Rajvilas-An Oberoi Resort
Jaipur, India

It’s as if P.R.S. Oberoi fell in love with India anew—this time with her treasures, beauty and crafts. Like an eighteenth-century miniature painting, he fussed over Rajvilas’ every detail. Artisans commissioned to work with local materials created royal elephants marching around the dining pavilion frescoes, sunken baths sculpted in marble and silk brocades laced with gold thread.

Oberoi would not, of course, be the first Indian to build for love—the Taj itself was built for love…

"You must be mad," the architect blurted out when Oberoi suggested, "Let’s build a fort." India’s forts, after all, encompassed a Maharajah’s village, palace and gardens. Rajasthan, a of collection independent principalities prior to joining India after her independence in 1949, is rich in forts. While restoring his own fort, Oberoi restored his fascination with India’s historic cultural treasures and convinced him he wanted to share them with his guests while reviving the princely lifestyle. Starting with a 250-year-old temple, a traditional Rajasthan haveli (mansion) and thirty-two acres, he began his labor of love: part restoration, part traditional construction and all luxe.

The crenellated walls and round watchtowers of Oberoi’s new fort appear about twenty minutes from Jaipur, the famed pink city. Local stone, covered by an ancient liming technique gives both Jaipur and Rajvilas their umber-pink façades.

Carved life-sized elephants flank wide stairs. Pillared and domed gazebos—called chhatris—border the reflecting pool where the transition from desert to oasis begins. Through Hindi-cusped arches with brass-clad doors, the fort transforms into opulent lobby. Here Western living room meets Indian floor-lounging with a bayed alcove cushioned in gold-embroidered red silk and a baby-elephant-sized bouquet blossoms with the earthly paradise leitmotif. Jewel tones and gold leaf shine from the hand-painted floral frieze.

Past the bigger-than-life Maharajah portrait, Rajvilas’ extraordinary doors beckon. Carved in wood and decorated with intricate brass designs, each 500 pound door took six months to make. Through the doors on the right there is food and song, through those on the left there are gardens and rest.

Awakening in a diaphanous-curtained four-poster bed, childhood princess fantasies naturally revive. Curling up into the silk-plush window seat, the butler-wallah arrives with morning tea and I watch the birds pick tropical fruit and study the room’s details. Carved marble miniatures stand on teak furniture. Hand-woven raw silk, mirror-embroidered cut work and fine cotton dhurries are the continuation of the work of the Indian cloth weavers who supplied the Roman emperors with their togas.

It’s two marble steps down to my sunken tub. Beyond the bath’s glass wall there’s a private garden where pigeons coo from their perch on the pergola covered with coral bougainvillea.

Like a princess eschewing state functions, retreat and contemplation are my day’s goals. Just outside my door, there’s a fountain-centered courtyard. Sitting cross-legged on a marble bench, I meditate on water. Four short water slides are each carved with a different motif—like fish scales or chevrons— to sound a different note as the water skims over them. It is a feature borrowed from Jaipur’s creator who borrowed it from the Mughals.

Linear paths create geometric designs through the gardens that smell of jasmine, bloom with lilies and are shaded by neem and palm trees. Crossing a bridge, I’m greeted with a holy man’s namaste—palms folded in front and a bow. He tends the temple that floats in a lotus-lush lake. Offering rose petals to the Hindu Gods Shiva and Ganesh, the holy man thumbs a dot on my forehead showing I have done my morning devotions, my pujas.

A water course sparkles with blues from turquoise to sapphire of the handmade Jaipur tiles. It leads to the restored haveli that shelters the spa. Pummeled, stretched and massaged, I lay giddy in my rose petal bath.

I might have arranged to take an elephant ride for a picnic or to the Amber Fort. I might have inspected the City Palace museums or partaken in Jaipur’s most extreme sport—shopping. The choice alone is daunting—hand-tied carpets, block-printed cloth and Jaipur pottery, not to mention emeralds, saris and shawls.

Instead, I lay by the pool watching people, parrots and pigeons. I opt for the cushioned shade under the chhatri where, if I were able, I could eavesdrop in Hindi, German or English. I chat with Rajvilas’ exceptional, friendly and informative staff. Then I let the water spouting from the marble elephants into the pool massage my head. The long-tailed green parrots shriek as they cross the pool from neem to palm. A pigeon-wallah keeps the pigeons moving—not messing, by harassing them with his long pigeon-embroidered flag.

Before tea in the Burmese-teak-paneled library, I visit Rajvilas’ own artisans. In a chhatri by the lily pond, the master artist, Ghanshyan Nimbark’s son, Ma, paints miniatures. He shows me how he mixes his blue paint with crushed lapis lazuli. He hands me a magnifying glass, so I can appreciate the tiniest details carefully applied with brushes of only 3 chipmunk hairs. Then, Ma explains his frescoes must be painted quickly while the plaster is still wet so the paint will make a permanent bond to the wall. Ma comes from a long line of Rajasthan painters. The Nimbarks painted all of Rajvilas’ frescoes.

Peaceful day ebbs into magic night. A sparkler replaces the pigeon-wallah’s flag and Rajvilas’ hundreds of torches and lanterns spark to life. Dinner is served to the sound of the dancer’s ankle bells and Indian mandolin and a whiff of frangipani mingles with expensive perfume. Afterwards, I slip beside the elephants in the now deserted pool and study the desert’s bright stars.

Except for the little matter of that pea under my mattress, Rajvilas was just right.

By Kate Crawford     July 2004

LINKS WITH ATTITUDE                           

Rajvilas web site.