Akbar: An Eastern Romance
by P. A. S. van Limburg Brouwer · English · Gutenberg #40155 · 503,453 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Akbar: An Eastern Romance
Author: P. A. S. van Limburg Brouwer
Editor: Sir Clements R. Markham
Translator: M. M.
Release date: July 7, 2012 [eBook #40155]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AKBAR: AN EASTERN ROMANCE ***
AKBAR.
AN EASTERN ROMANCE.
By
Dr. P. A. S. VAN LIMBURG-BROUWER.
Translated from the Dutch by
M. M.
With notes and an introductory life of the Emperor Akbar,
By
Clements R. Markham. C.B., F.R.S.
London:
W. H. Allen & Co., 13 Waterloo Place.
Publishers to the India Office.
1879.
INTRODUCTORY LIFE OF AKBAR.
The object of the Romance which is now presented to English readers,
in a translated form, is to convey a generally accurate idea of the
court of Akbar, the greatest and best native ruler that ever held sway
over Hindustan. The author, Dr. Van Limburg-Brouwer, was an oriental
scholar, who strove, by this means, to impart to others the knowledge
he had himself acquired, through the study of contemporary writers,
of the thoughts and habits of the great Emperor, and of the manners
and civilization of those who surrounded him.
If he has attained any measure of success in this attempt, his labours
will certainly have been useful, and his work deserves translation. For
on Englishmen, more than on any other people, is a knowledge of so
important a period of Indian history incumbent. This romance of Akbar
is, it is true, but a sketch, and is only intended to excite interest
in the subject. But if it has that effect, and leads to further inquiry
and research, it will secure the object with which it was written,
and will have done useful service.
"Akbar, an Eastern Romance," ("Akbar, een Oostersche Roman,") was
first published in Dutch, at the Hague, in 1872, the year before
the author's death. [1] A German translation appeared at Leipzig in
1877. [2] A native of Holland might not unnaturally undertake such
a work, for the best European contemporary account of the reign of
Akbar was written by a Dutchman, Pieter Van den Broeck. [3]
Students of Indian history are looking forward to the publication
of the Life of Akbar by Prince Frederick of Schleswig Holstein. A
really good biography of so great a ruler will be a work of the highest
importance, and the Prince's proved literary skill [4] and thoroughness
in research justify the anticipation that his Life of Akbar will be
worthy of the subject. The romance by Van Limburg-Brouwer, in its
English dress, will answer its purpose if it gives rise to a desire
for more full and complete information in a graver form, and thus
serves as an avant courier to the life of Akbar by Prince Frederick.
The epoch of Akbar is the one of greatest importance to English
students of the history of India, for two reasons. It is the period
when administration under native rule was best and most efficient,
and it is, consequently, the one with which a comparison with British
rule should be made. It is also the period of which the most detailed
and exact accounts have been written and preserved; so that such a
comparison will be reliable and useful.
A brief introductory notice of the great Emperor's life may, perhaps,
be acceptable to readers of Van Limburg-Brouwer's historical
romance. Akbar was the third Indian sovereign of the House of
Timur. Hindustan had been ruled by Afghans for two centuries and
a half [5] when Baber crossed the Indus and founded the Mughal [6]
Empire in 1525. Baber died in the Charbagh at Agra, on December 26th,
1530, and his son and successor, Humayun, was defeated and driven
out of India by the able and determined Afghan chief, Shir Shah,
in 1540. Shir Shah died on the throne, and was succeeded by a son
and grandson, while Humayun took refuge with Tahmasp, the Shah of
Persia. The restored Afghans kept their power for fifteen years.
The story of Humayun's flight is told by his faithful ewer bearer,
named Jauhar, who accompanied him in his exile. [7]
Jauhar tells us that, in October 1542, a little party of seven or
eight horsemen and a few camels was wearily journeying over the sandy
wastes of Sind, worn out with fatigue, and famished with thirst. The
fugitive Prince Humayun, his wife the youthful Hamida, [8] the ewer
bearer Jauhar, an officer named Rushen Beg, and a few others, formed
the party. Extreme misery had destroyed alike the differences of rank
and the power of concealing the true character. When Rushen's horse was
worn out, he insisted upon taking one which he had lent to the Queen,
a young girl of fifteen within a few days of her confinement. Humayun
gave his own horse to his wife, walked some distance, and then got
on a baggage camel. A few hours afterwards the forlorn wanderers
entered the fort of Amarkot, near Tatta, which is surrounded by a
dreary waste of sand-hills. Here, under the shade of an arka tree,
[9] young Hamida gave birth to a prince, who afterwards became the most
enlightened thinker, and the ablest administrator of his age. Akbar was
born on the 14th of October 1542. Jauhar, by Humayun's order, brought
a pod of musk, which the fugitive king broke and distributed among his
followers, saying, "This is all the present I can afford to make you
on the birth of my son, whose fame, I trust, will one day be expanded
all over the world, as the perfume of the musk now fills this room."
The fugitives then fled up the Bolan Pass, and the little Akbar
remained for some time in the hands of his turbulent uncles at
Kandahar and Kabul, while his parents took refuge at the court of
Persia. Then the wheel of fortune turned. Assisted by Bairam Khan,
a very able general and a native of Badakshan, Humayun fought his way
back into military possession of Lahore and Delhi, and died in 1556,
leaving his inheritance, such as it was, to his young son.
At the time of his father's death, Akbar was only in his fifteenth
year. He was then in the Punjab, with Bairam Khan, putting down
the last efforts of the Afghan faction. Bairam Khan became Regent,
and remained in power until 1560, when the young King assumed the
sovereignty.
In order to appreciate the full extent of Akbar's achievements,
it must be considered that he had to conquer his dominions first,
before he could even think of those great administrative improvements
which signalized the latter part of his life and immortalized his
name. In his first year he possessed the Punjab, and the country round
Delhi and Agra; in the third year he acquired Ajmir; in the fourth,
Gwalior and Oudh; and in 1572 he conquered Gujrat, Bengal, and Bihar;
but it took several years before order could be established in those
countries. Orissa was annexed to Akbar's empire in 1578, by Todar
Mall, who made a revenue survey of the province in 1582. In 1581
Kabul submitted, and was placed under the rule of Akbar's brother,
Mirza Hakim. Kashmir was annexed in 1586, [10] Sind in 1592, and in
1594 Kandahar was recovered from the Persians. In 1595 Akbar commenced
a long war with the Muhammadan Kings of the Dakhin, ending in the
acquisition of Berar. These wars, which were spread over nearly the
whole of Akbar's reign, need not further engage our attention. But in
contemplating the reforms of this admirable prince, it must be borne in
mind that their merit is enhanced by the fact that most of them were
effected during troublous times, and at periods when there must have
been great pressure on his finances. He was a renowned warrior, skilled
in all warlike exercises, and an able and successful general. But
it is not these qualities which raise Akbar so far above the common
herd of rulers. His greatness consists in his enlightened toleration,
in his love of learning, in his justice and magnanimity, and in the
success with which he administered a vast empire. The excellence of
his instruments is one striking proof of his capacity and genius.
