The ruins of love
If love can be a place, for me, it will always be Humayun’s Tomb in New Delhi. The grandeur of the place is enchanting, seductive and peaceful. The green gardens pull you to the ground, to touch and caress the grass. The central water fountains are filled with lustful waters and one will be very lucky to sit with his feet inside it.
The red stone has aged gracefully, which gives a might splendour to the entire structure. Nothing beats an afternoon spent there, lying on the grass and watching squirrels play.
The truth which everyone ignores is that the monument is still a tomb. An epic, representing death of someone great.
As I dreamt today, I was at the very same place by night. Without any moonlight, the place screamed with terrible terror. The giant roofs of the tomb look miles away. My whispers echoed through the gardens. The fountain seemed to be filled with viscous black oil, unflinching. The squirrels appeared nowhere. The red stones were painted with black blood. The shadows disappeared within themselves.
As I walked past the courtyard, I met an old emperor standing on the edge and embracing the silence. I asked him, “Jahapanha, why does my love look like a graveyard?”
Humanyun, still looking over the edge, replied, “It is you, who brings darkness. It is you who is the kafir to betray your love.”
Taken aback, I couldn’t reply. I left him alone to his thoughts. As I was stepping down the stairs into the dust, I heard his voice again.
He was shouting in his bold voice, to no one in particular,
“Gar firdaus bar-rue zamin ast, hami asto, hamin asto, hamin ast”
I went running towards the backside of the tomb, where the squirrels have their home on the tree. I sat under the tree, as Humanyun repeated the same lines,
“Gar firdaus bar-rue zamin ast, hami asto, hamin asto, hamin ast”

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