All language subtitles for Monty Dons Paradise Gardens 2of2 BBC 1080i HDTV EN Sub MVGroup_Subtitles01.ENG

The desert is beautiful.

But it is a harsh
and relentless place.

And the people that live here,
above all, dream of an oasis.

Green and with abundant water.

And that water is not just
to make the crops grow

with fruits and grains,
but it is life itself.

We speak of our gardens being
a little piece of paradise.

But for desert people, a garden,

green and filled with water,
is heaven on Earth.

It is paradise.

I'm setting out to explore
these Islamic paradise gardens

that are born from the desert.

I shall visit gardens
as symbols of power,

gardens that are set around
magnificent tombs,

as well as those made
purely for delight.

I will discover the influence
of the Mughal dynasty in India.

Arriving by elephant
is the most appropriate way

to visit the Amer Fort.

And enjoy the tulips in Turkey.

I've never seen anything like it.

And I'm really not sure
how to react.

And back in the UK, we shall
be seeing how Islamic gardens

have influenced both royal gardens
and public spaces.

I've long been fascinated
by paradise gardens.

The Koran paints a vivid description
of paradise as a garden,

and this has dictated their
designs all over the world.

So they tend to be enclosed
and divided into four quarters,

with abundant shade
and always dominated by water.

For the desert Arabs,
they were an idealised oasis.

And for all Muslims,
they are an earthly reflection

of the paradise that awaits.

My journey has now brought me
to Istanbul

to see how one of the
greatest Islamic empires

made gardens that combined the
elements of East and West.

The broad stretch of the Bosphorus
runs through the middle of Istanbul.

For over 2,000 years,

this great city has been the
meeting point of two cultures.

Over there, to the West, is Europe.

And on the other side of the river
is the landmass of Asia.

And here is where they meet.

For nearly 1,000 years,
this city was known as Byzantium.

Then it became Constantinople,

the capital of the Roman Empire

and for centuries
the greatest city in Europe.

When the Muslims
took over in 1453,

they renamed the city Istanbul,
literally City of Islam,

and it was the centre of the Ottoman
Empire for five centuries.

Where Eastern and Western
cultures meet,

there are occasional clashes,
but much in common.

And nothing exemplifies that more
here than a love of the tulip.

Istanbul celebrates this
with uninhibited panache

in the city's famous Emirgan Park.

And as the millions of flowers
hit their garish heights,

scores of wedding couples
pose with elaborate delight.

I grow a lot of tulips at home,

plant thousands of bulbs
every autumn, and I love them.

I love them for their
voluptuous flowers,

for their elegance,

and for the way that they
blow a fanfare into spring.

But what I do at home is a drop in a
very large ocean compared to here.

I've never seen anything like it.

Three million bulbs
planted every year

in drifts and swirls and patterns
and in borders amongst the trees.

And I'm really not sure
how to react.

The Dutch are famous
for their love of tulips,

and in the 1630s at the height
of the Dutch tulip-mania,

a single bulb would trade
for more than the price

of the grandest house in Amsterdam.

The Dutch caught the tulip bug
from the Ottomans.

300 years before Europeans
had even seen a tulip,

poets here were writing
of its beauty.

I talk to Professor Sitare Bakir,
a tulip expert,

about this long relationship
between Ottomans and tulips.

Firstly, I have to say that
Ottomans loved flowers.

In the 16th century we have
lots of types of tulips,

and also in the 17th and 18th
century it's become more and more.

They have about 2,000
types of tulips.

Really?

These have been deliberately bred
and hybridised by the Ottoman Turks?

That's right.
We have many documents about that.

Do we know what the Ottoman
tulips look like?

Of course. The tulip was
used in artworks a lot.

Like in manuscripts, miniatures,
illustrations and tiles.

It was thin and longer and
very modest, I should say.

Tulips also had religious symbolism.

Because tulip has a long stalk
and long flower on top,

it is only one, like God.

And when we go further, every letter
in the alphabet had a number.

When you calculate the numbers,
it had meanings.

And tulip had the same letters
like Allah, God had.

This tulip calculated 66 in
numbering, and Allah also is 66.

Thank you very much. Thank you.

Most tulips are native to
Central Asia and the Caucasus,

and throughout the Ottoman Empire
hundreds of thousands of bulbs

were gathered for
the Sultan's gardens.

But these tulips looked
a little different

from the ones that most of us
grow or buy today.

The European taste is, by and large,
for tulips like this,

which are full and rich and they
have various textures and forms,

but fundamentally goblet-shaped.

The Ottomans preferred
a tulip like this.

Tall, pointed petals,
almost spidery in their elongation

and, above all, very elegant.

