Orchha

Train from Khajuraho to Orchha

I caught the express train to Jhansi, travelling in an almost empty air conditioned carriage, where I met an Indian tour guide, who took groups of Germans round Rajasthan, staying in palaces and five star hotels. “This is not a job you can do forever” he said. “Ten years is about the limit.” The train was not supposed to stop at Orchha station, but the signal was down, so we drifted slowly through the station, coming to a stop outside it. I grabbed my luggage and climbed down onto the sharp stones beside the track and walked under the beating sun, along the side of the track until I came to the road, where I jumped into a shared rickshaw, heading towards Orchha. I was so happy that I didn’t have to make my way back from Jhansi.

Orchha, enchanted town with its palaces and temples, its conical pointed towers pointing skywards, its clean streets and colourful markets lies, like Varanasi, on the banks of one side of the river Betwa. But unlike Varanasi, it is small, clean and relatively uncrowded. Founded in the sixteenth century by the Bundela Rajput chieftain, Rudra Pratap, subsequent Bundela leaders built its fabulous palaces and temples.  On the other side of the wide river, across an old stone bridge, is the entrance to one of India’s national parks, a dusty forest, from where you have a fabulous view of the spires of Orchha and the steep steps leading down to the river.

The Bundelas were Hindu local chieftains, serving under the great Mughal Muslim rule. The Mughals were inclined, at that time, to knock down the palaces and temples of the local chieftains, so the canny Bundelas built a palace within their fort to give as a gift to their Mughal ruler. He graciously came to stay for one night, never to return. But the Bundelas of Orchha were, from that day, left in peace and allowed to rule their little kingdom with complete autonomy. There was, however, one occasion when a Mughal ruler made an unreasonable demand. He sent for the paramour of Raja Indramani, the beautiful poetess and musician, Rai Praveen Mahal, just because he had seen her and desired her. She was taken to him, but so impressed him with the purity of her love for Indramani that he sent her back to him. Her palace is a small, two storied brick building, surrounded by a garden with trees and flowerbeds. It was looking a little the worse for wear when I looked down on it from the fort, the flower beds dried up and bare, half the trees no longer there and the fountains no longer flowing.

A road lined with brilliant fuchsia, golden and scarlet bougainvillea and shady trees leads to a group of cenotaphs, with their conical pointed spires, in a formal garden by the river. Another road leading out of town to the west leads to the Laxmani palace, now used as a temple. Beautiful paintings on the ceilings in natural colours show scenes from the Hindu scriptures and floral designs reminiscent of Mughal paintings.