Agra’s other major attraction is the deserted Mughal city of Fatepur Sikri, some 30 or 40 kms away. There are organised tours that one can take, but these are reasonably expensive, + by all accounts rather rush one around the place, so we decided to visit it by public bus. We would, in any case, have been far too late for it, for altho’ we certainly felt as tho’ it were early, by the time we had breakfasted it was something beyond ten. The bus stn is a good way out of town, near the railway stn, but we found a rickshaw to take us without too much difficulty, + as, for once, hr turned out to be non-complaining, I even gave him a tip.
The bus left almost immediately – there is a regular service. And the journey out was less than an hour. At FS we were dropped at a small stn, immediately below the enormous gateway leading into the even larger mosque. There were the usual crowd of hangers-on: cold-drink sellers, guides, people to look after your shoes, or, worse, to hire out terrible wrap-over bootees. We avoided them all, + carried our shoes with us. Mind you, the bootee-wearers did have an advantage over the rest of us, in that they were protected from the heat of the stones, exposed to the baking sun, beneath one’s feet.
The mosque consisted of a vast red sandstone courtyard, with cloisters all the way round, but with a white marble tomb set directly in the centre. Some thoughtful soul had laid out a narrow mat from the gateway to the tomb, but once stuck out there in the middle, one could only return or do the hot stone hop. Once again, the tomb itself was better from the outside than in. We would, however, have liked to have taken a photograph from the inside looking out thro’ the intricately carved marble screens – D + L had shown us a similar one that they had taken – but it needs something brightly lit on the outside, + unfortunately the sun was not shining on the impressive main gate.
Leaving the mosque, we went on to visit the rest of the city. Not a city by modern standards, of course, + tho’ it is remarkably well-preserved, it is the court buildings which have survived. We strolled around in the most leisurely of manners, often stopping, resting, + simply appreciating. And tho’ we missed out on the information + anecdotes that a guide would be able to provide, we did have so much more time. So often, guides are the most appalling old bores, or else their English is really up to the fluent idiomatic level necessary to stop one dropping off to sleep. And as well as the Blessed Tony Wheeler, there were Information Boards scattered irregularly around, so we weren’t at a complete loss. I wasn’t able to project myself into the scene + make it come alive, as I am sometime able to do, mainly because I know nothing about the society which lived here, nothing beyond swashbuckling Arabian Nights, Ali Baba stuff, + I doubt that has much relation to the real thing. But it was interesting to wander all the same, to climb up on to the roofs of the buildings with staircases, to enjoy the surroundings, to sit + talk. And somehow the most part of the day passed very easily in this manner, so that by the time we were back at the hotel, it was late in the afternoon.
We arrived back at the same time as V + P. They too had been to FS, but on the tour, so had merely spent the morning there. In the afternoon, by way of entertainment, they had allowed themselves to be taken round to visit various carpet shops, + tho’ they had had no real intention of buying anything before they went, such is the way of things that they had, of course, ended up with a small carpet each. They were more woven rugs really, + I have to own that we were not nearly so impressed with the wonderful bargain they had made as they were themselves. Ate dinner, as we had done last night, with them in our hotel. And as with last night’s, it was indifferent, with the sole + honourable exception of the banana custard for dessert. Truly wonderful.
Efficiently and inexpensively ticking Fatephur Sikri off our list, and then sensibly pretty much calling it a day.
