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Friday, January 24th – Devgarh to Ranakpur, 16,918 km
Frank has a smirk on his face this morning that broadens into a smile whenever he looks at me. "Is it that bad?" I ask, referring to my new hair colour. "Perhaps you could be an extra in a horror movie with a little make-up," he chuckles. "I wish I had a mirror," I groan, "or maybe not." "Oh, it's not that bad," he consoles me, suppressing another grin.
Today we are riding to the Jain Temple at Ranakpur, one of the most highly recommended sites to visit in Rajasthan. It will be our last stop before Udaipur. By air, it would be about 60 km but the most direct route by road requires us to cross the Aravalli Mountains and follow the east side of the mountains south to the town of Sadri, and then back into a valley in the mountains. It will take about 85 km.
It is a pleasant day with a little wind that keeps changing direction. It is in our faces while we crossing the mountains west of Devgarh. But crossing the mountains actually means dropping from the plateau that Devgarh is on to a plain 200 m lower in altitude, so it is an easy crossing. Frank stops to catch of picture of me with my black hair coasting down the hill to catch up to him.
Once east of the mountains, our route is relatively level. We are using a minor state highway to make our way south to Sadri. It zigs and zags inefficiently, but that means there are fewer trucks. It is a wonderful route, really. I am very glad we chose it. There are only a few villages along the way, but we have brought enough food and water to last us to Ranakpur.
At Sadri we turn left, back towards the mountains, and we climb from 360 m to 1080 m to get up to the pass over the Aravali Mountains, and from there we drop down part way to another highway that follows a trench valley south to the great temple. The temple, made of white marble, sits impressively in the middle of the valley floor with its mountain backdrop, its turrets and shikharas adorned with flags. It is 20 m square and very ornate. Inside it has 1440 columns, each uniquely carved. Walking through it, I am astonished by the detail. It was truly made with love. My guide book says it was made over a 400 year period.
In spite of its notoriety, it is a real temple, not a tourist attraction. We are, in fact, almost alone in the temple except for the priests and a small number of worshippers. The priests, wearing Jain robes, are friendly and happy to meet us. One of them gives us a quick tour of the temple and points us in the direction of the Sun Temple, another smaller temple on the same property. I wander over to it on my own. There are a couple of women wandering through it who find it very humourous that I am there. I ask one of the English speaking priests why they were tittering. Apparently it is a fertility temple where women come to ask for a husband. He tells me they were probably joking that I have been sent by the gods. Only if their gods have a cruel sense of humour, I think to myself.
Back at the main temple, one of the priests introduces us to the head priest, a slender, effeminate man with a graceful poise. He questions us about our travels and then tells us that he will be making his first trip outside of India next year. It will be a trip to the United States. He is looking forward to it but he has some set and negative ideas about the Western world. One thing he finds decadent is that men and women hold hands. I explain to him that it is just a cultural thing. In India boys and men hold hands which we would find this bold and sometimes unacceptable. 'Oh yes, because they think this means they are..." he struggles to find the right word "...homosexual." "Right," I say, smiling because of his obvious effeminate leanings. I wish I could talk to him after his trip to learn how it was for him.
One of the priests offers to take our picture, me with my arm slung over Frank's muscular shoulders and his arms folded across his chest. They have a fascination with us as two men together, though somehow they seem to have figured out that I am gay and Frank is not. I am not aware of giving off any clues, but one of the priests is rubbing my foot with his foot under the table, rather boldly. I don't let on to Frank what is happening, No one is pursuing him although he is hunkier and more handsome.
The priest who is flirting with me offers to show me the underground chamber where the treasures of the temple were hidden whenever the temple was threatened with attack. Frank says he wants to stay put, so I follow the young priest to the underground chamber. He makes no attempt to play tour guide. As soon as we have climbed down the ladder to the underground chamber, which is a smallish room where one might keep their canning preserves, he whips out his cock and starts beating off. I join him and we watch each other cum. It has been 11 weeks since I have masturbated, but my long-awaited climax is very anti-climactic.
When we return, about 15 minutes after we left, Frank decides is it time to find a room in the nearby village. The inn is small and rudimentary. We boil some water to make noodles with cheese and bread for dinner. I feel mildly sheepish about the episode with the priest in the underground chamber. If Frank sensed anything was going on between us he certainly isn't letting on. In retrospect, I think the episode was rather funny but disappointing too, after a record length of abstention. I regret that my record is not still intact.
PHOTO 1: me with my new hair colour
PHOTO 2: the entrance to Ranakpur Temple
PHOTO 3: a Sun Temple nearby
PHOTO 4: the Jain Sun Temple up close
PHOTO 5: inside Ranakpur, forest of columns
PHOTO 6: the columns in detail
PHOTO 7: the ceiling of the centre of the temple
PHOTO 8: detail of marble frescoes
PHOTO 9: Frank and I cuddling together
PHOTO 10: bleached out pic on me and elephant's ass
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