Sunrise at the Castle.

 Sunrise.

I awake early. The room is dark and cool and perfectly quiet here in the countryside. I push open the small windows that encircle the alcove. The cool air tickles my skin making me shiver. Somewhere in the distance temple bells call Hindu worshippers to prayer. The tinny, metallic sound of music through a cheap speaker. It is the Gayatri Mantra, chanting, musical, floating on the air punctuated by the putt-putt of a tractor as the farmer heads out for his morning chores.

In the distance a dog barks. It is black outside. Through the open window  I look up at the sky, dotted with a million stars, bright against the dark sky, unblemished by the wayward light of civilization. Orion - distinct, familiar – it reminds me that although I am on the opposite side of the world this is the same sky, the same stars. It is oddly reassuring.

The music stops and a single voice begins to chant. Pure, rich, floating in the absolute quiet. The voice comes from a place deep within the soul and it touches mine.

Bells, heavier now, almost a wooden sound. Only the bells.

The air is pungent, smoky despite the clearness of the sky. I imagine it is from the burning of the debris in the fields in this rural area of India.  Or perhaps the fires of home as the country people begin their morning rituals, ready for the day.

Clear now and closer. It sounds like it is right beneath my window, but sound travels in the quiet. A single bell now, small, dull. Then only quiet.

 

The sky is beginning to lighten, a halo along the distant horizon. First the horizon then slowly, carefully the light pushes upward, the halo becoming a glow, painting the sky upward in splashes of pink, yellow, purple like the meticulous brushstrokes of the classic painters. The sunrise pushes off the cloak of darkness splashing light across the sky, chasing the stars and constellations away to other distant horizons.

The first early risers walk by the magnificent arched gate and day begins in this rural area of India.

After a long day of travel we had stopped for the night at a 200 year old castle in the tiny village of Talabgoen, India, far away from the crowds and relentless noise of Delhi.

 The castle and grounds....



A photo in the parlour of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip visiting the castle when they were much younger.

The swimming pool.

 

 

 

 

 

We take a walk through the village before we leave, heading toward Pushcart and the Camel Fair.

Talabgoen is very tiny village where time stands still. As we walk we are celebrities, the children gather round touching us, wanting photos taken. The adults smile shyly and welcome our attention.

Camels lumber by pulling wagons and carts piled high with their loads.

There are makeshift vehicles made with the chassis of a Jeep, a motor mounted openly and always a speaker. These jeeps do not qualify as real vehicle so do not require a license for either the vehicle or the driver. They are only in the little villages.

 

 

 

The locals are busy with their daily chores. This old man makes mattresses pressing wool into a form and covering it with fabric.

 

 

At a bangle shop they make bangles out of resin from trees, decorated with shiny stones and rhinestones. The more being the better.

 

 

Cows and goats freely wander the street. Children leave their rubber flipflops on the stoop outside simple one room schoolhouses where they sit, cross-legged on an earthen floor.

 

It is a simple life, but everyone seems happy and content with their life.

 

Come With Me..... to the Pushkar Camel Fair,.