Dungarpur

Dungarpur is the preferred universe for black bird with a white crest and a red beak. The water ripples because of the waves created by your feet and the kikar trees on the nearby shore. The bird, still perched on the lotus leaf, avidly catches insects and eyes the small fish. The temple com­plex stands nicely blackened and ancient across the road from the lake, and the prayers emanating from there float imperceptibly on the water surface. The surrounding   foothills   are   low   and stooping, as if trying to imbue a sense of the countryside.

The sounds of Dungar­pur drift in indolently in the mild breeze — the daily grind of the autorickshaws, the rush of the local bazaar and the resonant bells of the temple.

Before that, as you approach Dungar­pur, through the rocky, craggy terrain dotted with cacti bushes, mimosa trees and teak forest, the first sights will be typical of a small town. You will see jeeps heavy with men and boys hanging out from their doors, loud autos tumbling across the town and markets full of chemists and mechanics. You go past these, also past a small dam, and reach the newer palace of erstwhile Dungarpur kings — part of which is today a hotel — and settle in their lakeside, poolside open-air restaurant. Now you notice the surroundings again, and the town is not very far but appears distant. The tract is surrounded by hills, low hills but hills all the same and the name 'Dungarpur, the City of Hills' now makes sense.
Later, with some difficulty, you will tear yourself away from the soothing waters of the lake and visit the old palace. Then the very old past of the not-so-well-known kingdom of Dungarpur will slowly emerge from the closed cupboards and the forgotten recesses, enchanting you with its colors and its stories.