As soon as people started
to grow tulips

they noticed a certain
element of their behaviour.

Which was that occasional flowers

would develop these streaks and
flares and patches of colour.

It's known as breaking.

And that was esteemed
as the perfect example

of what the flower could achieve.

People tried endlessly to breed
these colour streaks,

but they never succeeded.

And then at the beginning
of the 20th century,

it was discovered that
the cause of this breaking

was actually a virus
which was spread by an aphid.

And the conditions that are
ideal for that to occur

are when tulips are grown in a warm,
humid place such as under trees.

And the Ottomans thought that tulips
looked at their best,

as they do here, grown under trees.

Tulips were revered and grown
in every kind of Islamic garden

right across the Muslim world,

but they were especially treasured
by the Ottomans.

And the centre of the
Ottoman Empire was here,

right in the middle of Istanbul,
at the Topkapi Palace.

As well as being a royal home,

it was also government offices
and even a small city.

And it's built around a series
of spaces, or courts,

each of them centred on a garden.

The first one is here
and it was accessible to anybody

who wanted to come
and petition the Sultan

and, significantly, they could
arrive and be in here on horseback.

But the gate behind me

was the point at which everybody
bar two people had to dismount.

And those two people
were the Sultan and his mother.

The Sultan, as head of the empire,
was also the protector of Islam.

But the Ottomans were not Arabs,
they didn't come from the desert,

and readily took and incorporated
ideas from other cultures.

The Topkapi Palace
was built on the site

of the Greek Byzantium Acropolis,

and the Ottoman gardens also reflect
this meeting of East and West.

The garden designer, Gursan Ergil,
explains how this is manifested.

In Ottoman gardens they were
bringing nature into architecture

in the form of carpets, wall tiles,
floral motif wall tiles.

The tiles here...

..are stupendous.

I mean, they are extraordinary.

Ottoman Iznik tiles were originally
made in western Anatolia,

modern-day Turkey,
at the end of the 15th century.

The tiles gradually evolved
from being predominantly blue

to becoming more vivid, with added
shades of green, purple and red.

Because Islam forbade the use
of human or animal images,

flowers and plants were always
a favourite theme.

As you see here,

they are symbolic representations
of flowers around them.

Mostly you see tulips, pomegranates.

There are some carnations,
as you can see here.

Another Ottoman invention
came in the form of stone kiosks.

Now, you might think of a kiosk as
somewhere you'd buy a newspaper

or sweets, but to the Ottomans
they had a very different meaning.

Kiosks are semi-open structures
for contemplation.

Kiosk originally coming
from Persian... Yes.

..but Westerners saw kiosk first
in Ottoman Empire

and they liked the idea.

The stone kiosks
of the Ottoman gardens

are the forebears of our
park bandstands and pavilions.

Actually, Topkapi Palace
is like a series of kiosks.

It's not one building.

It is just different kiosks,
like a marble tent.

I had thought of the
Ottoman tradition

as being a long way from the desert,

but when you say marble tent,
that links it.

That's right.

I think it is deep in their culture
because of this nomadic background.

And the other thing
which I've really noticed

is that the kiosks are open,
so you look out.

Yeah.

Whereas the closed walled gardens of
Persia and Marrakech, you look in.

Exactly. This is our difference.

So you have this fantastic view
over the water... Mmm-hmm.

..which is part of the garden.

That's true. Bringing panorama
inside the garden.

This is the unique feature
of Ottoman paradise gardens.

They weren't enclosed and private,

but deliberately positioned
by lakes and rivers

to look out on and include
the natural world.

Ottomans hardly touched nature,

because they think
it is God's reflection.

Right. So they respect it.

These gardens embrace the beauty
of the natural world around them,

whilst the gardens of the desert

deliberately hid
from their surroundings.

This acceptance
and inclusion of nature

is what most directly connects
Ottoman gardens

with those of modern Europe

and gives them their
distinctive character

within the range of paradise gardens
around the Islamic world.

And like everything in Istanbul,

what I find most extraordinary
about that garden

is this dynamic meeting
of East and West.

The gardens of the Topkapi Palace

do seem to me to shed completely
new light on the idea of paradise.

And I love that idea

of making a garden
to seduce your soul.

Looking out.

Looking out to the world
and looking up to heaven.

But, from here...

..I need to not just look out
but go on,

because the gardens are not
just where East and West meet,

but where East
goes yet further east...

..to India.

Modern India is an exhilarating
and, at times,

chaotic mixture of languages,
people and religions.

Hello!

I'm beginning my visit
in the capital, Delhi.

For 300 years, India was governed
by a Muslim dynasty,

founded in 1526 by the warrior king,
Babur.

