The walk from the road outside, up toward the Amar Singh Gate is literally an introduction to the massive size of the structures, unending lengths and breadths of the compound, and legend-studded history of Agra Fort. Arch after arch, slit after slit in those sandstone faces rising over 20 m, window after window from where the women of the zenana would peep onto the buzz of life below, the brilliance of sunshine bouncing off the spotless white marble mosques, pavilion after pavilion and lines of fountains, and room after room that have been passages for the air to travel past in a Venturi effect and cool all the inhabitants.
At one point, you even find an optical illusion by which the view of the Taj Mahal does not shrink but only becomes larger when you move away from it. I guessed, when I saw this, that it probably had more to do with keeping an eye on the enemy across the river rather than any romantic connotations regarding the Taj.
Which brings me to the state of mind I found myself in trying to make sense of the surroundings when I visited here last. The grand spread and symmetry of each specimen, the geometrically painted red sandstone, the meticulously planned Charbagh garden layout, and carved marble that looks like lines drawn and held magically in milk, act as a vast canvas for stories. Stories that the more conscientious would have read from Akbarnama and Shahjahanama besides history books (or even a Goodearth guide), and the very colourful stories that the local tour guide tells you, especially if you are travelling with children.
A story perhaps, of how Shahjahan stared sadly out at the Taj from the copper domed Mussaman Burj after Aurangzeb imprisoned him at this magnificent royal residence. A story of the takeover of the British and the later Independent Indian army over parts of the military genius that this structure is, or a story of Shivaji’s brave escape from the fort precincts. Stories of assemblies held at the gleaming white Diwan-i-Khas and warm red Diwan-i-Am, of reigning supreme from the peacock throne with its glittering rubies and emeralds, of the starry eyed dreams at the Sheesh Mahal studded with tiny mirrors, of women behind jaali screens at the Jahangiri Mahal wondering what battlefields looked like, and of being the emperor of Hindustan who from within the gem-inlaid Khas Mahal strategised his next move as he looked out onto the relaxing patterns of Anguri Bagh.
The description here may seem to be too much all together. One has to be present there to know the layers and range of experience that is only outlined in this little piece, and to feel all of what led the Agra Fort to be declared a World Cultural Heritage Site (in 1983) by the UNESCO.