THE NIGHT train steams through the Rajasthani desert and judders to a halt at Jaisalmer, the end of the line. Dozens of weary, dusty backpackers and Indian tourists descend to catch their first glimpse of the fortified Golden City, once a stronghold of Rajput warrior-princes. In seconds, a swarm of hustling youths in T-shirts and trainers is upon them, brandishing crumpled business cards with offers of cheap hotels and camel treks.
Together, Jaisalmerâs annual influx of 250 000 visitors and its new residents, who have doubled the townâs population in the past decade to over 40 000, have done what centuries of hostile invaders failed to do: precipitate its demise. Until three years ago, no one realised the chronic effect this deluge of people was having. Now the old citadel is collapsing on an alarming scale. The 800-year-old fort walls are crumbling, while magnificent royal palaces and merchant houses have been reduced to little more than shells, with piles of rubble at their thresholds. What is surprising is that so few people seem bothered by the decay.
Historic locations the world over are suffering from the ravages of tourism, pollution and neglect; Venice, Katmandu and the island of Zanzibar, for instance, are all under threat. But Jaisalmerâs case is particularly significant. Perched on a solitary hill and surrounded by 5 kilometres of city walls, Jaisalmer contains one of the last remaining inhabited forts in the world, with its medieval character and architectural unity both remarkably preserved. From the 12th century through to independence from British rule in 1947, architects and builders maintained the cityâs distinctive style in carved local golden sandstone.
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âJaisalmer is of huge historic importance,â says Giles Tillotson, a senior lecturer at the School of Oriental and African Studies in London, and an expert on Rajput fort architecture. âIts foundations are older than the other forts in Rajasthan and it has survived without modern encroachments. Its stone carving is particularly elaborate and skilled â quite the best of its kind in India.â
At the root of Jaisalmerâs problem is its drainage system, or rather, the lack of one. The desert town was simply not built to cope with large volumes of waste water. All was well while the residents collected water manually from a nearby reservoir, which kept consumption â and therefore drainage â to a minimum. Since 1967, however, water has been pumped into the town at the national standard rate of around 120 litres per head of population per day. Tonnes of waste water routinely course down open gutters in the streets, and have seeped into the foundations of buildings, causing them to settle unevenly and the buildings to crack. Hydrostatic pressure in damp ground is causing the retaining wall of the fort to collapse.
Mixed blessing
A disastrous freak monsoon in July 1993 accelerated the decay. The desert had not seen such a relentless downpour for thirty years. While farmers rejoiced, roofs caved in, parapets plunged and walls tumbled to the ground. Until 1992, only 28 of the 318 inhabited historic houses in the fort had suffered. Now, 86 of them have partially or completely collapsed. A further 150 properties lie in ruins. Some owners have found it cheaper to demolish their houses rather than have them restored. In the narrow streets outside the fort, where the town spilled down the hillside in the 18th and 19th centuries, yet more intricately carved merchant houses or havelis have fallen apart.
Ajay Khare was already working in the town when the freak monsoon struck. He is a conservation architect who was sent by INTACH, the Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage, as a consultant to the Collector, who is appointed by the state government to head the district administration. Khare undertook a thorough survey of the city and prepared an inventory of 194 buildings to be protected (some of which have since collapsed), a comprehensive conservation plan and an underground sewerage scheme. His plans also involved hiding ugly electricity and telephone cables underground, and clearing out public places that have been used as rubbish dumps.
Yet two years on, precious little has been done. Khare blames a mixture of local politics and a rapid turnover of Collectors. âHow can a person who comes for six or seven months understand the problems?â he asks. There is another issue. Many local officials and townspeople seem more interested in the short-term exploitation of the townâs tourist potential than in the long-term protection of its architectural heritage. âPeople really donât care about their city. They donât realise tourists wonât come if the place falls down,â says Khare. âOriginal inhabitants of the town are few â the wealthy traders have shifted. The municipal board is a defunct body â if it canât even clean the streets, how can it maintain the heritage? The fort is nobodyâs baby.â
Khare quit Jaisalmer in frustration earlier this year, dismayed at the lack of cooperation and will to save the city. âDistrict administration was at one time convinced about the sewerage scheme. We were employing the top experts in India,â he says. âThen district administration said it was not a workable project.â The local officials continued to prevaricate even though the state and central governments had already come up with 8 million rupees (about ÂŁ160 000). Though it was a mere fraction of the 150 million rupees that Khare estimates is needed to fund his comprehensive conservation plan for the town, it was enough to pay for the sewerage system. Since Khareâs departure, sewers have been laid under the fort but lead nowhere, and work has stopped again, he says, even though only 2 million rupees have been spent.
