by Ami Bhat
Notion Press
No. 8, 3rd Cross Street,
CIT Colony, Mylapore,
Chennai, Tamil Nadu – 600 004
First Published by Notion Press 2021
Copyright © Ami Bhat 2021
All Rights Reserved.
eISBN: 978-1-63745-405-3
This book has been published with all efforts taken to make the material error-free after the consent of the author. However, the author and the publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause.
While every effort has been made to avoid any mistake or omission, this publication is being sold on the condition and understanding that neither the author nor the publishers or printers would be liable in any manner to any person by reason of any mistake or omission in this publication or for any action taken or omitted to be taken or advice rendered or accepted on the basis of this work. For any defect in printing or binding the publishers will be liable only to replace the defective copy by another copy of this work then available.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is for
My parents, especially my mom, who put in me an intense passion and love for travel and encouraged me to read voraciously.
My hubby, Ashwin, who always stood by me and fueled all my dreams.
&
My dottie & best friend, Ayushi, for being the best-ever PR, my agony aunt, and my first editor, and for loving me unconditionally.
CONTENTS
Preface
Acknowledgements
1.Where Did She Go?
Kuldhara, Rajasthan, India
2.Return of the Souls
Phobjikha Valley, Bhutan
3.The Midnight Masquerade
Venice, Italy
4.The Eternal Cycle of Life
Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India
5.Conquering Emotions
Bo Sang Village, Chiang Mai, Thailand
6.Sparkling Secrets
Gold Coast, Australia
7.The Homecoming
Kerala, India1
8.I Am Omnipresent
Kathmandu, Nepal
9.The Last Village
Ladakh, India
10.One for All
Lombok, Indonesia
PREFACE
Traveling — It leaves you speechless,
Then turns you into a storyteller
— IBN BATTUTA
The first impression of any new destination always fills me with wonder, and once I settle in its beauty, the place begins to share a story. It is not just the old walls of a heritage destination that share their tales. Sometimes, they come from people, their work and culture, and sometimes, it is just the wind, the river, or the mountain that tells you their saga. For me, this is how places come alive.
Choosing from the many stories that I have imagined and heard was the toughest task when putting together this book. When I started this project, I had shortlisted over thirty places from across the world. As I started writing, I realized each one of these could be made into a book in itself. To ensure that I do justice to each place, I reduced the count to ten.
Writing the stories was not difficult, for each of these plots had been playing in my mind from the time I first visited them. Long after my return, I would keep piecing together the history, the current lifestyle, the culture, the art, or for that matter, anything that I had learned about the place I had visited. It is this that I have put together in the form of fiction.
At the end of every story, I have shared the inspiration behind it—one that stems from that very destination. I have also included QR codes and my travel blog (www.thrillingtravel.in) links for additional reading on that place.
I hope you enjoy your mini virtual journeys through these stories. Do leave your reviews and spread the love for stories and travel through word of mouth or social media.
Lots of love
https://www.thrillingtravel.in
www.facebook.com/amibhat
https://www.twitter.com/amibhat
https://www.instagram.com/amibhat
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are tons of people who have knowingly and unknowingly helped me put together my first book. I want to thank my mom, Snehaprabha, who always beams with pride on every small achievement of mine, and my dad, Jitendra, who never questioned my choice of hobbies. I will always be grateful to them for sowing the seed of photography in me by giving me my first camera when I was thirteen.
A huge thanks to my hubby, Ashwin, for pushing me forward from the time I first put forth the idea of writing a book. I was unsure if I would ever finish it, but he was supremely confident that I would do it in record time.
Lots of love to my daughter, Ayushi, who always believes, “My mumma is the best!” I will always be grateful to her for being independent and understanding, without which I would not have been able to go on my numerous solo trips.
I am indebted to my little brother, Nirav, and sister-in-law, Nikita, for always supporting and applauding me. It would have been impossible to move forward without your encouragement and that of my parents-in-law, Awanee & Viju. Then there is my big sister, Sapna, and brother-in-law, Praveen, who tolerated this kid for years. They have been my first fans, and loyal ones at that, from the time I launched my travel blog—www.thrillingtravel.in. The next round of thanks is for Pooja who not only read the first sample chapters of the book but was also around to brainstorm and discuss more of my ideas.
I am extremely grateful to my extended family members—Pallu, Somya, Swati, Sneha, Sindhura, Rashmi, Chengu, Calvin, Vigyan, Kshitij, Shankar, and Girish—for being some of my best travel pals. The numerous midnight chats, crazy games, and hilarious road trips are some of my best stories.
A big thank you to my band of blogger buddies: Shrinidhi, for your valuable advice; Abhinav, Swati and Divyakshi, for those memorable travel moments and stunning pictures of me; and Soumya and Rajiv, for being my go-to guys. I would also like to include Pravin Shekhar who first prod me to write a book.
I am grateful to all of you, my readers and my blog and social media followers; your constant support has been instrumental in giving me the confidence to write this book.
Last but not least, I am most grateful to the Almighty for letting me live this beautiful life!
Places come alive…
When history triggers the imagination
and
When culture peeps through
When art drives dreams
and
When nature whispers stories
Where Did She Go?