The commencement of Akbar's intellectual revolution dates from the
introduction to him of Faizi and Abú-l Fazl, the illustrious sons
of Mubarak. Their father, Shaikh Mubarak, traced his descent from an
Arabian dervish, of Yemen, who settled in Sind. The Shaikh was a man
of genius and great learning, and, having established himself at Agra,
gave his two sons excellent educations. Faizi, the eldest, was born
in 1545. He first went to court in 1568, at the age of twenty-three,
and soon became the Emperor's constant companion and friend. In 1589
he was made Poet Laureate, and he was employed on several diplomatic
missions. He was a man of profound learning and original genius. He
was loved by the Emperor, who was thrown into the deepest grief at
his death, which took place at the age of fifty, on October 5th,
1595. "Shaikh Jío," he exclaimed, "I have brought Hakim Ali with me,
will you not speak to me?" Getting no answer, in his grief he threw
his turban on the ground, and wept aloud.
Shaikh Abú-l Fazl, called Allami, the younger son of Mubarak, was born
on January 14th, 1551, at Agra. He zealously studied under the care
of his father; and in his seventeenth year, towards the end of 1574,
he was presented to the Emperor Akbar by his brother Faizi.
Owing to the birth of his eldest surviving son Salim, at Sikri, in
1570, Akbar had made that place a royal abode. He built a palace and
other splendid edifices there, and it became one of his favourite
places of residence. It was called Fathpúr Sikri. Thither Akbar
went after his campaign in Bihar in 1574, and there his intimacy
with Abú-l Fazl commenced. It was at this time that the memorable
Thursday evening discussions began. Akbar's resolution was to rule
with even hand men of all creeds in his dominions, and he was annoyed
by the intolerance and casuistry of the Ulamas or learned men of the
predominant religion. He himself said, "I have seen that God bestows
the blessings of His gracious providence upon all His creatures
without distinction. Ill should I discharge the duties of my station
were I to withhold my indulgence from any of those committed to my
charge." But he invited the opinions of others on religious points,
and hence these discussions arose. Akbar caused a building to be
erected in the royal garden of Fathpúr Sikri for the learned men,
consisting of four halls, called aiwán, where he passed one night in
the week in their company. The western hall was set apart for Seyyids,
the south for Ulamas, the north for Shaikhs, and the east for nobles
and others whose tastes were in unison with those of the Emperor. The
building was called Ibadat-Khana, and here discussions were carried
on, upon all kinds of instructive and useful topics.
Besides Faizi and Abú-l Fazl, there were many learned men in constant
attendance on the Emperor. Their father, Shaikh Mubarak, was a poet,
and a profound scholar. Mulla Abdul Kadir, called El Badauni, was born
at Badaun, in 1540, and studied music, astronomy, and history. He
was employed to translate Arabic and Sanscrit works into Persian;
but he was a fanatical Muhammadan, and in his "Tarikh-i Badauni,"
a history brought down to 1595, he always speaks of Faizi and Abú-l
Fazl as heretics, and all references to the speculations of Akbar
and his friends are couched in bitter and sarcastic terms. He,
however, temporized, and did not allow his religion to interfere
with his worldly interests. His history contains much original
matter. He also translated the great Hindu epic "Mahabharata"
in 1582, and the "Ramayana" between 1583 and 1591. Of the former
poem he says, "At its puerile absurdities the eighteen thousand
creations may well be amazed. But such is my fate, to be employed
on such works! Nevertheless, I console myself with the reflection
that what is predestined must come to pass." The Khwaja Nizamu-d din
Ahmad was another historian of Akbar's court. He also was a good,
but not a bitter Musalman. His "Tabakat-i Akbari" is a history of the
Muhammadan Kings of Hindustan from Mahmud of Ghazni to the year 1594,
which was that of his own death. Other historians of the reign were
Shaikh Illahdad Faizi Sirhindi, whose "Akbar-nama" comes down to 1602;
Maulana Ahmad, of Tatta, who compiled the "Tarikh-i Alfi," under the
Emperor's own superintendence, and Asad Beg, who related the murder
of Abú-l Fazl and the death of Akbar, bringing his narrative down
to 1608. The greatest settlement officer and financier of Akbar's
court was Todar Mall. There were also poets, musicians, and authors
of commentaries who were encouraged by the liberality of the Emperor.
Professors of all creeds were invited to the court of this enlightened
sovereign, and cordially welcomed. Among these were Maulana Muhammad,
of Yazd, a learned Shiah; Nuruddin Tarkhan, of Jam, in Khurasan,
a mathematician and astronomer; Sufi philosophers, fire-worshippers
from Gujrat, Brahmans, and the Christian missionaries Aquaviva,
Monserrato, and Henriquez.
The Thursday evening meetings at the Ibadat Khana, near the tank
called Anúptalao, in the gardens of Fathpúr Sikri, were commenced in
1574. Akbar was at first annoyed by the intolerance of the Muhammadan
Ulamas, and encouraged the telling of stories against them. Quarrels
were the consequence. On one occasion Akbar said to Badauni, "In future
report to me any one of the assembly whom you find speaking improperly,
and I will have him turned out." Badauni said quietly to his neighbour,
Asaf Khan, "According to this a good many would be expelled." His
Majesty asked what had been said, and when Badauni told him, he was
much amused, and repeated it to those who were near him. Decorum was,
however, enforced after this, and the more bigoted Muhammadans had to
curb their violence. But their feelings were very bitter when they
saw their sovereign gradually adopting opinions which they looked
upon as more and more heretical, and at last embracing a new religion.
El Badauni says that Akbar, encouraged by his friends Faizi and Abú-l
Fazl, gradually lost faith, and that in a few years not a trace of
Muhammadan feeling was left in his heart. He was led into free thinking
by the large number of learned men of all denominations and sects
that came from various countries to his court. Night and day people
did nothing but inquire and investigate. Profound points of science,
the subtleties of revelation, the curiosities of history, the wonders
of nature, were incessantly discussed. His Majesty collected the
opinions of every one, retaining whatever he approved, and rejecting
what was against his disposition, or ran counter to his wishes. Thus
a faith, based on some elementary principles, fixed itself in his
heart; and, as the result of all the influences that were brought to
bear on him, the conviction gradually established itself in his mind
that there were truths in all religions. If some true knowledge was
everywhere to be found, why, he thought, should truth be confined to
one religion? Thus his speculations became bolder. "Not a day passed,"
exclaims El Badauni, "but a new fruit of this loathsome tree ripened
into existence."
At length Akbar established a new religion, which combined
the principal features of Hinduism with the sun-worship of the
Parsís. [11] The good parts of all religions were recognized,
and perfect toleration was established. The new faith was called
Tauhid-i Ilahi, divine monotheism. A document was prepared and signed
by the Ulamas, the draft of which was in the handwriting of Shaikh
Mubarak. The Emperor, as Imam-i Adil (just leader) and Mujtahid, was
declared to be infallible, and superior to all doctors in matters of
faith. [12] Abú-l Fazl was the chief expounder of the new creed.
