Perched on the top of the Delhi Gate with the old stone-path entry into the world's largest fortified city, the valley spread out below and the wind in my hair, the setting was perfect to say the least.
Many would know Mandu for the story of Rani Roopmati and Baz Bahadur, but this entire city of ruins has many untold stories almost buried in its stone structures. Some of Afghan architecture, others of monuments built for love, some that whisper anecdotes of the many rulers who came here. I wanted to save those for another day. This evening was beautiful just in its simplicity. The sun was getting lost in the clouds behind the stone walls of Mandu and the sky was clearly in a mood to play.
Just when it was turning a shade of twilight, suddenly there was an overwhelming splash of pink and orange in the sky. As if an artist had suddenly changed his mind and decided to opt for more pleasant strokes than a twilight hue. Even our skin tone had turned a shade of pink. It felt like all of Mandu was covered with a soft quilt of pink, reflecting in the mighty Delhi Gate to the lake below.
It was quite amazing, in fact, I even tried to take a picture, but the colours didn't come quite as close to what I was witnessing. Perhaps it was nature's way of keeping this a very private affair, like a private screening; not to be captured for posterity but for the pure thrill of the experience. I can tell you I have no complaints with that.
Many would know Mandu for the story of Rani Roopmati and Baz Bahadur, but this entire city of ruins has many untold stories almost buried in its stone structures. Some of Afghan architecture, others of monuments built for love, some that whisper anecdotes of the many rulers who came here. I wanted to save those for another day. This evening was beautiful just in its simplicity. The sun was getting lost in the clouds behind the stone walls of Mandu and the sky was clearly in a mood to play.
Just when it was turning a shade of twilight, suddenly there was an overwhelming splash of pink and orange in the sky. As if an artist had suddenly changed his mind and decided to opt for more pleasant strokes than a twilight hue. Even our skin tone had turned a shade of pink. It felt like all of Mandu was covered with a soft quilt of pink, reflecting in the mighty Delhi Gate to the lake below.
It was quite amazing, in fact, I even tried to take a picture, but the colours didn't come quite as close to what I was witnessing. Perhaps it was nature's way of keeping this a very private affair, like a private screening; not to be captured for posterity but for the pure thrill of the experience. I can tell you I have no complaints with that.
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