Time to time, we head to a direction we know not much about. Too big a canvas of the destination, limited research and we end up in this situation. Our two trips to Gujarat, separated by time and topography - eight years, Saurashtra and Kutch, have been similar in this context. Rann of Kutch was on the fringes of our travel thoughts since long and ever-since I started reading about the Indus Valley civilisation, Dholavira captured the imagination. In December of 2018 a week long holiday was on the cards and the Rann travel materialised.
While driving to Dholavira, we got the first glimpse of salt harvesting with big mounds of salt on either side of the road on our entry to Kutch. About 100km before our destination we left the highway for smaller roads and as the sun set the mile markers were punctuated by BSF - border posts signages. On the final leg we crossed over to the “Khadir Beth”, an island surrounded by the white Rann when dry and water when wet. While crossing the bridge over the white Rann - the sights we witnessed, were not something we expected. It was mesmerising, spell-bound we witnessed the glow over the white salt plains while crossing over to Khadir Beth. Small remnant pools of water not yet evaporated got hues of various colours and the crystallising salt below them seemed mystical empires. Continuing onwards, the sheer depth and darkness that a night can hold outside the urban light pollution, enveloped us. Switching off the headlights the darkness was penetrating and emphasised our insignificance. Our tent for the next two nights was in “Dholavira resort” - a perfect example of - “why government has no business to run a business”.
A large palate of orange-red, half hidden by the tents was the moon. Larger than life in dimensions and colours it was. Ascending with speed which was nearly discernible to the eye, across a clear inky blue sky full of stars. Hours at an end, one can wonder and imagine looking into this sky which assumes a living entity of its own. Clear skies in a desert ensured a bone chilling cold in the tents.
The Sun dawned on Monaal’s third birthday, celebrated with some glucose biscuits, hot milk sitting outside our tent. Dholavira is one of the largest Indus Valley cities and a port of trade. The sea long gone, now stands amidst a big desert. Perhaps the only city of the Harrappan people away from a fresh water source, with mind-boggling focus on water harvesting and storage. The same site witnessed 7 different eras of civilisation. With so much to see there in the excavation site we reached the museum. Introduced to Jaimalbhai, one of the people involved in the excavations since beginning, took us around. To see the reservoir, took our breath away. 
Having read about it over the past year, nothing can prepare on the sheer magnificence witnessed. Harvesting water from rain, overflow from the adjacent dam and then a deep well at the side, fed 14 such reservoirs, all interconnected, with perfect lines and all in 5:3 proportions. Further up the citadel, the clean lines on the arch bases, polished stones and symmetry, make you wonder about the city 5000 years ago. Drains, wells, bathing shower mechanism, cool water store, walls of immense magnitude, its amazing. The pleasant breeze and strong sun under a blue sky, made things idyllic. As we walked from the middle to lower town, many a barriers were broken between the highs and lows of society of yore, all insignificant and ruined now. 
But the social constructs of now, yet mimic the old, no lessons learnt about the transience of life. Resting under the shade, sleeping on large boulders, Jaimalbhai suggested we come to his house in the village for lunch, to which we readily agreed. Bajra ka rotla, white butter, milk, and chaas at his home with his family made our day. The discussion bordered on the unanswered questions of Dholavira, why did they do so much for storing water here, if it was so difficult then why settle here, there would be some attraction in this land, something we have not figured out as yet, like the enigmatic ten symbols which form the first signboard of mankind. Their burial practices and religion are an enigma, replete of symbols and detail yet undeciphered. Perhaps they are sitting on another planet watching us explore their 5000 year old technologies now, and yet make no sense of it all. Its âme feeling we got while walking the ancient ruins in Athens. 
The Kdadir Beth - standing tall in the flat desert have a magnetic persona of their own and we headed on the road in that direction. The road ended at a BSF outpost and the white rann lay ahead, with a small mandir at the side. Alone, not knowing if its quicksand or slush, we tentatively stepped on the salt plains. The texture changed from slushy to smooth to having being overlaid by small blobs of salt projecting out from the salt plates. Crunching under our feet as we walked further. 
Breaking a small piece you see a thick plate of salt overlying the sun baked earth below. The salt surface makes it slippery and when it gives way, you sink in a moment to the mud. A second of earth sinking below your feet, makes us scared. Walking into the nothingness of the baked earth and sheer white of salt, seemed an attractive path to let go mortal beings. Anyway, Monaal recorded a video thanking everyone for her Birthday wishes here, running in the Sun on the Rann. 
