You are standing in front of the Mahavira Temple's ornate torana gateway — an arch inset with carved maidens connecting its pillars — and you are trying to process the number 783 AD.
Not 783 BCE. Not the 11th century. 783 AD. This arch, these pillars, this sanctum — all of it is twelve and a quarter centuries old. The temple was plundered, restored, damaged again, restored again, and is now receiving pilgrims from families whose founding story involves a monk who stopped blood sacrifice and made a goddess reconsider her nature.
You are told not to bring water or a backpack inside. You leave them with a guard at the gate. You walk through the ornate mandapa, look up at the ceiling the way every Jain temple instructs you to, and find carved figures that people have been looking at in this exact spot since before the first European stone cathedral was built.
You walk out, get back in the cab, and the driver mentions the camel safari. You politely decline. This is not the day for camel safaris.