The Taj Mahal

This past weekend, like millions before me, I made the pilgrimage to Agra, to see the Taj Mahal.  While I was there I had the privilege of seeing the story of its conception enacted, in full beautiful colour, at a local theatre.  I'm not sure what I expected of the weekend, or my experience, but it was definitely a thought-provoking one for me. It was also a gift.  The weekend was organized by one of my hosts here, and I was provided with a full-service tour, including a 'night-viewing' of the Taj under the light of the moon: this happens only 5 days a month: the full moon, and the 2 nights before and after. My host's connections not only enabled the night-visit, but also allowed us to by-pass all of the line-ups. Hours worth.  Really.

Many of you may already know the basic story of the Taj Mahal.  All I knew before I went was that it was supposed to be one of the "7 wonders" of the world - big, opulent and beautiful.  The words "Taj Mahal" have always to me been synonymous with wealth, luxury, and splendor . . . but that's really all I knew.  What I discovered is that for many it's also synonymous with love - it is a mecca for lovers; a place symbolize the power of love and devotion, to come in celebration and sanctification of a union.  Wikipedia explains that: "It was built by Mughal emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his third wife, Mumtaz Mahal. It is widely considered as one of the most beautiful buildings in the world and stands as a symbol of eternal love."   One India tourism site claims it as "the ultimate monument to love"

I confess, as a die-hard romantic, who can never resist a love story . .  . I was surprisingly nonplussed.  The structure is stunning.  The grounds are amazing.  The symmetry (the entire site is designed to be perfectly symmetrical in all four directions.  The hand-carved etchings and semi-precious gem inlaid designs are exquisite.  It is an architectural and artistic monument of immense beauty.  Perhaps a monument to devotion: 22 years of labour, thousands and thousands of dollars (350 years ago!) No idea how many million or billion that would translate to now.  I thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated wandering the grounds, taking in the beauty of the structures and the gardens, walking through the mausoleum.

Sadly, in my soft, squishy, rose-coloured glasses, love-story obsessed heart . . . . I just couldn't get past some of the not-so-romantic, and not-so-widely-advertised, pieces of the story. Frankly, even the basic story doesn't quite do it for me.

Apparently, the emperor was devastated when his third wife, who was his favourite, died during the birth of their 14th child.  I can't help but think that being his favourite wasn't in her highest interest - clearly, it's what killed her!  However, in the age-old tradition of great tragic love stories, love should prevail beyond reason and beyond life.  So, on her death bed, she implored him to grant her a last request:  Please, Emperor, do not be a king to your children, be a father.  And keep me close to your heart, love me always.  The Emperor was  devastated by her death and vowed to grant her request.

Continuing the tragic love-story theme, he couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't rule . . . he became obsessed with his dead beloved, and so he vowed to build a monument in her honour, to keep her close to him always; and this monument should be of the greatest wonder and beauty in the world. just as his Mumtaz had been: and so the concept for the Taj Mahal was born.  Sounds romantic - wouldn't every woman want a man to love her so much that he created something like that in her honour?   Except that I really wouldn't. In her shoes, I'd really have wanted to him to focus on the first part of the request: parenting the 14 children they created together: they are the real monuments to love. 


On the one hand, there is something powerful about any place that people flock to for prayer, and once built, and the Empress entombed there, the mausoleum was occupied regularly by followers coming to grieve her loss and pay their respects.   Not to minimize their loss or her importance, but I wonder if they'd have felt the loss quite so keenly if the Emperor hadn't abdicated his responsibilities to his people (and his children) while he focused on having this monument built.

And then there are the labourers, artisans, architects, and designers involved in the project, who are said to have been maimed; their thumbs cut-off, after their involvement in the project, in order to ensure that no one tried to duplicate the Taj.  I believe, truly, that the energy of the builders is left in the stones of a structure.  How can it be a monument to love if it was built by the hands of slave labour, living in fear?

I've thought about it a fair bit since the weekend, and I admit - there is something romantic about creating something beautiful in honour of someone you love.  But I guess that's the rub: something beautiful that honours love.  If I happen to fall in love with a ridiculously wealthy and powerful man, I really hope that should he be inspired to spend that kind of money on something in my honour - that he do it building hospitals, schools, housing for the poor . . . something to truly make the world a better place, something built by people paid fair wages, who were also invested in making their lives and their world better.

But perhaps there is redemption in the mecca that it has become.  Perhaps the energy of reverence and love, offered by its many visitors helps to balance out the misery of its conception.  Perhaps the joy that it brings to people, the opportunity to contemplate, to revere, to believe . . . are also something powerful, and worth acknowledging. Perhaps it provides an important opportunity to think about the concept of love, and how each of us wants to live that out in our lives. It has certainly given me something to think about over the last few days.