At night it rained, but by then we were well on our way back to Bangalore. I couldn’t enjoy the rains since we were boxed inside the AC compartment thanks to an upgrade from second class. To top it, I was coming down with my fourth sore throat infection in the past three months. It was cloudy enough when we started from Bijapur. There was hardly a soul in the train. The first sign of company was unfortunately, a drunk. He tried his best to engage us in lively conversation, but we would have none of it. He was soon followed by a huge (literally) family, who were not satisfied the space available for luggage in the compartment. They wanted the whole space under the berth, and ordered us to move our baggage. Thankfully, they themselves moved away after a while.
The day had started very early and ominously – we had to hunt around for breakfast. Our “adda”, Mysore Restaurant was closed and we were informed that it would open only at 8:30. So would all other hotels. Visions of famished mornings in Rajasthan loomed. Thankfully, a small “darshini” was open, which served us probably the best Kesari Bath I have ever had!
Juma Masjid was crowded with worshippers even at 7:30 in the morning. We decided to skip it and headed to our next two destinations – Mihtar Mahal and Asar Mahal. According to The Bible, the former was a monument and the latter a ruin. To me, it looked the other way around.
Mihtar Mahal was a dark brown structure serving as a gateway to a little mosque. Even with its ornamental designs it was highly disappointing. A stream of filth flowed in front. A tied rope tied to its top window, passed overhead. Enormous amount of patchwork were visible on the upper deck. We did not linger.
Asar Mahal was entirely a contrast. The huge white building served as a court of the king, who would walk across the moat on a bridge leading to the upper story, where he held court. The rooms were full of beautiful paintings, all of them shown to us by Mr. Inamdar, the lone caretaker of the structure.
As we got out, children engulfed us. “What country are you from?” asked little Mohsin. Do we look like foreigners? But that was the invitation to join their game of cricket, and we obliged. Mohsin seemed to be a real champ (his hero is Yuvraj Singh), even switch-hitting SS. They wanted us to play a full match, but we had to let go. After a series of photographs and a promise that next time we were in Bijapur, we’d join them, we left…
...to the Gumbaz. The short ride on the auto-rickshaw was fun. Music was blaring (Mauja hi Mauja). The driver was dancing all the way. He offered us to take all over Bijapur, an offer we declined. The Gumbaz was crowded and the whispering gallery had turned into the shouting gallery. Every Tom, Dick and Harry wanted to test out the echo. SS tried to invoke Sherlock Holmes again, with no success. One guy even wanted to call up his dad so that he could hear the echoes through the phone. Thankfully there was no signal inside the dome. He was heard complaining that there was “no tower”. The last thing we need is a network tower inside the dome.
Lunch, back at Mysore Restaurant, was a struggle. The place was overflowing. We had to wait for 15-20 minutes. One guy even refused to move. “I want to have an elaborate lunch”, he averred. But then, as Milton said, “They also serve those who stand and wait”.
After time, it was finally time to wrap up the trip. But I still had time for shopping, and the only things I bought from Bijapur were…two rolls of Poppins.
The End.
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