and a humdinger display in the skies of fireworks, which lit up the night - and the way across to the dunes, back to our cars.
A heart-warming climax to two days of revelry which both bemused and exasperated us, but also provided hours of sheer enjoyment and joy.
Recommended? Highly. Caveats? Oh yes. Go, knowing it's a village fair, with organization to match, but capable of reaching great heights. And you will come back happy!
