A Souvenir from The Taj
Photo: Karan Madhok
Personal Essay: The monkey’s mouth parted and tufts of brown hair bristled wildly on top of its head. Had it come to finish the job, I wondered?
There is a folk tale about Tulsidas, the great Indian 16th century saint-poet who wrote the Hanuman Chalisa—the hymn and prayer devoted to the monkey god Hanuman. As the legend goes, Tulsidas wrote the hymn while he was imprisoned at the Fatehpur Sikri fort by the Mughal emperor Akbar. Tulsidas chanted the verses during his 40-day captivity. Then, as fate would have it, on the 40th day a barrel of rioting monkeys wreaked havoc across the court and the city.
Akbar was advised to apologize to Tulsidas for his imprisonment; soon after, Tulsidas started praying to Lord Hanuman—and the monkeys miraculously left the city.
The human–primate relationship is a matter of much debate and speculation in the context of India’s religious ecosystem. The Hanuman langur—or grey langur species—is widespread across India, named after the powerful monkey deity known as the disperser of evil. Instead of facing prosecution, monkeys and other similar primates are revered as kin of Hanuman in India.
However, the species which once occupied the lush green forest areas is now facing endangerment due to habitat loss caused by deforestation and urbanization. For scores of years, they have invaded human-dominated landscapes and adapted themselves to the city.
A few years ago, I visited the Taj Mahal in Agra—not far from Fatehpur Sikri—where I witnessed the urban monkey syndrome for myself. After viewing the architectural splendor (built by Akbar’s grandson Shah Jahan) I returned to the garden outside the main Taj area. It was lunch time, and seeing clusters of people seated with their food, I decided to finish my meal, too.
As I munched into the stuffed sandwich, I observed a barrel of monkeys near an assembly of tourists with their lunchboxes. The tourists passed on bananas and chapatis to the monkeys, which they accepted willingly, gorging on them and finishing off in no time. The monkeys seemed to be friendly with the humans over here.
I could observe that the simians had become an integral part to Taj’s identity, ever since the time of the Mughals, who had been enchanted by them. The animals feature in miniature paintings, and find a prominent place in the artworks of the court painters of Akbar.
Having rested for a while, I moved on to the handicrafts showroom near the main gate. I spent a lot of time in selecting miniature marble replicas of the Taj, elephants carved out of marble, key chains, marble vases, statues, ornamental boxes, plates, inlay tabletops, and more. The shop keeper securely packed the fragile souvenirs in newspapers and transferred them in transparent plastic packets.
Feeling satisfied with the day well spent, I decided to proceed toward the railway station for my return journey. I had only gone a few steps forward when I suddenly felt something around my ankle. Before I could fully realize what it was, I fell on the ground and the packets flew out of my hand, landing on the ground with a thud at a distance.
I turned around, and to my utter surprise, I found a monkey near my feet, looking at me with a mischievous expression on its face. Luckily unhurt, I quickly got up and rushed toward the packets, but the monkey reached effortlessly before me. Within seconds, it reached the packet at lightning speed and disappeared with it behind the unkempt wilderness: the towering trees, the lush, unmown grass, and the tangled shrubs.
Luckily unhurt, I quickly got up and rushed toward the packets, but the monkey reached effortlessly before me. Within seconds, it reached the packet at lightning speed and disappeared with it behind the unkempt wilderness: the towering trees, the lush, unmown grass, and the tangled shrubs.
Stupefied, I waited there for some time, looking at the other monkeys resting on branches of trees, unable to find the one that had taken my stuff.
“Are you hurt?” Someone asked me.
As my eyes got diverted to the ground, I found many onlookers had gathered. A few of them were filming the entire incident with their mobile phones.
“You should have been more careful.” A lady with a podgy face said.
I hung my head, partly embarrassed of my non-agile self, and partly ashamed of my inattentiveness, like a student reprimanded by a teacher for not learning her lessons well.
“I’m alright.” I responded disconnectedly. The onlookers continued with their enquiry about my well-being and the stolen objects.
A small group of bright, energetic men came forward and assured me that they would be able to find the monkey thief very soon. I proceeded dolefully behind them toward the dense vegetation, while the shades of brown, yellow dried leaves made a crunching, crackling sound beneath our feet. Frantic in the heat of the mid-day sun, the trees provided a welcome shade as they formed a concentrated, netted canopy of branches huddling with one another, shaping effusive layers, almost hiding the blue sky, while the sunlight occasionally poured in through the gaps formed by the moving shoots, leaves in communion with the gentle breeze.
I spotted a whole troupe of monkeys on the trees: some swinging from one limb to another, some eating bananas and other eatables that they had received or perhaps snatched from the visitors, while others sat quietly and regarded us with curiosity. Unexpectedly, one of them yawned and the entire tribe started yawning one by one, exposing their canines.
As far as my eyes went, I was unable to locate the robber with my souvenirs.
“There! It’s right up there.” Someone shouted excitedly, pointing toward a branch higher up.
We all looked up, and after searching aimlessly for a while, I located a monkey with my packets. Unsure about how to utilize the gift items, it sniffed the packets intermittently—strangely not unsheathing the object of interest—while keeping an eye on the activity down on the ground.
My heart started beating wildly, imagining the condition of the fragile souvenirs if the simians lost interest and discarded them. What were their motivations, I wondered? I am mystified by these animals: They hold endless curiosity and character, and they unfold their complexity and mischievous behavior in a thousand possibilities, yet to be researched and discovered by the human brain.
Some of the people down below collected stones to throw at the monkey thief. I wondered, then, if this was the right thing to do, as the entire gang might decide to descend upon us in protest. Someone from the group said, “Wait! Don’t do this. It might get hurt.”
“I suggest that we get some food and entice it to come down,” a man said.
“That will invite attack from all the other monkeys along with the one that we are interested in.”
Suddenly, someone shouted aloud and pointed toward the tree where the monkey thief had settled down. We saw another monkey—gluttonous and impatient—trying to reach out to the packets, thinking of a possible food item inside the securely-covered newspapers. Agitated and in a querulous mode, the two started a fight amongst themselves. Their cheeks flushed red, their faces contorted, elongated, and swelling with excitement, as they jumped back and forth on the nearby branches, accompanied with intermittent screams whose volume kept rising menacingly.
The ‘gluttonous one’ succeeded in grabbing the packets. The other one tried hard to free them from its grip. Both the monkeys held on to the packets and neither of them would let go. Seeing the simians in such action, three or four men already stationed themselves beneath the tree so that they could catch the delicate items in case they fell from the tree.
The monkeys continued their tug-of-war. In between their tussle, the packets were torn and the souvenirs dropped down.
The crash put an end to the ruckus. Then, quiet ensued.
The men looked at one another, and then at the packets, eye-rolling and head-shaking in disbelief, like bewildered cricketers who stare at the ball after a dropped catch. A man picked up the devastated remains for me. Disheartened, I took the souvenirs out of the partly-torn newspaper wrap.
To my utter surprise, I found the pieces were intact, except that some of them—Taj Mahal and elephants—had dislocated from their base marble. I thanked the gentlemen for their efforts before taking one final look at the tree. The monkeys sat quietly now, no longer paying attention to us, lost in their own world.
I returned to the handicraft showroom to get those pieces fixed.
“These would have broken if I hadn’t wrapped them with the newspapers.” The shopkeeper said while fixing the pieces with an adhesive. He provided me with a red cotton bag now, to hide it from any more monkeys.
A feeling of compassion for this incomprehensible being suddenly washed over me. Perhaps, I thought, the monkey was equally scared of me, too?
Cautiously, I moved out of the shop, and into the transparent, golden–amber late afternoon. I looked around before proceeding toward the lawn that connected to the main gate.
After a few paces further on, I noticed a monkey sitting under a tree. I wondered if it was the same one who stole my packet some time ago; my untrained eye could hardly differentiate one from the other. I felt a shudder of unease, as I detected its eyes getting darker and narrower, holding a strange expression on its pallid face. The monkey’s mouth parted and tufts of brown hair bristled wildly on top of its head. Had it come to finish the job, I wondered? I clutched the cotton bag to my bosom, contemplating whether other monkeys lay in ambush nearby.
The monkey’s face became taut, it drew itself up, hunched with a readiness of an athlete set to initiate a race on the firing of a starting pistol. I was frozen to my spot, anticipating that the beast may pounce on me. A frisson of fear ran through me. I closed my eyes, hoping that would eliminate any eye contact.
I waited for a couple of minutes in that manner and when I opened my eyes. It was still there, concentrating in my direction. I pondered if I should raise in alarm.
But I didn’t. A feeling of compassion for this incomprehensible being suddenly washed over me. Perhaps, I thought, the monkey was equally scared of me, too?
What was the monkey trying to communicate, I wondered? How could we, humans, connect with these creatures through a non-verbal language? There was an inexplicable feeling which surfaced from my level of consciousness, indicating that we were indissolubly connected, part of the same natural order.
The monkey made a screeching noise, jumped its way toward the unattended garden, and in no time, vanished behind the thicket.
I advanced towards the exit, too, leaving the Taj behind, lost in thought.
***
Sreelekha Chatterjee’s short stories have been published in various magazines and journals, including Borderless, The Green Shoe Sanctuary, Storizen, Indian Periodical, Femina, and have been included in numerous print and online anthologies such as Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul series (Westland Ltd, India), and Wisdom of Our Mothers (Familia Books, USA). She lives in New Delhi, India. You can find her on Facebook: @sreelekha.chatterjee.1, Twitter: @sreelekha001, and Instagram: @sreelekha2023.
