Dust arose from his broom like incense emanates from a holy alter. Sunlight streaked through the white marble screen and caressed the man in white, whose sideways swaying of stick broom recited a hymn of a primordial chord. Was it a halo that covered his head in the form of a white skull-cap?
On handing him five rupees for letting us take his picture, the sweeper flashed his tobacco stained teeth, thanked us and said, ‘It’s perfect for a cup of tea.’
Earlier that morning, a blanket of fog enveloped a stretch of land in front of us. Amidst the screen of the morning mist, we could see the silhouette of one of the World’s Seven Wonders. From ‘Moksh Dham’, the crematorium next to the eastern side of the monument, like a phoenix that arose from the ashes, Taj Mahal emerged from the night.