The car is zooming past specs of rudimentary civilisation sporadically scattered amid farmlands and forests. My destination is a place called Ajabgarh. I had never heard of this name until an invitation from Ananta Hotels and Resorts reached my mailbox a few days back. It seemed like a mythical place, a Royal palace ensconced in a sleepy hamlet rising from the mist, somewhat like Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s version of Kubla Khan’s Xanadu—something right out of an opium dream. And inhabited by lots of Ranbir Kapoors (now don’t ask me how Raha’s father came into the picture…that’s what happens when a Bollywood buff gets a degree in English literature). And of course, I already had the title of this travel piece in my head—Ajabgarh ki Gazab Kahani (you can call it tacky, but I will call it ‘Kitsch’!). I still have no clue about the kahanis awaiting me. But the driver tells me that there is a fort in Ajabgarh which is quite close to the Bhangarh fort and according to local lores, the two kingdoms had an interconnected destiny of doom—the queen of Bhangarh, the legendary beauty Ratnavati, had apparently died in a battle with Ajabgarh and that had fulfilled a curse. He refuses to divulge more but in my head the Chandrakanta song (if you don’t get the context, ask any ’90s kid) has already started playing unknowingly… Chandrakanta ki kahani, ye maana hai purani, Ye purani hokar bhi, badi lagti hai suhani, Naugarh ka tha wo rajkumar, Chandrakanta se karta tha pyaar…etcetera. Two neighbouring kingdoms, a princess known for her beauty, aiyyars, tilism, and black magic—am I time travelling into Nirja Guleri's serial?
But while Chandrakanta was set in actual locations which are now in Uttar Pradesh. And I am in Rajasthan. So, maybe I should wait and see what stories the gates of the two forts open to.
The Ananta Experience
However, the gate of the resort opens before that and my daydream crashes into reality—I am unceremoniously plucked from the pages of fantastical tales of kings and queens and find myself in front of a sprawling reception area of a very modern resort. In fact, it seems like I have walked into the future—the eco-friendly villas are equipped with state-of-the-art modern amenities, and the designs inspired by the four elements of nature, are high-concept, sleek and minimalistic, blending beautifully with the surrounding lush landscape hemmed by the Aravallis. As I enter the cubist forms-inspired Fire Villa accentuated with the vibrant reds of Gulmohar trees, I plonk myself on a queen-size bed and catch a reflection of the room in the massive TV screen overlooking it. In stark contrast to the grandeurs of the baroque Māru-Gurjara architecture of the ‘royal Rajasthan’, the luxury minimalism of this modern villa stumps me with its exquisiteness.
“Ajabgarh is a reflection of our commitment to redefining luxury through sustainability and immersive experiences. A wellness center is in the works, further enhancing the options for rest and rejuvenation. Dining spaces include a multi-cuisine restaurant, a poolside lounge and a garden lounge, all offering flavors that complement the setting,” says Mohit Goyal; Director, Ananta Hotels & Resorts, when we later catch up. But along with this, there is a deep commitment towards the legacy of the place. “The property’s design ensures that while modern comforts are provided, the character of Ajabgarh remains intact. The fort and surrounding landscapes tell stories of Rajasthan’s glorious past, and we want the resort to reflect and showcase this history and heritage,” adds Goyal. This is reflected in the curated walks and village tours, storytelling sessions, and guided tours to the nearby forts.
Teena Agrawal, the Brand Manager of Ananta Hotels & Resorts points out that Ajabgarh is a place where history, folklore, and craftsmanship come together. The villagers still follow traditional ways of living, preserving age-old skills. In fact, what is even more commendable is that through this approach they are also creating employment opportunities for the locals. I realise this while attending the cultural event in the evening–there are local artistes performing a folk dance. The next day, even the pottery session is helmed by a potter from the nearby village. Many of the resort’s staff, including guides, chefs and maintenance teams, are also hired from nearby villages. “These efforts aim to create a balanced relationship where both the resort and the surrounding communities grow together. Ananta also collaborates with conservation groups to protect the local environment, which in turn supports eco-tourism and community-led nature experiences,” Goyal says as we dig into a scrumptious dinner thaali that includes popular Rajasthani delicacies like dal baati churma, laal maas, and ker sangri, as we as the little-known gulkand gulab ki kheer, an heirloom dessert of the Ajabgarh royals—a perfect way to end the day before embarking on a trip to the royal ruins of the twin towns.
