MONKEYS AND BUFFALOS IN AGRA, INDIA
Hopping off the train from New Delhi at 8.15am with all the other Agra and the Taj Mahal bound westerners, we were pounced on by rickshaw wallahs hoping for a lucrative day hire. I allowed myself to be ‘snapped up’ and headed for the Sheela Hotel, promised by my guide book to have a 'peaceful, palm-fringed courtyard'.
After a cup of morning chai (hot spicy milk) I was the proud owner of a key to my room and ten minutes after that I had managed to somehow lock myself out of the room with the key on the other side! Half an hour and six Indians later, the door to my room was in pieces, attacked by a screwdriver and various pieces of cutlery; as unscrewing the painted-over hinges had proved to be too much hard work. It actually seemed like the highlight of the day for the kitchen boys who all came to have an attempt at kicking down the door, no doubt inspired by Bollywood thrillers where the hero exercises kung-fu style moves to save the beautiful heroine.
It’s visited by thousands everyday from sunrise to sunset, and even at night on full moons
The draw of Agra is the world-famous Taj Mahal; amazingly this huge monument was built by a lovesick Moghul chief in the mid 1600s to house the body of his dead wife. It’s visited by thousands everyday from sunrise to sunset, and even at night on full moons. Shocked at the 750 rupee entry price, I declined the chance to shuffle around with thousands of others, and hired an auto rickshaw for the day instead. I was promised views of the Taj from various city locations and stops at little known Agra sights including the excitingly-named Baby Taj, which I momentarily imagined to be a matchstick replica middle of a beautiful park (it wasn't).
My drivers name was KK and he had a little book full of complimentary notes from previous passengers, impressing me with his dedication to self-marketing. We set off; first stop the Yamuna River, which flows through the city. Twenty years with no real monsoon ('global warning' said KK tilting his head knowingly) had narrowed the river revealing dry dusty sand with grassy islands mid-river. Herds of water buffalo roamed the sands alongside dhobi-wallahs (washer-people), fisherman with homespun nets and naked children playing. All along the bridge plastic bags were tied in knots to the railings. I fondly imagined that this was a government scheme to highlight recycling, but KK informed me gravely that even though the Yamuna is not a 'real' holy river and usually sacred threads are used for 'puja' (worship) some people simply wish to hedge their bets!
Later on I was deposited at the Baby Taj. Not a matchstick model, but the tomb of a Persian nobleman, built a few years before the Taj using the same marble inlay work. It's a beautiful building with bejewelled flowers, fruits and scales on white marble. The peace and serenity of the site was wonderful, only faint sounds of traffic could be heard along with melodic chanting from the funeral ghats. At 10 rupees for locals to enter (110 for foreigners) it was a popular place for young lovers and a few ambled around, hand-in-hand. I watched as ten or so buffalo lying on a central island in the river lumbered ungainly to their feet and in single file waded into the water to swim to shore, just their heads and tails visible. Suddenly I was startled to my feet as what I thought was a large dog ran full pelt behind me, just inches away. It was actually a huge monkey with bared teeth, chased by a stick wielding gardener. It was interesting to think what horrific deformities might have become me, had it decided to attack me. I was hoping to survive India without the usual traveller tales of Delhi Belly or bites from foaming-at-the-mouth dogs, and I was glad I didn't have to chalk up Attack by Giant Monkey.
Back to KK, who was having a quick snooze, and off we went to the river banks below, to have a stroll amongst the dhobi-wallahs. Colourful clothing stretched along the river bank, hung on makeshift washing lines, or simply draped on the dusty ground. Boiling hot pots of caustic soda fueled by buffalo dung, bubbled away, as rows of professional washer-people slapped and scrubbed the dirt out of clothing in the oily, black river. Most Indians own just a few sets of clothes, so the dhobi-wallahs have plenty of customers. I asked KK about the health consequences for those working all day, everyday with caustic soda. KK simply shrugged and said it was their livelihood, there was no other choice for them.
As I walked down a grassy track to the infamous River View of Taj, past a placidly grazing camel, the full magnificence of the building took me by surprise. Even with the haze and smog, the Taj was simply glorious. Seeing it slightly out of focus in the haze rising high above the river I thought of the love the Moghul ruler must have felt for his wife, lost to him in childbirth in 1631.
Suddenly though, the peace was broken as across the water came the loud and insistent braying of a buffalo. I could see 5 or 6 of them swimming across and the fi rst one scrambled out of the water, barely pausing to shake itself, as still braying it galloped across the sands, droplets of water flying everywhere. In hot pursuit were the other five, and they were coming straight for me! Desperately I looked for an escape route, when at the last moment the pursued animal about-faced and went off in the other direction. The last five skidded to a stop, before walking off in disgust. I bet the tourists who parted with 750 rupees for the Taj weren't having this much fun!
- Victoria (Tor Hands)
No comments were found
