DAWN AT THE TAJ 59 



An early visit to the Taj stands out vividly 

 in my mind : the bitter cold of the drive in the 

 half-light of an Indian November morning ; a 

 stray jackal flitting across the wide road, like 

 the embodiment of some "devil-spirit" escaping 

 before the grey disillusioning dawn; the chill 

 of the rising mists mingling with the acrid smoke 

 of the little fires of twigs and fallen leaves 

 over which the road sweepers crouched. The 

 shops in the alcoves beside the great doorway 

 of the caravansarai were securely boarded up ; 

 no shrill voices greeted me in noisy rivalry, 

 demanding attention to the charms of picture 

 post-cards or their owners' wasted skill in carv- 

 ing toy marble tombs. The great square within 

 at this early hour lay peaceful and empty. 

 Presently at the entrance to the gardens ap- 

 peared the aged door-keeper, unmistakably 

 cross at being roused at such an hour. All 

 day long the restless white-faced tourists came ; 

 on moonlight nights the gardens were often 

 full of sightseers ; but a man must have his 

 rest, and it was clear he did not hold with 

 foolish folk who might wish to see the gardens 

 at sunrise. 



The light increased rapidly as I hurried up 