Had Akbar, as a private individual, avowed the opinions which he formed
as an Emperor, his life would not have been worth a day's purchase;
but in his exalted station he was enabled to practise as a ruler the
doctrines which he held as a philosopher. Or, as Abú-l Fazl puts
it: "When a person in private station unravels the warp and woof
of the veil of deception, and discovers the beautiful countenance
of consistency and truth, he keeps silence from the dread of savage
beasts in human form, who would brand him with the epithets of infidel
and blasphemer, and probably deprive him of life. But when the season
arrives for the revelation of truth, a person is endowed with this
degree of knowledge upon whom God bestows the robes of royalty, such
as is the Emperor of our time." The disputations came to an end in
1579, and Akbar held the new creed to the end of his life.
Meanwhile Akbar's learned men were engaged in compilations and
translations from Arabic and Sanscrit into Persian. The history called
"Tarikh-i Alfi" was to be a narrative of the thousand years of Islam
from the Hijrah to 1592 A.D. Akbar held that Islam would cease
to exist in the latter year, having done its work. The "Tarikh-i
Alfi" was intended to be its epitaph. It was chiefly written by
Maulava Ahmad, of Tatta, but Abú-l Fazl and others assisted. Faizi
translated the Sanscrit mathematical work called "Lilawati"; and,
as has already been said, Badauni, with the aid of others, prepared
translated versions of the two great Hindu epics.
But the most famous literary work of Akbar's reign was the history
written by Abú-l Fazl, in three volumes, called the "Akbar-namah." The
first volume contains a history of the House of Timur down to the
death of Humayun; the second is a record of the reign of Akbar,
from 1556 to 1602; and the third is the "Ain-i Akbari," the great
Administration Report of Akbar's Empire.
The first book of the "Ain-i Akbari" treats of the Emperor, and of his
household and court. Here we are introduced to the royal stables, to
the wardrobe, and kitchens, and to the hunting establishment. We are
initiated into all the arrangements connected with the treasury and
the mint, the armoury, [13] and the travelling equipage. In this book,
too, we learn the rules of court etiquette, and also the ceremonies
instituted by Akbar as the spiritual guide of his people.
The second book gives the details of army administration, the
regulations respecting the feasts, marriage rites, education,
and amusements. This book ends with a list of the Grandees of the
Empire. [14] Their rank is shown by their military commands, as
mansabdars or captains of cavalry. All commands above five thousand
belonged to the Shah-zadahs or Emperor's sons. The total number
of mansabs or military commands was sixty-six. Most of the higher
officers were Persians or Afghans, not Hindustani Muhammadans, and
out of the four hundred and fifteen mansabdars there were fifty-one
Hindus, a large percentage. It was to the policy of Hindu generals
that Akbar owed the permanent annexation of Orissa. [15]
The third book is devoted to regulations for the judicial and executive
departments, the survey and assessment, and the rent-roll of the great
finance minister. The fourth book treats of the social condition and
literary activity of the Hindus; and the fifth contains the moral
and epigrammatic sentences of the Emperor.
It is to the third book, containing the details of the revenue
system, that the modern administrator will turn with the deepest
interest. Early in his reign Akbar remitted or reduced a number of
vexatious taxes. [16] His able revenue officers then proceeded to
introduce a reformed settlement based on the indigenous scheme, as
matured by Shir Shah. The greatest among Akbar's fiscal statesmen was
Todar Mall, who settled Gujrat, Bengal, and Bihar, and introduced the
system of keeping revenue accounts in Persian. Next to him was Nizam
Ahmad, the author of the "Tabakat-i Akbari," who spent his life in
the Emperor's service.
From time immemorial a share in the produce of land has been the
property of the State in all eastern countries. From this source the
main part of the revenue has been raised, and the land tax has always
formed the most just, the most reliable, and the most popular means
of providing for the expenditure of the government. In Muhammadan
countries this land tax is called khiraj, and is of two kinds,
the one mukasimah, when a share of the actual produce was taken,
and the other wazifa, which was due from the land whether there was
any produce or not.
In Hindu times, and before the reign of Akbar, the khiraj in India
was mukasimah. The Emperor's officers adopted the system of wazifa
for good land, and carried the settlement into effect with great
precision and accuracy in each province of his dominions. Bengal and
part of Bihar, Berar, and part of Gujrat, however, appear to have
been assessed according to the value of the crops, the surveys of the
land not being complete. Akbar took one-third of the estimated value,
and he left the option of payment in kind to the farmers, except in
the case of sugar-cane and other expensive crops.
The lands were divided into four classes, with different revenue to
be paid by each, namely:--
1. Land cultivated every harvest, and never fallow.
2. Land lying fallow at intervals.
3. Land lying fallow for four years together.
4. Land not cultivated for five years and upwards.
The principle of wazifa was only applied to the two first of
these classes of land, and to the second only when actually under
cultivation. The lands of these two classes were divided into good,
middling, and bad. The produce of a bigah (5/8 of an acre) of each
sort was added together, and a third of that was considered to be the
average produce. One-third was the share of the State, as settled by
Akbar's assessment. Large remissions were allowed on the two inferior
classes of land. The settlements were for ten years. In about 1596
the land revenue derived from the fifteen subahs or provinces of
Akbar's empire was as follows:--
Rupees. [17]
1. Allahabad 53.10.677
2. Agra 1.36.56.257
3. Oudh 50.43.954
4. Ajmír 71.53.449
5. Gujrat 1.09.20.057
6. Bihar 55.47.985
7. Bengal 1.49.61.482
8. Delhi 1.50.40.388
9. Kabul 80.71.024
10. Lahor 1.39.86.460
11. Multán 96.00.764
12. Malwah 60.17.376
13. Berar 1.73.76.117
14. Khandeish 75.63.237
15. Tattah 16.56.284
------------
14.19.05.511
A later return, referred to by Mr. Thomas, gives Akbar's land revenue
at £16,582,440. Under his grandson, Shah Jahan, it increased to
£22,000,000, and Aurangzib's land revenue, in 1707, was upwards of
£30,000,000. [18]
On an average about a twentieth is deducted for jaghírs, or rent-free
lands, and sayurghals or assignments for charitable purposes.
The "Ain-i Akbari" of Abú-l Fazl is rendered valuable not only by
the varied information it contains, but also by the trustworthiness
of the author. Mr. Blochmann says that Abú-l Fazl has been too often
accused by European writers of flattery, and of wilful concealment
of facts damaging to the reputation of his master. He bears witness
that a study of the "Akbar-namah" has convinced him that the charge is
absolutely unfounded. Abú-l Fazl's love of truth, and his correctness
of information are apparent on every page of his great work.
