I still remember the moment I stepped out of the Ranakpur complex, my heart full of awe and my mind buzzing with the intricate carvings I had just witnessed. As the cool breeze of the Aravalli hills brushed my face, I felt a sudden urge to continue my journey this time to Mount Abu, where the famed Dilwara Jain Temples awaited. Little did I know that within a few hours, I would find myself wandering through corridors of gleaming marble, each panel whispering stories of devotion and artistry.
My journey began just after lunch. I caught a bus from Ranakpur via Sirohi up into the hills. The road climbed steadily, offering glimpses of terraced fields and distant villages nestled among rocky outcrops. Every turn revealed a new vista: dusty roads giving way to pine‑dotted slopes, and suddenly, the town of Mount Abu appeared like an oasis in the desert landscape.
By late afternoon, I reached the entrance gate of the Dilwara complex. The air here felt different lighter, almost electric. Even before entering, I could see the temple spires rising above the trees, their white marble facades glowing in the slanting sun. I paid my modest entry fee, removed my shoes, and stepped into a world that seemed to shimmer with devotion.
The first temple I encountered was Vimal Vasahi, dedicated to the first Jain Tirthankara, Rishabhanatha. At the entrance, two life‑size elephant sculptures stood guard, their trunks curling protectively. Walking beneath their watchful gaze, I felt a mixture of reverence and childlike curiosity. The courtyard was cool underfoot, and as I passed through the ornate doorway, I found myself in a hall where sunlight filtered through perforated marble screens, creating dancing patterns on the floor.
Inside, the ceiling was a masterpiece of concentric circles, each ring carved with tiny lotus petals, mythical beasts, and scenes from Jain mythology. I crouched down, tracing the pattern with my eyes, imagining the hundreds of artisans who must have spent years chiseling each detail. Here, time seemed to stretch one moment I was standing in modern India, the next I was transported to a bygone era where faith and craftsmanship converged in marble.
Next, I moved to Luna Vasahi, built in the 15th century by two brothers, Vastupal and Tejpal, under the patronage of Rana Kumbha. This temple felt more intimate, its corridors narrower, its sculptures more exuberant. Each pillar was a story unto itself: dancers frozen mid‑twirl, elephants bearing ornate howdahs, and celestial beings playing musical instruments. I ran my fingers lightly over a carved musician’s flute, feeling the cool marble under my skin. For a moment, I could almost hear a faint melody echoing through the silent hall.
By then, the sky had begun to change hues, and the evening bells from nearby shrines drifted through the air. I found a quiet corner in the Adinath Temple, the largest of the complex, and sat cross‑legged on the marble floor. A gentle hush fell around me, broken only by the distant murmur of pilgrims. I closed my eyes and let the stillness wash over me, remembering how I had felt that morning in Ranakpur the same profound calm, but here the marble seemed even more translucent, as if it held light within its veins.
As dusk settled, I stepped outside and wandered along the pathways lined with flowering shrubs. I paused at a small stall selling masala chai and grilled corn. Sipping the hot tea, I looked back at the temples illuminated by soft lamps. The white marble now took on a golden glow, each carving casting slender shadows that danced in the lamplight. It felt like a private performance, and I was the sole audience.
Later that night, back in my guesthouse overlooking Nakki Lake, I reflected on the journey from Ranakpur to Dilwara. Both sites celebrated Jain devotion, but their expressions were distinct. Ranakpur had been a lesson in vastness the sprawling complex, the thousands of pillars, the sense of stepping into a living mandala. Dilwara, by contrast, was a study in intimacy: every surface adorned with filigree, every corner revealing a new secret.
The next morning, I rose early to explore Mount Abu itself. I followed a narrow trail up to Guru Shikhar, the highest peak in the Aravalli range. The climb was steep but rewarding; at the summit, I stood among ancient temples and a small observatory, gazing out over a sea of hills that stretched toward the horizon. The air was crisp, and the sunrise painted the sky in shades of pink and gold. Below me, Mount Abu’s town lay peaceful, its whitewashed buildings and red‑tiled roofs nestled among verdant pines.
On my way back, I stopped at the Sunset Point, where local guides had set up tea stalls and small shops selling handicrafts. I picked up a hand‑carved marble figurine as a memento a miniature echo of the grand temples I had seen. As I sipped another cup of chai, I chatted with a vendor who told me stories of Mount Abu’s legends: of sage Vashistha meditating here, of hidden caves filled with ancient carvings, of pilgrims who came seeking both spiritual and natural beauty.
Before leaving Mount Abu, I made sure to visit the Achalgarh Fort, just a short drive away. Though in ruins, the fort’s walls still bore intricate carvings and weathered reliefs. From its ramparts, I could see the distant spires of Dilwara shining in the morning sun. It felt like a farewell wave from the marble marvels I had come to love.
Back on the bus heading toward Udaipur, I thought about how travel often becomes a collection of moments rather than a checklist of places. Ranakpur had taught me patience and the joy of silent observation; Dilwara had shown me how faith can be etched in the smallest of details. Mount Abu itself reminded me that nature and devotion often go hand in hand, each enhancing the other’s beauty.
If you plan your own pilgrimage through Rajasthan’s Jain heritage, here are a few practical tips: visit during the cooler months of October to March, when the marble feels pleasant underfoot; wear modest clothing that covers shoulders and knees; carry a small scarf or shawl to cover your head inside the shrines; and keep a bottle of water handy for the short hikes around Mount Abu. For complete travel information, check out Mount Abu Tourism.
Sipping chai by Nakki Lake that night, I realized this wasn’t just a temple tour it was a journey into my own soul.
Short closing:
From Ranakpur’s silent pillars to Dilwara’s delicate carvings and Mount Abu’s cool breezes, this trip left me with a calm that words can’t capture and memories that will always guide me back.
You may also like → Ranakpur Jain Temple: A Sacred Journey into Silence and Stone
No comments:
Post a Comment
Have a question or feedback? Leave a comment below!