Off the grid in Gopnath

Our itinerary read “Gopnath Beach,” a place not found in my guidebook or on any map I had. “Gopnath beach is known for its scenic beauty, limestone cliffs, natural surroundings and fascinating flora and fauna.”

We drove up to windswept cliff over the Gulf of Khambat and the driver stopped in front of a faded Dreamsicle-colored one-story building. No one came out to greet us. There was no sign, no lobby of any sort, nothing to suggest that this is rest-stop for travelers and, yet, the driver said this is “Gopnath Bungalows,” where we were to stay. I wondered if we were being dropped off at someone’s house, a friend of the travel agent who wanted to make some money off of  gullible clients.

DSC_9408Dad and I exchanged “where are we?” looks and after, a few minutes, a man came out to the car. He looked sleepy, like we had woken him from an afternoon nap. He and the driver exchanged greetings and they both began to unpack our belongings from the car. Ramesh, that was the sleepy man’s name, we found out, sat on a plastic chair behind a desk on the sun-filled porch. He opened a cracked “guest register” – the spine had been taped over to keep the book together – and he wrote down “Kiran Shah.”

There was no one else about. He opened the door to room #3. Monastic, and not in a good way, came to mind. Thin mattresses were set on marble platforms attached to the wall. No rugs covered the cold tile floor. A peek into the bathroom confirmed my next suspicion: the 12-inch tall geyser would mean a cold shower or no shower at all.

Ramesh came by to say that lunch would be ready shortly so we waited outside, sitting on the porch steps, lazing like cats in the sun, and lowering our expectations regarding the meal. But we were jolted. Our food was delicious. The Katiawad menu set up on the plastic table was bountiful, hot and perfectly spiced. Through a doorway off in the corner, I spotted a small kitchen where two older ladies were making fresh rotlo on a cast iron griddle.

IMG_2411We returned to the courtyard after lunch, this time taking our plastic chairs with us. There is a playground in the middle and on the far left, cliffside, is a large wooden bungalow, faded and paint-cracked from seasons of salt air and monsoon. Built in the 1940s, it served as the beach house for Krishna Kumarasingh Bhavasingh, the then ruler of Bhavnagar. I got up and urged Dad to come with me and poke around. The house itself is locked but we walked through the yard and upstairs to the roof terrace. I stood near the balustrade – careful not to lean against it as it didn’t seem very stable – overlooking the sea and imagined royal parties here. Like many of India’s heritage sites, it’s in desperate need of upkeep. It looks far older than its 70-plus years.

We returned to our chairs and sat and talked, our voices the only noise to disturb the sound of breeze, waves and birds. After about an hour, the driver motioned us to the car. We were going into “town” to visit the local temple. Built around 700 years ago, it is one of the few, if not the only, temple to host two flags: a white flag signifies a temple devoted to Vishnu. The saffron flag denotes a shrine to Shiva.

DSC_9396Gopnath is also the place where it’s believed that Narsinh Mehta, a 15th-century Gujarati poet-saint, attained enlightenment. His poem, “Vaishava Janatho,” was Mahatma Gandhi’s favorite.

Vaishnav jan to tene kahiye je [One who is a vaishnav]

PeeD paraayi jaaNe re [Knows the pain of others]

Par-dukhkhe upkaar kare toye [Does good to others, especially to those ones who are in misery]

Man abhimaan na aaNe re [Does not let pride enter his mind]

Vaishnav…SakaL lok maan sahune vande [A Vaishnav, Tolerates and praises the the entire world]

Nindaa na kare keni re [Does not say bad things about anyone]

Vaach kaachh man nishchaL raakhe [Keeps his/her words, actions and thoughts pure]

Dhan-dhan janani teni re

We returned to the “hotel” at sunset. The weather had changed; the wind had turned cold and it was getting brisk. Dad and I intended to read and get to bed early – not much else to do in a place without even phone service – but we ended up talking until midnight, bathed in Dreamsicle-colored light, until the howl of high tide reminded us it was time we got some rest.

