Trip in the dessert, pt I

Jaisalmer

Jaisalmer is a dessert town. It lies far to the west of Rajasthan, and indeed that of the whole of India; it rises from the dense sands of the desert state, and straddles the border of Pakistan. It bears little resemblance to the cities we’ve visited, and the buildings rise from the arid desert like the golds of Arabian nights; the houses are made of a golden sand stone, and the desert rides through the dense lanes and alleys of the city like a slithering carpet. Water is a luxury, the sun rises early, and the day begins suddenly.

We have arrived by train so early in the morning. Our bodies are weary; our minds are still half asleep. We’ve been mobbed at the train station, but escape, and find ourselves sitting on the rooftop just before sunrise, sitting, watching, and waiting for the sun to rise over the distant sands. It does so, slowly, and the land lights up, like the might desert mirage that stretches out before us.

***

I don’t remember much about the day; something about a golden fort (they are always the golden attraction in the Lonely Planet books), a few meals here and there, the purchasing of a ten pack of cookies and the arrangement of a camel ‘safari’ the following day. We were set to leave at 10am and would return the following day around midday.

Now, let’s get a few things straight. Rajasthan is a desert state, Jaisalmer particularly so. Don’t confuse the ‘desert’ with the Sahara, with its endless sand dunes and monotonous colour; no, the Jaisalmer desert is dry and arid, like most, and full of trees, shrubbery, and a hard, dusty floor. It is hot, but not staggeringly so, and water’s a scarce commodity. Not that I’ve been in one, for that matter. Our guides name is Isaac. He is a surprisingly good looking man, with a touch of regalness to him, George Clooney like silvery hair, and a broad, striking face. There are three of us on camels with Isaac leading the way on foot.

Whilst it’s a desert state, and we are in it, we’re in fact never far from the main road (even though we can’t see it), so it’s no really a ‘safari’ but more an afternoon camel ride in the countryside. It’s also funny too – every safari is marketing in the town as ‘non-touristic’. It’s ironic; only tourists do it, and they all do it in small groups. We like to keep the dream alive – we all doing something different from one another.

***

If you’ve seen the movie ‘Inception’ you may recall the scene where Leonardo DiCaprio is talking to Arian in a Paris café, and he asks her how they got there. Point is, they’re in a dream, and in a dream, and you always wake up in the middle.

I wake up in the middle. The sun is shining high in the sky. There is an ever so faint breeze, and the heat is a warm, dreamy state. Thankfully, the heat doesn’t absorb into the sand, so the ground retains its coolness. There is Yobin, lying flat down on a blanket in the middle of the dessert. Swags is nowhere to be found. Isaac is huddling beside a bush, preparing our lunch, chatting quietly to a small child beside him. I am on a blanket, looking out with a blank expression on my face. Or maybe I am running about like a spaced out lunatic, trying to catch a goat. 

There is something confusing in the dessert. Something moving. A person maybe. No, an animal. No. Something else. I don’t know. I hit Yobin. No response. Where is Swags. Why is everything so slow. Where are the camels.

It’s getting late. We’ve had lunch, and Isaac is still hunched beside the bush, cleaning the cooking utensils with sand. He’s doing it ever so slowly, still chatting to the child. The hours tick by. The sun seems to get lower; the sand in the earth starting to cool, as if a sudden chill is going to rise up from the earth. The hours drag, curse, falter, are we staying here. It’s been four hours.

Then, an interlude. I can’t remember how. A goat. We purchase one. 3,000 Rupees. From the village man. Isaac assures us of a special deal. We won’t be having a vegetarian dinner. We will be dining on fresh goat.

Isaac gets on his cellphone (reception in the dessert?) The logistics of the matter require a small child from the village to fetch the goat in preparation for the evening feast. The goat isn’t tied up, instead headed to the ‘tsk’ noise that Isaac makes. It wanders, slowly at first, then further and further, maybe as far as the camels who haven’t been seen for hours. Then, it drops out of sight, over a hill and into some thick shrubbery.

“Shall I go get it?” Says Swags.

“Yes, get,” says Isaac.

The last we see of Swags...just what is he doing exactly?

I stand up. Yobin is still passed out on his back. I see Swags running off into the dessert on a fool’s arrand; chasing a goat that instinctively runs from pursuers. He disappears into the dessert, over the hill and far away, not looking back, never to be seen again.

“Shall we go get him,” says Yobin, up from his slumber.

“No. We get lost.” I say. “Isaac, goat gone.”

“Okay.” He gets up. He runs after the goat, and Mr Swagger. He disappears. We are alone in the dessert. The sun is losing heat from above. Cool is rising from the earth. The camels are gone. Yobin and I are alone.

“Hey Yobin.”

“Yokrus.”

“I don’t like this.” Paranoia kicks in. The camels are gone. We’ve been set up. The goat was a farce to lure one of us into the dessert. The unlucky soul will be knifed, chopped up for dinner and mixed with goat meat. Yobin and I will be left to rot and starve in the dessert. We’ll shiver in the cold, wander for days, and meet our demise in the ocean of sand. The long shadows of the trees cast a devilish spell.

“Yobin,” I said, “we’re going to die.”

I'd hoped it wouldn't end like this. 

***

We wake up in the dream again. Isaac is back leading the camels. The goat has been despatched to the village, it’s fate unknown to use. Yobin rides in front of me, Mr Swags in front of him. The sun has dropped low over the horizon, giving us a few hours of light. 

Isaac jumps on the back of the leading camel. The camels walk slowly across the arid desert, and meet the sand dunes, beginning the steep climb to the true sands of the Sahara. No one is saying anything. Whether it for the beauty of the setting sun, the eloquence of the sand below, or something else, I cannot say. At the peak we demount the camels. Isaac points to our camp.

“When you finish, come down there,” he says, pointing to a makeshift two walled campsite. We look at each other, we look over to the setting sun, and our long shadows over the sand dunes. The big ball in the distance changes colour as it goes down, from yellow, to golden, to orange, to dark red. Our shadows get longer. The air gets cooler, but not much. There is a moment, the three of us, staring into the distance, not saying a word, perhaps aware of how far we have come.

I’m awake from the dream. There is a sun, and a dessert, and my friends, all combining to create the moment that dreams are truly made of. No one but us. No cookies, no goats, just the easy setting sun and the light of a generation – one that’s lived in the dessert long before we ever came here, people like Isaac and his young friend. Our visit is just a trip – a trip in the dessert.