the Taj Mahal, our next stop was another romantic spot – Udaipur in Rajasthan, home of the Floating Palace and considered one of the most beautiful places in India. We checked into a pleasant hotel with a view of the lake. A short walk revealed the cloud-shrouded floating palace set in the middle of an island. We were, again, among the first post-war tourists moving around town and buying a few treasures. It was, nevertheless, surprising when we had a knock on our door and a representative of the Maharaja of Udaipur invited us to the Floating Palace for drinks and dinner.
Our host made it very clear that though he was politically deposed, he was still a wealthy Maharaja. The food was plentiful and excellent, and to accompany the lavish meal we were served, with a flourish, Fanta! The ubiquitous soft drink of Asia.
After dinner the real fun began. A gigantic photograph book was brought out by the Maharaja himself and he began serious attempts to impress Rebecca by showing her photo after photo of the tigers he had killed. Rebecca, always wearing her emotions on her sleeve, was not the most receptive of audiences. After about the fifteenth tiger the Maharaja finally noticed Rebecca’s pained, horrified expression and switched to photos of the former First Lady of the United States, Jacqueline Kennedy, who had been a visitor to the Floating Palace. Mrs. Kennedy toured India during her husband’s administration. She was photographed standing for a formal, panoramic portrait with the Maharaja, his brother, the Prince, their wives and the entire palace entourage. What made it so interesting was that Mrs. Kennedy was wearing a traditional Indian sari. As the Maharaja gleefully turned the page, a new view of the beautiful sari into which Mrs. Kennedy had been so tightly wound was revealed. The fabric had actually split in the middle down the back just, according to our host, before the photo was to be taken. The snapshot revealed the Prince grasping the back of The American First Lady’s sari and holding it in place so they could get through the photo opportunity.
Our evening as guests of the Maharaja ended quickly when he began to regale us with stories and photos of the record number of crocodiles he had shot on a trip to Africa.
We took our own trip to an Indian wildlife preserve and that turned out to be fantastic. While not a tiger reserve, it was home to many unusual species, but particularly the Giant Siberian Red Cranes that wintered in India. It is thrilling to stroll around a bend in the jungle and spot two of these red, six-foot birds, cavorting in a mud-stomping mating dance.
Next we were off to Varanasi, the old Benares and city of Lord Shiva, located on the Ganges River. Varanasi is one of the holiest places in India. It has been a place of pilgrimage since before recorded history and is the place where all Hindus would like to breathe their last on this plane of existence. This desire was fully demonstrated as our train approached the city. At each stop, more and more corpses of those souls who had not quite made it to the Ganges were being loaded onto the train. As we approached the outskirts of Varanasi, we could see two or three corpses strapped onto the roofs of taxicabs heading towards the city center and the burning ghats on the river.
On our second morning in Varanasi we were awakened by the incredible stench of death wafting into our room from the street. As I craned my neck to peer out the window I discovered what the horrible smell was — a corpse lying below our window. I notified the hotel manager who said he would bring in the “corpse brigade” as quickly as possible to remedy the situation. And in fact, it wasn’t too long until a cart with other corpses arrived below our window. We watched the scene, unable to pull ourselves away. The men tried to throw the corpse on top of the pile on an overloaded cart. There were already so many corpses piled on the cart that ours rolled off – twice. Ah, here now we witness the unique style of Indian problem solving. Ingeniously, a fresh corpse was removed from the cart and left under our window making room for the decaying one that was taken away. A clever solution, it was explained, since the one that was left behind was fresh and wouldn’t smell so bad. “Our” corpse found its place on the top of the stack and the cart rumbled off, over the cobblestones, on its way to the burning ghats. Our gawking presence at the window looking down on the drama was acknowledged by the brigade leader with a wave of his hand and a promise for their quick return to collect the new corpse and deliver it to the burning ghats, “this very night” … and so they did.
Aside from the strange attraction of the death trade in Varanasi, another attraction was that cannabis shops were legal in the city. Plenty of hippies were hanging around, smoking chillums and wandering down to the burning ghats to listen to the skulls pop.
Hindu Varanasi embraces a highly spiritual Buddhist corner. We visited Sarnath, home of Deer Park where the Dharma was first preached by Buddha to five monks. We visited the Sadhu parks and watched the chillums constantly passed among the mendicants. Rickshaw was the only form of transportation available. A quarter of a million drivers had official operator’s licenses. Our driver guided us to shops offering masala chai, tasty curries and cool, refreshing lassis, the traditional yogurt drink made more interesting by the addition of an edible form of cannabis and known as bhang – one sip was much too foreign to our western taste buds.
I began hiring a boat, daily, and we were rowed across the mile-wide Ganges. We’d stop and I’d take a brief swim in the middle of the river where the water was clear and green. After crossing we would have a picnic on the remarkably barren shore considering the overpopulated crowded city on the opposite side. As we ate and relaxed it was with great pleasure that we listened to the resonant gongs, lilting bells and hypnotic chants drifting across the holy waters from a multitude of spiritual temples. Our simple, inexpensive pleasure came to an abrupt halt when I swam into a corpse.
Chapter Four
“We have found these clothes, this time and place, this personality. If we go toward the light and praise others, it comes pouring back.”
RUMI
CALIFORNIA, SUMMER OF 1971
My journey with Rebecca to Asia started with a reconnection to a musician I’d gotten to know in Chicago. Jelly Roll Troy was a bass player who had been on the road making a living as a musician since he was 14 years old. Jelly Roll played with a teenage sensation, one-hit-wonder group called the Kallaen Twins. The handsome brothers, riding their good looks and radio airplay, appeared on “Dick Clark’s Cavalcade of Stars Tours” with Chuck Berry, Johnny Rivers and the Rhonettes. Now in his early twenties, Jelly Roll had relocated to the San Francisco Bay Area to be part of Mike Bloomfield’s blues band. Bloomfield was creating his solo band in the wake of his artistic fame with Bob Dylan and the Paul Butterfield Blues Band.
I caught up with Jelly on his way to jam with Jerry Garcia and Howard Wales at the Matrix Club one Monday night in San Francisco. The set was loosey-goosey but innovative and accomplished. Roger Troy, his birth name, sang a namesake blues cover, “Jelly Jelly,” in a powerful yet angelic gospel-flavored, white blues voice. He used his voice as an instrument displaying the broad range the blues needs to be emotionally flavored just right. The song received a standing ovation from the crowded club. Wales was making his musical living as a member of a relocated-from-the-midwest blues band known as A.B. Skhy. They had big money and promotion behind them. Because of that, A.B. Skhy had appeared on a number of desirable big-time gigs. For me it meant backstage passes for the seminal British stars, The Who, at the Fillmore. Unfortunately for A.B. Skhy, they attempted to leave their blues roots for psychedelic experimentation on their first big budget, major label album. It was instantly unsuccessful musically and financially.
Howard Wales was the keyboard player in A.B. Skhy and put together a small budget for a solo album to be the first release by a new label known as Douglas Records. Jelly Roll Troy invited me to check out a session. The other players setting up their instruments when we got there were Curly Cook on guitar, Jerry Garcia from the Grateful Dead on lead guitar and a guy who was introduced to me as Bill Vitt, on drums. All these connections led me to enjoy being on the fringe of what came