The last years of the reign of Akbar were clouded with sorrow. His
eldest son, Salim, was dissipated, ungrateful, and rebellious, and
bore special hatred against his father's noble minister. The two
younger sons died early from the effects of drink. "Alas," exclaimed
Abú-l Fazl, "that wine should be burdened with suffering, and that
its sweet nectar should be a deadly poison!" [19]
In 1597 Abú-l Fazl left the court, and went for the first time
on active service in the Dakhin. He had been absent for more than
four years, when the rebellious conduct of Salim, the heir apparent,
induced Akbar to recall his trusty minister. His presence was urgently
needed. Abú-l Fazl hurriedly set out for Agra, only accompanied by
a few men. Salim thought this an excellent opportunity of getting
rid of his father's faithful friend, and bribed Rajah Bir Singh,
a Bundela chief of Urchah, through whose territory he would have to
pass, to waylay him. On the 12th of August 1602, at a distance of a
few miles from Narwar, Bir Singh's men came in sight. The minister
thought it a disgrace to fly, which he might easily have done. He
defended himself bravely, but, pierced by the lance of a trooper, he
fell dead on the ground. The assassin sent the head of Abú-l Fazl to
his employer; and Akbar, with all the diligence of his officers and
troops, was never able to secure and punish the murderer. His own
son was the greater criminal of the two, and in his memoirs Salim
confesses his guilt with unblushing effrontery. [20]
Mr. Blochmann thus sums up the career of Abú-l Fazl. "As a writer
he is unrivalled. Everywhere in India he is known as the great
Munshi. His letters are studied in all Madrasahs, and are perfect
models. His influence on his age was immense. He led his sovereign
to a true appreciation of his duties, and from the moment that he
entered court the problem of successfully ruling over mixed races
was carefully considered, and the policy of toleration was the result."
The great Emperor did not long survive his beloved and faithful
minister. Akbar died on November 10th, 1605, in his sixty-third year,
and was buried in the magnificent tomb at Sikundra, near Agra. There
his bones still rest, and his tomb is treated with all honour and
respect by the present rulers of the land. A new cloth to cover the
actual tomb was presented by the Earl of Northbrook, after his visit
to Sikundra in November 1873, when he was Viceroy of India.
Akbar's wives were Sultana Rajmihal Begum, a daughter of his uncle
Hindal, by whom he had no children; Sultana Sulimah Begum, a daughter
of a daughter of Baber, who was a poetess; Nur Jahan; and the Rajput
Princess Jodh Bai, the mother of Salim.
His children were Hasan and Husain, who died in infancy; Salim,
his successor; Murad and Danyal, who died of drink in the lifetime
of their father, and three daughters.
Akbar is described by his son Salim as a very tall man, with the
strength of a lion, which was indicated by the great breadth
of his chest. His complexion was rather fair (color de trigo
is the description of a Spanish missionary who knew him), his
eyes and eyebrows dark, his countenance handsome. His beard was
close-shaved. His bearing was majestic, and "the qualities of his mind
seemed to raise him above the denizens of this lower world." [21]
The Emperor Akbar combined the thoughtful philosophy of Marcus
Aurelius, the toleration of Julian, the enterprise and daring of his
own grandsire Baber, with the administrative genius of a Monro or a
Thomason. We might search through the dynasties of the East and West
for many centuries back, and fail to discover so grand and noble a
character as that of Akbar. No sovereign has come nearer to the ideal
of a father of his people. [22]
Akbar was the contemporary of Queen Elizabeth. He began to reign two
years before her, and outlived her for two years, but he was nine
years younger than the great Queen. He was succeeded by his son Salim,
under the name of Jahangir, who reigned from 1605 to 1627.
The native sources whence the story of Akbar's glorious reign are
derived, have already been indicated. To a considerable extent they are
accessible in an English form. The translation of the "Ain-i Akbari,"
by Gladwin, was published in 1800, and that of the historian Ferishta,
by General Briggs, in 1829. Elphinstone gives a brief account of
Akbar's reign in his history of India. In 1873 Blochmann's admirable
translation of the two first books of the "Ain-i Akbari" was printed
at Calcutta, for the Asiatic Society of Bengal. The work also contains
many extracts from El Badauni and the "Akbar-namah," and a perfect
mine of accurate and well arranged information from other sources.
In Volumes V. and VI. of the great work edited by Professor Dowson,
[23] the history of Akbar's reign is very fully supplied by extracts
from the "Tabakat-i Akbari," the "Akbar-namah," the "Tarikh-i Badauni,"
the "Tarikh-i Alfi," the work of Shaikh Nurul Hakk, and that of
Asad Beg. Mr. Edward Thomas, F.R.S., has published a most valuable
little book on the revenue system of Akbar and his three immediate
successors. [24]
The slight notices of Akbar by contemporary or nearly contemporary
Europeans are derived from reports of the Jesuit missionaries, from
those of the Dutch at Surat, and from Hakluyt's Voyages. As early as
1578 the Emperor had received a Christian missionary named Antonio
Cabral, at Fathpúr Sikri, had heard him argue with the Mullas, and
had been induced to write to Goa, requesting that two members of the
Society of Jesus might be sent to him with Christian books. In 1579
Rudolf Aquaviva [25] and Antonio Monserrat were accordingly despatched,
with Francisco Henriquez as interpreter. They were well received, and
again in 1591 three brethren visited Akbar's court at Lahore. Finally
a detachment of missionaries was sent to Lahore, at Akbar's request,
in 1594, consisting of Geronimo Xavier (a nephew of St. Francis),
Emanuel Pineiro, a Portuguese, mentioned by Captain Hawkins, [26] and
Benedek Goes, [27] the famous traveller, who went with Akbar on his
summer trip to Kashmir. Xavier and Goes also accompanied the Emperor
in his Dakhin campaign; and when Goes set out on his perilous overland
journey to China, that liberal monarch praised his zeal and contributed
to his expenses. This was in 1602. Xavier celebrated Christmas with
great solemnity at Lahore, and wrote a life of Christ in Persian,
which Akbar read with much interest. Accounts of the visits of these
missionaries to Akbar's court, and of their journeys, are to be found
in the Jesuit Histories. [28]
But the most valuable European account of the reign of Akbar was
written by Pieter van den Broek, the chief of the Dutch factory at
Surat in 1620. It was published, in Latin, by Johan de Laet, and
forms the tenth chapter of his "De Imperio Magni Mogolis" (Leyden,
1631). De Laet calls it "a fragment of Indian history which we have
received from some of our countrymen, and translated from Dutch into
Latin." [29] Mr. Lethbridge has supplied an English version in the
"Calcutta Review" for July 1873. [30]
Ralph Fitch is the only English traveller who has written an account
of a visit to the court of Akbar. [31] Accompanied by Mr. John Newbery,
a jeweller named William Leedes, and James Story, a painter, he reached
the court at Agra with a letter of introduction from Queen Elizabeth,
in the year 1585. Thence Newbery started to return overland. Leedes
entered the service of Akbar, settling at Fathpúr; and Fitch went on
to Bengal, eventually returning home.
Abú-l Fazl tells us, casually, that, through the negligence of the
local officers, some of the cities and marts of Gujrat were frequented
by Europeans. Two centuries and a half after his master's death,
these intruders held undisputed sovereignty not only over the whole of
Akbar's empire, but over all India, a vast dominion which had never
before been united under one rule. They approached from the sea, the
base of their operations is their ships, and not, as in the case of
Akbar's grandsire, the mountains of the north-west frontier.
