Agra Day Two

Loud music from the temple across the street woke us up at five am. Even though it is Wednesday here, at home the polling booths were just closing. By six, we left to see the Taj Mahal again at sunrise. The building, which was amazing yesterday, looked even more incredible in the pink hazy early morning light. The inlayed stones sparkle in the right light. It was less crowded at this time, although certainly not empty, and we spent a few hours just peacefully walking around.

We returned to our hotel room and to check election results. Even though the West Coast polls have just closed, they have called the election for Obama.

We met up with Anil again and then headed off to the Agra Fort. Agra Fort was build by Akbar between 1565 and 1573 and was added onto by Shah Jahan and his son Jahangir. Inside the fort, which is huge, there were the royal palaces of the Muhgal emperors and the military. Most of the complex is still used by the Indian army. The fort is made of red sandstone and was protected by a wet moat with crocodiles, a dry moat that had big cats like lions, a drawbridge, and three gates in a zigzag pattern to confuse attacking warriors. Then, there is a ramp (down which boulders were rolled at invaders) with high walls on both sides for dropping hot oil. At the top of this, you enter the royal palace. You enter through the Amar Singh Gate, pass Jahangiri Mahal, which housed the women of the court, and go to the Anguri Bagh (Grape Garden), all built by Akbar and Jahangir in a Hindu style. There is a huge bath (it is 50 tons of marble) in which Jahangiri bathed in saffron, rose petals and milk. The next parts are built by Shah Jahan in a mix of Hindu and Persian elements, known as the Muhgal style. There are two “Golden Pavilions” where the two princesses lived, and the octagonal tower Mussaman Burj, where Shah Jahan was later imprisoned. This part is in white marble with inlay similar in style to the Taj Mahal. The fort also housed the royal harem, the area where the emperor received his audience, and a market place.

We then returned to the hotel and in the late afternoon, we went to Itmad ud Daulah’s Tomb. On the way, I counted five people crammed onto a single moped, including a woman holding a small infant while sitting sideways. I also saw nine people squished into an auto-rickshaw, which would ordinarily hold two people and the driver. There are no traffic lights and I find myself wondering how nobody seems to get killed.

Known as the mini-Taj, the Itmad ud Daulah is the tomb of Mirza Ghiath Beg, who is the father of Nur Jahan. Akbar’s son and heir, Jahangir, fell in love with Nur Jahan but Akbar did not approve of this match. He married Nur Jahan to a captain in his army in Calcutta. Later, Nur Jahan’s husband died (under mysterious circumstances) and Jahangir married her. She was very powerful and essentially ruled India through her husband until the rise of Shah Jahan (not her son). It is a testament to her control over the treasury that she had this tomb built to honor her father.

We then drove through a residential area on our way to the banks of the Yumuan River. The temple was blasting religious chants, children were running around like the stray dogs, some half naked, and people were cooking outside. The “houses” consisted of one room of crumbling buildings which are open on the street side or tents.

We went to the banks of the river across from the Taj Mahal. Unfortunately, the haze prevented a perfect sunset but the Taj Mahal looks gorgeous. Only from this vantage point can you get the Taj itself and the flanking mosque buildings all in one photograph. While we were watching this, and there were hundreds standing on the terrace of the Taj facing us, there were again images of the poverty that is inescapable. Three young boys were playing around on the barbed wire fence, their bare feet on the wire. Two young girls, who were maybe eight or ten years old, were using hand scythes to cut huge bundles of grass to carry home to feed the animals. A woman was collecting cow dung, with her bare hands, and carrying it in a basket on her head to dry for fuel.

Tomorrow, we depart Agra on the Shabooti express train.