If you or I throw a lotus leaf on the ground gravity will take its course and there it will lay. When Brahma throws one though a lake is created and even more remarkably in a desert area like Rajastan. It is this little town of Pushkar which is blessed with this lake with special powers that I visited just a few days ago. The Camel Fair in Pushkar is held every year round about this time but always under a full and yellow moon.
I went not really knowing what to expect other than perhaps colour and some animals and I came back with an overwhelming sense of why this country is so special and its people so unique. Pushkar is one of the festivals which perhaps is heard of in the West and which tourists travel here specially to see. So when I saw a carousel I had a slight feeling of foreboding. I hate fun fairs - I really do and it was a nightmare for me if ever the children wanted to go to one. This is a funfair with a difference.
Pushkar is 11 kms from Ajmer. We travelled there by train and went to our campsite. Pushkar is a small town which swells enormously in population, (about 200,000 visitors and 50,000 animals) to accomodate the pilgrims, the visitors and the merchants. So a lot of temporary camp sites are set up but as with a lot of these marquees and outdoor living the Indians excel and we had spacious tents with hand woven colourful carpets on the floor and an adjoining bathroom with a western style loo, a washbasin, a tarpaulin floor and a bucket. What more could a girl want.
We were eager to go out and explore and we did - on camels that is - we rode off on these ungainly animals which seem prehistoric in structure and movement and we cut through the open fields littered with temporary pens for the beautiful marwari horses, the camels and some goats. The men rode the animals, sat, smoked and chatted, the women cut down the grass and tied up sugar cane in bundles, the children ran riot after the tourists and had fun.
We wound our way up a hillside. Pushkar is almost in a dip surrounded by gentle hillocks and undulating paths. The camel I was on, called Moti, had a peculiar sway.You adopted the movement and went along with it, occasionally it would snort but largely speaking it seemed to have a resigned attitude to its burden. We arrived at a hilltop and there waiting for us was the sunset, high tea and the most handsome man I have seen with his delicate female partner who sang from behind her pink and golden sari while he played lyrical song with prompts to her on his indian violin.
I have to confess I could not get enough of his majestic face and in any other instance I would have been compromising my safety perhaps and her wrath by staring at him so much. His eyes were red, almost blood shot but his irises were blue, steely blue and bewitching.His face was that of a perfect Rajastani man. Tanned, moustachioed and weather beaten.
We watched the sun disappearing and dusk briefly enveloped this landscape. Camel carts transported us back to our camp where we ate heartily and tried to get warm. Deserts are well known for this but as is always the case we were not prepared enough and going to bed was one way to get warm. I was under two blankets and two quilted covers - effectively cemented in - and my thoughts went out to those who were sleeping on the side of the road or those who had travelled far to be here with their animals and who had nothing but a wood fire to keep them warm.
The day brought the warmth we so needed and we set out to explore. There were constant programmes all day long involving milking, wrestling, water pot races by women, horse races, camel races and tugs of war.The mela area is huge with stalls, shops, eateries and eager shoppers everywhere. We did our fair amount of shopping and gawping but what was interesting was that while there were foreigners there, this whole Fair was a real celebration for the locals who came from far and wide whether because of the animal market or because they wanted to dip themselves in the lake and cleanse themselves while doing a puja. We saw proud men with huge turbans leading groups of spectacularly dressed women through the streets,we saw endless families jumping off the roofs of buses clutching their bundles and heading to the Lake. We enjoyed looking at the young women huddled in front of the jewellery stalls.We smiled at youths who were clearly out to have a fun time and we marvelled at the older men whose faces said so much.
There was an awful lot of staring going on here, I am not ashamed to admit it. It was mutual. They liked looking at us but not half as much as I liked looking at them.
We caught the sunset over the lake, watched the pilgrims bathe. This is the first place where I saw women bare breasted dipping themselves in the Lake.There were fireworks over the Lake and celebrations all around the ghats.
The closing ceremony was held in the Mela ground and was a feast for all eyes, camel processions with fierce looking Rajastanis their moustaches curling upwards and round their cheeks, brandishing their swords and wearing their finest jewellery.
The women dancing in fields of crimson, lilac, fuschia and fire red to the drumbeats of the local players. The stadium was full to the hilt, but some of the VIP chairs reserved for guests were empty. That was my only sadness that people who had travelled miles were not let in to occupy these seats. There was such an overwhelming sense of pride that went out with cheers for the camel riders and the local men who fought the tug of war.People were there because this place was significant and meaningful and there was a real sense of carnival, pilgrimage and purpose that came together in this display of colour, custom and creed.