Kuldhara, Rajasthan, India
Kuldhara, Rajasthan - Early 1800s
She dipped the little wooden stick into a pot of black kohl and, with practiced ease, swept it across her lower eyelid. Her new blue bangles jingled as she wore her matching blue jhumkis.
“Madhu…before you go to the well, drop by at Tau Ji’s1 place and give this to Radha Tai. Hurry up and go right away as they are ready to leave for the market in Jaisalmer.”
With a quick once-over in the mirror, Madhu hurried out to her waiting mother.
“The blue ghaghra makes you look as pretty as a peacock. Here…” Her mother shoved a bundle into her hand. “Give this to your Tai Ji. And cover your face when you are walking down the streets, especially near the well. There are enough evil onlookers who will cast a spell
on you. And wait,” she attempted to grab the teenage girl, “let me dab a kala tikka2 behind your ear.”
“Oh! Ma…don’t put that black mark. I will cover my face. Now let me go. My friends must be waiting at the chowk.” Madhu picked the empty water vessel and sped away before her mother could protest. She ran right across three lanes to her Tau Ji’s house and caught her Tai Ji just as she was boarding the waiting palki3.
“Good Lord! Madhu! Why haven’t you covered your face? Haven’t you heard that horrible Salim Singh has been picking up pretty damsels like you and ruining their honor?” chided Tai Ji as Madhu paid her respects by touching her feet. “Cover it right now!”
“Sorry, Tai Ji, I was running to reach in time and give this to you. It will not happen again,” Madhu replied. She promptly put up her chunnari4 and bid goodbye to her aunty.
The slippery fabric kept sliding off her head, and after a few attempts, Madhu gave up. “As if Salim Singh is going to be at the well. Besides, for a change, it would be nice to see Kamala’s face turn green when she sees my new jhumkis.”
“There she comes, Maharani Madhu. We have been waiting for so long. Come quickly and tell us the gossip. Did Arun Bhaiya like the girl he saw? When is the wedding? Is it going to be in Jaisalmer?” Madhu smiled as her best friend, Deepa, bombarded her with questions. She smiled at the other girls seated on the steps of the well and made a note of where Kamala was sitting. The moment she felt Kamala was looking at her, she brushed a little hair behind her ear, revealing her prized jhumkis, and felt rewarded at that quick look of envy.
Her aim achieved, she dutifully pulled up her chunnari and sat down with her friends for the ritualistic chat session. Every day the girls would meet at the designated hour on the pretext of fetching water. They would sit on the steps and exchange notes from their lives. Their worries, their excitement, news about their neighbors, talk of their friends—they never ran out of topics. The only thing that broke them up was a call from one of their homes. Today, it was Madhu’s brother who dispersed them.
With one arm, Madhu secured the pot of water on her waist, and with the other, she covered her head and held on to the slippery chunnari. Walking slowly back home with her friends, she reached the village square. A sudden sound of galloping horses made her stop, and in her attempt to steady the brimming water pot, she lost hold of her chunnari that flew off her head. She quickly pulled it up but not fast enough to escape the lust-filled eyes of Salim Singh.
His lecherous gaze followed the dainty damsel as she hurriedly covered her face and attempted to walk away. Her slim waist swayed side to side, and her anklets tinkled as she picked up speed. Blood rushed through his veins, and in a hoarse voice, he asked his guard, “Who is she? I want her!”
“Diwan5 Sa, she is the daughter of the chief, Mahaveer Singh.”
“Take me to him right now,” roared the Diwan.
The guards led the way to the main square, where a meeting of the village heads was in progress. Seated on his horse, the cruel Diwan ordered, “Which of you is Mahaveer Singh? Identify yourself.”
“I am Mahaveer Singh, Diwan Sa.” A middle-aged man in a red turban and a yellow kurta stood up.
“You are a lucky man! I have chosen your daughter for myself today. Get ready to send her to me, and I will ensure all your taxes are wiped-clean forever,” announced Salim Singh.
A flurry of activity followed this announcement as the village heads stood up enraged. A few of them reached for their khanjars6, while Mahaveer Singh furiously addressed the Diwan, “My daughter is not an item that I would hand over to you. She is my honor and pride, and under no circumstances will I even let you anywhere near her. It is an insult that you even think that by offering to pardon my taxes, you can ask me to hand her to you. Leave right now, or you will be facing the wrath of the entire village.”
“How dare you talk to our Diwan Sa like that!” roared a guard as he pulled out his whip and started thrashing Mahaveer Singh mercilessly. The other villagers sprang to action and hauled down the guards from their horses. But the fight for honor had just begun.
Salim Singh watched the scene for a while before raising his hand. “Enough all of you!” The action halted as Salim Singh continued to talk. “You have twenty-four hours to pay up all the taxes you owe me. I thought I would charge you only ten percent, but looking at your behavior, I want at least fifty per cent by tomorrow.”
The villagers stood aghast. An elderly village headman bowed his head and said, “Diwan Sa, that is a little steep. We have not had much rain; even ten percent was a little difficult.”