If the balance of administrative merit is in favour of the English,
and this is not established, it in no way detracts from the glory
of the great Emperor. Yet we may claim that the islanders who now
occupy the place of Akbar are not unworthy to succeed him. The work
that is before us is more prosaic than was the duty of the puissant
sovereign. The charm of one central glory, round which all that was
great and good in India could congregate; the fascination of one ruling
spirit, combining irresistible power with virtue and beneficence;
the pomp and circumstance of a brilliant court--all these are gone
for ever. We have instead the united thought and energy of many sound
heads and brave hearts, working without ostentation, and achieving
objects of a magnitude and endurance such as no single brain of any
despot, how great soever, could even conceive.
"The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils Himself in many ways."
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF THE AUTHOR.
The author of the romance of Akbar, Dr. P. A. S. van Limburg-Brouwer,
was the son of the Professor of Greek at Groningen. He was born
at Liege in 1832, and was a Doctor of Law, residing chiefly at the
Hague, and devoting himself to eastern and other studies. He held an
appointment in the office of the Royal Archives, and was for a short
time a member of the States General for the district of Trenthe.
With reference to his eastern studies, we find them bearing fruit
in the periodical literature of Holland during the last ten years
of his life. In 1863 Van Limburg-Brouwer contributed an essay on the
Ramayana, to the "Gids," a magazine published at Amsterdam. [32] In
1866 a historical sketch from his pen, entitled the "Java Reformers,"
appeared in the same periodical. [33] In 1867 he contributed three
articles, entitled, "The Adventures of an Indian Nobleman"; "The Book
of Kings: an Essay of Indian History"; and "The Vedanta: an Essay on
Indian Orthodoxy." [34] In 1868 he published articles entitled "Eastern
Atheism," and "A Cure for Beauty." [35] His metaphysical drama, "The
Moon of Knowledge," saw the light in 1869. [36] In the following year
he seems to have given his attention to Arabian lore, and published
two articles entitled "Poetry of the Desert," and the "Kabbala." [37]
Towards the end of his life Van Limburg-Brouwer commenced the study
of Chinese, and among the results of his labours in this field of
research was his article on "The Sage of the Celestial Empire, and
his School." [38] He was a man of extensive and varied learning,
endowed with a rich and fertile imagination, and with great powers
of expression. In his romance of Akbar, his most carefully drawn
character, and that on which he seems to have bestowed most thought,
is the Hindu girl Iravati. In her he endeavoured to portray his
conception of the class of devoted loving women of whom Damayanti is
the type; and Siddha Rama is evidently intended to be the Nala of a
later age. But he has bestowed equal care on his treatment of the more
difficult part of his subject, and has brought considerable ability
and much study and research to the task of presenting to his readers
a vivid and at the same time a life-like picture of that remarkable
prince round whom the action of the story centres, and of the two
brothers who were his devoted friends.
Akbar is the work on which Van Limburg-Brouwer's literary fame
will mainly rest. It was only published in 1872, the year before
the author's death. He died at the Hague, in his forty-first year,
on the 13th of February 1873. [39]
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
The grand figure of the Emperor Akbar, the ruler of India during
the last half of the sixteenth century (1556-1605), for many reasons
appeared to me to be of such importance that I could not resist the
temptation of making him the chief person in a romantic sketch which
I now venture to offer to public notice.
Some readers may desire to be able to distinguish accurately between
what is, and what is not historical. For their benefit I give the
following explanation. To real history, besides Akbar himself, belong
his son Salim, the Wazir Abú-l Fazl, and his brother Faizi, Abdul
Kadir Badaoni, Rudolf Aquaviva the Jesuit, and a few others of less
note. Parviz belongs to history, but he bore another name. Nandigupta
is not a historical personage, but rather the type of a character often
met with in the history of India, and especially of Kashmir. Gorakh
and his Thugs are also types. Iravati was not a real person, but
the image of a Hindu woman as she is often met with in the ancient
dramas and legends of India. Many of the sayings and speeches placed
in the mouths of the characters in the romance are historical. For
reasons which may be easily understood, the events in the narrative
are made to deviate slightly from historical truth. In the days of
Akbar, for instance, Kashmir was no longer ruled by Hindu Princes,
although the people were entirely Indian. Again; the attempt of Salim,
concerning which many particulars are given, was not made during an
expedition against Kashmir, but against the Dakhin. Faizi was older
than Abú-l Fazl, and died before his brother's murder. Fathpúr lies
at a greater distance from Agra than would appear in the following
pages. In the characters and acts of the people there are also some
slight and unimportant deviations from historical fact.
The attempt has been made to follow the oriental forms, especially
in the conversations, so far as was possible without slavish
imitation. The poems, which are here and there woven into the
narrative, have been translated by me from the originals.
It is scarcely necessary to give here an exact list of the sources
which have aided in the composition of this work; nor is there much
to impart, on this subject, that would be new to the historian. He
knows well that the principal authorities for the life of Akbar,
for his institutions and ideas, are the writings of Abú-l Fazl and
Abdul Kadir, whence eastern as well as western writers have drawn
their information. The reports of the Jesuits of that period, though
often prejudiced, yet in many points supplement and illustrate the
works of native historians. It is also necessary to add that various
modern histories and books of travel have been used.
For what is purely Indian in this romance, Sanscrit literature, with
its many legends, dramas, and romances, has been made use of. For
the philosophical ideas of Akbar the best authority is his principal
opponent, Abdul Kadir. The Vedas, from which the Emperor borrowed
many of his ideas, have also been consulted.
One source of information merits special mention, as it is but
little known. That is, the reports on the country and people made by
merchants of our East India Company, who, shortly after Akbar's reign,
were established at Surat and Agra. Their letters are still preserved
in our colonial archives.
How accurate soever one may strive to be, yet in an attempt of this
kind there must always be the possibility of errors, especially in
the descriptions of places. If here and there mistakes have crept
into the text, the writer asks pardon in anticipation, and will be
grateful for any corrections.
The Hague,
October, 1872.
CONTENTS.
Page
Introductory Life of Akbar v
Biographical Notice of the Author xxxix
The Author's Preface xliii
Chapter I.--The Hermit 1
Chapter II.--Iravati 22
Chapter III.--Agra 45
Chapter IV.--Akbar 70
Chapter V.--A New and an Old Acquaintance 95
Chapter VI.--Salim 116
Chapter VII.--Secret Meetings 139
Chapter VIII.--A Tempter 161
Chapter IX.--The Weighing of the Emperor 187
Chapter X.--Surprises 209
Chapter XI.--"Tauhid-i-Ilahi" 230
Chapter XII.--Assassination 250
Chapter XIII.--Parting 265
Chapter XIV.--The Discovery 286
Chapter XV.--Amendment 305
Chapter XVI.--Faizi's Curse 322
Chapter XVII.--The Tomb 337
AKBAR.
CHAPTER I.
THE HERMIT.
The last rays of the setting sun shot through the sky in crimson
light, and were reflected back by the snows of Badari-natha [40]
and the sharp peaks of the Himálaya, while a soft south wind wafted
to the mountain tops the perfume of trees and flowers which all day
had hung over the valleys. For centuries and centuries had the rays
of the same sun lit up the same heights, and the perfume of flowers
had risen to the mountains, with no change and no disturbance; while
far in the distance men fought and struggled, mighty kingdoms rose
and fell, and thoughtful minds vainly sought the aim and reason of
the existence of the universe.
