Outside the hotel a huge pink and white tent had been erected. A wedding was going to take place that night. My rickshaw driver was sure there wouldn't be a room available, but fortune smiled its gap-toothed grin and I was ushered through the stable doors to the last room in the Inn by two of the most affable young receptionists I have ever encountered.
"Oh Mam, very lucky. One small room left."
It was the size of ballroom.
The Royal seemed more a horse stable than hotel, but definitely had character. The rooms and bathrooms were huge. The ceiling rose up a good 25 feet. The doors looked like the original stable affairs of long planks with one cross-beam. Although the bathroom was a traditional dour bucket and pitcher facility with leaky pipes and scary toilet, it was big enough to house a good-sized Arabian.
"Can I watch the wedding," I asked.
"Come Mam, come. I will ask the groom's family."
The groom's family seemed delighted to have a foreigner bless the couple and the receptionists told me to relax as the party wouldn't start until 11pm.
The beating of drums alerted me that things were getting started at the wedding. It was wedding season in India. A time of the year when astrologers found propitious good-luck signs in the alignment of the stars. All over India makeshift tents were being set up: pink and white and red and blue and orange fabric flapping in the Indian wind.
When I emerged from my room the two receptionists ran over to me: "Mam, do you want to go to wedding now? Come we take you. The dancing's started."
My two escorts bustled me across a dirt field to where music was blasting from stadium-like speakers. Twelve women bearers carried huge battery-driven candelabras atop their heads. Two drummers decked-out in green and red satin outfits beat a wild rhythm that had nothing in common with the Bollywood music blaring from the huge speakers. But music was playing so I started to dance and one extremely eager man grabbed me and started to dance with me, then another and another and soon I was at the center of a wild orgiastic dance tomasha. The culmination was when the bride's father parted the crowd and handed me a one hundred rupee note (the equivalent of roughly two American dollars.) Considering that my stable cost me three hundred and fifty rupees, it wasn't too bad.
"Ah Mam, are you hungry? There is much good food inside the tent."
And indeed there was. At least twenty-five different hot trays of succulent Indian food lined two long tables. One of my two escorts got a plate and began to heap curries and masalas onto it for me.
The tent was divided into four separate areas. There was the "kiddy" section with carnival bouncing tents; the huge dining area; the stage where two masked men in strange costumes shook hands with guests; and the special circling and lifting platform where the bride and groom twirled as they were raised above the guests and pelted with a deluge of flower petals blowing down on them from some devise above it.
The bride was a plump and unsmiling women in red and gold. The groom a tallish grim man in white. The guests stared at me as much as they did the bride and groom on their revolving pedestal.
At 1am the festivities ended and I made my way to my stable for a good night's sleep.
The next day I was taking a local bus to the Holy City of Ayodhya.