THROUGH THE HEART OF HINDUSTAN 



461 



tiful as are many of the buildings which 

 make the Agra citadel a mahogany- 

 colored jewel-box, filled with bright 

 baubles, I was much impressed by the 

 tomb of Itimad-ud-daula, father of Nur 

 Jahan, whom Moore made famous as Nur 

 Mahal. Here marble is used for screens 

 which rival in delicacy the ancient filigree 

 jewelry of Greek and Etruscan gold- 

 smiths. 



Sunset and evening star furnish the 

 soft light which bathes the Taj Mahal in 

 a fairy glow, but 'it is the splendor of the 

 moon that makes the hotel business of 

 Agra fluctuate like a lunar see-saw. 

 Nearly every one wishes to see the 

 famous mausoleum at the full of the 

 moon, but he who is not susceptible to 

 the glory of its light can well afford to 

 plan his stop in Agra at a time when its 

 lure does not force him to share a tent 

 instead of monopolizing a comfortable 

 room. 



To add to or deduct from the Taj 

 Mahal would seem blasphemy ; but Lord 

 Curzon achieved the miraculous. Above 

 the twin tombs of the world's most monu- 

 mental lovers there swings a lamp from 

 Cairo which the English Raj caused to 

 be hung in the matchless mausoleum in 

 memory of the woman who was his own 

 Mumtaz-i-Mahal. 



As one steps from the bright moon- 

 light into the yawning darkness of the 

 great gateway, he sees a tiny light set in 

 the ethereal face of the world's loveliest 

 building. Instinctively one repeats the 

 Shakespearean simile: "So shines a good 

 deed in a naughty world." Brighter than 

 the radiant marble tomb which frames its 

 golden glow, this spirit-lamp sends forth 

 its gleams to shoot one line of golden 

 glory through the silvery fabric of the 

 peerless perspective of green gardens. 

 There, lightly hovering above the marble 

 cenotaphs of Shah Jahan and the "Pride 

 of the Palace," his beloved, the seraph 

 flame shines like the sweet soul of Arj- 

 mand Banu, who, loving much, was loved 

 so well. 



ALLAHABAD DURING A FAIR 



Allahabad is ordinarily an uninterest- 

 ing city ; but during the mela it takes on 

 the odor of sanctity and dust because of 

 its position between the two great rivers, 

 the Ganges and the Jumna. 



Once a year the Magh Mela is held. 

 Once in twelve years the Kumbh Mela 

 buries the sands of the alluvial plain be- 

 neath a flood of human beings. A mela 

 is a religious fair, but melee is as good a 

 word. At the annual fair the number of 

 pilgrims on a given day is only a quarter 

 of a million ; but in 1930, if all goes well, 

 a million and a half pilgrims will come 

 hither to stir up the fine dust, skid 

 through the slippery clay, and bathe in 

 the chocolate-colored waters of the sa- 

 cred rivers. 



NO CARRIAGES ALLOWED 



During a mela the whole countryside 

 is placed under strict control. Xo car- 

 riages are allowed in the grounds. Sani- 

 tation becomes, pro tern., a serious mat- 

 ter. Photographing is forbidden, with- 

 out special permission and a bodyguard. 



Before the January fair takes place a 

 village of rush shelters springs up on the 

 low shore, which the receding water has 

 left parched and cracked into great 

 squares. Flags, which may or may not 

 mean anything more than display, but 

 upon which most of the dramatis per- 

 sonam of Mother Goose and the Jungle 

 Books appear, rise on bamboo poles 

 whose assertion of individual independ- 

 ence gives an inebriated look to the row 

 of fluttering pennants. No two have the 

 same slant. A corn field is a miracle of 

 geometric precision compared with this 

 awkward squad of waving flags. 



Holy men, dressed in a gray coat of 

 ashes, chat with one another or sit in 

 silent meditation, while others, sheltered 

 from the fierce sun by a rush screen or 

 protected by a cloak or blanket hung to 

 sunward, chant psalm after psalm from 

 their holy books, wedged like a Koran on 

 a small stand, while they accentuate the 

 monotony of their tones by strumming 

 on a musical instrument which seems to 

 be a hybrid of mandolin and soup ladle, 

 much the same type of instrument that 

 one finds, far away across Persia, pic- 

 tured on the ancient Hittite ruins on the 

 upper Euphrates. 



Yellow-faced gods in groups of four 

 or six spread their tawdry silk skirts in 

 mute appeal for largesse in coins of mi- 

 croscopic value. Over the whole ant 

 colony of massed humanity there hangs 

 a yellow dust cloud stirred up by myriads 