Advertisements

The princely states

British rule over Gujarat was not whole. They only controlled about a fifth of the state, largely confined to the larger metropolitan areas such as Ahmedabad and Surat. The remainder of Gujarat was Saurashtra, and its “100 kingdoms” – it was actually about 200 – was ruled by individual royal families, albeit in cooperation with their Raj neighbors. In fact, these kingdoms were generally supportive of the British; they had signed pacts of cooperation with the British East India Co. in the early 1800s. Indian independence leaders’ activities excluded Saurashtra and the Congress party did not decide to formally include the region in its struggle until 1938, just nine years before the British quit.

The region is also known as Katiawad and the locals speak a lilting Gujarati, a sing-song quality that brings a “sweetness” of tone is how my dad describes it. I can hear it faintly. I think it will be a while, if ever, before I can distinguish among the dialects in the Gujarati language. Katiawad also has its own culinary specialities, which we ate throughout our travels. These foods include rotlo, a flatbread made of buckwheat. (I liked the way my Madhukar kaka, or father’s brother, prepared it: Crispy top peeled off in order to place a layer of gor, or jaggery, on top. Unlike many Indian men, especially of his generation, my uncle is good in the kitchen!) Vegetable preparations included ringun oro, an eggplant preparation, and tamata/sev, a mixture of tomato and sev, small crunchy noodles made of chickpea flour. It was all delicious and we ate it for nearly every meal without tiring of the tastes.

Bhavnagar

Madhukar kaka’s wife, my Asha kaki is from Bhavnagar, one of Saurashtra’s biggest cities, and so it makes sense he knows his Katiawad food! They were both there,visiting my aunt’s mother, the night Dad and I were in town so we could skip a restaurant in favor of a home-cooked meal. For its time, Bhavnagar’s rulers were progressive, setting up a modern system of civil and criminal justice, civic amenities and schools. The last ruler of the Gohil dynasty, Krishnakumarsinhji, was closely involved with the independence movement and so was one of the first rulers to submit to the new state of India.

There is not a lot these days to see in Bhavnagar; it’s a mid-sized Indian city striving for modernity like many of its peers. We did drive up to the Takhteshwar Temple, which has 360-degree views of the city and the Gulf of Khambhat below.

Palitana

Somewhat out of turn, I already wrote about our visit to Palitana, home of the Jain temple complex. It was also its own princely state  and its mountain-top location helped it defeat invaders, whether they were expansion-minded Muslims or fellow royals.

Jamnagar 

Former royal municipality turned Oil City of India. Jamnagar’s now figurehead prince lives in the Darbargadh Palace and the former summer residence in the middle of Lakhota Lake illustrate the city’s royal heritage. But the world’s largest oil refinery, operated by Reliance, is the main economic driver. The Indian air force, army and navy all have bases here, due to the proximity of the border with Pakistan. Our hotel would not allow us to check in without filling out special “Arrival of Foreigner in Hotel” paperwork and showing our passports.

After a week or so amid the villages of rural Gujarat, Jamnagar reintroduced us to the chaos of city life. Lakhota lake is the city’s main square and, in the evening, the perimeter became a market/fair, with food stalls, shop carts and mini-amusement rides for children.  Another market area was around the city’s main mosque, Ratan Bai Masjid, with its distinctive green-and-white minarets.

What was nice to see were all the Hindu names on the shops around the mosque, showing, at least in the matters of commerce, an interaction among those of different faiths. I’ve been reading a lot about the history of communal tensions in Gujarat, and a disturbing trend is the increased polarization of the communities and the lack of the sort of everyday contact that helps promote tolerance.

Another of the city’s landmarks is the Bala Hanuman temple, where devotees have chanted, “Sri Ram, Jai Ram, Jai Jai Ram” for 24-hours a day since August 1, 1964, earning it a place in the Guinness World Book of Records. During the afternoon we visited about a half-dozen men and women were sitting, chanting God’s name.