Three weeks with my brother - Nicholas Sparks [95]
Micah and I stayed at the hotel. Neither one of us had any desire to leave the sanctuary of our compound, and for the first time in two weeks, we did absolutely nothing at all. In the afternoon, Micah was wearing sunglasses and a bathing suit, relaxing in a lounge chair near the pool.
“Now this,” Micah said, “is exactly what I needed.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “I feel sort of guilty, though. It could be my last chance to see India, and we’re sitting by the pool at the hotel.”
“Did you really want to see another museum and go shopping?”
“No. I’m just saying that it makes me feel guilty.”
“You always feel guilty. That’s your problem.”
“I thought my problem was that I didn’t have enough friends.”
“That, too.”
I opened my arms wide in mock gratitude. “That’s why I like you, Micah. You’re always willing to offer constructive criticism.”
“I’m glad to help. Besides, someone had to take over after mom died.”
“She was irreplaceable.”
“You know what she was?” Micah reflected. “She was like the center of the wheel in our family, and we were all the spokes. And once she was gone, we didn’t have our center anymore. I think that’s why the loss hit us so hard. Not only was mom gone, but we had to become a new kind of family. I think that’s why you, me, and Dana started to get close again.”
“What about dad?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Part of it was losing mom, but I still think dad was manic-depressive. When mom was around, I think she was able to keep his mood swings under control. But after she was gone—well, dad didn’t have a center either.”
“Do you think he was a good dad? When we were growing up, I mean?”
“In some ways. Not so good in others. But you know, in the end, you have to give them both credit for being good parents simply because of the way their kids turned out. We’re happily married, successful, ethical, and we remained close as siblings. If your kids can say the same thing later in life, won’t you think you did a good job as a parent?”
“Without a doubt,” I conceded.
In the morning, we flew to Agra, where we’d visit the Taj Mahal.
Agra held the same sights outside our bus windows as had Jaipur, with two major differences: There was far more pollution in the air, and far more roads were unpaved.
Because of the pollution, we had to change buses; to reach the Taj, we’d ride the last couple of miles in electric buses, and ended up stopping a quarter-mile from the gates.
From where we parked, it was impossible to see the Taj Mahal. What most people don’t realize is that the Taj is actually part of a massive compound. Again, we waited in a long line—this one to check our bags for explosives or weapons—and we finally entered the compound. Even then, we couldn’t see the monument.
Instead, we filed along a sidewalk, flanked on either side by what had essentially been apartments for guests of Shah Jahan. Up ahead and to the right was a large brick structure that served as a massive ornamental gate, and again we had to wait in line and be checked before passing through.
On the other side, however, we finally had our first glimpse of what some regard as the finest monument to love ever constructed.
The Taj Mahal was begun in 1631 by Shah Jahan, a Mughal emperor, in memory of his second wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died after giving birth to their fourteenth child. It is, in other words, a tomb. The cenotaph honoring Mumtaz Mahal inside the Taj is inlaid with jewels and lies near that of her husband’s. The Taj is one of the most symmetrical buildings ever constructed—the cenotaph of Mumtaz is directly in the center of the dome; the four corner towers are exactly the same distance from the dome; and exactly the same height.
The Taj took twenty thousand workers, one thousand elephants, and twenty-two years to build, and material was brought in from all over India and Central Asia. It is regarded as a symbol of eternal love, yet Shah Jahan spent little time there. Soon after it was completed, Shah Jahan’s —and Mumtaz’s—son deposed the emperor