Taj Mahal

Landmarks

Let the splendor of diamond, pearl, and ruby vanish
like the magic shimmer of the rainbow.

Only let this one teardrop, this Taj Mahal, glisten spotlessly bright

on the cheek of time, forever and ever.- Tagore

It is a gorgeous, breezy day in Agra, India. The sky overhead is a deep, cloudless blue, a child's crayon drawing of heaven.

Where I'm standing, clustered amid the endless bustle of tourists and local folk, the air is electric. Everywhere I look, people are wide-eyed and animated. The atmosphere is joyous, alive with individuals crammed into a very long line headed toward the Taj Mahal, also known in Persian as 'crown of Mahal.'

A love poem in marble. The teardrop on the cheek of time. I whisper the appellation in a tender voice. It sounds like a caress in itself.

I keep thinking of Mumtaz, the emperor's favorite wife, declaring with pitiful dignity her wish to be entombed in a crypt that will make her immortal even past her death. I reflect on how after she dies giving birth to their fourteenth child, the heartbroken Shah promises that he will build her a marble mausoleum resembling paradise.

How elaborate can a final resting place be? Built on 42 acres, including a mosque. A guest house is surrounded on three sides by medieval-style walls on top of which are rectangular spaces through which arrows or other weaponry may be shot. I turn the words over in my mouth as if they were hard candy. In all honesty, I marvel at how a piece of architecture can embody love's passion to such heights and take twenty-two years and twenty thousand workers to complete.

As I survey the complex, I'm immediately captivated by the mirror-image of the ivory-white edifice reflected on the long rectangular pool. I look up to capture the details of the gardens and wide marble verandas. Light is flooding the impressive dome and the four minarets, elegant as a swan's neck, that frame it.

The relentless press of bodies continues, but the mood is congenial. We surge forward as the line inches along, and then stop again. I wait, sighing, my palms on the balustrade behind me. Finally stepping onto an arched balcony, I can see intricate floral patterns and geometric designs inside and outside standing out in glittering focus. They're inlaid with precious stones, I comment in admiration.

I glance at the fluctuating light reflected from the building. Delicate, elaborate hand-carved screens from single slabs of marble adorn windows and doors. We continue on. The place is packed. No matter which way I go, I always seem to be fighting against a tide of bodies. 

Finally, we come to a stop as we pass into the area where the bodies of the emperor and his wife lie in the vault below. The noise has quieted down in a simmering silence of deep, timeless peace as we gaze through a filigree screen that has been set up as a veil around the royal tombs. 

My chest constricts at the sweetness of that captured moment. Like a salmon swimming against the tide, I immediately push my way down the dome-shaped chhatri pavilion. 

I step outside to take a fresh breath of air in what feels like forever.