John Wise, 1996
Updated: Oct 14
The American photographer was impatient, for on his list of sights to see in India, only one item remained: the Taj Mahal. Finally his train pulled in to Agra station, and a mass of people poured off the wagons whose carriages had been so full it seemed like they might split open before they reached the platform. John Wise had only been able to obtain a second-class ticket, where the Indians were piled on top of one another. Eventually he was able to hail a cab. “You’re lucky I saw you,” the driver of the three-wheeler repeated incessantly. No sooner had they left the swarm of Agra station than the driver stomped on his pedal, and the three-wheeler’s engine squealed. Expertly dodging buffalo, camels and various other livestock, he sped through the permanent carnival of the city streets. “Taj Mahal, and step on it!” John Wise had a plane to catch that afternoon to get back to Pittsburgh, but there was no way he was going back without a shot of the Taj Mahal. The three-wheeler finally pulled up in front of the sacred monument, where hordes of tourists were posing.
“There’s no way I’ll get a decent shot from here,” Wise sighed.
“I can take you somewhere to get a better picture. No tourists!” the driver insisted.
“Let’s go!” answered the photographer. “But we gotta hurry, my flight to Pittsburgh leaves in a couple of hours…”
The young reporter was fascinated by the story of the Taj Mahal, which read almost like a fairy tale. The Mughal emperor Shah Jahan was all-powerful, while Mumtaz, born Arjumand Banu, came from a Persian noble family and was the niece of the future empress Nur Jahan. But to the young prince there was none more beautiful. Though the prince had certain obligations to his family and his people, he was betrothed to her in 1607 and promised her his love. But reasons of state came first. In 1610, his father found for him a first wife, a beautiful Persian princess, quick-minded and from a noble family. He obeyed his father and married her, but his heart remained with Mumtaz, whom he was at last allowed to wed in 1612.
“What’s going on?” the emperor Jahangir asked his daughter-in-law. “Why do you look so sad?”
“I love your son! He is very kind, and I shall be his wife until the end…” the young woman answered.
“So what is going on?”
“Shah Jahan is kind to me, but his heart belongs to Mumtaz alone,” the maiden explained.
Shah Jahan’s father was troubled, and asked himself what could be done about his son. In 1617, he decided to find him yet another wife; one who was even more beautiful, wealthier and more intelligent. But Shah Jahan was madly in love with Mumtaz. He barely noticed the extraordinary beauty of the women presented to him; he listened and obeyed his father’s advice, but once again his heart remained with Mumtaz. The years went by, and the prince was resolute in his loyalty to his love. Mumtaz followed him everywhere, even on his military campaigns, and when he ascended the throne in 1628, she became his empress. Such a joy it was to share his life with the woman he loved, and the two lovers could now live freely in the sight of all.
One fine day, Mumtaz announced that she was pregnant with their fourteenth child. Shah Jahan was overjoyed at the thought of bringing another life into the world, but as their last daughter was being born, Mumtaz breathed her last. The emperor was devastated at her loss, for the pair had promised to love one another for eternity. Before her death, Mumtaz had asked her husband to make her a new promise: to never remarry, and to build her a mausoleum worthy of their love. The emperor always kept his promises, and decided to build a majestic palace to serve as her tomb.
John Wise arrived on the banks of the river Yamuna, where Indians were performing their ablutions and purifying themselves in the sacred river. The children spotted John Wise and his camera; they darted over to him, but John Wise asked them to stand beside their mother. He clicked the shutter, preserving his love of India for all time in that final photo of his trip.
Alan Alfredo Geday