And at its height,
this Mughal Empire

ruled over one and a half
million square miles

of the Indian subcontinent.

When the Mughals swept into modern
Pakistan and northern India from

Afghanistan, they built forts and
gardens, wherever they conquered.

These were significantly different

to the other paradise gardens
I've seen so far.

The Islamic gardens of Spain,
Morocco and Iran

were designed for sensual pleasure
and contemplation.

But these Mughal gardens were made

as a public display of reverence
for the dead

and for daily use, by the living.

And this tradition carries on
in exactly the same way today.

This is Humayun's tomb.

And tomb gardens were the Mughal's
greatest contribution to our story.

Humayun was the son of Babur,
born in Kabul in 1508.

The second Mughal emperor
was famously superstitious.

He is said to have never entered
a room left foot first.

His name meant "Lucky", but,
in fact, he was anything but.

And he didn't share his father's
warrior genes either.

Humayun was a lover, apparently,

of sensuality, poetry
and wine and opium.

Which was not what was required
to conquer new territory.

He was exiled to Persia,
where he remained until 1555.

He returned here to Delhi,
was crowned king,

only to die six months later.

The story is that Humayun was
descending steps in his library

when he heard the call to prayer,
stopped,

and got his foot caught in his robes
and tumbled down the steps,

dashing his head on the stone.

And these steps are said to be extra
steep in memory of that tragedy.

His reign may have been short,
but by building this tomb,

Humayun's widow, Hamida Begum,
made sure it was never forgotten.

When it was done, here was this
extraordinary, magnificent monument,

with his body in the centre,
with the face turned towards Mecca.

The architect chosen for the tomb
was from Persia.

And the high double dome
and arched alcoves

are both distinctive elements
from Persian architecture.

The Indian style appears in the
smaller domes, or chooks,

that adorn the roof.

The Mughals revered their
ancestral Persian culture.

And the Persian language
was spoken widely at court.

It is one of the roots
of modern Urdu.

The Urdu term for a paradise garden
is charbagh,

meaning a garden divided into four,

and is almost identical
to the Persian, chahar bagh.

The size and grandeur
of Humayun's tomb

is matched by the scale
of the garden it sits in.

Divided into four quarters,
with four channels of water,

that appear to meet
beneath the tomb,

it's reminiscent
of the Koranic teaching

that the Paradise Garden is
one under which rivers flow.

Akshay Kaul is a landscape architect

and specialist in gardens
of the Mughal Empire.

Let's begin with talking
about the Mughals themselves.

What were they like as a people,
as a culture?

They brought in poetry,
they brought in architecture,

they brought in different ways
of ruling the country.

They brought with them
these charbagh gardens.

Were there gardens here before?

There was no geometry, no order,
no symmetry.

And they were not really
pleasure gardens.

Even the notion of an enclosed
garden, as such, wasn't there.

So, when Babur came with his
gardens, with a new style of garden,

which seems very settled
and grand and ordered,

was this very novel in this culture?

Completely.

To what extent has the garden
changed over the years?

How would it have looked
in its heyday?

The green area that you see
would never be lawns.

They would be much more sunken,
way down.

And there would have been
Jasmines everywhere.

Or there would have been
scented fruits.

So, the idea was, as you're walking,
you're smelling them,

you're almost at that height.

So the whiff of the air,

which would move with the water
in these dusty lands.

Today, most of the fruit trees have
been replaced with larger varieties,

planted at ground level.

And there are other
differences, too.

Would they have used hedges?

We see these clipped hedges around,
is that a Mughal feature?

Definitely not. No.

These hedges or, you know,
boundaries or lawns,

they're never part
of the Mughal vocabulary.

So, did they bring actual gardening
skills, too? I think so. Yeah?

Yeah. I think they brought it with
them from the gardens in Persia.

And also, they were very familiar
with what they had planted there.

So they were constantly trying
to bring those plants in here.

Right. So, it was recreating
the gardens of their homeland?

Yeah. I think that's true with
every culture, you know?

You want a part of your home,
wherever you are.

And the British were no exception.

The great sweeps of lawn
and the large trees

were introduced by the British.

Of course, it's absolutely
out of tune and sympathy

with the paradise garden
that was originally created.

But it has now become the
accepted face of the gardens.

And while today we may be thankful

for these large trees
in the blistering heat,

that isn't where the Mughals
looked for their shade.

Where these geometric sections
cross and meet,

you find these raised platforms.

And a lot of them have now
got trees in them.

But they were originally
intended for tents.

And they were more than just
a shelter on a hot day.

This is where they lived.

This is where government
was conducted.

It's where you enjoyed your gardens,

where you ate and very often
where you slept.

