Eva Jackson: 0010

Delhi 1

The crows at Safjardung's tomb knew it was a deserted part of the city. The trees' leaves were not just dusty, but dark. Birds' droppings covered the sarcophagus once you had climbed the steep steps. A lonely dancefloor, a square, flagstones stepping out, loomed over by the dome. A thin railing round the perimeter. A view in four directions across winter lawns and crows. Symmetrical: a set of dry fountains, each surveyed by its own distant, white building pressed up against the fence of the property. For this must be a property, and owned and neglected by someone, or ones. By a city.