Night train

There's a joy, an unquenchable fluttering in the gut upon boarding the train, it's woven through my India, memories of trains traversing the night, will o the wisp villages passing in unmarked distances, the rhythmic tracks and the song of the whistle. 
But little sleep to be found on this one, bouncing the rutted fields on a penny farthing, turbulence at fifteen feet. 
And then the terminal, 0500 and back in Jaiselmer but ragged and tired..
At platform's end I'm met by my name on a card and a tuk tuk which takes me through the dozing fort and deposits me at the guesthouse. The next couple of hours spent snoozing on a ledge in the main room while, upstairs, my booking was being cancelled. 
Then the sound of prayer, the recitation of the faithful, a beautiful start to the day as I'm told I'll get a room later and to dump my bag and asked how I found the place.

"I heard about this place in Bikaner from J, an Aussie guy staying in the same place as I was." I said. 
"Yeah," came a voice from the stairs, "and he's still here."

Up to the rooftop for coffee and then out of the fort for a breakfast of dal pakwan and bhang lassi after which the world was set right again. 
Meanwhile back at the guesthouse the confusion continued, a different room to the one I'd booked but when I looked out of the window I can't say that I cared. 
And then I met Lucky, the owner of the place, and all of the morning confusion turned to laughter andthe feeling that landing in this place foretold of an auspicious return to jaiselmer.