For centuries, Taj Mahal has held the fascination of the world as a monument of love, an architectural masterpiece that not only is breathtakingly beautiful, but also spoke of the power held by Shahjahan, the Mughal emperor who commissioned it.
But great beauty comes at great price. Legend goes that after Taj Mahal was built, Shahjahan ordered that all the artisans who worked on it have their hands chopped off so that they never replicate it ever again (there is no historical evidence to this having happened). Guards at the Taj, written by Rajiv Joseph and directed by Adam Karim, explores the human and emotional cost of creating something magnificent.
Two soldiers, Babur and Humayun – namesakes of Shahjahan’s ancestors, as it happens – guard the Taj as it nears completion. Babur is playful, whimsical, and entirely unserious. Humayun is the opposite. He lives by the rule book, does not kid around, and yearns the approval of his father who happens to be a senior member of the royal army. Together, they form an unlikely pair but are old friends who have been through thick and thin.
The two are entrusted with a most heinous task that could potentially make their careers, but break them inside out. Everything is put to test – their sanity, their friendship, loyalty to their monarch, their very ideals. The humour and light-hearted banter of the first half turn into nightmarish pain: “We have killed beauty.” Even Babur’s fantasies take a dark turn.
Usaamah Ibraheem Hussain as Babur and Maanuv Thiara as Humayun complement each other brilliantly. Their on-stage chemistry and camaraderie form the lifeblood of this production. The Taj Mahal itself is an invisible presence in the theatre. The geometry of Mughal architecture is hinted at with an octagonal plinth that serves as the stage. Lighting by Elliot Griggs and Niraj Chag’s music do the rest to bring the building to life, especially in the moment when Babur and Humayun get their first glimpse of the Taj just when the light of the rising sun hits the white marble.
Though set in 17th century India, the play explores some broader themes. What is beauty, who creates it, who owns it, how do you rate or compare it? How does evil creep into something created in innocence? In the beginning of the play, Babur imagines a future with flying palanquins that will take people to the stars, or smaller ones that could take you to Turkey. Towards the end though, he imagines them turning into weapons, raining destruction from the sky. Does power ruin everything?
The play is thought-provoking, humorous, and moving, and forces you to look at what lies beneath outer facades and romantic tales.
Reviewer: Savitha Venugopal
Reviewed: 30th October 2024
North West End UK Rating: