A Teardrop on the Face of Eternity

I set out to Agra expecting the Taj Mahal to be one of the most beautiful buildings on Earth. Crafted of luxuriant pure white marble and set on a pedestal against the sky, it's been described as "a teardrop on the cheek of eternity" (Rabindrath Tagore). It's survived nearly 400 years of changing dynasties, rulers, and progress. Going in I knew a brief history: it had been constructed by Mughal (Muslim) emperor Shah Jahan as the greatest mausoleum of all time for his wife Mumtaz, who died giving birth to their 14th child in the early 1600s.

I was not at all prepared to witness agony in stone. Tagore's beautiful but misleading words are far too poetic, too romantic. There is something about the Taj that holds beauty and romance, but it is deeply shadowed by misery. It is certainly a masterpiece of architectural achievement, but if Shah Jahan was looking to immortalize his mourning in marble then he succeeded. The weighty marble is milky white in the way that death is white and heavy. The shadowy interior, where Mumtaz's grave is located, is like the Shah's heart; dark with sadness. The Arabic words from the Koran crafted of marble inlay framing each archway are like a cry out into time.

As we stood gaping up at the distant carved ceiling, a local guide was giving a tour to a small group of foreigners. He demonstrated the sound capabilities of the soaring domed interior. The man sang a moment of a wailing Muslim prayer, and the sound of his voice carried high and strong into the very center of the bell and reverberated throughout the entire room like nothing I'd ever heard. The sound was that of agony. I thought about the Shah and wondered if he had designed the mausoleum to carry his wails right up into Heaven so God could hear his pain.

The central chamber of the Taj Mahal is extremely stark. The craftsmanship of the inlay is stunning, but aside from analyzing every detail of the marble there is not that much to see. There is a tomb in the middle of an empty room surrounded by an intricately carved screen. A single ostentatious chandelier hangs over the graves, suspended from a taut 200-foot wire, sparkling in silence. There is only black and white.

I came away from the Taj more with a palpable sympathy for Shah Jahan's 4-century old loss than I did feeling like I'd found beauty in stone. If you ever visit the Taj, you will see for yourself, but be prepared for more starkness than richness and a shadow of sadness. The Taj Mahal is, in the end, a tomb and a memorial, more for the Shah's heartbreak than for the glory and greatness of Mumtaz's life.

Outside, I did not find Agra city to be a very pleasant town. Of all the places I've been in India so far, Agra has been my least favorite. The Taj Ganj area just outside of the Taj Mahal is seedy and slightly unsavory. The Taj staff were all unfriendly to the point of being unhelpful. One staffer at the ticket counter refused to acknowledge us or answer our questions one evening, and rudely dismissed us. A guard took his post seriously but aimed a rifle directly at the crowd in the street. No one was wiling to tell me why I could bring my digital camera in, but had to check the USB cable at the gate (no electronics allowed... clearly the camera utilizes far more electronics than a mute USB cable).

The Agra locals were overall a friendly bunch, and in particular several Muslim boys were very helpful and told us to come to the Taj on the morning of their festival "Eat" so we could enter for free (and they were right). They did not hassle us too much with touts to buy souveniers. But I could have done without the extreme rudeness of the Taj staff. It affected my ability to enjoy the monument and in the end I don't know if the normal exhorbitant fee of 750 rupees ($15) is worth paying.