ABSTRACT
Yet another monument. Yesterday one of love, exquisite beauty and incalculable price: today one of heroism passing understanding, of treachery beyond belief, of immortality coequal with the Taj.
But whereas the universal glory of the mausoleum on the Jumna rests in the creation of a master-brain, in the perishable labour of a magician’s hand, in the visible expression of an artistic soul, the deathless fame of the strip of sun-racked plain hard by the Ganges lies deep in the heart of every man, graven in colours of scarlet and white overlaid with crape, and dependent alone for eternal remembrance on the existence of mankind.