So, you must imagine this garden
as a kind of tented city.

There would be dozens of them.

And beyond, unimpeded by any trees,

you could see the tomb and all
the buildings in their glory.

This meant that,

unlike the reverential stillness of
our own cemeteries and churchyards,

the tomb garden
was filled with life.

Now, this is the oldest tomb
garden...

..and one of the best preserved.

But it is not the most famous.

So, that's where I'm going next.

For long periods, Agra was the
capital of the Mughal Empire

and enjoyed unrivalled power
and prosperity.

And it is here that you will find
the Taj Mahal.

The doors open every day
at the exact moment of sunrise.

I'm told that the gates open at
6:16, not 6:15, but precisely 6:16.

So, I set my alarm for 4:25
to get here,

which did seem very early
and it was pitch-black.

And I rather thought
when I got here,

I might have the place to myself
and I could wander around.

But that was shattered
as soon as I realised

I was at the end
of quite a long queue.

But I made some new friends
to help me pass the time.

Finally, after much checking of
papers and bags, we are allowed in.

As you approach the Taj,

everything is the familiar,
lovely peach-coloured sandstone.

But then, as you peer
through the gate,

there is that incredible
marble building.

And this morning,
it's almost silvery.

The Taj Mahal is not just one of
the most famous tombs in the world,

it is one of the world's
most iconic buildings.

It was commissioned in 1632
by the Mughal ruler Shah Jahan

for his favourite wife, Mumtaz.

She had died the year before,
aged 39,

giving birth to their 14th child.

Shah Jahan was distraught with grief
and set about constructing her tomb

as the greatest building
the world had ever seen.

It was to be no less than an earthly
replica of the house and garden

that Mumtaz now occupied
in paradise.

And it is the beauty
of that love story

that brings people to this
tomb garden in their millions.

The white marble mausoleum
is covered with flowers

and verses from the Koran

and took 20,000 workers
over 20 years to complete.

But the mausoleum is not the only
special feature of the Taj.

I wonder how many people realise
that it is set in a garden.

A garden that was made
as the stones were being laid

and which is just as important, in
its own way, as the tomb itself.

In the Mughal era, this huge garden
was a typical charbagh,

with fruit trees and flowers
planted in deeply sunken beds.

So, the garden we see today
looks very different

to the one made at the same time
as the building.

That central view of the Taj,
the first hit as you walk in,

is so burned into our iconography
of the place,

that, actually, it's easy
to overlook the fact

that it was intended to be viewed
from everywhere.

So, for example, here
from this platform,

the planting would not have risen
any higher than it.

And that would mean that none
of these trees would be here.

And that, instead of being obscured
by the trees, I would be able to see

this wonderful marble vision,

floating above the paradise
garden all around it.

Shah Jahan only had access
to the Taj for a few years

before he was imprisoned by his son,
Aurangzeb, in 1658.

In the following centuries,

control of Agra passed
between different kingdoms.

And by the middle of the 19th
century, the British had taken over.

The gardens of the Taj had become a
tangle of bushes and tall trees.

But at the beginning
of the 20th century,

the viceroy Lord Curzon
swept all this away

and replaced it with lawns
and specimen trees,

giving it the appearance
of an English country park.

The story of the Taj
does not end here.

On the other side of the Yamuna
river, a ruin was discovered.

There had been rumours that this
was the site of a black Taj,

built as a mausoleum
for Shah Jahan himself.

But in the early 1990s,

an archaeological dig revealed this
to be another garden.

The Mehtab Bagh,
or Moonlight Garden,

was the exclusive domain
of the emperor,

where he could enjoy views
of the Taj across the river

in the velvety warmth of night.

When the fragrance of blossom
would be at its strongest

and white flowers glow
in the moonlight.

And what the modern excavations
uncovered at the Mehtab Bagh

have completely challenged our
perception of the Taj Mahal.

Professor Priyaleen Singh's research

is key to understanding the Taj
in its entirety.

Is it fair to say that...

..this is as much part of the
whole garden as the rest of it?

Or is this a separate
piece of garden?

No, this is very much part
of the Taj Mahal complex

because the Taj would sit
in the centre

and you would have a garden
on either side.

Scholars, until very recently,
have tried to rationalise

that the tomb shifted to the edge
of the garden.

But actually, if you look at Mehtab
Bagh and you look at the Taj,

you'll find that the Taj
is sitting right in the centre.

Right in the middle. Yeah.

Professor Singh's plans show how the
emperor would have used the garden.

He would have entered
from the gateway

and then as he progressed,

suddenly then the Taj would get
framed by this pavilion over here.

And then he would walk around.