We had crossed a Fossil park marking en-route and headed back there. No where in the Rann did we see large rocks, here suddenly there were many. The base was made of a continuous layer of smooth rock, over large areas. Above these were smooth rocks of various shapes, wind and water swept. Many were balanced on each other delicately. Mostly running deep cracks in symmetry shapes. All were running down to the adjacent Rann. A placard explained the wood rock pitrious fossils here, dating the to the Jurassic era with evidence of the rocks being actually fossilised wood remnants.
Shifting the spectre from Dholavira to Bhuj, we started early the next day. By noon we were in the city and stopped at Hotel Prince for the famous Kutchi thali. The taste on the palate still lingers and the jalebi with rose petals was a show stealer. Food in Kutch is dairy, spices, oil, potato and brinjal, no question of greens, you eat what grows. Heading to Vibe camp outside Bhuj, we crossed the Khari nadi gorge. Repeatedly you feel hurt in India with the complete disregard of our natural blessings. The gorge has immense beauty and is tantalising but is being filled with garbage and concrete to make way for a bridge overhead - sad and pathetic. We drove into a magical area suddenly full of native Babool with dozens of wild camels feeding on them. The suddenness of this made it seem like an altered reality.
Evening, we got to Mandvi windmill farm beach. The sea was very serene, air pleasant without the saline odour that usually comes on the sea side and the beach long and wide. We had a pleasant stroll and also played the game of avoiding the drone, ATV and other speeding vehicles on the beach. Back at the campsite, the zillions of stars shone in their full, sitting on the sand we stared at the spherical night sky thinking of Uttarkashi.
Morning we set off for Lakhpat. Driving onwards from Bhuj, we crossed an interesting structure, like a pile of disconnected rock blocks in the shape of a temple on a big platform.
The blocks had motifs but were clearly mis-arranged and not in alignment. It was 1000 year old temple that fell in the Bhuj earthquake and the blocks were put back but awaiting the alignment and correct placement even now. Further we crossed Matano-madh and entered vast expanse of barren land with scrub, the leaves coated with fine dust and the earth parched for eons.
The scrub also gave away after some time and suddenly from the dust emerged an outline of a fort wall. Large, thick, solid with intermittent columns, it was an impressive sight, which could easily be a mirage. But as we drew closer, it was real. Entering through a gate with the wooden doors unhinged and partly buried in sand lying adjacent. It was entering another era once again. The insides of the 9km long walls enclosed an empty land, with an occasional structure yet standing. Going along the narrow road, first we crossed a Gurudwara, then a mosque and then walked up the ramparts of the wall.
It overlooked the vast river bed of where Indus once flowed. Immense alluvial plain with encroaching sea water from close, the rann extending beyond and Hyderabad of Pakistan in the distance. Strong breeze across our face, we sat and gazed into the infinite. The sense of the place entered our soul and moving away was difficult. It was once a busy port by the Indus and generated a revenue of lakhs everyday, hence the name. The wall was constructed in 1601 for protection of the merchants. The earthquake of 1619 saw the river change its course and Lkhpat had nothing more left, the people left and the fort became an expanse of enclosed emptiness. The best laid plans, optimism based on logic laid to waste in a stroke of uncontrolled events, sums up the story of Lakhpat and of life. The Gurudwara standing today was a Kutchi house where Guru Gobind stayed while on visit to Mecca and slept in the same room which houses the main shrine today. We had a tasty langar, only the three of us and another two people.
Driving back we stopped at the Spot caves. Following the road signs we headed up a narrow road and without any place to park we suddenly reached the mouth of the cave. No one was there, no directions, just the openings of two caves. They were dark, smelled of bats and we wandered around to look for something. Approaching a farmer close by, he came over to help us. The Buddhist caves date back to 4-5th century BC were mentioned by Huei Seng as being close to the mouth of Indus. The farmer showed us the blocked entrances and narrated his impressions when he had gone in prior to the closure.
He also took us over to an adjacent step well. A functional, non-fancy step well. A narrow slit on the earth with rock steps heading downwards to a rock wall at the distal end. The rock wall seeps water and collects on the base of the last few steps. Simple, elegant, minimal and functional.