Towards the end of the sixteenth century of our era, when
Jelalu-dín-Muhammad, surnamed Akbar the Great, had raised the empire
of the Moghuls to the highest point of power and glory, the lofty
Himálaya, once the scarcely accessible abode of the Devas, [41] still
remained wild and inhospitable. These solitudes were scarcely ever
trodden by human foot, and seldom even did the cry of some passing
bird of prey, or the hum of dancing insects, break the intense and
almost audible silence.
Still the place was not so entirely deserted as a careless observer
might imagine. Nearly hidden in the long grass a tiger lay stretched
out, his coat flecked with black, dreaming in philosophical rest,
sometimes gazing upwards at the snow-crowned peaks, and then half
closing his eyes before the still vivid light. He looked down on the
lovely green valleys far below, stretching away until they met other
mountains rising into the clear sky, losing themselves and seeming
to melt and blend into the brilliant colours of the horizon. Of what
did he think? sometimes gazing upwards, sometimes looking down into
the depths below, perhaps in misty remembrance of the times when,
in another form, he reigned--a mighty rajah over luxurious Kashmir,
with vassals bowing before him and lovely women vieing with one another
for the honour of his notice. Or was, indeed, the royal beast nothing
more than a gigantic cat? a monster of the jungle? and not the lost
soul of some former proud and haughty ruler. He was now, in truth,
the king of the wilderness, where no rival dared to challenge his
rights. That he well knew his power, could be seen in the proud glance
he cast around him. But, suddenly waking from these day-dreams, he
sprang to his feet and listened. A noise, the sound of men's voices,
had fallen on his quick ear.
Though still at some little distance, a group of riders was descending
by the only accessible path in the mountains towards the valley. A
young and handsome man, whose proud carriage and rich clothing showed
that he was of noble birth, accompanied by another, older in years and
more gravely clad, and followed by two servants, formed the party. The
youth was mounted on a white Arab, small but powerfully built, and
of great speed. The older man rode a larger horse of dark colour,
while the servants bestrode rough but strong mountain ponies. The
youth wore a blue silk jacket ornamented with golden buttons, wide
trousers and red shoes, and a light cap with a long feather fastened by
a diamond. A short sabre hung at his side, and a jewelled dagger was
stuck into his richly ornamented girdle. In his right hand he held a
long spear. He was tall and well formed, and his complexion was fair,
being scarcely tanned by the sun's rays. His eyes and hair were dark,
and a brown moustache betokened, unmistakeably, that he sprang from
the Aryan race. His companion was a powerful, broad-shouldered man
of dark complexion, yet showing by his finely cut features that Aryan
blood also flowed through his veins. A thick curling beard nearly hid
his face, which was shaded by a white turban. His person was enveloped
in a long robe of dark but fine material, which reached nearly to his
feet, and was secured round his waist by a golden belt. He, also,
was armed with sabre and spear, and from his shoulder hung a small
round shield. The only clothing of the servants was a cloak thrown
round their dusky limbs, and many bright copper rings on their wrists
and ancles clanked against each other as they rode along. Short spears
and small shields were their only weapons.
It was easy to discover from their conversation who these travellers
were, whence they came, and the reason of their journey. The young
nobleman, Siddha [42] Rama [43], was the son of the First Minister
of Kashmir, entrusted by his father with important letters to the
court of the Emperor Akbar at Agra, where he was to take command of
a division of Rajput cavalry belonging to the imperial army. He was
accompanied by Kulluka, [44] his tutor, a Brahman of high descent,
a man of learning and a warrior, one who knew as well how to instruct
his pupil in the arts of war and martial exercises, as in the sacred
language with its classic and holy writings.
But before reaching Agra they had to visit a hermit in the mountains,
and then to make their way to Allahabad, where Siddha's uncle, in the
Emperor's name, commanded the fort at the junction of the Ganges and
Jamuna. There too was Iravati, his daughter, and the betrothed of
Siddha, counting the days to their coming and the meeting with her
future husband.
"But, honoured Kulluka," said Siddha, after having ridden for a time
silently by the side of his tutor, "you, who know the way, tell me
that we are close to the abode of Gurupada. [45] It may be so, but I
can see nothing that is at all like a cell. Is it possible that the
holy man has departed?"
"A little more patience," answered the Brahman, "and we shall soon
come to the turning, whence you will see the little wood in the valley
where Gurupada has built his solitary dwelling. But it seems to me
you might speak with more respect of one so venerable. You will,
however, learn that when you meet him."
"I intended no harm and no disrespect," rejoined Siddha. "But what
is that?" cried he, suddenly pointing with his spear towards the tall
grass on the mountain side, which was waving gently, though unstirred
by the wind.
Before his calmer companion could restrain him, the impatient hunter
had turned his horse into the long grass, and was hurrying towards
the spot where the movement had been seen. But before either Kulluka
or the servants could hasten after him, they saw him draw rein and
remain motionless, gazing before him.
All movement in the grass had ceased, not one blade stirred, and
not a sound was to be heard. Then again the grass moved and bent,
but much farther off, betraying the presence of a large glossy tiger
bounding away.
Siddha put spurs to his horse, and the next moment lay full length
on the ground. A hole, thickly covered with vegetation, had thrown
horse and rider. But both instantly recovered their footing.
"It is nothing, Vatsa," [46] he said to his servant, who had flung
himself from his pony and hurried to his master. "I have fallen softly
enough; nor, it is to be hoped, has any harm come to my horse."
On examination they found that the noble grey was as uninjured as
his headlong rider; but no sign of the tiger was any longer visible.
There was nothing left to be done but to spring into the saddle and
continue the interrupted journey.
Siddha rode silently by the side of his guru, not a little ashamed
of his foolish adventure, but the latter broke the silence by saying,
"That was but a childish trick, dear lad."
"Yes," replied Siddha, in a shamefaced tone, "I must have indeed
appeared ridiculous, rolling over in such a way."
"But," continued Kulluka, "that you could not help."
"No one can see concealed holes."
"What I mean is something quite different."
"What then?"
"That you will soon learn, if what I suspect is the case."
The smile that played round Kulluka's mouth at these words only
increased Siddha's curiosity; but his questions were interrupted
by their reaching a turn in the road where, spread out before them,
bathed in golden sunshine, lay another part of the valley.
"See there," said Kulluka, pointing with his lance to a thick clump of
trees below them, near which, like a silver thread, flowed a little
stream; "there lives Gurupada!" And, without more words, the riders
descended a steep declivity, following a path partly formed by nature
and partly by the labour of men, that led towards the plain.
Under the dense shade of trees stood a low building roofed with reeds,
and built with slight bamboos overgrown with creepers, more like some
resort of pleasure than the poor cell of a holy man passing his life
in penance. Behind was the dark jungle, in front an emerald lake,
reflecting back a hundred different tints, and bordered by blue and
white lotus flowers. The clear silver stream entered at one end and,
flowing out at the other side, continued its course to the lower
valleys just seen in the haze of the distance. Far away the ranges
of mountains rose like rocky giants to the heavens, their summits
never trodden by the foot of man.
