You are here at the best time,” was a constant refrain on our recent trip to Mandu. Mandu is magical during the monsoon season. But strangely, after getting back, the strongest memory I have is of Bandu.  

Of course, I’ll never forget the green roads from Indore to Omkareshwar. There was light green, new green, yellow-green, field-green, shadow-green, dark-green, far-green, wet-green, baobab-green, leaf-green, moss-green, river-green, endless green. And at Maheshwar, the grey clouds hung low, highlighting the vibrant green all around as the Narmada flowed before us. A ride on a curiously shaped boat lasted about an hour but it will remain etched in my mind for a long time. From the boat I could see large egrets, common coots, cormorants and pheasant-tailed jacanas frolicking in the weeds. It seemed to me that they knew more about life than I did.  

Then at Mandu, in the midst of Mughal history and the impressive baobabs, as the car was driving up to Roopmati’s Mahal, the driver switched on the FM radio. “Aaja mere khwaja, dil me samaja,” the radio played. I wondered how much one could carry in one’s heart. And then I came across Bandu at the hotel. He was standing in front of the reception desk, his eyes all wet. He had this expression of calm mixed with a quiet friendliness.

“Hello, there,” I said to him and he walked towards me. I could tell he was quite old. I petted his damp fur and he leaned against me and started grunting.

... contd.