Down the creepy alleys in Ajabgarh

One of the key facets of travel through Rajasthan is knowing that you can always expect the unexpected around the corner. The same occurred when some friends and I got together to unravel the huge mystery around Bhangarh, which as you already know, is supposed to be one of the world's most haunted places. We raced back, with cold sweat pouring down our backs, from the experience at the ruined fort, in the evening to get back tot he normalcy of the budget hotel we had checked into at Alwar. That night, we slept very little and spoke even less. The following morning, we were back to being our chirpy selves, avoiding any references to what we had seen or felt the previous day. Our way back to Delhi beckoned but we had a full day to plan the return. We decided to head out early, stop along the way to fill the car's fuel. It was at the station that we were informed of a place, scarier than Bhangarh. Without a word, we agreed to head to Ajabgarh in daylight and leave for Delhi before dusk.

The first view of the Ajabgarh Fort was all we needed to renew the shivers in our spines. The village, in shambles and seemingly empty, offered quite the setting for our light-hearted attempt at reviving the mood. Only the house right at the start of the hamlet, straddled across the state highway in two neat rows facing each other, seemed inhabited. There was a family event taking place here and upon asking we were informed that the family was trying to sell off the house and relocated to the nearest city. Apart from the warm and friendly family at the first gate, the rest of the houses seemed desolate and we spent most of time peaking in through cracks in the old wooden doors.

Our worries ceased as we witnessed the activity at the first house from a distance and sat and watched the bullock carts, tractors and buses come and go along the state highway. As the sun stood strong over our heads, I walked a little distance out of the village. I felt a sudden silent threat from behind me and swung around. There was no one there but in the distance, I saw something like a shadow swiftly move away from a window in one of the buildings. The sense of dread from the previous day returned with a vengeance. I turned my back to the window and pretended to look down at the ground and there, out of my sense of rising fear, my imagination starting seeing shapes in the stones scattered on the ground.

I was still staring at the stones and feeling the creepy distant eyes roaming on my back when I heard my fiends call out my name. I walked back to what the new fuss was about and saw them pointing to something. There was forgotten path between the houses an my friends and I decided that we would see where it led. And I am glad we did. It led us straight to what remains of a 14th century monument, the Raghunath Temple now stands abandoned. A long flight of steps took us to the main temple structure and though the gates had been locked for years and keys forgotten, it offered a great view all around. The sun was losing its strength by the time we reached the top and we realised it was best if we started the long journey back. We were met at the lane with a elder woman with a wristful of ominous looking red thread bands. She asked where we from and when e intended to return. She was not threatenign in any way but as she spoke to us, we could sense the abandoned village around us sudddenly stirring to life. Sounds of clanging pots and pans and heavy objects being moved was alarming. We had been so sure that the village as abandoned! We informed the lady that we were apologetic for having caused any discomfort to her or the other residents and that we were leaving right way. I don't think any of us stopped to look back at the village or the woman who had appeared from nowhere with a smile on her face. As we drove way, it was hard not to feel that the growing shadows of the houses clinging on to the car a little longer than they should have. I promised myself never to return.

P.S. - My friends and I have since parted ways. The road trip was in 2010 and I have been told that not much has changed since then. I still have not returned to Ajabgarh and wish you well if you choose to head that way.

I drove down NH10 and this is what I found!

There's been so much activity around the house of late that I just had to get away from it all. Mind you, I am not the sort that sees travel as an escape from reality but the way things were headed, I needed to step away for a bit to sort out my lists of the lists in my head, which happens only when the magic of travel lights my soul. Poetic licence aside, I believe there's a certain of calm that only happens when you are sitting next to an open window of a speeding vehicle on a highway, one that helps you see another perspective. And that is exactly what I needed. A friend recommended visiting a Harappan site in Haryana and so, off we set.

By the time I had completed the first lot of sifting through my mind, my co-passengers - my husband and his friend - were rattling away about some long lost legacy with frequent pointers to the government's lapses. It took me a while before I could tune into the conversation. Rakhigarhi, our destination, was discovered in 1960s but no real work has happened for the restoration of the artefacts discovered here. Meanwhile, the neighbouring village has spread itself and its impact on the site. The site itself, is among the oldest Harappan sites discovered. The artefacts discovered cover all three stages of Harappan civilisation - early, medieval as well as late. The finding suggests that Rakhigarhi has the longest period of civilised settlement in all the sites discovered. Yet, the government has not been able to do justice to it.

