By Rich Stapleton
A man stands upright, high in a small tree; with precision, he cuts leafy branches that fall to his heard of munching goats below. A troop of chinkara – or Indian gazelles – performs its leaping ballet through the thorny brush. Birds trill invisibly as our Jeep tyres tread the dry, dusty path.
Sandstone walls and parapets eventually appear in view, drenched in golden light from the dipping sun: the fortress hotel, Mihir Garh, meaning, ‘the fort of the sun’, rises seamlessly from the dunes of the Thar Desert.