For a moment our travellers remained still, lost in admiration of a
view at once so magnificent and so lovely. But quickly remembering
that they had reached the end of their journey, they dismounted and
entrusted the horses to their servants, while Kulluka advanced to
the dwelling, meaning to give notice of their arrival. But he might
have saved himself the trouble, for he had scarcely reached the door
when the hermit appeared in the threshold, followed by a servant who,
at a sign from his master, took charge of the visitors' horses.
Extraordinary was the impression which the sight of this recluse
made on Siddha. In his own country, among his mountains and forests,
he had seen penitents, self-denying holy men, wandering mendicants,
in numbers and of all kinds--some in foul and sordid rags, with long
bamboo staves in their hands and rosaries at their sides, some with
a cloth made of the bark of trees, others with no clothing, shaven,
and covered with ashes, their foreheads and breasts smeared with white
chalk: all supported by the strength of a boundless fanaticism. No
wonder that the young man, used to the most polished civilisation,
should have looked with the deepest contempt on such people; and in
spite of his respect for his tutor, who had always named the hermit
of Badrinath with veneration, he had expected but little from the
man who now stood ready at his door to receive them. All the greater
was the impression now made upon him by the tall and stately figure
advancing to them, with dignity but at the same time with an air of
friendly welcome.
He was an old man, in a dazzling white garment, with a few fine
locks on the otherwise bald head, and a heavy silvery beard, but
not in the least bent by the weight of years. His friendly though
proud expression showed plainly that he had been accustomed to give,
rather than to receive and obey, commands.
"You are welcome friends," he said, taking his two visitors by the
hand, who bent respectfully before him. "Welcome to my solitude. It
is indeed a pleasure to hear again of"--here he seemed to hesitate,
but proceeded in a firm voice, "of you and my country and people."
Before either Kulluka and Siddha could reply, their attention was
drawn to a low growl close to them, and in another instant, from
behind the building, a magnificent tiger appeared with slow and
stately tread, and drew near the three men, waving its heavy tail
from side to side. Instantly Siddha drew back a step, and laid his
hand on the dagger in his belt.
"Leave that plaything in its place," said Gurupada, laughing. "Do
not injure Hara." [47] Then, turning to the tiger, he called him in a
commanding tone, and instantly the powerful animal laid himself down
at his master's feet.
"Did I not tell you?" said Kulluka to Siddha, pointing to the
tiger. "Do you now understand why it was a foolish trick you played?"
"Pardon, honoured lord, pardon!" said Siddha, turning with clasped
hands to Gurupada, understanding that it was the tiger of the hermit
that he had given chase to. "Indeed I did not know."
"I understand," interrupted Gurupada, "you have been hunting Hara. That
has happened before, but has not always ended so well for the hunter
as for my four-footed friend here. For he can become angry, though he
has never harmed those who leave him alone. I have had him, as Kulluka
knows, ever since he was a small cub, and we are now well accustomed
to each other. Is it not so, Hara?" he said, bending towards the
tiger, that, half raising itself up, rubbed its broad head against
its master's hand. "And my friends," continued he, "are also his. See
now!" And Siddha, drawing near, laid his hand gently on its shoulder,
on which the tiger, looking alternately at both, laid down at Siddha's
feet, and leant its head against his hand. This time the young man did
not step back, but stroked the animal's head; nor was he startled when,
yawning, it opened its mighty jaws, showing rows of white sharp teeth.
"That is right," said Gurupada, as Hara returned to him. "I have
seen many older than you who would not have remained so calm. But
now let us think of other things. Travellers, after so long a journey
through a wilderness where there is not much to be found, must need
refreshment. Follow me." And, going before them, the hermit entered
his dwelling.
The interior contained nothing beyond necessaries, but all in most
perfect order, and arranged with elegance.
After the guests had rested themselves with him, on fine mats spread on
the floor, the servant, who had taken charge of the horses, brought
in some dishes of food.
The simple and easy tone in which the otherwise dignified hermit spoke,
showed that he was a man of the world, and soon gave confidence to
the Minister's son. Siddha answered Gurupada's questions respecting
his father, his betrothed Iravati, and his life in Kashmir, with
frankness mingled with respect. To his astonishment the hermit
appeared to know all that had happened in earlier days in Kashmir,
and showed himself acquainted with circumstances that must have been
a secret to all excepting those who had access to the most private
parts of the royal palace. Without doubt, in earlier years, Gurupada
must have been a trusted councillor of one of the princes. But
Siddha dared venture no indiscreet questions touching the hermit's
former rank. He remarked that Gurupada's conversation was cheerful,
and that he appeared perfectly content with his present station. Yet
at times, in talking over political events in the north, a dark cloud
momentarily crossed his noble countenance, as though the strong will of
the philosopher could not hinder a passing emotion from being visible.
It had become late, and night was drawing on, the moon throwing
her silvery light over the landscape which was visible through the
open bamboos.
"Now," said Gurupada, rising, "pardon me, noble Siddha, if with your
tutor and my friend I withdraw from the pleasure of your company. I
have much to say to him which for the present must be a secret, and
in which you probably would have but little interest. If you wish
to refresh yourself there is the lake, and to a bath in the open air
you are doubtless well accustomed."
The two elder men left the room together, and for long after Siddha saw
them arm-in-arm, walking up and down, deep in earnest converse. When
they returned it was time to go to rest, and the travellers were well
pleased to stretch their weary limbs on the sleeping-places prepared
for them.
Early the next morning, after a fresh bath and hearty breakfast,
our travellers were ready to continue their journey. While the horses
were being saddled, Gurupada drew Siddha on one side, out of hearing
of Kulluka, and said--
"Holy hermits, when young men visit them, are not accustomed to let
them depart without some instruction and advice. You expect, perhaps,
the same from me; but you are mistaken. I can add nothing to what
Kulluka, your wise and learned guru has doubtless already taught
you. The world you are going to seek, and life itself, must teach you
what remains. Still, one word, to which I will add a request. Do not
fear, when you enter the luxurious and magnificent court at Agra, to
take your part in all lawful diversions and amusements; and thus you
will learn to distinguish the real from the unreal. Think always of
what doubtless your tutor has often taught you, keep your conscience
pure, and take good care that no deed of yours shall ever give cause
of shame either to others or to yourself. But should it happen that,
in spite of your earnest striving to keep these precepts, the repose
of your conscience should be disturbed, and you wish for some friend
to whom you could open your heart, think then of an old friend of your
father and your tutor, and come to the Hermit of Badrinath. Will you
promise me this?"
"I promise it," answered Siddha, simply, but with manly earnestness,
as he folded his arms respectfully on his breast. With greater
friendliness than before, Gurupada took him by both hands, and pressed
them heartily.
The horses were soon brought forward, and the riders, after taking
leave of the hermit, sprang into their saddles, and, followed by the
servants, took their way from the jungle to the mountain path.
