The Munikurnika Ghat—One of the Burning Ghats of Benares
The Munikurnika Ghat—One of the Burning Ghats of Benares.
From Benares we made a long and tedious dâhk-journey—i. e.by changing horses at different stations—to Agra, in the upper plains of India. The country we passed through was beautiful. The picturesque native villages of immemorial antiquity, their names, their fields, their hereditary offices and occupations, have come down to them out of a dim past and through countless generations, and everywhere we saw fields of millet and wheat, the flaming poppy, and the tall luscious sugar-cane plantations; cream-colored, dreamy-looking oxen moving sleepily about in the fields or drawing water from the wells and tanks; men, women, and children basking under the shade of huge trees or bathing languidly in the cool tanks, giving one the feeling of passing through dreamland.
The great sight of sights at Agra, as every one now knows, is the famous Taj-Mahal, and hither we repaired the morning after our arrival; and I must confess, though I had heard of it and read the many elaborate descriptions of it, I had no idea of its matchless beauty till I stood under its roof surrounded by its pillars and walls. It wouldtake pages to describe the wonderful outlines of the windows, the ornaments of the walls, arches, domes, and minarets, or even the exquisite carvings and arabesques of a single frieze; so that I will not attempt here what has already been so often done. The impression left on the mind is very deep and solemn. When I first caught sight of the Taj through the noble gateway at the entrance to the grounds, I experienced feelings of mingled awe and wonder, which increased in proportion as we examined it more closely. Even the enormous platform on which the Taj stands is of white marble, inlaid with precious stones, and all the lower parts outside of the building are also most elaborately and tastefully carved. The dome is perfect in its proportions of pure white marble, with an exquisite minaret of gold. In the centre is the tomb of Noor Mahal, also called by her proper name, Mamtaz Mahal, the favorite wife and queen of Shah Jehan, built to her memory two centuries ago. Above the tomb is a mass of the most delicate inlaid work, and the screen-like wall which surrounds it is entirely composed of leaves and all sorts of flowers containing innumerable precious stones. The echoes of our voices produced the most wonderful reverberations, impossible to imagine or adequately describe. We visited the Taj also by moonlight, and found it a hundred-fold more enchanting. The gardens in which it stands are purely Oriental, and recalled to my mind many passages from the old Persian poets. There are lovely white marble fountains and tanks and promenades with inviting seats here and there for rest, while a profusion of fragrant flowers, shrubs, and the dark silent cypresses which stand like muffled mourners around the monument add a pathetic beauty to the lovely spot.
Having seen the Taj, there was nothing left to do but to return to the "Aviary" on Malabar Hill.
And now, as I close these brief sketches of life and travel in India, the romance, antiquity, the song, and story still stir the memory with the powerful enchantment of a land where all nature seems to lie dreaming in its glory of perpetual sunshine, warmth, and color.
THE END.