Moist Mahal

We had sensibly decided to break up the epic 24 hour pilgrimage across the northern states from Uttar Pradesh to Rajasthan, with an allegedly unmisseable interval in Agra perusing its cultural jewels. I initially thought the sleeper train would offer welcome respite from the hectic and heaving streets of Varanasi, however it quickly became apparent that the environment was infact not dissimilar in its oppressive nature. The burning stares of innumerable voyeurs were now in continually closer proximity than those which we had left behind. In each carriage there are around eight cosy compartments encaging eight people in each. The space was organised into seating and beds for six against one window, and a further marginally more spacious two beds beside a thin gangway which picked through the mayhem. For approximately £3 each we had secured tickets to traverse the 1,185km across the country with a stop off alongside the Taj Mahal, and the foolish frugality of our financial investment showed immediately. After an uncomfortable hour or so of avoiding, then ostentatiously attempting to engage the bold and unremitting glares from unperturbed men, women and children, we ascended to our precarious sleeping quarters having locked our bed boards into place with the use of great, thick chains. Comforted to some small degree by occupying beds opposite each other, we closed our eyes and slipped into uneasy sleep, stirred at regular and terrifying intervals either by other rambunctious trains thundering past, or the malodorous stench of the slightly primitive and certainly  poorly preserved toilets which divided each unsavoury carriage. 

With good knowledge of the habitual lack of announcement prevalent in in the transportation systems, we awoke in good time before passing through Agra, and leapt off the battered train around 7am. We checked our bags into the out-dated cloak room and stepped out of the train station into steady lugubrious drizzle. We selected one of the frenetic taxi drivers at random, under the one provision that he would transport us in something more substantial than a sodden rickshaw for the day. With depleted energy levels due to the uncomfortable sleep of the previous night, we quickly agreed on an almost certainly extortionate fare for the journey and made our way to the Taj Mahal.

Due to the exquisite nature of its existence, vehicles which run on anything but environmentally friendly autogas are not allowed within one kilometer of its glistening walls. We trudged through the deluge to be confronted by further rigorous entrance regimes and after much pushing, shoving and unpleasantness we were accosted as terrorists and informed that the travel scrabble we'd been maliciously harbouring is completely forbidden whilst circumventing the grandeur of the Mahal, lest we detract from its supreme glory presumably. Through the derogative insolence of our retort we found that apparently: having fun, dancing, laughing and smiling were also prohibited within the complex. Miffed yet amused with capitulated and hiked the lengthy roundtrip to a dank storage room to deposit the contraband.

Finally making it to the great gates of the new wonder of the world, we were stunned even by their opulence and beauty. Through the grey mists of sheets of rain we could just make out the majestic contours of the magnificent mausoleum and edged inside in awe. To rectify the injustice of the scrabble episode, we'd purchased only one audio guide, and sneakily installed my stashed earphone split to surreptitiously enjoy a stolen narration. Arm in arm, under cover of hoods and scarves, we sauntered around soaking up the glory of the grounds, not to mention the torrents of rain of course. 

It truly was spectacular. Arriving early was a blessing as we avoided the surge of hundreds of visitors and took a langorous pace around the gardens. At the height of the Mughal empire one of the most influential and illustrious leaders, Shah Jahan, had honoured the memory of his beautiful, benevolent and most beloved third wife Mumtaz Mahal, who had died whilst giving birth to their third child, with this grave of unparalleled beauty and dignity.

In a year of distress during which time he was allegedly rarely seen and only ever in black, Jahan swore to install a heaven on earth to truly reflect her celestial characteristics. Work began on the building in 1632 and some 21 years later his plight was ended and the glorious Taj Mahal shone out as an effulgent beacon of hope and love and as a source of solace and retribution to all who would enter. Once a year on the anniversary of her death, Jahan charitably engaged with the poor and needy donating a monumental 100,000 rupees during a festival within the Taj's walls in honour of his late wife.

The Taj Mahal must've been an awe-insiring sight when first constructed in finest white marble which is said to turn milky and translucent under the glare of the sun, and mirrors perfectly in the calm River Yamuna. It is enclosed in the centre of four towering minarets which lean almost undetecably outwards, allegedly to give the Taj an illusionary essence of magnificent and marvel, or to incentivise the spires to fall outwards in the event of an earthquake thus protecting the valuable building. The marble is inlaid with innumerable tiny and exuisitely placed little stones of turquoise, jade, emerald and more all forming an intricate adornment of fine floral patterns. Huge Hindi etchings edge the great doorways, and intricate jalis (finely carved mesh walls) cast beautiful shadows on the cavernous inside. 

After basking for several minutes in view of the Mahal we

returned to our sleeping taxi driver to continue our tour of Agra. After a soggy spot of lunch, capitulating to a completely undesired and objectionable visit to his friend's farcical marble studio and emporium (in which Jack insisted on a game of marble backgammom which he triumphantly won allowing us to leave without a bitter taste in our mouths), and a battle at the local market where we acquired matching woolen hats and a second water proof - we arrived at Agra Fort a few kilometers down the river from the Taj Mahal. The old bastion was where Shah Jahan unfortunately spent his final 8 years. His mutinous son Aurangzeb hear a rumour that the King was weak and dying, and sprung seige on his sickly father. It was a stark affair gazing mournfully out towards the Taj Mahal, imagining the solitary usurped emperor doing the very same at the very same windows of his own Fort during his incarceration.

The strong hold was equally as impressive, and we even managed to handle some hungry squirrels and a docile lizard on our exploration, making this visit totally worthwhile. After a damp and hilarious day in Agra, we boarded the train in recently purchased identical jackets (to cap off the nauseating matching outfits) and bounced aboard the train for Jodphur - after a lengthy wait due to an inexplicable 3 hour delay which was of course accompanied by a characteristic lack of information. But even after a day of relentless rain and a discourteous delay, nothing could damped our spirits as we'd had such a frigging laugh and possibly enjoyed one of my favourite days. Little did we know what lay in store only hours away.....