The Golden City of Jaisalmer

Taken from a wee blog I had going in 2015

Gold: the colour of greatness, of power, of prosperity.

I like to think that hundreds of years ago, a dust of gold had descended upon the lands in front of me, bestowing good fortune and luck onto the city of Jaisalmer. Only the green of the trees and a few signs of human presence have remained impervious to this shower.

The glowing orb behind me begins is daily journey across the awkward blue of the sky, slowly being engulfed by the unquestionably golden lands below.

From the sandy expanse in front of me, rises this incredible monument to human existence. The Fortress of Jaisalmer. Standing tall and proud, undiminished by the blandness that surrounds it; its yellow sandstone glowing golden in the light of the falling sun. Majestic and unparalleled, it seems to be watching over all the lands within the confines of its horizon.

Its presence instills within me a sense of safety and reverence. Its unquestioned supremacy ensures that its servants are allowed to share in its incredible aura.

Or at least it did.

A changing world diminished the sheer power of these ramparts. The once feared walls are now challenged by a plague of miniscule ones, questioning its authority. The sound of bugles that were once attentively heard across all the lands are now challenged by piping honks and disregarding thuds of hammers. The Maharajas, Maharanis and all the nobles who once found solitude in the confines of the great battlements have now been replaced by unrefined, once-servants of the region.

The proletariat has risen.

An excursion through the fort is testament to the (metaphorical) overthrowing of the rulers of the land. Banners of the Kingdom are replaced with Wi-Fi and restaurant sign-boards. Hushed sounds of royal gossip are replaced by jarring cries of uninvited kachori vendors. Magnificent and Tall Stallions that once galloped through the narrow lanes of the citadel are replaced with unimpressed and disregarding cows lapping up the poison residing within the gutters.

It is in pain.

That much is evident. It looks down sorrowfully upon the plagues of humans scampering around it, upon the unrightful and decaying yellow structures rising up in front of it, at the ungrateful new tenants residing within it, completely aware of the fact that without its seemingly eternal battlements, none of this would have come into existence.

But still it stands, grand against its rising surroundings like a lone soldier making its last stand against the victorious army.

It has its brave counterparts residing all over the Glorious Deserts of Rajasthan, all bravely making their final stands too. These fellow companions haven’t given up yet. Lights from within still bravely attempt to ensure that these once formidable forts aren’t defeated by the terror brought upon by the disease called time. But the once dominant walls of Jaisalmer have been breached and its innards have been removed and severed.

As the orb of fire behind me slowly extinguishes, the battlements fade from golden, to yellow, to brown, to black; slowly engulfed by society, slowly lost to the world.

Lights pop up around it but this once-powerful phenomenon remains in the dark slowly rotting.

No resistance. No desire to live.

It finally accepts defeat and is finally engulfed by the all-conquering darkness.