Evasive Reflections

I was intending to catch a bus or train to Patan. Modhera is not too far away. If I get to Patan, I may even be able to find a local bus which will take me to Modhera.

Nidhi calls. Are you still planning to go to Patan today, she asks me.

Yes, I confirm.

Can I come along? How are you planning to go?

I would have taken a bus or train if I was going alone, I say. If you are coming along, I can book a taxi to take us. You will have to split the bill with me.

Sure, she says. And I scramble to book us a cab which will take us on our trip to Patan, Modhera, and get us back in the evening in time for her flight.

The taxi arrives, and I board it. First stop is Nidhi’s hotel. She emerges shortly after, and we are off. I stop at an ATM to draw cash to pay for the trip, but the card and the machine fail me. The first stop is going to be Modhera. The cab driver tells us that it is closer. It makes sense to go to Patan after Modhera, and return to Ahmedabad via a different, more direct route which will connect back to the outbound route at Mehsana. The roads are excellent, and we make good time.

Such good time, in fact, that the ticket window at the Sun Temple is not yet open. We hang around for 15 minutes or so for the counter to be opened. We procure our tickets and go inside.

The temple is not very tall, and nothing I can see as we walk down the approach path from the gate of the complex to the temple impresses me. It is only when we climb up the few steps to the plinth on which the temple stands, that I am willing to change my mind.

There are two principal structures — the temple and the Nat Mandapa (a free-standing pavilion on the east). The temple is not very imposing. But it is exquisitely carved, as is the pavilion that stands in front. I get to work immediately, trying to remember everything that we had been taught in the workshop. Nidhi wanders off, exploring on her own, while I go diligently around the temple, taking photos every few steps, making three circumambulations of the temple. First from about 20m away, then 10m, and finally, about 5m away. The crowds are just beginning to build up. I have largely clear access to the temple for my photographs, only occasionally having to wait for the crowds to clear.

The pavilion in front of the temple makes things tricky, with not enough space left between the two for the 20m and 10m shots. The pavilion is a very pretty structure in itself, with its benches, carved pillars and sculptured outer walls.

Unfortunately, the spires of both the main shrine and the pavilion have collapsed. The shape of the original spires is left to one’s imagination, with the several mini-spires in the temple pond on the east providing tantalising hints.

The temple pond is cordoned off. The water is green with algae. I am sure clear water would have made for a great reflection of the temple, especially since we have arrived early enough to have the sun lighting up the entire face of the temple, but it is sadly not to be.

While I have been roaming around taking photos, so has Nidhi, and we play phone tag for a few minutes trying to figure out where the other is. We meet up at the gate, and resume our journey to Patan.

We reach the step well before 1pm. There are more people here, both because it is later in the day, and because this structure is more famous than the Sun Temple.

It is difficult to believe that this gorgeous step-well was abandoned, forgotten, and completely silted over. It is only thanks to ASI’s excavations and reconstruction work in the mid-20th century that we get to see the well in the state it is today.

The step-well’s walls are decorated with images of gods and demi-gods, along with geometric and floral patterns

It is interesting to note that the water can be accessed both through the broad and shallow steps on the east, as well as the conventional semi-circular retaining wall on the west over which one could draw well from the water.

There are signs of reconstruction both in the missing elements, as well as the too-neatly aligned carvings on the walls.

The well goes seven floors down, but access to the lower levels is restricted for tourists and one cannot get close to the western end of the well. Try as I might, there is no spot from which I can catch a glimpse of the water in the well.

A broad set of steps on the eastern side lead down to the water

A semi-circular retaining wall on the western side provides more conventional access to the well water

I do the next best thing, circum-navigating the well. The gardens have been well laid out, and the flowers are in bloom. A little girl and her brother, only slightly older than her, jump up and down the steps, counting them, and trying to outpace each other. There are many young couples here.

We decide to skip lunch. Nidhi wants to explore shops where she can look for Patola saris and dress materials. But the shops are closed today. The driver calls someone he knows, and they agree to take us to a shop which is open only by appointment. We wait. A young man drives up to us on bike, and asks us to follow him. We arrive at a rather large and well-furnished show room. Nidhi has been forced to give up a flourishing business she had set up, supplying fabric for furniture makers (her in-laws do not think “business” is something daughter-in-laws should be engaged in). She is looking at the fabrics here both as a buyer, and as a possible trading opportunity. The prints are very pretty, and I can see the designs have been inspired by the decorations on the step-well walls. I look at a few pieces cursorily, but even the price of a single-ikkat scarf is beyond my means, never mind the silken double-ikkat saris that runs into lakhs.

The patterns that adorn the walls of the step-well inspire the designs of the sarees, too

We are taken to a couple of other shops, too, but nothing catches Nidhi’s fancy, and nothing matches my meagre pocket.

We give up and head back to Ahmedabad. The drive back is as uneventful and smooth as it was on the way out.

We stop at a mall for a late meal, and then head to the hotel where Nidhi settles her bill and picks up her luggage. I will be dropping her off at the airport before heading back to my own hotel. Nidhi has paid for the cab, and I need to pay her now.

There is something wrong with my ATM card. It has failed me thrice since morning, I tell her once we reach the airport. I will try to withdraw cash one more time. If I cannot get cash, I will have to write you a cheque.

A cheque? She says disbelievingly. Whoever writes cheques?

I do. I don’t use any UPI, G-Pay or other mobile payment modes, I tell her.

I put in my card and punch the PIN. I heave a sigh of relief as the machine whirrs and spits out the notes. I hand over the cash to Nidhi, with a brief account of the bill. She disappears into the airport terminal with her luggage, and I get back to my hotel. I have a train to catch early next morning.