chitrakoot05

15 images of Chitrakoot
Madhya Pradesh January 2005

Chitrakoot is a pilgrim town, in the middle of nowhere, on the border of Madhya Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh.

We arrived by train on the Indore Express at one in the morning. Train was a bit late. What to do? Where to go? We had made no bookings. Chitrakoot is 11km from the railway station. Should we find somewhere near the station till the morning or make our way to Chitrakoot? At this point, anything would do till the morning.

Wandered out of the station. A collection of cycle rickshaws were assembled and a jeep. A tall gentleman waving a notebook muttered something to us in Hindi and pointed to the jeep. I muttered something in English and he responded with a benevolent smile accompanied by more muttering in Hindi. He opened the door to the jeep. Who was this man? What business did he have picking up travellers? We jumped in. We had little alternative. If he wanted to take us to his guest house, that was fine. It was cold and we were tired. Anywhere would do till the morning.

We drove to Chitrakoot. He stopped at a building. "Guesthouse," said he, gesticulating at a building. "Fine" said I. He went to the padlocked grill. I followed. He banged, clattered and yelled. Noone came. So he wasn't taking us to his guest house. Who was this man? With another benevolent smile and a slight wave of the head he pointed to the jeep. Off we went. Another guest house another clamour, another wave of the head. And so we proceeded. Who was this man? Why was he driving us all around town at one thirty in the morning?

Finally we came to the MP Tourist Bungalow. All was dark. Not a single bulb alight. Our host was now becoming restless and indicated that this was the end of the line. Fair enough. He gestured with thumb rubbing forefinger and I opened my wallet. Another benevolent smile and a wag of the head and he was gone. Who was he?

Torch in hand I climbed over the fence of the Tourist Bungalow. I made my way to the reception. Four bodies were asleep on the floor. After sufficient clamour, noise, shining torch in the face of the sleepers, one of them got up and grabbed a key off the wall.

Within minutes we were snuggled up in very comfortable accommodation. As I fell asleep, I couldn't help but wonder, who was that mysterious fellow. But for him we would have slept on the side of the road.

A traditional "plate-waving" welcome to Chitrakoot performed by the official greeter (self-appointed)