Jaisalmer: The Golden Fort

by Chris Johnson (Australia)

I didn't expect to find India

There it was. Jaisalmer, golden city of Rajasthan. A city of ornate architecture and the famed Sonar Quila, or the Golden Fort. From the outer rim, standing on the dusty (imagine that, being in the desert!) rooftop of my hostel, I was amazed by the way the morning light poured like honey over the bastions and walls of the fort. Like a sculpture carved from the desert, the Golden Fort sat majestically upon Trikuta Hill, waiting to be explored. I gathered a few belongings into my day bag, including a 2 litre bottle of water (badly needed, otherwise my body would crumble in the 50-degree Celsius heat) and set off for the fort. Walking through the early coolness in streets shadowed by impressive slabs of sandstone, I passed the spectacular Patwom Ki Haveli, known for its intricate stone latticework. Sitting on a bench across from the haveli to gaze on the exquisite balconies (jharokhas), it was like being lifted into another time. You could almost hear the clamour of caravans, the rowdiness of traders in an era when the Silk Roads were in full flourish and Jaisalmer was a haven from the rigours of the Thar desert. I would return later to explore it, as I had my sights set on Sonar Quila. Passing under the grand entrance, I was greeted by an elderly busker in his white desert robes playing the Ravanhatta, an instrument native to the Rajasthanis. It was surprising to hear such a sad, beautiful and complex tune come from this simple string instrument. Winding up the path through one of the impressive fortified teak gates, a fairly plain old stone bench caught my eye in the gate corridor. Polished by people sitting on it for the better part of 800 years, the bench now held a resin-like golden gleam, the veins of the rock clear even in the shadows. What wonders the human backside can achieve! As I entered the main public square, the Dashera Chowk, it became apparent this was not a museum relic. The fort lived and breathed with community. The Golden Fort is actually one of the few ‘living forts’ left in the world, with over a quarter of the old city’s population living within its thick walls. Its chief source of income came from the myriad tourists in the high season (December-March - when temperatures were less likely to melt you), but here in the height of the low season I could practically wander the narrow stone streets by myself, past craft shops, restaurants and guesthouses, occasionally nodding to a local or a fellow tourist, stopping only to allow little wind tunnels to dry the sweat and cool my temples. As became apparent in Rajasthani culture, if you wanted a conversation with merchants, buy something. After haggling over a few cobalt blue glass doorknobs that I thought my antique-restoring father could use in one of his projects, I struck up a conversation with the antique dealer while we sat out the front of his shop, sipping chai from shot glasses his son had brought to us from a neighbouring teashop. He told me the meaning of his name. Abhay, or ‘fearless’, was a tribute to his kshatriya caste and the strength of the Rajput people in general. I couldn’t relate to his deeply conservative outlook on caste and race, which I won’t get into here, but he really moved me with this simple, elegant line about his home: ‘When the sun sets on the golden fort, I never cease to be lost in wonder.’ Later in the evening, while I sat with a couple of Polish friends I had met in the hostel on one of the several rooftop restaurants, sipping a Kingfisher as the sun sank over the plains, I thought of how Abhay’s eyes seemed to glaze in joy with that memorable line. I did not know what to expect when I arrived in Jaisalmer, but, as the sun finally sank, and the night lights cast the fort in a warm amber glow, I knew it would be a while before I would leave. A true jewel in the desert.