Meanwhile, buildings continue to crumble and fall. Aside from the townâs seven 14th to 16th-century Jain temples, which have been maintained in exemplary fashion by their devotees, the most important complex within the fort is the Rajmahal compound. This consists of the Gaj Vilas, the maharajahâs palace, which is a spectacular layer-cake structure with filigree carving; the Juna Mahal, the 16th-century maharaniâs palace and the earliest surviving Rajput palace; and palaces for the royal offspring.
âBefore the rains last year,â says Khare, âThere was not even a sign that the maharaniâs palace would collapse, yet the back portion tumbled like a house of cards. Now the whole structural stability of the palace complex is in danger.â
Wind of change
Jaisalmerâs havelis are of particular significance. In this style of domestic architecture, specific to northwestern India, a large house of several storeys is built around a central courtyard. Some say their name comes from hava (wind) because the carved windows are designed so that any breeze flows through them, keeping the house cool. One of the finest examples in Jaisalmer was the Salim Singh Haveli, built in the 1820s. The top storey had 38 balconies, each surmounted by an ornate, domed arch and displaying lacework stone carving of great virtuosity. After the 1993 monsoon, the roof caved in and nine of the balconies came crashing down. The building is in private hands and, despite its architectural significance, Khare could not persuade the owners to restore it.
Such buildings, he says, should come under the authority of the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI), the body responsible for the protection of national monuments. In Jaisalmer, the ASI has awarded only the fort itself the official status of a national monument. However, since the early 1980s, ASI regulations have existed to enforce maintenance of all buildings within the fort. In 1992, the regulations were extended to cover a ânotified areaâ, which refers to everything up to 100 metres around the fort. In theory, any construction within this patch is prohibited, houses must be properly maintained, and permission must be obtained from the ASI for any modification. Up to a further 200 metres around the fort, permission must be obtained to carry out construction work. The Collector has the authority to enforce these regulations.
Yet buildings fall into disrepair and remain dilapidated. Many have joint or absentee owners, who are unwilling or unable to pay for maintenance â and so the rules are relaxed. âIncome from old buildings is very low and the cost of maintenance is very high,â shrugs Siyaram Meena, who was Jaisalmerâs Collector until a few months ago. âWe request owners to maintain their properties, thatâs all we can do.â Part of the problem, he said, is that people will only pay up if they can ensure a return.
While empty houses fall into ruin, residents have been wreaking their own aesthetic havoc by rebuilding their homes haphazardly with grey cement â even though there are clear regulations governing reconstruction. âIt should be in the traditional yellow stone,â admits Meena. And the cement? âWe canât do anything about it. We advise they put yellow colouring in it.â And if they donât? âThe municipality does it, and recovers the cost from the owners.â Clearly, the municipality has a huge backlog.
More worrying than the colour is the nature of cement. The original buildings were constructed from such fine quality âdressedâ stone â the blocks were cut to fit together almost perfectly â that no mortar was required, or very little. For the past 800 years, this mortar was made from the local lime: âIt is soft yet strong,â says Khare, âallowing the stone to move, as temperatures fluctuate, without either material cracking.â But cement is easier to use and sets quickly: âPeople donât want to work hard.â The trouble is that cement sets so firmly that any thermal stress can cause the stone to crack. âWe have superior lime in the area, but it takes seven or eight days to prepare â grinding, mixing, changing the water daily.â
Over the past decade, hotels have opened within the fort contrary to ASI regulations. Overlooking the Rajmahal complex is the Diwanon Ki Haveli, better known to tourists as Hotel Paradise. The rooftop commands superb 360° views over the Rajmahal and beyond. The scene below is less enchanting. The courtyard is painted institutional peppermint green and mustard, while its surrounding rooms and lavatories have the smell and look of peeling decay.
âThe place was in a poor state when we bought it in 1982,â says the manager Chandra Shekhar Shripat. âMy father paid 150 000 rupees, but we couldnât afford to repair it as finely as the original.â He is proud of the fresh paint job, and seems untroubled by the prospect of an inspector calling. âWith baksheesh, they turn a blind eye.â
One hope for the city, Khare believes, is to bring it to the attention of UNESCOâs World Heritage Convention. Only international intervention, he thinks, would prompt the Indian government into taking action. However, the initial request to have the city listed must come from central government.
Whatever is done, it needs to be done fast. Not only is the cityâs population on the rise, but so, it seems, is the annual rainfall. Over the past three years, there has been a dramatic increase from around 10 to 25 centimetres. âTwo more monsoons like the one in 1993,â says Khare, âand Jaisalmer is finished.â