The blocks had motifs but were clearly mis-arranged and not in alignment. It was 1000 year old temple that fell in the Bhuj earthquake and the blocks were put back but awaiting the alignment and correct placement even now. Further we crossed Matano-madh and entered vast expanse of barren land with scrub, the leaves coated with fine dust and the earth parched for eons. The scrub also gave away after some time and suddenly from the dust emerged an outline of a fort wall. Large, thick, solid with intermittent columns, it was an impressive sight, which could easily be a mirage. But as we drew closer, it was real. Entering through a gate with the wooden doors unhinged and partly buried in sand lying adjacent. It was entering another era once again. The insides of the 9km long walls enclosed an empty land, with an occasional structure yet standing. Going along the narrow road, first we crossed a Gurudwara, then a mosque and then walked up the ramparts of the wall.
It overlooked the vast river bed of where Indus once flowed. Immense alluvial plain with encroaching sea water from close, the rann extending beyond and Hyderabad of Pakistan in the distance. Strong breeze across our face, we sat and gazed into the infinite. The sense of the place entered our soul and moving away was difficult. It was once a busy port by the Indus and generated a revenue of lakhs everyday, hence the name. The wall was constructed in 1601 for protection of the merchants. The earthquake of 1619 saw the river change its course and Lkhpat had nothing more left, the people left and the fort became an expanse of enclosed emptiness. The best laid plans, optimism based on logic laid to waste in a stroke of uncontrolled events, sums up the story of Lakhpat and of life. The Gurudwara standing today was a Kutchi house where Guru Gobind stayed while on visit to Mecca and slept in the same room which houses the main shrine today. We had a tasty langar, only the three of us and another two people. 
Driving back we stopped at the Spot caves. Following the road signs we headed up a narrow road and without any place to park we suddenly reached the mouth of the cave. No one was there, no directions, just the openings of two caves. They were dark, smelled of bats and we wandered around to look for something. Approaching a farmer close by, he came over to help us. The Buddhist caves date back to 4-5th century BC were mentioned by Huei Seng as being close to the mouth of Indus. The farmer showed us the blocked entrances and narrated his impressions when he had gone in prior to the closure. He also took us over to an adjacent step well. A functional, non-fancy step well. A narrow slit on the earth with rock steps heading downwards to a rock wall at the distal end. The rock wall seeps water and collects on the base of the last few steps. Simple, elegant, minimal and functional.
Next morning after thepla and muttheri, we explored Bhuj - chattara - the royal burial ground and Parag palace. The palace was a Neo-gothic style building 150 years old, but the gem of the day was the gentleman in charge of the Kutch study centre in the adjacent museum. He passionately showed the old manuscripts and explained the history. We were very engrossed and like good students followed him all over the place. At the end, he handed us a piece of a wood fossil. It would be sad to see that heritage of Kutch leave its home and our refusal, explanation made him even happier. On the way to Dasada, our night halt; we stopped at Bhujodi and then LLDC. Bhujodi is a small village of weavers which have put themselves on a platform that they are noticed and 15 have received national awards. Self reliance, entrepreneurship without degeneration of a concept to short term gains was evident. Gandhiji with his concept of village self reliance would surely be mighty pleased at this self-respecting, progressive and honest village. LLDC took local arts to a global platform. Without hesitation, its a museum that can lock horns with Yves St Lauren museum at Rabat. The ambience and the architecture induce peace, and the exhibits, their explantations add perspective. Travelling through Kutch we saw a lot, LLDC weaved that into a socio-cultural fabric. The tribes that make up Kutch, their descent, customs, economic hardships and then resurgence; all spun around the common theme of the embroidery traditions. Embroidery is a language, expression of feelings and soaked in the depth of cultural identity, is what emerged. Each tribe having their own motifs, sticth, colour that reflects their identity and beliefs. Feelings for Kutch changed from love to romance as we passed through the panels. The section on Ahirs, resonated of Deepam as a character. Maybe you inherit your lineage and culture in your blood even when you are born and live so far from your roots. Another enticement was the Banni grasslands, the story, people, sites - next on our vacation list we put that. On a high, we walked over to have a Kutchi thali at the cafeteria before driving onwards to Dasada.
