It's fairly quiet around the Deo Bagh Hotel and breakfast does not kick off until 8 a.m. so we take a morning stroll around the grounds. There is quite a bit of birdlife to watch and we even see a small owl but the light is all wrong for a picture.
We get a quick breakfast as D has an auto booked for 8.20 to take him to the station for a ride on the remains of the Gwalior Light Railway. R plans to stay behind sketching and bird watching. The auto is in good time and gets to the station at about 8.45. giving D time to buy his ticket. Rs 25 for 94km. As he exits the booking office the train is being hauled into Platform 5, the NG platform. In that very Indian way the coaches are already quite full even though this is the source station for the train.
D not just needs a seat but without R needs somebody sympathetic looking to watch his kit. The first coach he tries is full of ladies sharing a distinctly unsympathetic glare so the rear coach of the train is tried. The doors are locked but a large, loud chap says wait and comes to open the door. 'Sit there , sir. What country?' D sits at the two man bench adjacent to the toilet that has been indicated and goes through the spiel. The Big Man locks the door again. After the introductions are completed D explains that he needs to go and take some photos. 'No problem sir. Leave your bag there. It will be safe.' Once more the door is locked.
D gets his pictures and returns to the rear coach. There are a few more occupants, mainly middle aged men who all seem to know each other. A younger man is sitting on the bench next to
D's bag. The door is unlocked. 'This fellow will take care of you' says the Big Man. This fellow continues to read his newspaper. Other people try the door and are told 'Reserved. Foreigners only!' This is pretty implausible as D is the only one of the twenty or so in the coach who does not look Indian. But it seems to work. The guard's compartment is at the end of the coach and he seems utterly unconcerned. We depart a couple of minutes after the due time of 9.30.
D goes to the door with camera for the trip between the houses as the line skirts around the base of the Gwalior Fort and then runs down the middle of the road through a gorge. As we head into the first station D is asked to sit down and the door is locked again. There is quite a crowd but only a couple of select individuals are admitted to the coach. All along the train people are climbing onto the roof. Low power cables on the first section make it too risky. When we get under way again D is given the OK to go back to the door. The train actually passes along the boundary wall of our hotel. No wonder the hooter sounds so close.
At the second stop the Big Man shakes hands and gets off. D's minder locks the door and boarders are repelled, this time in Hindi. We have a long halt here to cross with an inbound train. It has a crowd of Upper Class travellers on the roof. The line leaves the city behind and we move into agricultural land before climbing onto a barren , rocky plateau where not much grows except thorn bushes. The folk on top make themselves comfy while D gets in some serious door riding in. We pass back into crop growing country and there are a couple of quite major river crossings. At each of these there is one bridge, wide enough for single track, and the coaches just fit nicely between the parapets. The two way road traffic also uses the same bridge with a predictably chaotic outcome.
The last stop but one is a small town and the minder gets off here. We continue through quite flat farmland until we reach Sabalgarh, the terminus of this trip, four hours and forty minutes from Gwalior. It is a dump. The least attractive place that D has seen in five trips to India. Not surprisingly there is a throng of people planning to escape by the next train. This is where R would have been useful. D heads quickly for the booking office where there is only one person ahead of him, buys a ticket back to Gwalior and goes in search of a seat. There is already a throng of people following him and the attention of a policeman standing at the end of the train is aroused. 'You wish to travel? Sit here.' D is directed into the coach at the opposite end of the train to his original perch.
There is a vacant forward facing window seat which D occupies. An earnest young man oposite looks trustworthy and by signs D indicates he is going to take photos and will return. The bag and hat are left as hostages. A few photos get taken but the throng of rubberneckers gets a bit out of hand and D retreats to the coach. A crowd gathers outside and eventually one of them owns up to studying English so he translates all of the usual questions and answers to gales of laughter. He then attempts to sell D a ticket for the Gwalior -Sabalgarh journey and running out of material goes on to show D his voter's ID card, his Aadhar Card and his College registration card. Others start flashing various ID cards. D took the precaution of leaving his valuables behind at the hotel and just smiled benignly.
The train starts with a jolt. The coach is full so no chance of a door ride. The trustworthy looking young man turns out to speak reasonable English so we talk about his studies at Agricultural college and which crops grow in Scotland. The train makes good time until we get to the crossing point with the outbound train. At one stop the students buy a bag of green fruit which they eat with salt. They think thst they are guavas. D has no idea what they are. By now we have a roof full. The student offers to watch the bag again so D can go for chai and more pictures. The crowd of spectators is even bigger here and a couple are real nuisances, jumping up and down in front of the camera. The other train arrives just as it is getting dark and we get underway again. The coach has no lighting and the countryside is dark so the last couple of hours are a bit dull.
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