Shah Jahan loved his wife Mumtaz so much that he built one of the greatest and most beautiful pieces of architecture in the world to house her tomb. I had to see this great symbol of love and experience it for myself.
Agra is typical of most places in India: busy, crowded, polluted, dirty. Walking the streets, I was beginning to wonder if I had built up the Taj Mahal in my head more than it would actually be.
Ticket entrance fees we paid and we entered through the Great Gate. The Taj hits you as soon as you pass through. It stands proudly and unapologetically beautiful, wavering you with its sheer declaration in size. This was not a man who was in the least bit embarrassed over his love of a woman. This was not a man who saw his love as a weakness. This was a man who was proud of and celebrated his wife. Her beauty made evident by the gracefulness and softness in form. The depth of his feelings made evident by the overwhelming size and strength of the structure. We were seeing real “Love” in architectural form and it was beautiful.
We spent a good couple of hours walking the grounds of the Taj Mahal, soaking up every bit of feeling the Taj inspires. Then we had lunch at a nearby restaurant. It was typical of most restaurants by tourist attractions. I couldn’t tell you much of anything I remember about the food, but what happened afterward is something I won’t ever forget.
In India, poverty is great. It’s everywhere, inescapable, a constant reminder and a constant opportunity to surface our most precious gift, our gift of compassion. We ordered way more than we could eat and asked for “to go” containers at every meal. To go containers in hand, we exited the restaurant and walked out to the busy and polluted streets of Agra. It didn’t take long to see them. Although looking back at it now, what I probably saw first was their light. A brother and sister. She was maybe 3 years old and he was maybe 5, far too young to be in charge of his little sister and yet he seemed happy to do so. They were barefoot and wore raggy, dirty clothes full of holes. They walked the harshness of the street of Agra, holding hands. They were so clearly in need and the world had closed its heart to them, forgotten them.
They began to cross in front of us and we held out the food from the restaurant. Palms together with a slight bow, the sign for gratitude. They brought the food a couple of steps off the busy street and sat down in the driveway of the restaurant to eat. They smiled as the happily ate. The chaos of Agra still remained all around them and yet it was as if they were in a bubble protected by a soft glow, a light of love.
I’m not sure what was more beautiful that day, The Taj Mahal or the love I witnessed between a brother and a sister. What is clear to me is this. There is beauty all over the world. You just have to open your heart and your mind to see it.