The Call Of The Wild
After that elaborate royal dinner, waking up at 5am is no easy task. But a resort hugged by a national park demands an early morning safari especially given my obsession with winter mornings in forests. Morever, Sariska is the same Tiger Reserve where I had one of my most interesting sightings a decade back—it was in 2012, just four years after the tiger reintroduction program in Sariska Tiger Reserve began. With just seven tigers in an area spanning 881 km2 spotting the Royal beast was considered almost impossible. Yet I had come to almost a 2-feet distance of one. So, nostalgia ensures that I drag my woollens-wrapped frozen body to the jeep. As we enter through the Tehla Gate, the forest feels nothing like my memory had preserved it as. Instead of the arid summer landscape, this is winter fog-covered forest with hardly any visibility—I mistake the frigid white sun for the moon. But as time passes by the mist starts to slow fade revealing a dreamy forest—one that I soon realise is crammed with peafowls. There is a population explosion. And then it is mating season and the peacocks are busy courting the females by opening their gorgeous fans. It is sight to behold. And then there are some flying from one tree to another—the visuals of such huge beings gliding across brings to mind the imaginary illustrations of Jurassic-age birds. With the forest completely taken over by the horny birds, the majestic tigers seem to have decided to take a WFH and not venture out. This essentially means it is party time for the deer clan who are found roaming around and disappearing in the fog which keeps rising sporadically from the cold forest floor.
After enjoying the sights and sound of Sariska for about three hours, it is time to head back to the resort. By now last night’s dinner has started to feel like a fragment of my imagination. And instead of the tigers, I have started to hear my tummy growl. The breakfast is devoured and next on the itinerary is the much-awaited time travel through the half-forgotten alleys of the old towns of Ajabagrh and Bhangarh.
A Tale Of Two Cities
Rajasthan–the land of the rajas—is strewn with forts and palaces. But the ruins of Bhangarh and Ajabgarh forts stand in stark contrast to those tourist-trampled opulent royal abodes. Over the past few decades, Bhangarh, built in the 17th century by Raja Bhagwant Das, the ruler of Amber, for his younger son Madho Singh (Bhagwant Das’s elder son Man Singh was the highly celebrated general in Akbar’s court), has earned itself a dubious tag of being India’s 'most haunted’ place and become a favourite among the ghosthunters. Social media is replete with claims of supernatural sightings and paranormal activity experienced in its sprawling ruins of the ‘cursed’ town of Bhangarh. What has helped in it becoming the hub of ‘dark tourism’, apart from the government board hanging at the entrance that asks all tourists to vacate the place before sunset, are the local myths. As per the first one, a sorcerer named Singhia Sevra had set up a hut on one of the hillocks situated on the edge of the town. One day, he caught sight of queen Ratnavati, known across the land for her ethereal beauty, and got smitten. He got so obsessed with her that he wanted to attain her through black magic. He swapped her perfume bottle with a magic potion that was supposed to make the queen come running to him, literally. But the queen caught a whiff of this nefarious plan and threw the bottle on a stone, making the stone fly to the sorcerer and crushing him to death. It was his dying curse that struck the queen, dooming the town to become a necropolis. A year later, war broke out, sealing the curse’s fate—claiming the queen’s life along with every resident. Now, their ghosts haunt the ruins.
According to another story, a sadhu named Balu Nath lived on the hilltop where the fort was built. While the constructions were on, he had requested the king to ensure that the king’s residence doesn’t cast a shadow on the sadhu’s abode. But the king disobeyed, leading the sadhu to curse the land and this caused the death of the entire population.
Now, Ajabgarh on the other hand has so far remained largely unknown. But according to some stories, the Bhangarh curse had spread to the nearby Ajabgarh as well making the locals flee the town. To some, it was a terrible war between Bhangarh and Ajabgarh that had killed Ratnavati. In that case, it would be a story of sibling rivalry between Ajab Singh (who built Ajabgarh) and Ratnavati, who were both children of Madho Singh’s son Chatr Singh. What started the rivalry and what lead to the war, or if this war even took place are questions whose answers are lost in time. Google fails to show up any further information about these historical figures, making it a classic case of fiction taking over facts; perhaps it was simply a mass migration with the ‘curse’ being shortage of water for farming.
