The-World-Noticed-Us
The towers of Akbar’s Tomb appeared above the walls. Four sandstone gateways—red sandstone walls interrupted by white marble panels. We passed beneath. Persian inscriptions ran along the sides, stretching high above our heads.
Inside, a raised path crossed the grass toward a square building at the center of the grounds.
Monkeys sat along the edges of the path.
Farther out, blackbucks grazed in the grass, their long, twisted horns rising above their backs.
Two men sat against the wall beside the tomb entrance.
One pointed at our shoes.
The other used slender branches to arrange the shoes visitors had left on a red mat, moving them one at a time without touching them.
We bent down to remove ours.
“No, no.”
The second man pointed toward a stack of small cloth bags. He picked up two and fitted them over our shoes.
When he finished, he held out both hands.
I reached for my wallet.
“Do not pay him!”
A third man suddenly approached from behind us. He waved toward the two men, who hid their eyes and ducked out of the way.
Then, he motioned for us to follow.
“Come, let me show you around.”
We followed him inside.
I caught a few words at a time as he pointed toward the rooms and doorways.
We stopped at four groups of tombs.
The first occupied a plain sandstone room. A stone slab sat in the middle of the floor. The walls had little decoration.
“Akbar.”
We continued through the adjoining rooms.
Our guide pointed toward inscriptions, carved stonework, and religious symbols surrounding the other tombs.
“Three wives.”
He smiled.
“Christian.”
He pointed.
“Islam.”
Another tomb.
“Hindu. Akbar love all.”
Dani stopped to examine one of the details while he moved ahead,
The corridors had rows of pillars supporting intersecting arches and small domes.
He stopped beneath one of the domes.
“Akbar had a speaker.”
He stood in the middle of the floor and raised his hands above his head.
Then he clapped.
The sound struck the ceiling and came back from above us. His single clap repeated across the dome, each echo overlapping the last.
He moved toward one of the pillars.
“Also telephone.”
He motioned for Dani to stand beside one pillar and pointed me toward another at the opposite end.
We stood with our backs to each other, about a hundred feet apart.
“Whisper.”
Dani spoke toward the stonework.
I heard her voice clearly.
We traded places and tried again.
Our guide stood nearby, watching us.
As we continued around the tomb, he pointed toward the trees through the window. Deer moved through the grass.
“Photo here. Very good photo.”
I raised my camera.
Another visitor stepped into the frame.
“Go!”
He approached the newcomer.
“This place. Not for you. Go.”
The man glanced at Dani and me, then left the way he came.
When I lowered my camera again, the he pointed toward another angle.
“Here. Here.”
I looked through the viewfinder.
The sun had dropped below the walls. Guards walked through the corridors, calling to the remaining visitors and pointing toward the exits.
Along the sheltered passages, several guides began unfolding bedrolls.
He walked with us toward the entrance.
As we turned to leave Akbar’s Tomb, our self-appointed guide cupped his hand before him, casting his eyes to the ground, and uttering words under his breath.
I didn’t hear him at first, so I stepped closer.
“You happy, I happy?”
I paused, thinking of the men collecting shoes. His words to them: “Do not pay them.”
Dani glanced at me, also confused.
His hands stayed steady.
After a few seconds, I gave him two hundred rupees, placing the money quickly in his hand and backing away.
He glanced down and frowned. Then he looked up again, reaching his hands forward.
“But you are Americans. America is a rich country. You are rich.”
I looked at the tour guide, then at my feet, and I turned away.
~
Our rickshaw was waiting, just where we’d left it.
We climbed aboard, and the driver started the engine.
The evening air thickened as we entered the city. Headlights bloomed. Buildings and details devolved to grey.
Dani coughed.
I pulled my shirt over my nose.
“There ought to be things we should like to do and cannot.”
My voice sounded muffled through the fabric. The sound of the rickshaw rattled my teeth.
Dani looked at me. Her face shadowed by the failing light.
“What?”
“CS Lewis. Just something I read a long time ago.”
“The guide got to you, didn’t he?”
She paused.
“Me too. I mean … he thought we were rich.”
I coughed through my shirt.
“So, now what?”
“Now? We do better next time.”
Outside, the rickshaw rattled through the traffic, its headlights catching the faces of people sleeping along the roadside.