Gajlaxmi Palace: Stories, sights, and silences from the land of Dhenkanal

The clock showed twelve minutes past six in the morning as I cast aside the sheer exhaustion of the journey last day; just in time for the breezy feeling of where I was to sink in. The New Year had brought along with itself renewed professional and personal commitments that slowly but surely eroded January’s naïve enthusiasm. In this insufferable plot of ironed out routine, Dhenkanal offered that possibility of an unboundedness that a city full of skyscrapers had willingly blotted out. A longing search for which I travelled deep inside Odisha’s foresty terrain, hiding its best kept secret, the Gajlaxmi Palace.

As I got out of our room, the regal white structure of Gajlaxmi, built in the mould of the European Art Deco style of the early twentieth century, was still asleep, shrouded in the flimsy blanket of the morning fog. Two hours on the road away from Cuttack, Gajlaxmi is carefully nested in the middle of a dense forest whose thick green foliage is often beautifully interrupted by the presence of painterly hills and stretches of tranquil water bodies. As I stood in front of the palatial portico, soaking in the half-visible expanse of the forest that encloses the heritage homestay in its palm, I was greeted by the host himself, the Kumar Sahib of Gajlaxmi, Mr. JP Singh Deo. We were all but ready to begin our exhilarating adventure trail in the adjoining private forest. Following the Kumar Sahib, his shooting rifle that he carried over his shoulders, and the intermittent calls of the birds shuffling up to a new morning, our humble troupe of ordinary city dwellers began the incursion into the woods untouched by the cagey definitions of beauty. Our first stop was the towering Megha hill that stood right behind the palace. With the morning sun still drowsy, Megha which is the local Odia word for clouds, kept on taking quick glances from behind its cloudy curtain, as if waiting for the first warm touch of the rising run to caress its canopied peak. This was a place still unaware of the urban concept of time, as the silence that hung from the hill continued to weave stories about the lives in this forest, and we in rapt attention were unwilling to break out of this sublime session. A session that was briefly heightened by the sounds of splashes in the fluvial body in front of the misty hill. Mr. Singh Deo points out to us the different groups of birds that have come for an early dip right before the sun cast its orangish reflection on the water’s glassy surface. We moved on with our walk under the calming gaze of the mighty mango trees, littered on both sides of the long dusty trail. An eerie silence kept on following our troupe even as our feet trampled and crunched on the graveyard of dry leaves huddling together from a past autumn. Beads of perspiration collected on all of our foreheads as we scanned our lefts and rights for any unaccustomed movement in this quaint little jungle that is often graced by the sudden visits of hulky tuskers. Mr. Singh Deo stops occasionally to show us a Sal tree that his grandfather had planted or the oldest Cashew tree in the entire forest or even a score of fruit-bearing trees that are on route to an early death after years of overseeing the Royal palace as the termites have torn open its robust bark. One hour into the walk, after having crossed fields textured with the dawn’s intricate dew drops, we reached a cluster of date trees where some local workers were hard at work. A much awaited break accompanied with a taste of the fresh, unfiltered toddy collected from the date palms rejuvenated our spirits. Soon, we arrived at the last stop for our walk, at the nearby Shabar village. The Shabar people are the local tribal people of the region, a bulk of whose primary occupation surrounds the selling of toddy collected from this very forest to other far-away villages in the region. Along with toddy collection, the hardworking tribal population is also engaged in the manual production of bricks that stood in direct competition to the mass consumerist production of bricks at large kilns. As we sat in the home of a local family there in the village, my eyes flitted from one scene to the other, all of which evoked a variety of emotions in me. Whether it was the solitary Tulsi plant that formed the only area of worship in the household or the local van by the gate selling saris cornered by a score of women folk, it was an environment that made me both realize the curious simplicity of life here and the unknown privileges that I harbor within myself yet never acknowledge.

Back at the palace, it was time for me to take a step back into the ancient annals of history as I seated myself in the enormous and ornamental drawing room for a chat with Mr. Singh Deo. The dancing shadows of the several hunting trophies that surrounded us injected a sense of austere gravity into this atmosphere of regal antiquity. Every corner of the room was covered by pieces, pictures and artifacts that documented the rich legacy of the Singh Deo family and their continued effort to preserve the neglected forests of Odisha. An environmental concern that was generational, starting from Mr. Singh Deo’s grandfather who built Gajlaxmi around the 1930s in the heart of the jungle to his wife and daughter who continue to hone the homestay to fit the demands of the modern age while always prioritizing the careful conservation of nature. It was the Kumarani, Mrs. Navneeta Singh Deo’s dedicated ambition that opened the doors of Gajlaxmi to the outside world, as we got an invaluable opportunity to immerse ourselves into the diverse local lore of the region. As I looked around the room with a childish excitement, my eyes stopped in front of a tiger head, still maintaining a fiery gaze even from its glassy taxidermied eyes. The Kumar Sahib proceeds to tell me a story of this very man-eater of Koraput and his scary murdered clientele of 76 odd people. A tiger who was forced to be a man-eater given an unforeseen hunting mishap, a tiger who was worshipped as an avatar of the goddess based on rural superstition, and most importantly a tiger who was courageously hunted down by his father on foot after an exhaustive search for days. A primary impetus behind my travel was also the shooting of Sandip Ray’s 2011 Bengali film ‘Royal Bengal Rahasya’ that took place right in this Palace. A fictional story that revolved around a hunter, a man-eater and a historical legacy leading to a hidden treasure. As Mr. Singh Deo kept narrating one story after the other about the natural treasure trove spread across the jungles and hills of Dhenkanal, the murky lines of fiction soon began to seamlessly mix into the stranger territories of the very real.

Soon the afternoon casually opened up the doors to the darker hues of the approaching evening, as silence once again returned to the large treetops surrounding the palace. With the piping hot evening tea giving me the much needed company, I climbed up to the terrace to be greeted by an artistic tapestry of lights. A carpet of constellations was very intricately laid all across the inky blue night sky, as the nocturnal sounds began their daily conversations in and around the forest corridors. It was a sight too surreal to actually exist. It was as if a lowly but talented painter had consciously painted over the unending canvas of the sky in order to please some higher patron. Such was the presentation of the breathtaking Dhenkanal landscape, lighted by the cosmic miniatures above. Clad in a black robe, the Megha hill swayed all so gently to the commotion of the evening breezes performing a hypnotizing dance. It was an atmosphere that chiseled out the needless urgencies of daily life. It slowed down the panicky pace of time, as one stopped to ponder about their own fictional adventure beginning right from the long and dreamy steps of this very palace.

At the dinner table, a string of Rajasthani, Odia and other North Indian delicacies prepared by Mrs. Singh Deo awaited to serenade a fulfilling day at Gajlaxmi with a scrumptious touch of extravagance. Even as laughter and anecdotes filled the room with a jovial mood, my heart was all of a sudden heavy. It would soon be time to bid adieu to this place carved out of myth and magic. It would soon be time to wave our goodbyes to the lovely Singh Deos and head back to our virtual rooms in the city. So, it was important to feel and explore to the brim this rare archive of history. It was important to let yourself see, feel and dream through these windows and doors of a bygone era. It was important to recollect all the memories passed down by the generations through the winding stairs of the magnificent Gajlaxmi Palace.

(An article written by Somshubhro De. Can be contacted at desomshubhro20@gmail.com and on +919804870980)