“Yes, it’s rather marked that the newly-raised regiments are mostly commanded by lieutenants and captains.”
A hand tapped Ted’s shoulder. Turning, he perceived his new orderly, Ramzan Khan. In reply to the look of enquiry the Mohammedan said:
“It is not safe to go so far from the fort, sahibs. The people of Agra do not love the English.”
“He’s right,” said Claude. “We’d better get back.”
“Is there any—” Ted stopped short with a little gasp. He stood staring with wide-open eyes, and his companions followed his gaze.
“Is that the famous Taj Mahal?” he asked in a tone of awe; and Claude nodded.
Our lieutenant of Irregular Horse having become accustomed to the wonders of the East was not easily moved to admiration thereby. But now he was spell-bound by the beauty, the exquisite perfection of that lovely dream-palace, perhaps the most awe-inspiring work of men’s hands. In the ardour of argument he had not noticed the wonder, and now he could not take his eyes from that central dome, white and ethereal against the deep blue of the Indian sky, with its cluster of smaller pearly domes, the whole great and grand and yet unreal, as if the vision must shortly fade away. Men have attempted to depict the Taj Mahal in prose and poetry and painting, and have all admitted the feat impossible. “Go to India,” Lord Roberts has said; “the Taj alone is worth the journey.”
This vast tomb, known as the Taj Mahal, was built by the Emperor Shah Jehan in memory of his wife, and finished about the year 1640, when the Moslems were the great architects of the world. Forbidden by their religion to make images of men by painting or sculpture, they devoted their genius to architecture; and the mosques and tombs of Hindustan, and the Alhambra and other Moorish buildings in Spain, bear witness to their surpassing power.
Ramzan Khan looked downcast as they turned away.
“Ah!” said he sadly, “in those days were the true believers the leaders of mankind. We are unworthy children of our great fathers.”