The Soul of the Matter
It was hot, dry and dusty when they finally arrived in Jaisalmer. But then, how often is it not hot and dusty here?
In the markets a wizened woman, of indeterminate age, is using a straw broom to aggressively sweep the area in front of her shop. The dust will soon be kicked-back by passers-by; or swept back by her neighbours; requiring her to sweep again, and again. She will do the same again tomorrow; and the day after; and the day after that.
Jennifer's mind is elsewhere. She's has dreamt of visiting exotic India ever since a client at the hairdressers told her, with enthralling details, of her adventures here.
They've arrived in the dusty city late in the afternoon, by road from Jodhpur. In spite of his preference to visit California or Las Vegas again, she's finally persuaded Bruce that he might like India. He should try something a bit more adventurous for a change.
Below the entrance to the famous Jaisalmer Fort, is a small square that marks the start of the road winding up, then turning at right-angles, through the protective elephant-proof gates. In this little square, motorised trishaws: Tuk-tuks, jostle restlessly like milling cattle. They are waiting for tourists, like our travellers, who may hire them tomorrow to see the town or, if they are lazy or tired, just to mount the steep hill up to the Fort.
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