The sand was all over the road, actually a wind-driven dune leisurely moving across it. A short and slim black line up ahead, almost on the horizon, was the only clue to the direction the road continued in. Our motorcycles wallowed through the soft yellow talcum sand, tyres fighting for traction as we zeroed in towards the distant blacktop. We had opted for a circuitous route using the less frequented state highways to get to Sambhar town instead of the usual NH8 going past Jaipur onto Ajmer. Passing through the dry, baking desert, a vast lake is the last thing one hopes to encounter. And seeing one in the middle of it makes one ponder over Mother Nature's penchant for springing up surprises. Sambhar Lake is India's largest salt-water lake, covering an area of almost 200 sq km when full, stretching upto 23-km in length with its width varying between 3 to 11 km.

Innumerable legends, the mythos and religion, going back almost 2500 years, form an amalgam that typifies the singularity of this strange oasis in the Thar Desert. The Goddess Shakumbara Devi is said to have bequeathed this lake to the natives here. As a mark of devotion and gratitude towards her, a sparkling whitewashed temple stands on a small hillock located on the lakebed. Even the Mahabharata mentions the lake in context of the marriage between Raja Yayawati (a descendant of Lord Brahma) and Devyani. Her father, Guru Shukracharya lived beside this lake.

The word Sambhar literally means 'salt', and it has been extracted from the lake for centuries. Before the British leased it in 1870 from the rulers of Jaipur and Jodhpur who jointly owned it, the Marathas, Scindias and the Moghuls had all gained from the salt produced here. The British brought in technology to supplement the traditional methods of salt making. They laid a narrow gauge railway track to transport slat from the pans to the processing unit. After independence, the government took over the rights and is now managed by Sambhar Salts Limited, a joint venture of Hindustan Salts and the Government of Rajasthan.

The roughly oval shaped lake is divided into its eastern and western halves by a 5-km long stone dam. The salt pans (colloquially called 'kyars') on the eastern half receive saline water from the western half (which acts as a reservoir) through a system of canals, gates and pumps. Incidentally, the British installed two of the main pumps being used here nearly a century ago. Inspite of operating in the most corrosive of environments, they are still going strong!

Salt is mainly produced on the eastern kyars. Water pumped across the dam is conveyed from one saltpan to the next till it acquires a degree of salinity judged correct for salt extraction. The fierce sunshine and winds blowing across the flats do the rest. A wafer thin layer of salt crystallizes on top of the algae rich brine. This thin layer of crystal is broken up by stirring with wooden poles and settles on the bottom. In time, more and more such layers are broken and settle on top of each other, fusing together to form larger crystals. This accumulated salt is scooped up into small mounds to dry out before being further processed at the salt factory. The local labourers with their bright clothes stand out in absolute contrast to the stark whiteness of the salt mounds all around.

Narrow gauge tracks laid by the British have been improved upon though the basic system remains the same. The 'salt train' carries salt crystals from the kyars to the factory. Quaint little wooden wagons (because wood does not corrode!) trundle behind a small diesel locomotive (a replacement to the steam locomotive in the days gone by) as it rolls along on the tracks laid alongside the shimmering water standing in the salt pans.

Over the past few years, the rain gods have not been generous to the lake and most of its vastness is dry and flat. When full, its algae rich waters would attract migrating Flamingoes and Pelicans by the thousands. The dry years have forced them to look for 'wetter' pastures further afield. Its two feeder rivers, Mendha and Rupangarh, are gnarled twisted skeletons of their bubbly past. People drive their tractors and jeeps across the dry lakebed's dusty surface, leaving visible tracks that remain for a long time after they have passed through. We could virtually race our bikes at break-neck speeds across the hard flat surface, with not a thing to hit into for miles around.

From atop the hill housing the Shakumbara Devi Temple, the tracks left by people and vehicles going across are like history painted on a huge canvas of time, with colours of the past. The oblique evening light makes them look like the handiwork of a child's spontaneous creativity running riot with a pencil and paper. The flatness spread to the horizon can only be described through a grossly contradictory phrase like 'the endless sea of land'. It is unrealistically and absurdly vast. So much so, that riding across it, without the benefit of a high vantage point to get ones bearings, we feared losing our sense of direction.

Sitting on the hill-top with the setting Sun behind us, the distant water of the lake is liquid gold. The high flying kites and vultures heading home appear to us as the pelicans and flamingos, flying across from distant lands. The darkness of the night slowly embraces the immense emptiness, diminishing distances by its purity. Later, the rising moon reveals an argentine landscape, as fascinating and mysterious as its daytime avatar. The vastness is in no way forsaken, it merely is comparable to that of the starry universe above, equally replete with fascinating sights and unfathomed mysteries.

Getting there:

For Jaipur-based visitors, Sambhar Lake is within a day's trip (90 kilometers one side). One can take NH 8 to Malhan and then ask for Phulera, which is just short of Sambhar.

Those going from Delhi have the choice of going via Jaipur. Or they could turn right from Manoharpur on the NH8 for Chomu, take the state highway through the villages of Panchkori, Bahinslana, Lunwa and Nawa onto Samhbar town. It is on this route that one gets a feel of the remote and barren desert.