Abu Road

Mount Abu shone in the fading light, the two white stone elephants guarding the Jain Temple almost luminous amongst the grey shops and houses in the main street. In our fervour for accepting a traveller's challenge, Rajasthan had been top of our list for exploration, its dry, craggy terrain offering a stark contrast to the lusher states on the western coast of Bharat. Mount Abu was special to the locals because it offered a greener, softer environment in the hills overlooking dusty, arid Abu Road Railway Junction. The Hindus flocked to the resort to begin their honeymoons beside its small but picturesque lake. They would enjoy their first intimate moments at perhaps the Hilltone Hotel in the Bamboo Suite or in the rustic splendour of the Cave Dweller Suite before moving on to Khajurao to look with one eye at the erotic temple carvings. Whatever their preference they almost inevitably found themselves where we three Australians found ourselves. Vantage points for viewing the setting of the sun were few because of the hundreds of newly-weds with still-cameras and video recorders, huddling around the edges of a small lookout known as Sunset Point.

We watched their antics with some bemusement before the sun finally dipped gently below the horizon and the delighted newly-weds burst into spontaneous applause and cheering before wending their way back to their respective hotels. James looked at his watch and remarked that we had better set off for the bus station. Three days of relaxation and walking around the wide variety of temples and local sights combined with good quality local food and satisfying sleep had recharged everyone's batteries to resume the epic train journey across North India. 'First Class', the optimum level of travel for tourists offered accommodation akin to trying to catch a wink of sleep in the soot-covered back of a moving utility, travelling down an endless flight of steps, accompanied by a tape of the insides of combine harvester mixed with David Jones cafeteria at lunchtime playing full bore in your ears. In short, it was a pretty exhausting prospect for any sustained period of time.

Sauntering towards the bus station Lisa and James chatted about the pustulant, cankerous dog we had seen at lunchtime. I attempted to change the subject. We entered the bus company building, just as the vehicle we were scheduled to board arrived amid considerable dust and diesel fumes.

Looking back, I remember a sense of foreboding, heightened by the alighting passengers. A young woman clad from head-to-toe in black stepped shakily from the bus, and promptly threw up on the tarmac. This did not fill me with the confidence to lug my pack up the steps on the bus. The Indian passengers seemed unperturbed at the young woman's distress as she continued to vomit. We steered a wide berth around her and boarded the vehicle, which had been rushed by an impatient group of locals who had pushed and shoved each other to obtain the front seats. On the way to the back, we passed an almost identically dressed woman lying flat on the seat. She was finding it hard to breathe and seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. A couple more women carrying loose cloth bundles picked her up and supported her down to the street.

A lead weight seemed to be materialising in my stomach. We found ourselves sitting across the rear seat. James and I sat on either side of our female companion and next to the windows, our luggage packed in the aisle in between numerous couples sitting quietly waiting for the driver.

Our conversation halted abruptly when we had settled in our seats, perhaps in anticipation of something malevolent making its way towards us. In a sense it was. The driver carefully wound his turban as he strode to the front of the bus. He looked confident and smiled a cheery "Namaste!" to his taxi-driver friends, jauntily swung open the driver's door and started the engine. Another man in a London Transport Underground guard's jacket jumped in through the side passenger door and wrestled with the elderly mechanism until it approximated 'securely fastened'. The bus itself was an old commuter type with thin, vinyl bench-seats and a stairwell in the middle where the only passenger door was. It sounded rough and after the driver had made final adjustments to his headgear, and backed out of the terminus, we found out just how rough it was to ride in. Every seat rattled, the windows shook loudly and the wheels were not very well aligned because when moving their shuddering shook everything even worse.