BIKANER DIY
Arrived in Bikaner at sunrise, the first thing I try to do is to reach the railway station, to leave my luggage, until the departure of my train in the afternoon. After a quick breakfast, the usual sweet tea with milk purchased from a street kiosk, I ask information to reach Deshnok. A rickshaw wants an astronomical amount, so I just tell him to take me in the city outskirts, where public buses pass.
I reach Deshnok at around 8 o’clock, the bus leaves me at a crossroad on the main road. The rickshaw-wallahs approach me, but some passers-by reassure me that the temple of Karni Mata can be reached on foot in less than one kilometer, and show me the direction to follow.
Karni Mata is the only occasion in which I intend on purpose to meet mice, driven mostly by curiosity.
Going around barefoot seems not a good idea, so I brought a pair of old socks, but, when I reach the entrance next to the beautiful silver door, however, I remain puzzled
Already from the distance I can see a few rats, but there are also many pigeons. The droppings of both, on the floor, easily avoidable in normal circumstances, are now scattered everywhere, because the cleaners, rather than remove them with a cloth soaked in water, as any sane person would do , spread them further away with buckets of water thrown haphazardly on the floor, even without any regard for the people walking nearby. Terrified, I remember to have somewhere some plastic bags that I wrap around my feet.
Then, very cautiously, I cross the threshold. There are far fewer mice than expected, but they run fast in every direction, and are disgusting, since their bodies and tails are full of bloody scabs. Everywhere there are small bowls filled with food and milk to feed them
I notice with horror that some of the pilgrims sprinkle their fingers of a sweet stuff, then prostrate themselves on the ground, stretching the arms, so that the rats, which are the reincarnation of some deities, go to lick them, bringing luck, success, health and prosperity.
I’m stretched like a drum skin, I would like to have eyes on 360° of my head, and I am even afraid to take pictures, fearing that during this only moment of fatal weakness these creatures touch me. Fortunately, I realize that I’m not the only one to feel hysteria against them.
I found a relatively sheltered corner far from the the tracks traveled by rats, I stop a few more relaxed minutes watching the scene with a certain detachment, then I walk away and I start looking for a bus back to Bikaner.
The rest of the morning is dedicated to the visit of the Junagarh fort, what impresses me particularly is a small court, with towers and pink arches, which are reflected in an artificial pond, and some ornately decorated rooms, one of which is in a beautiful turquoise color.
I spend the few hours left in a busy street next to the train station, which is home to many small hotels and eateries. I eat my lunch in a dhaba among the curious glances from other customers, Indians with beards and turbans.
For dinner I buy some samosas and other snacks from a street.
The station is fairly animated by crowds parked on the tracks and ruminants in the eternal search of food.
As soon as I reach my wagon, I note that among the other occupants there is a fair proportion of foreigners.
I settle in my berth, I always choose the upper ones, because they ensure more privacy. Just after the start, the attendants distribute sheets, blankets and soft pillows, which smell clean; after many endless nights with open eyes on uncomfortable buses, cradled by the rolling rails, after a few minutes I fall into a heavy sleep