Shah Jahan would sit at the edge of
the river in one of the pavilions,

the ruins of which
we can still see there,

and then he would see the reflection
of the Taj in this river.

It would have been magical
on a moonlit night, you know,

with the song of the nightingale

and with the fragrance
of all the Jasmines and all.

The discovery of the Mehtab Bagh

was one of the great
sort of horticultural events

of the last 20 years or more.

Because it's doubled the size
of the garden of the Taj,

changed the way we thought about it
and also it completes

this extraordinary story of this man
who was still mourning his wife,

gazing at this fantastic monument
that he had built

as the light of the moon
played on the marble.

Even in their much altered
and unrestored condition,

I think that the gardens
of the Mehtab Bagh

and the Taj Mahal put together

form one of the really important
gardens of the world.

From Babur onwards,

the Mughals would always have sat
on carpets in their gardens,

woven with a cornucopia
of spring flowers and fruits.

Winter, when they brought
them indoors,

they would bring their gardens
with them.

So carpets and gardens were,
for them, inextricably linked.

And it was Akbar, Babur's grandson,

who brought this craft to India
and set up workshops here.

And they're still going today,
so I'm going to visit one.

The owner, Sanjay Kaura,
shows me round.

Do you have an example
of the type of thing

that Akbar would have
introduced from Persia? Oh, yes.

Wow.

So all the rugs that have
a centre medallion to them,

these are of the Persian origin.

Persian rugs. So this is very,
very finely done.

Very intricate floral details.

Just in this small flower

there would be about 12 to 14
different colours.

What would they have
been made out of?

Fine goat wool,
popularly known as pashmina.

Oh, pashmina. God, that's...
But that is so fine, isn't it?

Yeah. So because rugs of this
quality, they require high-density,

so the wool usage
has to be very fine.

Are you still using pretty much
the same techniques?

Oh, yes. Exactly the same
as it was done in the old days.

As the buildings and palaces
of the Mughals

replaced their more modest tents
and pavilions,

the minutely detailed designs
of Persian rugs

began to feel too small,

and a new bolder style
came into fashion.

So then we develop patterns
which were bigger flowers.

Which would hold their own
in a big space. Big space.

How long would it take for you
to make a rug like that?

Four to four and a half months.

So that is a lot of work, isn't it?

Later, the carpets began to take
designs directly from the Taj.

The flowers on the walls of the
tomb were replicated on the rugs.

And I love the fact
that these carpets today

are made exactly as they were
for the Mughal emperors

as they sat enjoying the delights
of their paradise gardens.

Whilst the tomb gardens made
their distinct contribution,

they were not the only type that
reflect the Mughal influence.

So on my way to Jaipur

I'm stopping off to see a garden
of a very different kind.

It's called Samode,

and it is a pleasure garden made
at the end of the Mughal era.

And immediately you
see similarities.

There's water flowing in a channel
outside the house

and it comes to a pool.

But the pool is filled
with lotus flowers.

In tomb gardens, water is such
a powerful symbol of life

that it's never combined
with plants.

But here in this pleasure garden

it's comfortably cluttered
with plants.

The 20 acres of the
Samode gardens

were originally made in the middle
of the 18th century

as the private retreat
of the Samode royal family,

and it remained so until 20 odd
years ago when it became a hotel.

What is immediately apparent to me
is a kind of energy,

and that comes from the water
and the play of the fountains

and the size of the trees.

But this energy is very different
to that of the tomb gardens,

which have elegance and respect
and decorum.

This is playful.

The planting in the beds
is evidence of that.

Shrubs, small trees and flowers
are all muddled together.

And this fulsome planting
is more historically accurate

than the sweeping lawns that have
been inserted into the tomb gardens.

Mind you, there is one element here
that does seem more suited

to a 1960s British back garden
than the Mughal Empire.

I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking crazy paving?!

Really?! Is that accurate?

Well, the answer is yes.

Because apparently this style
of paving, of random stones,

is part of a long-standing
Rajasthan tradition.

The energy of this garden doesn't
detract from the fact that,

like all paradise gardens,

it was intended above all
as a place of contemplation.

To sit here and hear
the birds roosting...

..and to let my mind be still,

I think is tapping into the core
of the paradise garden.

And to have the playfulness
and the entertainment as well

means that this garden works
on lots of levels.

I like it a lot.

One of the features of the
Mughal conquest of India

was their tolerance of other
religions and rulers.

However, without always forcibly
imposing themselves,

their influence spread
in many different ways.

I've left the Islamic Mughal world

and come to the Amer Fort,
just to the north of Jaipur,

base of powerful Hindu Rajputs.

