Alankrita...

portions of a rain-forest cultivated for habitation...

 It was a long awaited occasion – a destination wedding at a spa resort.

Our square - quant red sloped roofs over penthouse suites and cane sofas with their bright red cushions sprawled on the verandahs. Lush green grass in the central square glistened in the evening light. At the centre was an ancient stone dome structure supported by carved pillars.

Golf-carts whispered over to Ananda, the cocktail venue. Heavy glittering saris and flowing lehengas, churidar-kurtas, or dark suits graced the occasion. The DJ’s beat brought a sparkle in the flowing amber, and moods mellowed.

The beat became heady as the youngsters took over. The rhythm of the night changed, became lighter, faster. The night laughed, sang, and danced with them, lighting up the darkness outside. They danced away the darkness, till tired, spent and hungry they came for breakfast with the morning sun.

The graceful life-size Buddha sat in welcome outside Prakruta, the well-side restaurant. Smaller figurines stood everywhere.  Amidst lush green growth, it was feasting within a jungle. South Indian, Continental and a live counter vied for selection. Hot dosas, cheese masala omelettes, and soft meat balls made it difficult to decide what not to eat. 

A hushed silence embraced the lush vegetation as we strolled. Tranquility flowed all around and within. Quaint figurines peeped out from behind leaves. One had to look carefully to spot them. As we peeped into the circular pond, tiny fishes darted across the floating leaves. The stone tortoise looking on as the Nandi, on its pedestal, gazed lovingly at the god above, lost in his peace and serenity.

As we turned the corner we came upon the figurine of a stone Goddess. It stood atop an old discarded, buffalo-cart, snuggling in the foliage. It stood blessing the world in love and eternal stillness. 

These were magical moments in the cusp of eternity.  

The marriage ceremony on the main lawn, open to the sky, was lit by the string lights stretched overhead and around. Towering trees and dense foliage was all around. And it was within this lap of nature, as the holy flames reached high within the dome, that the union was solemnized.

It was the formal coming together of all people as one.

The buffet lunch was special, being a Sunday. The spicy ‘Andhra chicken’ with the ‘baghara rice’ was divine. It reminded one of the tiny mutton balls served during breakfast.

The mince in the mutton balls was ground so fine that the mix was paste-like and constituted one whole. The secret lay in the mutton being ground on a stone sil-batta (similar to pestle and mortar) and not a mincer.

That evening was a time of letting go and surrendering to fun and joy. It was an evening for old melodies, ghazals on demand, and a touch of melancholy. Haleem epitomised the evening dinner. The flavour of the Indian spices was so subtle, that the aroma, wisp-like, would come and go. It did not overpower any of the other flavours but stayed on as a tantalising reminder demanding a second helping.

The youngsters took to the stage and danced. The DJ played. The music and their dance was a final good-bye. From diverse backgrounds, having grown up together at school, college or at work, it was in essence an “Auf Wiedersehen” evening.

A “till we meet again” goodbye to the place and its ambience, to the fun, joy and laughter and to each other.

The stay was a microcosm, tranquil, in the lap of nature, with its underlying message of timelessness. There was nothing to fret or worry over. Just be with each other in unending chats, walks, or just drift into a dreamless sleep. There was laughter, joy, love sprinkling all existence.

- A wonderful culmination to a wonderful occasion always to be remembered. 

And a lifetime embrace, with blessings for a bonding to last forever... 

The Soul of the Amer

As I sit quietly in the hotel room,
Looking out at the wall of the Amer
Stretching across the horizon,
I remember those evening bonfires
With risqué songs echoing
To foot tapping music of the dhaplis.

Songs that spoke of love,
And of the simple, harsh desert life.

Cupped in the mellow flow of the evening
And the nostalgia,
The wall, the grains of sand outside
And the scattered bushes,
Black in the night
Seemed to rise in the air and speak.
Their hushed voices recounted
The eternal vigil
Of cold, dark desert nights
From the ramparts of the Amer
Watching….
Always watching.
Forever looking out for enemies
Who came to rape, plunder, lay waste,
Not only the streets and people of Amer
But the very barrenness of the desert.

They
Spoke of the horror
Of those wanting to preserve,
Fall under killing swords;
Their rivers of blood draining away
In the desert sands
And the warble -
The mourning wail of the Rudaalis
Which reverberated in the desert air
Forever.

************************

Under their watch many had grown
Nurturing the land,
Their own, and themselves.
Carrying forward honor
And the legends of bravery
For coming generations.
With voices steeped in deep sadness,
They remembered
How these loving ones too had passed.

“Only we remained.
Grains of sand, nestling safely,
Under protective rocks.
And now, as the rocks
Wither away in the wind,
We too will pass.
For nothing is eternal.”

And the river of time will flow on…

Till one day,
The bushes will awaken,
Shrug off the sand.
And emerge slowly, tentatively, to peep out.
And as they reach up
The rhythmic beat of the dhaplis
And the singing of the desert winds
Will come alive once again.

For the magic of the desert never really dies.