The Other Spot

She cried a soul in love
tears, pain, sorrow, crying
sings his sad heart sing
one hand, tired after the window closed

There from his palace, from his window
admires this white teardrop
poetry made art, art that passion starts
for you, my beloved, my wife, my soul sister

… And that is the Taj Mahal is this: poetry made art, a love song, a sublime work that only a loving soul would be able to offer the world. There, just above the entrance portico, you can read some verses of the Quran that describe the paradise that give you an idea of what we would find ourselves and what we feel, as magic words, bronze gate that we find a “pearl palace surrounded by gardens.

Nothing is more profound for any traveler to sit in one of the benches found throughout the Garden of Paradise and admire the impressive Mausoleum silhouette outlined against a clear sky, which gradually stains pink at dusk, while background, outside of the temple in the city, in Agra, a small town in northern India in the state of Uttar Pradesh, we hear the chants and prayers of these people own. So while we admire the magnificent perfection of the whole, its symmetry, the ponds, a perfect golden key and open the way toward the marble temple, among lotus flowers floating on the water, our mind wanders absorbed , lonely, forgotten by both tourists around us, and we remember almost with tears in their eyes the sad story of Emperor Shah Jahan.

Shah Jahan to his beloved Arjumand met in a bazaar where it was selling crystals. Admired for her beauty was not able to speak to him at first, pursued by the armies of his father, the Emperor, because of that relationship, after two wives and five years since that first meeting, joined in marriage. Arjumand became known as Mumtaz Mahal, “the chosen of the palace”. During years were a loving couple who lived on each other, she was his faithful companion in all his campaigns, he showered her with gifts, details, flowers, diamonds. After the death of Emperor Jehangir, Shah Jahan ascended the throne. Two years later, in 1630, tragedy struck …

There sat on the bench, with the last rays of sun reflected on that work of art, while my gaze was directed toward the silhouette that was emerging in the pond, I imagined the final sequence … in full military campaign in Burhanpur, the new emperor was advised that the 13th delivery of his wife was complicated. Shah Jahan was running desperately toward his tent, just in time to take her hand and give a final goodbye. The emperor no longer be the same again. He retreated to the Red Fort on the left bank of the river Yamuna, where he lived, imprisoned by his son, the last years of his life, leaving the Empire in the hands of his successors. Against the strong, visible from all windows and across the river, built the most impressive Mausoleum human mind could ever conceive. The best builders, the best workers, the best jewelry, the best stones … all was little for the resting place of his beloved even shifted the Yamuna to the Taj Mahal could be reflected in its waters. And there, after two decades of construction in 1648, was buried his beloved Mumtaz Mahal. And there, beside her, was buried years later the emperor for that draw always bliss.

Slow, sad on the one hand, impressed by the other, happy to meet any traveler’s dream, walked around the gardens, so symmetrical, so colorful, so natural. As if it were a delicacy, that I left for the final artwork. And there, after climbing the first rungs of access, and up close, the more immense mausoleum was more impressive. Something that attracts you, a force that leads you to want to play with your own hands and discover that the marble is not a dream or an illusion. And awe admire the many jewels that are embedded in its facade: lapis lazuli, jasper, malachite, turquoise, carnelian … Inside, alas, the chamber in which lie both true, is not visited, I could only see the first burial chamber very large, with windows that play with the colors of the sun’s rays that enter it. Inside, the visit is short, and the dream is true, we will always remember the image is on the outside … I direct my steps slowly out from the joint, along the pond … there at the end of the pool, turning my gaze back and spend those last few minutes to admire the Taj Mahal once again … to see how the sun begins to hide behind the dome, after the towers …