Yet today, i want to see him. Kind of go stand where he lies. Its ironical. For my friends don’t want to go anywhere close. Not because they hate him as much.
But today to go close to him, you have to go to a small nondescript place. A place nondescript enough that without direction and desire to get there, missing it would be normal !He perhaps had all of India under his thumbs. Palaces were built and minor empires destroyed with a casual wave of a hand.
And all who talked thus far, about him, talked with a sense of borrowed spite and frown. The eternal bad chap image stayed fixed.Today, the simplicity of what i hear moves me to think.
Today, another man gives us another angle:Imagine being born in a royal family. Imagine seeing your head of state dad, spend crane heaps of government money on a tomb for his wife. Imagine you having consternation about it. Imagine having the resolve to fight for simplicity yet scale. Fight anybody.
From an aggressive neighbour to your own father.Imagine ruling the land with great simplicity and methodical precision. Imagine living a simple frugal life when surrounded by royal splendour.
Imagine stitching caps and writing the holy scripture. The proceeds of which, you mandate, is all that would go to making of your own tomb ! I
Imagine, first of all, mandating that there wont be a significant tomb, despite being the emperor of India !Imagine Aurangazeb.
As the shudder runs down the spine all the way to the left toe, he adds. “History is written by the victor. Its never factual”.The tourist guide moves me.
In some time we reach Khuldabad. In what appears to be another mosque in a predominantly muslim neighbourhood, Aurangazeb’s lies at the feet of his guru. No grand structure. Simple and quiet.
The Taj loses sheen in the mind. Think of it this way: Shah Jahan built the Taj out of government money and emptied the state coffers. His son threw him in jail ruled the land ably and died a simple man.
Well, i dont know what the truth is. None of us will never ever know. But then, i have resolved to read history with pitchers of salt by the side.
And as Dylan says, “All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie”