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As the tiny airplane comes to a juddering halt on Udaipur's sunburned tarmac, I grab my luggage and walk dispiritedly into the terminal of the Maharana Pratap Airport. Hungry, careworn, this is the grumpiest I have been in months—thanks, in part, to my flight from Delhi falling a full six hours behind schedule. But things take a dramatic turn once I meet my amiable cabbie, Faruk, who sets off on the winding course to Deogarh, 160 km to the north of Udaipur, with necessary haste. "Is there anything to see on the way?" "Not much," he replies.
Don't let locals like him trick you into thinking there's nothing but glistening waterbodies here to keep an eye out for. For, looking out of my window, it's a scene worthy of the purplest prose -- browns, rusts, khaki and olive merging into one rustic, earthy canvas that's worth endless detours and revisits.
After three hours of quiet travelling and cutting through Rajsamand district, the heart of India's marble and granite quarrying business, we're ready to trundle into our final destination, Deogarh, a little town which stands at the convergence of the borders of the once-powerful provinces of Mewar, Marwar and Merwara.
This bustling thikana of Mewar has as its crown jewel, a majestic 17th-century palace, called Deogarh Mahal. Standing imposingly atop a hillock, its ochre walls taking on a dull glow in the fading evening light, you can sense the historic significance of this magnificent structure and the clutch of fortresses that have mushroomed around it. Currently home to Rawat Sahib Nahar Singh II (15th in a line of powerful barons who pledged their allegiance to the Maharana of Udaipur), his wife Rani Bhooratna Prabha Kumari and their two sons, the family decided to restore their palace, converting it into an 80-room hotel, about 10 years ago.
I'm welcomed at the gate by the Rawat Sahib's son, Vibhu, and budding hotelier grandson, Mukul. After a quick snack, they whisk me off to take a tour of their one-time abode. We meander through what were once elephant and horse stables, now completely refurbished plush suites bedecked with precious Deogarh miniatures up steep, narrow, medieval torch-lit stairways to explore nooks and cubbyholes concealed in its 10-foot-thick walls across what seems like miles of terrace space, with its bulging turrets looking out onto the sun-baked brick houses piled on surrounding hills in a haphazard manner.
It's decided that I will dine with the family at the Mahal before I'm dropped off for the night, and who am I to disagree with royalty anyway?
We troop down to the main moonlit courtyard and Vibhu orders some 'sula and kebabs' for starters. I sink into my comfortable wicker chair, eagerly anticipating a glass of chilled chardonnay. Instead, what arrives is a large bowl of the most tender, spice-soaked, smoky meat that one can imagine, a Rajasthani delicacy grilled to perfection over hot coals.
Stuffed to the gills with skewer after skewer of sula and down four pints of beer, we finally set off for the night.
I'm awakened the next morning by the persistent calls of two plum-headed parakeets perched on the edge of the balcony.
At precisely 8.30 am, there's a sharp rat-a-tat on my door. It's Colonel Randhir Singhji, Nahar Singh's brother. After breakfast with the Colonel, I set off for a heritage train ride along a short, 24km stretch of metre-gauge track from Khambli Ghat to Phulad, where time, for the last century at least, seems to have stood still.
It's here that I meet Eshwar Lal, the real find of my trip. He's a wizened old man of 65, the family's maalishwala-turned-guide, who can tell you things about the place only a native raconteur would know. "These tracks were laid in 1894 when steam engines were still in use," he says in immaculate English. As we're chugging along, the train making wide, sweeping arcs through the Aravallis. We have to stop more than once for the driver to check his brakes.
At each stop, Lal pulls out chapatis from his coat pocket, throwing the titbits to hordes of hungry langurs outside. The view outside is breathtaking. The ground beneath your feet seems solid one moment, and then, like a trapdoor, suddenly swings out on its hinge to lead you onto a narrow, rickety looking bridge, taking you across a steep gorge.
That afternoon, after a lunch of laal maas and baajra roti, Mukul takes me out in his 1947 Dodge, a black, gleaming 10-seater to visit an ancient Shiva temple. An old stepwell stands before the temple complex with a tortoise swimming lazily in the thick algae. Legend has it that a leprosy-afflicted king from Jodhpur once came here to seek the advice of a hermit and, after dipping himself in these waters, was miraculously cured. But right now, looking at the poison-green liquid, I wouldn't be caught dead sticking my little toe in the gloopy stuff.
Morning comes too soon, and I'm wishing there was more time to soak it all in. I'm going to be back, I promise myself. Quickly. Before anything changes.
BY AIR The nearest airport is at Udaipur (160km). The drive to Deogarh takes about three hours and taxis are easily available on hire at the airport.
BY TRAIN Deogarh has a railway station. But most visitors prefer to reach Udaipur by train and then do the last leg by car.
Deogarh Mahal (Rs 7,000-25,000), the main palace built in the 17th century, has 59 luxurious rooms and each room comes with its own attached bath. The Mahal has been restored to preserve the old architectural style of the building. Contact 9314420016, www.deogarhmahal.com
Enjoy peaceful morning walks.
There's plenty of bird life out here, so be sure to pack your binoculars and cameras.
The hotel also has polo ponies on rent, so you can take in the surroundings on horseback.
Be sure not to miss the heritage train ride. The train leaves every day from Khambli Ghat station.
Just before sundown, take a jeep safari for a ride through the countryside, and a glimpse of native Rajasthani village life.
