“The Crown Palace” alias The Taj Mahal named after my third mistress Mumtaz Mahal, the jewel of the palace is the most mesmerizing masterpiece of my ancestors. If talented people hit the target which no one else can hit then comes a genius who hit the target without seeing it, my master was unanimously one. Beauty is the greatest seducer to the mankind and this genius was entangled by the ravishing aura of the princess that summed up my existence.
Twenty thousand labors were contemplating the script depicted by Ustad Ahmad Lahauri of Persia. Chiliads of elephants brought my bones (marbles) from different parts to frame me into the world’s framework.
If this world is considered to be a beautiful garden then I’m like a beautiful flower in it. I am ostracized by the ministerial to be gazed on a full moon as multitudes say I look bonniest on that day. The moon engulfs me in the ambience of lewdness. The couplets of stupid cupid swear by my exuberance.
I am lucky to have survived the radical changing world (world wars, indo-pak-china wars, terror strikes) for almost 400 years. There are gazillions replica made but none can compete with me. My master left no stone unturned so he chopped off forty thousand hands in front of me.
“Mea Culpa"...that was the most unbearable sight I have ever witnessed. The blood still oozes out like a gushing mountain stream and the fingers points at me. If Lord had provided me with choices then I would have audaciously chosen the hands when compared with my existence. Amino acid gushes out of my eyes that fills the river Yamuna (the reason for its saltiness). The onus of forty thousand hands still haunts me. How I wish if Lord can annihilate me and give their dues.