After returning home late in the evening after viewing an Imax show at Prasand’s (according to an outdated guide, the largest Imax in the world which is almost certainly no longer true) we puttered off on an auto for hotel Rajmata. The accommodations were slightly bad, but because we weren’t planning on spending too much time in the room over the weekend it wasn’t such a big deal. The fresh towels we had heard so much about were rather natty, and the pillow and blanket both had a subtle foul odor. Despite these things we were quickly asleep, and the following morning we set off for Golconda fort (the capital of the region between the 14th and 16th centuries.)
The auto ride to the fort was delayed for the Bonalu (meaning feast) festival, a dedication to Kali, which began in Golconda and continues through the old city. After skirting around the Hindu parade and taking some side streets the driver was met with another part of the procession. After several additional attempts the driver succeeded and we were quickly approaching the massive outer fortifications of Golconda. Within these out walls lies a small city full of shops catering to the number of tourists and pilgrims who visit the ruined fortifications. Because today was a festival holiday admission fees were waived (even for foreigners, and we were also not required to pay the camera fee) and we began the climb through the expansive 7 km fort complex. After dodging many guides we entered through another wall of fortifications and into the clapping pavilion. This area was said to be used as a warning to the Shahs at the top of the hill, and a clap within this domed area reverberates the 1 to 2 km to the highest point of the hill. Because we didn’t have a guide Nick and I traipsed around the hill without following the prescribed paths (which sometimes brought the attention of the numerous police scattered through the fort perhaps to provide additional security to the large number of attendees due to the bonalu festival.) Ascending the hill I was impressed that the Mughal army could conquer such a massive and easily defensible fortification. As we climbed higher the views of the surrounding city were exceptionally beautiful, and the worthless pictures I captured can’t do justice to the panorama experienced actually being there. Much time was spent hiking around the granite pathways and off-limits dirt footpaths. I was somewhat disappointed that I had left my bottle of water in the auto which took us here, but I knew that after finishing at the fort the two of us would head to Restaurant Bahar known for having the best Biryani in the city. On the way to the peak there were several other spots such as Ramdas’s prison and two mosques. While walking along a crumbling granite wall to get a nice photo of the surrounding landscape, I heard a sound which, to me, seemed like a child unhappy to be at the fort. I leveled the camera to where the noise was coming from to find that it was the braying of a goat who, under the base of a tree and near a mound of turmeric and vermillion, was deftly having its head severed as an offering to Kali. Its blood mixed with the dirt and spices under the foliage and provided a fitting meal for the blood goddess. This is the first of many sacrifices I would witness as we ascended the steps of temple located near the top. At this temple there were the signs that we had missed a large festival from the previous evening with many paper mache and wood constructs (Thottela) filling the grounds near the shrine. Opposite a large image of Kali painted vibrantly onto a granite stone a beheaded rooster thrashed about while his cousin was made ready for the chopping block. There were many pilgrims climbing the stairs to the shrine at the base of a phallic-looking granite sculpture, and among these Hindus offering puja a dark-skinned, elderly woman had entered a trance and twisted her body in the midst of many unsurprised onlookers. A short way away from the shrine was the king’s court on top of the hill which offered tremendous views of the surrounding landscape. The structure’s beauty had been weathered away as with much of the other ruins, and graffiti in the form of names crudely etched or painted on the stone was rampant. This and the extensive litter marred the natural beauty of the site, but not so much so that the stunning vistas from the summit were diminished.
Instead of going right to the Hyderabadi biryani place we decided to goto the nearby Qutb Shah Tombs. Unlike the beautiful ruins of Golconda I didn’t care for this place. It seemed to have been left to molder and despite the seven large once-beautiful domed buildings not much remained to be seen. These spots were husks of their former beauty with the occasional vibrant floral patterning not being entirely weathered from one small portion of an arch. Like Golconda, everywhere that hadn’t been taken by an earlier party had been scrawled on by earlier sightseers. The most charming thing about this place was that many games of cricket were being played amongst the tombs anywhere that space allowed. Granite stones from the tombs had been moved to be used as wickets and everyone from kids to adults seemed to be enjoying the games much more than the only two tourists in the site.
After a brief stay at the Qutb Tombs we headed to the Bahar. I was feeling pretty bad by now, but I counted it as just being a bit dehydrated or simply being in the heat too much. When we arrived at the place we sat down to the only available table in the restaurant and placed orders for mutton and chicken biryani. I asked for a bottle of water as well which didn’t come any time soon to my dismay and I sat in the warm air feeling increasingly uncomfortable. I could only take a few bites of the food and told Nick that I had to go. The auto bumpily carried the two of us back to Hotel Rajmata where I plopped down face first on the bed not feeling well at all. I told Nick that in a little while after I felt better we could visit the Mecca Masjid and the Charminar. A few moments later I found myself on the toilet regretting eating or drinking anything for the past several days. Within a few moments a thought came into my mind that I might vomit, but before it could be processed into action an upwelling of bile and biryani frothed onto the soiled floor bringing with it the characteristic aroma of each. After tip-toeing around this mess I made my way to the front desk to purchase a bottle of water and ask for housekeeping to come take care of the bathroom because I had gotten sick. The fellow at the desk didn’t understand my request aside from the housekeeping portion, and young man came up to the room asking what need to be cleaned. I told him I’d been ill in the bathroom and after entering he said something which I like to think was ‘my god’ in Telugu.
I scooted a wastebasket near the toilet which would become my perch for the remainder of the night. My insides danced and my face contorted into what I imagine was a gruesome visage as dry heaves or otherwise sculpted me into a gargoyle. By the time I could actually keep down some of the water I’d mixed with an electrolyte packet it was well past two in the morning and my back and stomach muscles ached tremendously. I can’t remember a time when I had been so violently sick from a GI bug. I was scheduled to visit a rural field site at eight the next morning and I woke up at six forty-five feeling sapped of all energy. My walk up and down the stairs to get another bottle of water made my legs feel as if I had just freshly exercised, and I buried my head in the hotel’s smelly blanket to hide my exceptionally photosensitive eyes from the light bending through the window. Despite this I was determined to make my meetings for the day and I called Revina from the SHARE agency and told her that I wasn’t feeling too well but that I would still like to attend. She mentioned that there were no bathrooms at the rural field site and that this would probably be a very bad idea, and I reluctantly agreed but stated that I was sorry for causing this scheduling disturbance. Twelve hours until my train leaves. Fourteen hours until my train gets to Chennai. This was indeed becoming a long trip. I felt so out of it that I didn’t even want to listen to music I just sat with my eyes closed avoiding any light as best I could counting down the time until I could be back to Chennai. Fourteen hours in sleeper class, a complete misnomer for me, was going to be quite an ordeal. I spent the day eavesdropping on the television shows watched by Nick with my face buried and taking sips of a foul salty, sweet electrolyte mix approved by the WHO. By the time we left for the train we only had a few minutes to spare so we rushed across garden street to the station and back onto sleeper class. I asked a gentleman to swap for a top bunk, and within an hour I was lying down as the incandescent lights on the roof of the car acted like a gimlet drilling into my head. Even after the passengers had began to turn the lights off (somewhere around 11 o’clock) the emergency lights, dampened by a blue plastic shell, were still tormenting me. I slept for a total of maybe one hour on the trip, and most of my time was spent draining the battery of my music player listening to audiobooks whose words swam above my head but did not enter it. All in all, this was a wonderful experience which helped me to understand the discomfort of patients with severe diarrheal diseases that I’m studying at the hospital.