The view from my window was a promising one, quite in contrast to the flow of conversation. I was, how should I say it, surprised by the green farms and little quaint homes in Haryana. In most of the conversations I have had about the residents of the state, the common image was that of a rugged, loud and rather unpleasant sort. The residents of a few urban villages had endorsed the image. A passing billboard caught my eye, we were on NH10! A released recently movie had a pretty grim story to tell of the state of Haryana. I could see that my fellow travellers had not yet paid much heed to this and I hoped that nothing would go wrong. But reel takes much inspiration from reality. It was a matter for just half an hour after the thought had crossed my mind that our car seemed to have a breakdown.

Just as it was in the film, the mood abruptly went from cheery and enthusiastic to a serious shade of grim. Thankfully, we were able to pull up by a roadside mechanic shop (a list of horror films was now running through my mind) where we were informed that the car needed a new clutch plate. A gruesome three hours later, the car had been fixed but even as we test-drove the car with the mechanic, a tyre deflated. I have not been in as ominous a situation in quite a while. The stepney was used to replace the deflated tyre. We were hours behind our schedule by now and decided to hasten our journey on. It was not before 3 in the afternoon that the rains and I finally reached Rakhigarhi. Having been through a series of miscalculated turns and the twist of fate which required me to trust politicians (of all forms of men) to lead the way, I was quite numb to the fear that was getting the better of me. Thankfully, my fellow passengers were oblivious to every fear and continued their chattering.

To me, the first impression of Rakhigarhi was that of kingdom of heaven. The bells were tolling at a temple that stood across a pond at the entrance of Rakhigarhi village. I almost jumped out of the car, at the sight of civilsation, and asked a bunch of young children on a bullock cart if I had reached Rakhigarhi, in Hindi of course (I mean, I was aware that I was in Haryana). "Take a left and head straight till the end of the road," replied a young girl in fluent English. I was able to say "thanks" and waved back to her, hiding my embarrasment.

We were not sure where to stop to start exploring on foot and the rain wasn't helping. Finally, I spotted an interesting surface, rising up on one side of the village like a wall and with a iron fence running around it. It seemed like a good place to start and I shot out again. Smiling at people and hiding my surprise when they all smiled back.

We chanced upon two young boys, residents of the village, who took us up a mound littered with garbage and dung cake piles to their new found reason of celebration. The wall had several holes in them and in one such hole on the slope, a bitch had laid its litter. The boys were quick to pull out the pups and show them off to us.

The view of Rakhigarhi from the top of the mound was impressive, except the dung cake pile.

The locals guided us to the one man who has safeguarded the interest of Rakhigarhi for the past fifty year or more. Wazir Chand was born in Rakhigarhi and had taken an interest in collecting artefacts from the area even as a boy.

Much older and much wiser today, he does not care much for the people who call on him anymore. He feels that nothing will change for the betterment of his village. "Our village does not have safe drinking water, the electricity supply is very poor, there are very few sources of income and the only school here offers classes till Class 10. You have seen the condition of the roads. Nothing has been done for us despite the visits of many diplomats and bureaucrats," he says. Names from YM Qureshi, the former Chief Election Commissioner to visiting diplomats from other countries, top names from leading political parties to NGI workers and RTI activists as well. Yet, not much has been done.

He then takes us through the pages of his discoveries with the ASI representatives and by himself from the grounds around Rakhigarhi. He had his own collection of rare and valuable items excavated from the remains... and I was amazed! Wazir Chand lives in a modest house in the village and he could have sold any or all his collections for a princely sum, he has instead several sheets of receipts from state and Central government of India against the pieces he contributed to the museums. Despite everything that has been written about him, he feels pained that he will not be able to live to see any significant changes for his village or to the heritage he has protected for decades.

Before we took our leave, he was kind enough to take us for a walk (after cups of tea prepared by his wife) through the now covered ruins of Rakhigarhi. "Rakhigarhi means home built on ashes," he said. As we raced against the downpour to the car, I wondered if this little village that had completely shattered my illusions about NH10 and Haryana would ever recover from the ashes of disappointment piled for decades.

P.S. - A private college from Pune will be excavating in Rakhigarhi in December this year. The remains of one of the most evolved civilisation known to India will be on display again. You might consider a visit at the time. Better still, join us for a guided tour with Wazir Chand and discover Rakhigarhi through his experienced eyes.