Arriving by elephant
is the most appropriate way

to visit the Amer Fort
because this is how the Raja

would have arrived and his guests,

all sitting in the most
extraordinary fashion

on the back of these
glorious beasts.

There has been a settlement on this
site since the tenth century,

but the Amer Fort that we see today
dates from the 16th century

and was the Palace of the
Rajput King, Man Singh.

As I make my slow
but stately entrance,

women are picking blossom
for garlands.

Thank you.

Inside the gate, the walls
of the palace are decorated

with exquisite details
of flowers and trees.

This is the Ganesh gate.

And Ganesh is the elephant god
which clears obstructions.

So he's often placed above
a gateway or an entrance

to make sure that the
passageway through is easy.

But as you look closer,

you can't help but notice that the
palace is laced with Mughal design.

The fort is actually a combination
of local Rajput Hindi architecture

with classic Mughal style.

This is perhaps most evident of all
in its gardens.

And right at the heart of the palace
is the private Mughal garden

that brings together both
Islamic and Hindi features.

The Mughal garden lies in the centre
of a living complex.

It was made in the middle
of the 17th century.

It's fascinating to me
for two reasons.

The first is that it is
so clearly designed

to be looked at and not walked on.

The paths, such as they are,
are too narrow and uninviting.

And the second thing,
which is really interesting,

is the presence and use of hexagon.

Now, these were not Mughal shapes.

These are Hindu shapes,

and they create triangles
on the indices between them.

Again, that's a Hindu thing,
not a Mughal thing.

So what we're seeing here
by the mid-17th century,

the same period almost exactly
as the Taj Mahal,

is a real convergence of
Mughal influences and Rajput.

The Mughals didn't just tolerate
the Rajputs, but married them.

Man Singh's daughter
married a son of Shah Jahan,

whilst in 1562, Akbar himself wed
a Rajput princess from Amer.

This interweaving
of family and state

encouraged the merging of cultures
and that is evident throughout.

From right up here
at the top of the fort,

you get a perfect bird's eye view of
the Saffron Garden, or Kesar Kyari,

looking like a Persian carpet
laid out above the water.

It's called the Saffron Garden

because apparently it was originally
entirely planted with saffron,

which is incredibly rare
and also has wonderful scent,

and the fragrance would be
blown by the east wind

and carried up to the top of
the fort, where the harem was,

so the women could enjoy
that luxury.

At least, that's the story.

But the inconvenient
horticultural truth

is that the saffron crocus
needs plenty of moisture

and can't survive in the extreme
drought and heat of Rajasthan.

That planting never happened.

The legend and the name stuck.

The truth is that, however
wonderful this looks from on high,

it doesn't bear much
close inspection.

It's planted up at the moment
with a euphorbia,

there's a euphorbia
from Madagascar called milii.

And, whilst they are colourful,

it's very spiny and thorny,
and it's a real desert plant.

And that seems to be at odds

with the whole sensuous quality
of pleasure gardens.

How one longs for that
idea of saffron.

The gardens of Amer Fort

are evidence of Mughal culture
spreading beyond its own court.

And, while some gardens
fell into decline elsewhere,

elements of their design
lived on here.

I've come back to Delhi, and
it's nearly time to travel on.

But, before I go, I want to see
what influence, if any,

these Mughal gardens have had
on modern India.

Has the spirit of their gardens
or the love of gardening survived?

I've come to the Sunder Nursery.

From 1912, the British used the land
for raising shrubs and trees

as part of the great rebuilding
of New Delhi.

But its earlier incarnation was
as a Mughal garden known as

the Azim Bagh, or great garden.

It's been recently restored with
a Persian-inspired carpet garden

at its core, but the
nursery still remains,

and the whole space is now an
unlikely but charming mixture

of a grand Mughal landscape
and a local garden centre.

You are the gardener in charge?

Yes, yes. How big is your nursery?

It is...about 75 acres.

75 acres? Acres.

That's big.
How many people work here?

Near about 300 person.

300 people working here.

And do you sell mainly to private
gardeners,

or big orders to firms
and contracts?

Anybody come, anybody take.

OK. No reserve.
First come, first served.

When I visit nurseries
in other countries,

it's the small differences
that I find so interesting.

These rows of terracotta pots -
you would never see that in the UK.

Also, you have lots of herbs
and culinary plants.

And there is a real sense that
these are loved plants.

And it's fascinating to see
what people are buying.

Excuse me, sir.
What have you bought there?

Well, this is a curry plant,
and it's used in cooking,

for cooking purposes.
Are you the cook in your household?

Yeah, at times, and I need them.

And do you enjoy the process
of gardening?

Oh, that's wonderful.

It's not only my hobby,
but I am a surgeon here in Delhi.