“You should have thought of that when you refused my offer. Anyway, as large-hearted as I am, here is another offer.” He paused and then, with a smug look continued – “You hand over that girl to me tomorrow, and I will ensure that the whole of Kuldhara is exempted from taxes. You have until tomorrow.” And with that, he galloped away towards his ostentatious Haveli.
“Ma! Ma! Where are you? Where is Madhu? We must hide her…now…quickly.” A young boy in his early twenties rushed through the door, screaming.
“Why are you shouting? What is wrong? Why…Madhu…what?”
“Bhai Sa, stop pulling me. Where are you taking me?” Madhu asked her brother, who attempted to drag her out of the kitchen while her mother tried to stop him.
“No time to explain. That evil Salim Singh has demanded that we hand you over to him. I am going to hide you and then send you away from this village so that he can never lay his hands on you. I have to protect your honor,” replied her brother.
“Salim Singh! How? But why me?” spluttered Madhu, shocked at the news.
“It is he who was on that horse. He saw you, and now he wants you.”
“Hai Ram! What have you done, you wretched girl? I told you to cover your head and you should have let me put that kala tikka. Now our honor is all but gone,” wailed her mother, beating her chest.
“No, Ma! It is not her fault. She had covered her face; it was just fate. I was there,” said her brother. Turning to Madhu, he addressed her, “By the honor of that rakhi7 that you tie every year, I promise you that I will not let anything happen to you. Right now, the whole village is attempting to protect you. I am going to keep you safe till we reach a solution. Just stay in the house. Hide till I come back with any news.”
He hugged his little sobbing sister and took her by hand to her room. “Pack your belongings before I am back. No matter what the village decides, you and I will be leaving tonight to safety.”
“There is no way I am handing over my Madhu to that lecherous scoundrel. I would rather push her into the well and die along with her,” exclaimed Mahaveer Singh in the village meeting.
“Maybe you can send her to Jodhpur tonight. And we will tell Salim Singh that she ran away,” suggested one of the villagers.
“Salim Singh will not accept that. He might harm the entire village,” said another villager.
“So, what do you think we should do? Hand the girl over?” an enraged villager shouted.
“No daughter of our village will have to make that sacrifice. These girls are our pride, and we will do all that is necessary to protect them all,” said the wise old village headman. Turning to Mahaveer Singh, he gently said, “Your honor is our honor, Mahaveer Singh. Today, he has demanded your daughter; tomorrow, it will be someone else. The only option I see is we leave this cursed place right away and move out through the desert. Let’s all get together and set up a new home far away from Salim Singh’s reach. We can have a new life where our daughters could grow up safe, and our honors are not tested.”
The village meeting went abuzz with simultaneous protests and agreements. Ultimately, everyone decided that protecting Madhu’s honor was protecting their own.
Mahaveer Singh and his son entered the house to find Madhu crying in her mother’s lap. Her mother caressed her face while whispering words of encouragement to her. “Sometimes, a woman’s beauty is a curse. It is sad that this had t
o happen. I know that you tried your best to stay protected, but some things are not in our hands. It is good that your Bhai Sa has come up with this plan. You can go to Jodhpur and stay with your Mausi8. Soon, we will join you.” She stopped as she caught the sight of her husband.
“It is not just Madhu who will be leaving…we all are. The whole of Kuldhara. The decision has been made,” announced Mahaveer Singh. “Jai Singh, have the camels ready. I will start packing our valuables. Savitri, pack your jewels, clothes, and anything else that you want to take with you. We are never coming back here.”
Madhu burst into fresh tears and said, “I am sorry, Pita Ji. I never…I did not…I don’t know. Because of me, the whole village is getting punished. Maybe I should just…”
Mahaveer Singh held Madhu in his arms. “No, beti. It is just fate. It is not your fault. It could have been anyone, and we would still be doing what we are planning. After all, all you girls are our pride. Now go and get ready for a new life!”
They hurried around to pack, and in the stealth of the night, they, along with the rest of their clansmen, embarked on a new dream of freedom. The sands of Thar swirled around them and covered their tracks to protect them from the evil eye.
The next day, dusty winds and an eerie silence greeted Salim Singh as he trotted into the village. Dogs howled in the empty streets, and open doors creaked against the desert breeze. There was not a soul in sight.
“Where are the villagers? Where are you all hiding?” shouted the tyrant.
But all he heard was a faint tinkling of bells. Following the sound, he landed in the main square. Hanging on a string of anklets was a blue chunnari!
KULDHARA VILLAGE, RAJASTHAN
The ruins of Kuldhara village of Rajasthan
The ghost village of Kuldhara in Rajasthan is a tale of abandonment. Whether it was to preserve the honor of the village daughter or to escape from the exorbitant taxes of Salim Singh, it is not known. Both the reasons are narrated during a visit to the village that lies on the outskirts of Jaisalmer. The Paliwal Brahmins of Kuldhara and the surrounding eighty-three villages did abandon the village and migrate elsewhere. A recent study attributed the decline of Kuldhara to an earthquake and a possible famine. The deserted hamlet echoes with tales of wandering spirits and lost voices.
