PERILS!

Close Call at the Taj Mahal— Murder o’er the River Behind Sometimes a traveler can risk his safety when he is too eager for beholding beauty, the rare, the exotic. We have been guilty, as charged. We usually ask ourselves, something like, “How far is Agra, India from our home town anyway? We may never come to India- or Burma or China-- again.” So we decide to stay another day. For the first time that day we had visited the luminous, incredible Taj Mahal, one of the most beautiful sights we had ever seen. At noon we had seen the sun’s rays catch the brilliance of the semi-precious stones embedded in the walls of marble. In the late afternoon we had watched the shadows begin to form, reproducing the stately, shaped trees that line the reflecting pool, another loving detail of the tomb Shah Jahan had planned hundreds of years ago in loving memory of his favorite wife, Mumtaj Mahal. She died at age thirty eight after the birth of their fourteenth child. The Emperor, devastated by her death, spent the next fifteen years supervising the construction of the Taj and surrounding area, meant to reflect the “Islamic vision of Paradise”. Ebba Koch, author of The Complete Taj Mahal stated, “It was created by fusing so many architectural traditions—Central Asian, Indian, Hindu and Islamic, Persian and European—it has universal appeal and can speak to the whole world.” In 2010 nearly five million people visited this magnificent place. After a lunch of distinctive Indian food, we shopped for the perfect keepsake-reminder but desultorily because of the increasing heat of the day. And always we kept an eye on the changing sunlight transforming the Taj. When is moonrise we asked the shopkeeper? “Oh, be here soon, but you have time to view my so-wonderful merchandise,” he answered, holding up whatever he thought we had lingered over longest. “India is famous for its jewels, both semi and precious stones.” he continued. “Madame, do consider this flawless ruby ring.” When he mistakenly thought he had made a sale, he turned to Jack. “Sir, you really should consider this marvelous, lidded box of white marble. Notice the imbedded stones in a design of flowers, rather like that”, he paused as he smiled and whispered… “the Taj.” By mutual consent, we bought only a smaller version of the box; but not the flawless ruby. The expectant merchant’s face was mournful and almost scornful when he handed us our purchase, much less expensive than he hoped for. There was just time for a long nap and light supper before we would start out to see another aspect of the most ethereal sight in all of Asia. We congratulated ourselves on staying overnight. The ride back to New Delhi should not be attempted at night, our Sihk driver had said, touching his body where he kept his dagger. “Why?” Carolyn had asked, suddenly not as brave as she had thought she was. His eyes flashed when he answered. “Bandits! Killers!” Earlier we had assured the tourist office that having our own, private driver was not our usual style. We liked being on our own with the liberty to take any road that beckoned. “Sir and Madame, you are not just anywhere. You are in India.” The name of our quite tall, stiffly erect guide was Mr. Singh, a common name among his sect, he told us. Before he lapsed into a rather ominous silence for the rest of the trip, he announced that we should know several facts about the Sihks, and he spoke in perfect (to us) Oxfordian English. “We are considered by some to be warlike. We are not. We are a peaceful people unless we are aroused. We wear turbans in public. We never cut our hair. We carry a dagger on our body--always. Have you any questions? ” “I can’t think of anything, can you Jack? Carolyn said brightly. Jack just shook his head. Then, Carolyn wondered in a whisper if a woman should have said anything at all. Then she began to wonder what female Sikhs wear. We soon forgot the sobering remarks of our Sikh driver when later that night we saw the Taj, bathed in pale moonlight. As the light changed, every feature of it was softened, as if seen through a filter. We would have lingered, but even in the presence of such remarkable beauty, we were sleepy. Travelers do learn from each other. While stranded for two days in Bangkok some ten years earlier when our plane had engine trouble, we learned that a small group of American school teachers, our fellow passengers on the downed plane, had flown to India for those two days. They told us their reasoning when they returned. They had unanimously decided that they would probably never again be as close to the Taj Mahal as they were at that moment. They were lucky. There was a full moon and a cloudless sky. “Honey”, a teacher from Georgia said, “If it ends up costing us two months’ salary, it will have been worth it.” If any of those teachers, travelers after our own hearts, are reading this, we’d like to say “thank you for what you taught us. You inspired our trip.” We were thinking of those intrepid travelers when we said goodbye to the Taj by moonlight. Soon afterwards we went to bed because we were getting up early to view the Taj one last time – at dawn.