The town of Orchha ( literally lost). This was probably the most amazing morning of my life. I and my friend woke up before dawn. Without telling anyone, left the hotel. In front of our Palace over the dilapidated fence was standing, wrapped in the predawn haze, the same dilapidated, but very beautiful medieval building, overgrown with moss and creepers. It looked at us with black sunken eyes. We, with bated breath, afraid to move, so as not to disturb this fragile unreal world. It felt like for us – now and ahead – the past. And we have already crossed that line..... Walked in silence in the ringing silence. Only passing by the mysterious building above us rustled the wings of large dark birds . Down the winding path past the vacant lot and a huge tree with fiery colors along the rickety slums went to an ancient Hindu temple. Its carved stone dome stretch out hands to the sky, and he was drilled into the stone pedestal. Ascending the high steps, stopped at a large wooden door. The Church was closed. We knocked on the door. And the doors opened the window, behind which, smiling, stood a monk. But he was completely monastic. Some whole grimy (forgive me, Krishna, Vishnu and all the Indian gods). In the orange envelope, the skirt, stretched dark sweater, a yellow tank top over a sweater and similar to bath towel, turban on the head. Even in his turban he was below me on the floor head. His baby brown eyes and a smile all over her face can not be combined with a beard. Such a monk dwarf. We said we wanted to go to the morning service. He nodded, as the little Sultan and showing her little hands, she was invited to come... out the window. Exchanging glances, we dutifully climbed in the door window. All the interior of the Church is the red wooden image of the deity in the niche, decorated with balls and garlands of flowers. Because the niche was too tall, then it was assigned, hammered together from boards stand. For her, apparently, and climbs our monk to worship their deity. We walked along the stones, keeping ancient secrets. Monk, ceremoniously laying the handle back, was to show us the temple. And then I realized that we spoke each in its own, but the same language.
This temple was not similar to any of those which we have already visited. It wasn't frilly lace and stone sculptures, it was not painting, ornate Oriental patterns.... But its medieval restraint, filled with flowing gold of the first sun rays, is delighted. To the left of the altar hill was a small door (not only as for the gnomes), which and whisked our monk, dragging us along. We are thinking,because the brain continued to be lethargic, and followed him. In a foreign country, lost in time and space of the city, resting his hands on the blackened walls, we climbed the winding steps up for the monk on a narrow course within the walls are almost in the dark. But my heart was calm and bright. Finally, overcoming all stages and floors, was on the roof of the temple. We rejoiced! Breathtaking panoramas waking up from Orchha. From the trills of birds coming from everywhere. From the incredible number of temples, palaces, cenotaphs. From the mesmerizing beauty of nature. And nothing reminded about this. We were in the 16th century. Time stopped, frozen in this wonderful town. Life flowed into him slowly and quietly. And only we, standing on the roof of the temple, tore the roof from what he saw. But miracles have not ended. Our attention was drawn to a huge tree with neon green foliage. Our monk has issued some sound and all the leaves flew up!!! Parrots! It was a huge green neon flock of parrots that lived in one of the domed roofs. Looking at us, the monk rejoiced at his prank as a child.
Back we went down the glowing and radiating happiness. Saying goodbye to my little monk like a close person, have already revived back in town. Everywhere the doors were open shops and cafes, suggests order small single-storey houses in the slums cooked on fires and stoves Breakfast, the column was washed and the Laundry. Slowly, quietly, in the atmosphere of some of peace. Small, located near the market vendors for Souvenirs, vegetables, local sweets and gulal colours (such as bright as India itself). The temple of Paradise Raja was crowded. Locals and pilgrims were paying attention to us. One white-bearded old man with a cane stepped forward and delivered a confident voice (teacher's, as it turned out) good English asked how they are such beautiful ladies brought, to whom, in the Royal chambers could not sleep, and on the roofs of the temples from sunrise walks. We immediately surrounded a crowd of onlookers. Im wondering was all: what's the climate and what vegetables and fruits grow, and that cook and eat, who and where to work.... And, of course, if we liked India. To this question I answered myself still on the roof of the temple open to us Chaturbhuj. There I came to know this amazing and beautiful country. I let her into my heart. Deep. Forever. Slowly, as all the Indians we went to the castle-Fort. On the way to us arrived skinny red dog. After leaving his dog pack, she trailed behind us. If we stayed, admiring the tranquil waters of Betwa or stone grandeur of the medieval bridge, she looked back, waiting. The entrance to the Fort was blocked by a huge, cracked from time to time and burnt by the sun, wooden gate with rusty metal cone-shaped spikes. Entering through the gate, we saw the same lonely and abandoned city Palace. Quietly, as if afraid to disturb the owner, walked up its stone steps to the open arched terrace. I felt like the heroine of the magic of the Eastern tale. Raj Mahal was unsurpassed in its grandeur. Darkened by the time the impregnable walls were imbued with the secrets of the Palace and continued to live the mystery of life. My thoughts were whirling in the dance under the high arched vaults, retaining its former beauty and luxury of intricate patterns and colors. Feet walked on the mosaic pavement, on which, perhaps, walked the great Mogul. Endless turrets, domes and graceful galleries, courtyards, carved balconies and ornate Windows beckoned with its mystery.... Suddenly a loud barking broke apart my wonderful tale. Pack of Pro dogs for the right owners attacked our skinny redhead dog and lowered me to the ground. I don't know what I thought when I started to stomp and scream, beating a poor guy from the angry pack. - Apparently, again nothing. But perhaps it helped us to retire out of the Palace . And alive and almost unharmed. A bit worse for wear we proudly paced after the fight on the bridge, which brings us back to the town. Dog devotedly looked into the eyes and posilive tail happily. At the same place where we met, we parted. Each went to his side. Our military friend to your comrades and we returned to his luxurious Palace hotel and reality. Already with Sanji and his "fighting friends" we returned to the Raj Mahal. At the entrance we were greeted tailed family of tax collectors.
Giving the kids bananas and their parents the cookies we affectionately watched monkey kids eats for both cheeks. Strange, but these wives did not cause fear, as special robber. On terraces and wandered the few tourists. Snapping cameras, phones. We listened to the amazing story of the construction of a grandiose complex of the great Mogul, who spent here only one night. Wandered the mazes of the Palace rooms and courtyards. Admired preserved mosaics and paintings. Of course, this vast territory was a place to retire and even to get lost. But on the morning of mystery and magic is not gone. Only the vultures sitting on the dome, with his head uncovered and a white bib on the long bare neck reminded them of a "parallel" world in which we visited this morning.