Runn Riders at Dasada, we had booked. After the last week, we expected another tented accomadation with sand permeating everywhere, but as we entered we realised its something else. No tents, we had a roof, hot tap water, mellow lighting and the works of a urbanised rural escape. Excitement gave away to longing for the basics and connection to the soil we were on. The grass, easy flow of water, Mughlai food, non-gujrati staff made it all feel artificial. We could have been in ay resort in India - it would be the same. We missed savouring the small pleasures soaked in effort of the sun-baked dusty family who would help in making tea or muttheri.
Monaal - woke up in the morning with “papa - sugar packet wali pant pehen lo”. We had a hearty laugh, the previous night she had put two sugar sachets in trouser pocket on an assurance that she will get to eat them the next day. Perhaps she must have dreamt of tasting them in all her sleep. Leaving at a leisurely pace we set off for Sun temple at Modena, followed by the “rani - ki - vav” at Pattan.
The Sun temple at Modena, pre-dates its more famous sibling, the Konark temple. A step well, then the assembly hall and then the temple amidst sprawling lawns in a well kept facility by the ASI, were very interesting. Somewhat dampened by an over-excited guide, who wanted to download a lot of information and make sure we saw lots of corny correlations betwen the stories and the sculptures. Sitting on the Tropic of Capricorn, on equinox, the first sun rays alight the main alter in a single unfiltered glow. The mythological depictions with their symbolism twists was fun to observe. The depictions of child birth and death on facing panels, surely would evoke a lot of thought. Also good to see was that all over our Kutch trip we saw lots of school trips, having fun, loosely controlled but responsible young children.
Entering into Pattan was via a wall reminiscent of Lakhpat, but in contrast well inhabited within.
The step well of rani-ki-vav justifiably holds its fame and stature. Its glorious and must see. Being buried so long its rather well preserved in detail and structure. Adjacent to the vav, but infrequent by the tourists is the “sahastra lingam lake”. Its attractive, big and mysterious. A huge collection of channels to store the rain water, surrounded by countless lingams, small mandirs, the embankments lined by trees and the story that Akbar’s mentor - Behram Khan had his last living pleasure of a boat ride here, before being killed, add to the attraction. It was noon by now and we had overheard the gastronomic delights offered at Banshi’s. Thinking that the Patola museum would be a short stop, we headed there before relishing another Gujrati thali.
The step well of rani-ki-vav justifiably holds its fame and stature. Its glorious and must see. Being buried so long its rather well preserved in detail and structure. Adjacent to the vav, but infrequent by the tourists is the “sahastra lingam lake”. Its attractive, big and mysterious. A huge collection of channels to store the rain water, surrounded by countless lingams, small mandirs, the embankments lined by trees and the story that Akbar’s mentor - Behram Khan had his last living pleasure of a boat ride here, before being killed, add to the attraction. It was noon by now and we had overheard the gastronomic delights offered at Banshi’s. Thinking that the Patola museum would be a short stop, we headed there before relishing another Gujrati thali.
The Jain ascetic on the road are always attractive. Giving up, in white, peacefully walking in grace. Some day we would try to enter your sanctum of spiritual awakening, o holy monks of the world. Alphabet Vs letter, cracking of oil, walk in nothingness, koora Devi carried on.
All ready for the Asiatic wild ass and Flamingo, we sat in our jeep to head to the desert Rann again. Riding leisurely through villages, rekindling our love for birding we reached again the vast expanses, but now brown and dusty. Tracking and tracing we spotted a few asses now and again. Looking for the wolves, fox unsuccessfully we drove at random within the desert. Alone once again, in silence but for the wind in our ears, we walked a but and sat in the desert sand a bit. In short the ass is completely useless to humans and of no benefit. The “nava-talaab” had hundreds of pink flamingoes. Pink on their legs and feathers as the algae grow on, walking in a rhythm feeding off the small creatures in the shallow lake. Elegant and beautiful we peered in our binoculars for long. Monaal in the meantime picked up pink tinged feathers, safely deposited by little hands in my pocket. We stopped at a salt farm on the way back, the family from Namakhoda staying in tents by the salt farm, operated on solar power for 6 months a year generating salt and bromine water. They reminded me of the salt mines near Krackow in Poland, another place for non-sea salt, when salt was worth its weight in gold. The sentiment echoed by the family here. The changing shapes of crystals in each bed, changing hues and same salt methods over centuries, a story of long continued.
Catching up on our sleep at the fag end of the vacation, we woke up late the next day. Enjoyed ourself at Swathi sweets in Ahemdabad and headed back to Gurgaon.
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