A Journey to Katmandu (the Capital of Napaul), with the Camp of Jung Bahadoor: Including a Sketch of the Nepaulese Ambassador at HomeOliphant, Laurence
History
A Journey to Katmandu (the Capital of Napaul), with the Camp of Jung Bahadoor: Including a Sketch of the Nepaulese Ambassador at Home
Oliphant, Laurence
Nepal -- Description and travel
The only other interesting relics in the fort are the renowned gates of
Somnath, which are placed in the arsenal, and which need no description
from my pen. But the greatest sight which Agra affords is the far-famed
Taj Mahal: situated on the banks of the river, it is a conspicuous object
from every quarter, and is as beautiful in its proportions when seen from
a distance as in its details when more closely and minutely inspected: an
unfailing source of gratification to the beholder, it well merits
repeated visits. In its vastness, in its costly material, in its
beautiful proportion, and in its delicacy of detail, it stands a noble
monument of the talent which devised, and of the skill which executed it.
It is said to have incessantly occupied 20,000 men for 22 years, and
three million pounds sterling were expended upon it.
The intention of Shah Jehan, whose ashes it covers, was to have connected
it by a marble bridge with a tomb exactly similar on the opposite side of
the river, in which were to be interred the remains of his wife. This
vast design he never lived to accomplish, and his son, who was of an
economical turn of mind, did not consider the maternal ashes worth a
further expenditure of three millions, and so Shah Jehan and his wife lie
buried in one tomb, which may safely be pronounced the most magnificent
in the world.
* * * * *
I like the Indian system of starting on a journey after dinner. When
other people are going to bed, you get into your comfortable palanquin,
and wake up 30 miles from your companions of the previous evening, who
are only beginning to rub their eyes, when you have already actively
commenced the work of exploring the sights at your destination. Thus did
I inspect the old city of Futtehpore Secreh under the guidance of Busreet
Alee, a garrulous old man, and a perfect specimen of a cicerone, with
whom I at once plunged into the most extensive ruins I had seen in India:
cloisters, colonnades, domes, walls, kiosks, and turrets, heaped together
in the utmost confusion, a mass of red sandstone, except when some white
marble denoted a more sacred or interesting spot as it glistened in the
beams of the rising sun.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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