Day Two

Today’s primary task is to take in the Taj Mahal, one of the world’s seven wonders and India’s most famous landmark. It is nine hours round trip, and—though difficult to believe—the sights and sounds and near-insanity of the drive almost rivaled the majesty of the world-famous tomb of love.

The drive was unlike any other we have experienced. It was Mr. Toad’s wild ride set in Bollywood, with a cast of characters that included a menagerie of cows, bulls, goats, wild pigs, donkeys, monkeys, camels, elephants, dogs and people hurtling down the highway with carts, bicycles, motor scooters, motorcycles, “auto-rickshaws,” cars, vans, trucks and tractors; most objects moving much faster than any safety code should allow, while others were habituated to standing in one spot and munching on whatever the life around them left them to glean. Our van driver, Rebby, masterfully weaved his way through and around every obstacle in a feat of skill that was part LeMans and part video game.

Once we reached the site, we realized instantly why somewhere around 30,000 visitors traveled to this location daily: the Taj Mahal is breathtaking in its symmetrical design and carefully inlaid marble. To think that some 20,000 workers spent more than 20 years to complete the mausoleum to Mumtaz Mahal ­­­­­­­ built by Mughal emperor Shah Jahan. He promised the resting place to her after she gave birth to their 14^th child (we heard someone in the group whisper, “sometimes it is not good to be the Shah’s favorite wife”). While there is something sad and self-absorbed about the Taj Mahal, there is also something awe-inspiring about a love that inspires a man years after his love’s death. In an age when commitment is often only until someone more attractive comes along, the Taj Mahal stands as a monument as enduring and pure as the white marble with which it was formed.

Driving back from Agra to New Delhi, the passing scene is nearly too unbearable to view a second time. The squalor is profound; the despair is palpable. I stare into the face of a young woman in a beautiful sari; her eyes, vacuous and chilling, scan the ground aimlessly as we motor past her and five other passengers in a tiny auto-rickshaw, the 103 degree heat stifling their breathing—and perhaps their imaginations as well.  Our Lord surely broods over these people as he did over Jerusalem’s masses 2,000 years ago; God please take them under your mighty wings and shelter them.

Taj Mahal