It's also my de-stressing activity.

Wow. I just love doing gardening.

What do you particularly
like to grow?

Again, this season, I'd love
to have pansy, petunia...

Right. And are you good
at growing flowers?

About 60% of the plants,
they survive.

I do not know that I am...
That's pretty good!

That's pretty good, by my standards,
I think!

After seeing so many historical
gardens,

it's lovely to get to the
nuts and bolts,

get behind the scenes and see a
real garden working.

And there is a magic about
a well-ordered nursery that,

if you love plants and gardening,
never fails to work.

Any time spent in India is
exhilarating and exhausting in equal
measure.

It's really expanded my
idea of paradise gardens,

and fascinating, the way that
they have affected Indian culture

and embraced it at the same time.

Back at home,

our gardens have absorbed these
influences in all kinds of ways,

and all kinds of gardens, too.

Having travelled halfway across
the world, I've now come home,

but to rather a special home,
because this is Highgrove,

the home of the Prince of Wales.

But I'm here because, in 2000,

he decided that he would like
a garden created,

inspired by a pair
of Turkish rugs that he owned.

The Islamic garden expert and
designer Emma Clark

was one of the team
behind this project.

Yeah, gosh.

What I'm struck, when you come in,

is how it does feel like walking

into a courtyard in Marrakech,
or...

Yes, well, that's one of the ideas,
is that it is a kind of sanctuary.

The Prince of Wales's carpet garden

is one of Britain's first
charbaghs, or paradise gardens.

The garden started life at
the Chelsea Flower Show in 2001,

and then was transferred
to Highgrove.

And whilst it retains
its original layout,

it has evolved over the years.

I'm sure this has changed.

In what ways?

It's changed hugely.
It's a bigger site,

and the planting has changed a lot.

At the time, we were trying to
create something which much more
spoke of...

..the Islamic garden,

because we knew, at Chelsea, that
it's theatre and it's for a week.

The local climate has forced
some of the changes.

There are plants found in a
conventional Persian garden

that wouldn't be at all happy
in a Cotswold winter.

There are very few plants here
that you would find

in the sort of traditional
charbagh in the Middle East.

Yes. You walk in
and you see clematis...

..which you're never going to see.

But I like the hardy geranium
and the pelargoniums.

I mean, the fact that we are into
South Africa,

and South America for the fuchsia...

The verbena, also.
And the verbena, yes, exactly.

I don't think that matters, do you?

No, I don't.
The Islamic world is large.

It exists in different climates and
environments, different planting,

but there's always an
underlying unity of spirit.

So, at what point...

..does one depart so much
that it becomes something else?

It's inspired by Islamic
design principles,

and that is the hard landscaping.

Right. We have the central fountain,
which is beautiful in any climate,

and you've got four rills

coming down from the corners,

representing the four
rivers of paradise,

so I think we have
a beautiful marriage

between England
and the Islamic world.

I think the really interesting thing
about this carpet garden

is how it has been
adapted and personalised,

both to this particular location
and to the UK in general.

And it does show that,

if you have the basic principles
of the paradise garden,

you can allow it to flex and
bend according to different
circumstances,

and it doesn't matter whether that
is in the desert or here in Britain.

The enclosed nature of the Prince's
carpet garden

reproduces the seclusion of
a courtyard in the Islamic world.

Yet the essential elements for a
paradise garden

can be expressed in many forms
and, before I end this journey,

I want to look at the ways that
they've been made in this country

in some very different settings.

I've come north to Bradford,
a city more famous

for its industrial past
than its modern gardens.

I'm visiting what was the
former home of Lord Masham,

a local mill owner, who at
the end of the 19th-century

sold his mansion and 50 acres
of land to the City Council

for half its value on the
condition that the grounds

became a public park and that
the house would be rebuilt

as an art gallery.

And this is the result.

At first, this does seem a
very unlikely setting

for a paradise garden.

But 20 years ago, money was raised
from the National Lottery

to create a Mughal garden.

This is appropriate, because
Bradford has one of the largest

Muslim populations of
any part of the UK.

The site chosen for the garden
was formerly a car park.

But what is now present has all the
recognisable

elements of the Mughal gardens
of the Indian subcontinent.

But it also has a very distinctively
British flavour, too.

The garden is divided by
a network of broad paths,

water channels and pools.

Whilst it's simpler and noticeably
greener than the tomb gardens

I saw in India, it still has
the same harmonious atmosphere

of peace and tranquillity.

The local imam, Idris Watts, tells
me how the community use the garden.

You see people here, families,

and you see the children
playing in the water,

and different communities
come and mix together.

We've got people come here
just in the mornings,

to sit and contemplate.

