On the route from Jaipur to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, we stopped at another fort (times must have been bad for all these Mughal emperors to need so much fortification, I think). The name of the ancient mini-city was Fatehpur Sikri, "Victory City," so called because it was built in celebration of Akbaar's defeat of the Gujarat empire. Looking back on it, even though the day was blisteringly hot and my insides were tormenting me with gastroenteritis, Fatehpur Sikri had just the sense of humour and charm to lift my mediocre spirits that up to then were in danger of suffocation by cynicism.
The emperor, grandfather of Shah Jahan (who commissioned the Taj) seemed to me like a man with his priorities in order. Every little courtyard of the palace at Fatehpur was designed for his own satisfaction - first we walked into a beautiful open garden, encircled by a sandstone colonnade. Here, crowds would gather to witness a spectacle at the centre of the courtyard; one small sandstone disc is embedded alone amongst an expanse of lawn, and it is on this disc that one of the king's two special elephants would perform executions. It was kept angry and wild only by massive amounts of alcohol, and when required to would raise one foot above the poor victim's head, then press it down until its sole reached that sandstone disc. Pretty grizzly, but an inventive execution I must say. The emperor's other special elephant was trained to dance. Dancing and executions - what other entertainment could a king need? As it turns out, he was also fond of using his servants as human-sized game pieces in a large-scale version of Parcheesi, but our guide insisted that it was all in good fun and any indentured slaves won by competitors would have to be returned at the end of the game. There was also a shady courtyard in the palace where the king, along with his three main wives, a couple of hundred more wives, and his many many consorts, liked to play Blind Man's Bluff to pass the time, and an elevated, breezy area to lie around in when the weather got too hot.
And to top it all off, the Emperor was so laid back as to be an equal opportunity husband, marrying not only his primary Muslim wife, but a Hindu and a Portuguese Catholic from Goa as well. Each had her own section of the palace that architecturally resembled her religious and geographic background, too, giving Fatehpur Sikri an ancient theme-park ambience - in one corner we have mini-Islamabad, to the South the ornately carved Little Hindustan, and on your left a bit of colonial splendour in Vasco-de-Gama-ville!
Fatehpur also had its own mosque nearby to the palace. I should not really blame the guide for what happened next, he did warn us there would be a lot of people in the masjid, but he didn't really help things either. Walking the 500m up to the entrance we were swarmed by the usual peddlers, beggars, and goats. But it didn't stop there - inside the large grounds of the mosque scores of men still came at us, pushing each of us to buy their lapis lazuli jewellery boxes and marble chess boards. I refused, partly from annoyance, but partly also on the moral grounds that they could be permitted to do such a thing inside a mosque. Unfortunately our own tour guide only added to the pressure, probably because he'd been promised some sort of commission. A group of beggar kids hung on our heels. Next thing I knew, a tiny old man was chasing them away with a giant staff, banging it threateningly on the floor. He looked about 80, but could still run and shout his heart out. When he walked back up to the group of us laughing to ourselves at what we'd just witnessed, he held out his hand and said, "Sir, Madam, I your bodyguard, give as you like..." with a gap-toothed grin. Some things never change. I wish for your sake that I could write more about the architecture of the mosque, or something historically significant, but this is the only lasting impression that Fatehpur Sikri left on me myself.
After lunch we all hopped back onto the bus and got ready for the focal point of our weekend trip. We were on our way to see the Taj Mahal! Along the route, our tour guide filled us in on the background story of the monument. Maybe you know it already, it's very romantic. Emperor Shah Jahan's favourite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, dies giving birth to their fourteenth child together. Shah Jahan is devastated, and decides to construct a resting place for her more beautiful than any other building in the empire. He hires thousands of artisans, architects, stone-cutters, he blasts away entire mountainsides for their pure white marble and has it all carried back to Agra on the backs of hundreds of elephants. It takes years, but in the end the tomb overlooking the Yamuna is finished, called Mumtaz Mahal, known today as the Taj Mahal, wonder of the world.
As we walked through the main entrance gate to the Taj, which is gorgeous in itself and exquisitely inlaid with gold Arabic calligraphy and marble panels, I saw over a mass of heads a small doorway leading towards a bright white building in the distance. The foyer of the gateway was pitch black set against its window view of the Taj, and each step through it slowly built up in me an agitation to get a glimpse of it at last, pushing my way through the many people thinking exactly the same thing, cramming ourselves through the little archway until...
I made it through, and on the other side, how can I even describe it? It's massive, much larger than I expected, and such a pure pure white it's almost like a mirror to the afternoon sun. I saw the tomb straight ahead of me, but even before that there was so much other beauty - four large, lush gardens, streams and fountains bisecting the lawns and leading up to the famous Princess Diana bench, in the very far distance the Yamuna river rushing by, and just before it two buildings symmetrically aligned with the mahal, one a mosque facing mecca and the other a guest house. It was all so gorgeous and serene, despite the many spectators. Everybody was just trying to soak the image in, I think, taking mental photographs as well as literal ones. Me, I went snap happy, and for once I felt that by looking through the lens I was enriching my experience of the place. I caught pictures not only of the beautiful white tomb, but entire scenes of families both new fashioned and old. Geriatrics in their sarees and kurta pajama, hobbling about and looking so happy to have seen such a sight in their already very full lifetimes. Newlyweds walking around together, all shy and not yet accustomed to holding hands. Little kids just being kids, probably not realizing the immensity of the backdrop behind them as they smiled for their parents in choreographed family photos. I stayed for hours just walking off on my own, once through the tomb itself, but mostly just around the gardens and up on the white marble plinth. When the sun began to set it cast a beautiful yellow glow upon the dome of the tomb. We stayed just until the sky turned indigo blue and the Taj Mahal, completely unlit, shone white in the growing darkness, and then it was time to go.
I know I haven't done it much justice, and neither will any picture. I went into the Taj Mahal expecting to be disappointed, considering its huge reputation. Being one of the seven wonders of the world it has a lot to live up to, but take my word for it, it definitely does not let you down. I think I saw a little bit of paradise that day, and I saw the effect it had on all of us who poured back out through the narrow entry gate, floating happily along and smiling at the men running alongside us peddling their mini Taj mahals, their mini elephants, their lapis lazuli jewellery boxes. And I was feeling fine again.
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