Tomb of Salim Chishti

Start with your feet. You have left your shoes at the gate, and the sandstone of the courtyard is warm, even a little rough, under your soles. Around you the stone is the colour of dried rose petals and brick dust. Then, in the middle of all that red, there is something white. A small marble building sits low and bright in the sun, like a lantern set down on a dark table. That is where you are going.

This is the Tomb of Salim Chishti, the resting place of a Sufi saint. Sufis are the mystics of Islam, people who seek a personal, inward closeness to God through devotion, music and prayer. Salim Chishti belonged to the Chishti order, one of the most loved Sufi traditions in South Asia. He lived here, on this rocky ridge near the village of Sikri, long before any palace stood on it. He died in 1572, an old and deeply respected man.

The story of this place begins with a worried emperor. Akbar, the third Mughal ruler, controlled a vast empire across northern India. But for years he had no surviving son to inherit it. According to the well-known account, he came to this ridge to ask the holy man for help. Salim Chishti is said to have told him that he would have three sons. Soon afterwards, a son was born.

That child arrived in 1569, and Akbar named him Salim, after the saint. Decades later this boy became the emperor Jahangir. Here is the first surprise for many visitors. The great red city around you exists largely because of that birth. Akbar decided to build a new capital beside the saint's home, and he called it Fatehpur Sikri. Fatehpur means the City of Victory, a name linked to his military campaigns in Gujarat, in western India.

Now look at the courtyard itself. You are standing inside the enclosure of the Jama Masjid, the congregational mosque of the city. The mosque runs along one side, with its arches and domes. Long, shaded cloisters frame the other sides. The space is enormous and open to the sky, and the sound behaves strangely here. Voices carry, footsteps fade, and the call of a bird can feel very close. The saint's tomb sits inside this sacred square, close to the mosque.

Walk closer to the white building. Its marble is pale, almost milky, and it catches the light in a way the sandstone never does. The contrast is deliberate. Everything around it is built from the local red stone, quarried from this same ridge. The tomb alone glows. Notice how small it is compared with the gates and the mosque. It does not try to dominate. It feels more like a jewel box than a monument.

Look up at the edge of the roof. The deep overhang is held by brackets carved in a long, curling S-shape, a little like a snake or a coiled vine. These serpentine brackets are some of the most admired carving in all of Fatehpur Sikri. Each one is cut from marble, yet each looks almost soft, as if it could bend. Stand back and let your eye follow the row of them around the building.

Then come right up to the walls. They are made of jali, which is the South Asian word for a pierced stone screen. Craftsmen cut the marble into fine geometric lattices, star shapes and interlocking patterns, so thin that light pours through them. From inside, these screens turn hard sunlight into a soft, scattered glow. From outside, they let you glimpse the shadows within. Touch one gently. You will feel how precisely the edges were cut.

You will also see threads. Hundreds of them, often red or orange, tied in knots through the holes of the jali. This is the living heart of the place. Visitors tie a thread while making a wish, very often a wish for a child, echoing Akbar's own prayer. Tradition holds that when the wish comes true, the person should return to untie a thread and give thanks. Here is the second surprise: this tomb is not a museum piece. It is still an active shrine.

Step inside, if the crowd allows. In the centre is the grave of the saint, covered with cloth and flowers. Above it stands a canopy of dark wood decorated with inlaid mother-of-pearl, which shimmers faintly in the filtered light. The air smells of rose petals and incense. People move slowly here. Some pray in silence. Some press their hands to the screens. Please move gently, keep your voice low, and cover your head if you are asked to.

On some days you may hear qawwali drifting across the courtyard. Qawwali is devotional Sufi music, with clapping hands, harmonium and voices rising together in long, repeating phrases. The Chishti order has a deep connection to this music. Even if you do not understand the words, you can feel the rhythm build. It is a reminder that this space was made for living worship, not only for an emperor's display.

Before you leave, turn toward the south side of the courtyard. That is the direction of the Buland Darwaza, the towering Gate of Magnificence, one of the tallest gateways in India. From outside it rises above a steep flight of steps. Akbar built it to celebrate his victory in Gujarat. Nearby, inside the courtyard, you may also notice another tomb in red stone with small domes, belonging to members of the saint's family.

The capital itself did not last long. Within a few decades the court had moved elsewhere, and historians often point to problems with the water supply among the reasons. The palaces emptied. Yet this tomb never emptied. Pilgrims kept coming, generation after generation, and the saint's descendants still care for the shrine. The whole site is now protected as a World Heritage Site, but the threads on the screens show what really keeps it alive.

So take one more moment where you stand. Feel the warm stone under your feet again. Look at that white marble against the red, at the curling brackets, at the light moving through the jali and the bright knots of thread. Listen to the voices around you, some whispering wishes, some simply resting in the shade. When you walk back toward the gate, glance over your shoulder. The small white building will still be glowing in the middle of the courtyard.