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Mandu resonates with the story of Rani Roopmati and Baz Bahadur from outside but the town has more charms than one can count, discovers SAIMI SATTAR

(From top to bottom): Rani Roopmati pavilion; Mandu Fort Complex and Jahaz Mahal

ITwas in the order of things that I, a diehard romantic, found myself in Mandu, a city best-known for the love story of Rani Roopmati and Baz Bahadur on Valentine’s Day. But as I’ve often found, real life does not always have a happily ever after and the duo too did not find one. Faced by the onslaught of the Mughal forces from Delhi, commanded by Akbar’s general Adham Khan and imminent defeat, Baz fled. Roopmati, faced with the prospect of being taken captive by the enemy, poisoned herself. However, that is delving into history, though the area is practically teeming with monuments, and (also) jumping the gun.

So, let’s begin at the beginning that we have been lyrically told —by none other than Captain Georg von Trapp and family —is a very good place to begin. As I boarded (yet again) a red-eye flight from the capital, for the nth time I swore to myself that, when I travel next, I will refrain from keeping unearthly hours. Yes, I admit, it happened yet again as I headed to Indore, the most populous and the largest city of Madhya Pradesh. This time the excuse was that Mandu, our base for three days, was two hours away.

The reason why I found myself in Mandu was a festival that was now in its second edition. Thanks to an ad campaign that can be counted alongside Incredible India and God’s Own Country, Madhya Pradesh continues to be alternatively both Hindustan Ka Dil as well as Ajab-Gajab. Though the State is a major draw for wildlife and history enthusiasts, in a pandemic-hit world, it is now all set to market itself as a wellness destination. So one could go for a morning raga and yoga session or hit the horse trails followed by fishing. Others could embark on heritage, Instagram or cycling tours, take in the paintings and art installations besides eating the local fare or witnessing cultural programmes during the three days of the festival.

COUNTRYROADS

ANDthe State has certainly laid out a smooth passage as far as the roads go. Our cars practically sped across the NH 52, which connects the two cities without so much as even a small pothole-shaped hiccup. Our journey on the black tarred roads which cut across large swathes of green fields was interrupted only by the cheerful commentary of our driver, Golu. He was quick to point out temples where bowing down our heads in obeisance even while sitting within the confines of our vehicle was a “must”. One must remember, especially in the Hindi heartland, that India runs on the wheels of faith and religion. Though my companions and I were mildly amused, we should have paid better heed to the local. Golu decided to veer off the main road and take us through what he promised was a “shortcut”. En route, he pointed out the houses of his relatives even as we were being tossed around with the rapidity and ferocity of a football towards the end of an edge-of-the-seat match. Thanks, to the ‘shortcut’ we arrived at the hotel much after the rest of the party, even the ones, whose flights landed later than ours. The inconvenience notwithstanding, this was to be the source of much amusement and banter.

GETTING THERE

BY AIR: Indore, the nearest airport, is 99 km away. BY TRAIN: Ratlam, at 124 km, is the nearest railhead. STAY AT: Hotels are few, so book in advance. Malwa Resort is among the better places to stay.

(Clockwise from top): A tree-lined path surrounded by fields led to a clearing; where moorhas and chairs were arranged and women cooked jowar rotis on a chulha

An exhaustive list of activities, to cater to diverse interests, were available during the festival. (Clockwise from top left): One could go on a horse trail; followed by fishing; witness the artists at work at the Art and Craft District; engage in headbanging with the rock bands; sway to the rhythms of traditional dance and go on a cycling tour of the city

STOMACH MATTERS

BUTwe soon turned our attention to more important issues —that of fuel to keep us going. All of us were famished and were looking forward to a hearty lunch. On hearing that the location for the same would be a village, specially set up for the purpose, we looked forward to it with anticipation. Through the short drive we encountered an abundance of monuments —some in a slightly dilapidated state with weeds growing on top of their curved domes, others without any signages or protection while others were an essential part of the tourist circuit and a part of the lived history. One could practically throw a stone in any distance and it was bound to crash against the parapet or dome of one. We later came to know that the 29 sq km of territory enclosed within it more than 3,000 notified monuments! The structures reminded me architecturally of the ones that are to be found in and around Hauz Khas and uncannily, which I later discovered, many of them were built by Mahmud Khalji while Hauz Khas was the work of Alaudin Khilji. Semantics apart, there was no connection between the two.

The lunch was a part of the State Tourism Department and E-Factor’s (which organise the festival) attempt at creating new products like eco and rural tourism while promoting Madhya Pradesh as a wellness destination.

Not a moment too soon, we reached a clearing, next to (you guessed it) a monument, where the cars were parked. Walking through a narrow path lush fields I could feel wave upon wave of relaxation drain away the city fatigue, impatience and the constant need to remain busy. The sight of moorhas and low chairs spread out over a landing heightened the feeling. A little distance away, three women were merrily rolling out dough for rotis and cooking them on a mud chulha. Further, the sun glitter on the Sagar Lake exercised an instant pull. Incidentally, Mandu, with a population of 15,000 inhabitants, boasts of 23 notified water bodies. Bordering the lake was a floor seating arrangement with bolsters and cushions on one side and a small hut on the other with two charpois in the inner recess and a bar area in the front. Motichur village is an authentic rural getaway.

We soon settled down to sumptuous lunch which had a mix of Continental fare and traditional rustic delicacies. Needless to say, I heaped my plate with the fresh Jowarrotis doused in ample quantities of ghee and paired it with Matar subzi, Alu palak and Dal cooked in earthen pots the traditional way. There was also Kadaknath chicken, a local delicacy that had people going in for seconds. We rounded it off with Gulab kheer with a whiff of desi rose fragrance and barely-there sweetness —the way I like it. The setting, gentle tree breeze and the complete absence of any sound that could be described as traffic almost lulled us into slumber. I can also blame the latter on catching barely three hours of shut-eye the previous night. So, we decided to catch up on our sleep before heading out in the evening.

Refreshed, we made our way to Dai Ka Mahal which was chock-a-block with people. On the temporary stage in front of the monument, officials

The perfect symmetry of the arches inside Jami Masjid; the walls of Hindola Mahal are inclined at 77ºand the Hoshang Shah tomb was the inspiration for Taj Mahal

spoke about sundry issues which we strategically observed from far before quickly making a beeline for the food complex. We feasted (again) on local delicacies like garadu ki chaat (yam chaat) and baked samosa sprinkled with namkin which were rubbing shoulders with the likes of popcorn, chowmein and dosa —the perennial favourites in every part of the country —never mind their origins.

SENSEANDSENSIBILITY

FORTIFIEDby some food, we made our way to the performance area where the officials had given way to some delightful dances by young girls from Nupur Kala Kendra. A rock concert by Kabir Cafe, a group that exclusively sings 15th-century verses by the poet-saint as it believes that these are relevant to counter divisive thoughts, followed. The way the audience practically erupted and exploded in reaction to the songs made me almost assume two things. One, that there was nothing called Corona as people in close proximity to each other danced with gay abandon sans masks. Second, more important, that there were no divisions and all was well with the world. But then, Mandu’s selling point is the supposed existence of utopian love irrespective of what the reality on the ground turns out to be.

Mandu ki imli or the fruit of the baobab tree, which is native to Africa, is found in abundance

TIMETRAVEL

THEnext day, early morning, I had planned to go on a horse trail followed by fishing but a splitting headache put an immediate brake on the programme. I decided on taking the road of most sane travellers and opted for a heritage walk a little later. We assembled at the Jami Masjid, the area around which is the focal point of this one-road town. But before we entered the precincts, our attention was drawn towards, what is locally called, Mandu ki imli or the fruit of the baobab trees which is found hulking along the pathways in abundance. Oval shaped and with an exterior that resembled wood apple, we cracked one open and the fruit inside was white and tasted powdery sour. Having satisfied our curiosity, we queued up for the history lesson that was to follow. But it was the perfect symmetry of the arches as light filtered in, through the lattice-work, to make a song and dance with shadows that held me in thrall.

A connected pathway led us to the Tomb of Hoshang Shah, the oldest marble edifice. The tomb of the first formally appointed Sultan of the Malwa Sultanate of Central India served as the blueprint for Taj Mahal as is evident from the engravings by Shah Jahan’s architects, pointed out our guide.

But there was more to be seen. Next on the itinerary was Jahaz Mahal, built by Sultan Ghiyas-ud-din Khilji, in the shape of a ship and hence the name. It is believed that he housed his 15,000 women consorts here. While we debated —

on women empowerment, its lack thereof in times past and, also, of these observations being period-specific —we made our way to the Hindola Mahal, which is a part of the same Mandu Fort complex. Interestingly, the monument does not have a foundation and thus is built at a 77º angle. The tilting walls make it appear that the monument is swaying which accounts for its name ‘hindola’ (swing). Though the popular lore, which is more fascinating, says it comes from the swings that were hung from tree logs placed across the roofless structure which were mounted during monsoons. That’s a dreamy image, indeed ...

Not visiting the Roopmati pavilion —named after the woman, who years after her death continues to be the ‘star attraction’ for Mandu making it to the tourist map —would have been sacrilege. A steep incline rewarded us with views that encompassed areas way beyond the city. The pavilions were constructed within 48 hours on Baz Bahadur’s orders so that his beloved could see Narmada River, which she venerated, in the Rewa Kund. Some love story, this ...

PLUCKINGHEARTSTRINGS

SO,it was appropriate that in the evening, when we reached Dai ka Mahal, Mukt — the band from Ahmedabad —was playing Ma Rewa, a prayer to the river made famous by Indian Ocean. The immensely talented young quintet band also put to tune lyrics by poets, including Kabir and Kaifi Azmi, that echoed contemporary issues of communalism and division. An encounter later with them way past midnight, where we discussed poetry and music as they packed their equipment, will probably make it to my autobiography... if I ever write one. However, it was at the Sunset Point, where we headed at dusk, that I found my happy place. As Jasleen Royale and Prateek Kuhad cooed, “Kho Gaye Hum Kahan (where are we lost?),” I reflected on how appropriate the song was for the time and place...

Find your happy place at the Sunset Point and let it drain away every speck of exhaustion that the city dweller within you carries