We have people come
for wedding photos,

I in fact got married in Bradford,

and I had my wedding photos
taken here.

Of course, water is the key element
you'll find in any Islamic garden.

Yup. Whereas, with great respect
to this part of the world,

water is not particularly
in shortfall, is it?

No. Are people aware of
that significance?

Or do you think that's been lost?

No, I think it's... I mean,

water has a great significance in
the Koranic scripture,

it talks about everything's
created from water.

And there's a huge play on
the flowing of water.

So this water, which is pumped
round and round, isn't it,

keeping the flow going? Yeah.

You've got a very large Muslim
community here in Bradford. Yes.

Do you think that this resonates
with them particularly?

What's so beautiful
about this garden

is that it's using the
Yorkshire stone, as well,

so it sort of brings together
all the beauty of the local

community, and also the
contribution of the subcontinent.

And so it's a great message, really,

for Bradford to show that we can
really harmonise these traditions,

and they're not in conflict
with one another.

Although the essential elements for
a paradise garden remain constant,

wherever I have travelled,
I've seen how they are reinterpreted

according to different
situations and cultures.

When this garden is empty,

particularly if the light
is a bit grey,

it can look a bit flat,
a bit dead, even.

But as soon as it fills up
with people,

then you have children running
around and playing,

and people naturally
drawn to the water,

then it becomes alive,
and it's that that gives it

the richness that is missing.

And it is as though
we have taken an idea

but, perhaps unconsciously,

adapted it to the very specific
needs of our civilisation,

our century and even
specifically this place.

My final garden is rather different.

For a start, this isn't really
a paradise garden at all,

but one more synonymous with
the English countryside.

Hestercombe House, just
outside Taunton in Somerset,

was the home of Lord and Lady
Portman, and in 1903,

they commissioned Edwin Lutyens
to create a new formal garden.

Lutyens was to become one of the
most famous architects of the 20th
century,

and he worked in partnership
with Gertrude Jekyll,

who oversaw the planting.

The result is recognised as
one of Britain's great gardens.

But despite its Edwardian provenance
and its very English rural setting,

I think this garden is filled with
the influence of Islamic design.

The architect Edwin Lutyens has
created a garden

which is redolent with those
influences.

These rills, narrow and straight
and leading the eye forward,

following the lines of the water,
are drawn as much from

the gardens of Andalusia
as they are from the Dutch

and the French gardens
that preceded them.

And the way that he's used stones
across the rills,

which breaks up the reflection,
adds texture to it,

and that's identical to the way
that in Persian gardens,

water was broken and moulded and
shaped as it moved along.

The bones of Lutyens' garden

is made from paradise.

And once you start looking,

you see these influences everywhere,

even in what is seemingly the most
conventionally English of gardens.

The huge, central plat is deeply
sunk and looked down upon

from the walkways around it,

just like the sunken beds
of a paradise garden.

And another example is Lutyens'
use of grass.

If you think about it,
grass here is clear,

it's unbroken by planting.

A strip like this, which is
neither lawn nor path, really,

actually serves in exactly
the same way as a strip of water,

clear and unbroken, does in
so many of the paradise gardens.

Lutyens was to go on and do a
great deal of work in India,

but even at this early stage,
the Islamic influence is clear.

Claire Greenslade is Hestercombe's
head gardener,

and I asked her about
Lutyens' design.

Clare, we've got a plan here, tell
me what it's of. Let me have a look.

So, this is a plan of the rill
that we're looking at here,

the east rill, which shows Lutyens'
stonework going all the way along,

all the way along here,
mixed with Jekyll's planting.

The thing that strikes me from that
is how graphic it is on the ground.

A lot of the parts of the garden
that Lutyens has designed,

when you look at his original
designs, they're really true.

You probably know this garden
better than anyone.

What makes it unique?

I think it's the Lutyens hand.

The structure's so important.

It's the sharp lines, it's
the grass, it's the edges,

it's quite theatrical.

In the winter, you really get
to see the bare bones of Lutyens.

And it means that even when there's
nothing flowering, it's still...

It still takes your breath away.

The paradise gardens that I've
visited across the world

have all had this combination
of wonder and delight.

Whether it be the stately
tomb gardens of India...

..grandeur of the Alhambra...

..or the lush calm of a
courtyard garden in Marrakech.

And all these gardens have not
just been beautiful and dramatic,

but also filled with
symbolism and meaning.

With their constant elements
of water and shade and greenery,

they all stay true to the one
underlying idea

of a vision of paradise on earth.

However exotic these
gardens have been,

however rich the experience
of visiting,

the thought that remains
strongest...

..is the influence that they've
had right across the world,

including our own gardens.