Jodhpur

The train ride had been long and hot. Men had stared and we arrived after dark. Past the hassle and the pushing, I caught a rickshaw to the clock tower. I said I'd walk to my guest house from there. No madam it is very far. No it isn't, but he doesn't get paid a commission there. Walked through the dealings of a closing market and asked directions. First right on the left. Find the guest house and up the stairs. No singles, but you can have a double for the single rate if you change tomorrow. Climb the stairs to register. The restaurant on the roof is still open. Sweaty, dirty, tired I climb once more. Only table in a dark corner. I sit, examine the menu in the dim light, and order. He goes and I breath and - finally - look around.

And, then,

Suddenly I'm a ninja.

I'm dressed in black and my mission is to scale the wall of the impenetrable fortress I now behold. I had been sitting with my back turned to the very thing I had come to see. The Meherangarh. The next day via audio tour I would learn that it has never been taken. Cannon balls scars and gates bared against elephant siege stand in testament to this fact. Today, the stronghold is assailed by tourists as the Maharaja, who still lives in the ginormous palace that can't be missed on the horizon, has opened it to the public.

I wandered dazed that strength in stone could be so beautiful. Listened as the British narrator explained that the hand prints enshrined on one wall are all that remains of the wives that burned themselves - without a sound - alive on their husband's funeral pyre. And - when this chilling image had passed - peered down at the city below and smirked. It would take one tough ninja to scale these walls.