There is not much left of its royal past, but today Ajabgarh is a thriving village. As we a walk through the village, we meet local carpet makers who sell their work to even international buyers through Jaipur-based stores.
Since the Ajabgarh fort, or more precisely its derelict ruins, is now off limits for the tourists as well as the locals, we head to the Raghunath Temple instead. On the way, Teena, tells me that while working on the Ajabgarh project, she had the opportunity to work closely with many local villagers, and through them learnt many stories about this town. “The temple has a hidden tunnel leading directly to the Ajabgarh Fort. The queen would use that pathway to visit the temple. It is said that this tunnel remains intact,” quips Teena.
As we climb the stairs and reach the temple, I realise that one can almost join the fort and this temple with an imaginary straight line. Maybe the temple was strategically built to open to a tunnel from the fort which could have been created to double up as an escape route for the royal family in case of an attack. The temple offers a stunning bird’s-eye view of the lush green land, making it difficult to believe that the locals had once abandoned this village-town due to water shortages. From the top, I also spot a chhatri overlooking a lake. According to a local, this chhatri was built for Shah Jahan—he took a break here enroute to joining the campaign of his son, Aurangzeb, against the Maharaja of Orchha. Ananta plans to spruce up the place around the chhatri and turn it into a venue for customised romantic breakfasts for select guests.
As we head towards Bhangarh, Teena reveals that she has heard from the locals that there is a hidden treasure buried beneath the Bhangarh ruins. “Many have attempted to excavate it, including archaeologists, but every time they dig deep, they encounter large snakes appearing out of nowhere, adding to the mystery surrounding the site,” she says adding one more layer of intrigue to the lore. Maybe the spirits roaming the ghost town are jinns tasked to protect this treasure and hence, can’t leave the premises.
I must admit, I’ve been to this fort before—staying until the late evening, though that was a decade ago, when Bhangarh was far less touristy. There’s something unsettling about standing amid the ruins of an abandoned fort, perched on the edge of a forest, far from civilisation. The isolation alone is enough to send a chill down your spine, but throw in dark tales of tantrics and curses, and it only gets eerier. But being an atheist, comes with its own set of problems—if you don’t believe in the existence of God, it is doubly difficult to believe in demons and ghosts. What ultimately drove me from the mossy ruins that day were the swarms of mosquitoes and my driver, who was almost shitting bricks by then.
This time, as I enter the walled fort complex on a sunny afternoon, the first thing I notice is the presence of security guards. Now a protected monument under the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI), the fort is buzzing with tourists, including school groups. The atmosphere is lively, making it feel like any other historic site—so much so that even the most superstitious visitor would struggle to find a ghost amid the noise. Built as a defensive stronghold to guard the trade routes between Jaipur and central India, the fort is constructed from sandstone and limestone, seamlessly blending Rajput and Mughal architectural styles. It stands with four grand entrances, each bearing the weight of its storied past.
As I make my way through the ruins of the vast bazaar street lined with shops, I find it fascinating how the remains of these structures, replete with storerooms, shop window, main store area, tell the story of the daily lives of the common people of that time. Standing here the local guide points towards a structure on the top of the hill which is supposedly where the tantrics of the lores used to live. The road ends at the gate of the main fort area reserved for the royals. While there are many temples for the commoners outside the main fort area, the ones inside are more ornate and meant for the privileged. There is even an elaborate Purohitji Ki Haveli almost next to the palace, probably reflecting the importance and hold that religion and spiritual leaders had on the people—putting into context the both the stories of the curse involving sadhus. The palace stands at the fag end of the premises and is said to be a seven-storied structure built uphill, of which only three levels have been excavated so far and is open to tourists—much like the history of Bhangarh. One is left wondering what would be revealed if its real history was ever excavated from the sands of time. But till then, let these lacunae breed new stories—fiction is often more interesting and dramatic than reality, and definitely more accommodating to ghosts.