More than once Siddha looked back, casting a glance to where the figure
of the wise man was still visible between the trunks of the tall trees,
standing at the threshold of his dwelling, with the tiger by his side,
and then rode silently by his companion, buried in thought.
Suddenly, as though waking from a day-dream, he drew in his horse
with such force as almost to throw it upon its haunches.
"Kulluka," he exclaimed, "I never saw such a man as Gurupada." But at
the same time he coloured to the ears, thinking, but too late, that
this exclamation might not be very pleasing to his friend and teacher.
But he had needlessly alarmed himself. Kulluka's countenance expressed
unfeigned pleasure at the admiration of his pupil for his old friend.
"Indeed," he said, "it gives me great pleasure that you should so
think of him, and it speaks well for you."
"But," Siddha said, after a moment of silence, "who then is Gurupada?"
"Well," was the answer, "that you have seen for yourself--a hermit
of the Himálaya."
"Yes," replied Siddha, impatiently, "that I know well; but what was
he first, before he came here and tamed tigers?"
"He attempted to tame men," answered Kulluka, "but in that he did
not always succeed. But why did you not ask him yourself who he was?"
"Would that have been discreet,--should you have approved of that?"
"Certainly not, and you acted rightly in not violating the rights
of hospitality by indiscreet curiosity, even if it arose from real
interest and for that you deserve that your curiosity should be set
at rest. Gurupada gave me permission to recount his former life and
tell you his name. So listen!
"He was once a king."
"How now," said Siddha, a little disturbed, "are you going to tell
me a tale from Somadeva, [48] like those I heard so often from you
when I was a little boy?"
"Listen or not, as you will, to my tale," answered Kulluka, calmly. "He
was, I say, once a king, who, supported by good councillors, governed
his kingdom with wisdom and prudence. He had no children, only a
younger brother, a young man of great ability, to whom he was warmly
attached, and whom he had chosen as his successor when death should
take him, or when the weight of affairs of state should become too
heavy for him to bear. But the brother was ambitious, and, in spite of
some good qualities, he had not patience to wait his time. He allowed
himself to be led away by parties in the state inimical to the existing
government. First he intrigued secretly, and in the end he took up
arms against his brother and lawful prince. But he and his followers
were defeated, and brought prisoners to the capital. However, this
did not put an end to the insurrection. Disturbances still continued,
and the only means that remained to the king to suppress them was
by the death of his ambitious and dangerous brother, however dearly
he loved him, and by subjecting his followers to the same fate. But
by so doing his throne would be founded on the blood of his brother
and others; which might call endless feuds into life, to which there
could be no other end but the utter exhaustion of the kingdom. Yet
hardly anyone doubted that the king would, in the end, have recourse
to this now unavoidable measure. Suddenly, a rumour spread that he
had disappeared from the palace, and in all probability, though
not certainly, had fallen a victim to treachery. Since that time
he has never been heard of, and his brother, released from prison,
ascended the throne as the lawful heir, and has reigned ever since,
wisely retaining his brother's councillors at his side. Though not
ruling with equal wisdom, yet his reign has been fortunate, and peace
has been restored to his country."
Here, for a moment, Kulluka broke off his tale to look at his
companion and pupil, but his countenance showed neither astonishment
nor special interest.
"What you tell me," he said, "is simply the history of our present
king and his predecessor and elder brother Nandigupta, [49] which is
known to all, to me as well as to every other Kashmiri."
"Certainly," replied Kulluka, "the history of which I remind you is
well known. What is not known to every one, only to a few, is that
King Nandigupta did not fall through treachery, is not dead, nor was
he driven away. Of his own accord, and without the knowledge of his
brother, nor of any but a few most trusty friends, he took refuge
in a distant retreat, where by spreading a report that he had been
slain, he saved his brother from a shameful death and his country
from probable destruction."
"And so Nandigupta still lives," cried Siddha, "and he is----"
"As you doubtless have already guessed," answered Kulluka, "the hermit
we have just left; but you must hold his secret sacred. The secret
of his kingdom and his race is entrusted to your honour. The son of
his most faithful servant and friend should know it, and will know
well how to guard it."
"Why," asked Siddha, half dissatisfied, "did you not tell me this while
we were still there? I might then have thanked the prince for all the
benefits which, in the days of his greatness, my father and all our
race received at his hands. But, it is true, you had no right to speak
as long as he himself did not do so. But I still have an opportunity;
for Gurupada, if he will be so called, made me promise to seek him
if ever I should find myself in circumstances of difficulty and need
good advice."
"And you have done well in giving your promise," said Kulluka. "Keep
your word. Gurupada is better and wiser than any of us."
But Siddha scarcely heard. He was again immersed in thought. The
meeting with the hermit, and the discovery of his secret, made a deep
impression on him: that in the beginning of his journey he should have
met with a princely philosopher, who, possessing almost unlimited
power, and living in luxury, had willingly sacrificed all for love
of his brother and his country; and who, happy in the consciousness
of having done well, showed himself cheerful and contented with
his simple life in the wilderness, with no other companions than
a faithful servant and a beast of prey. Now he was on his road to
the court of the fortunate and far-famed ruler of a great empire,
who ruled his people more by wisdom than by the power of the sword;
who had at his disposal enormous revenues; and who might call himself
the ally of mighty princes in most distant countries, and protector
of all known religions in the world.
The good Siddha, who had been accustomed to pride himself somewhat
on his nobility and consequence, suddenly felt how small he was in
comparison with two such men. It was indeed difficult to decide which
was the greater of the two, and he wisely determined to suspend his
judgment until he should have seen the Emperor Akbar himself.
This decision brought him back to the next goal of their journey,
a visit to Allahabad, where his dearly loved bride--the beautiful
Iravati--awaited his coming. His countenance, which for some minutes
had been grave and earnest, brightened up, and striking spurs into
his horse, as a long flat piece of country stretched out before them,
he cried, joyfully, "Come, now for a gallop!" and darting forward,
Kulluka saw brandishing his light spear, and shouting the name that
carried off the victory in his thoughts--"Iravati!"
"Forward! forward, then!" muttered the Brahman to himself, setting his
horse to a gallop, "until the end is reached; for me it is almost done,
but for him the journey of life is only beginning. Oh that he may
always find it smooth as this! but he also must meet with rocks and
slippery precipices, and perhaps also--abysses. But may they only,"
he added, smiling to himself, as he thought of the adventure of the
preceding evening, "be harmless precipices."
CHAPTER II.
IRAVATI.
A young girl was seated on a balcony, all overgrown with trees and
plants, in the great castle of Allahabad--palace and fortress in
one. Her head rested on her hand as, musing, she gazed on the landscape
stretched out before her on both sides of the two rivers that met
here, and were now glittering in the light of an unclouded morning
sun. To the left the rocky heights and sandy shores of the Jamuna;
to the right the valley of the Granges; everywhere thick masses of
mango-trees, in which numberless parrots and other bright-plumaged
birds made their homes. Here and there small islands raised themselves
above the surface of the water, and in the background there were rocky
hills crowned with pagodas. Judging only by her dress, it would not
have been supposed that the girl, sunk in a day-dream, was of exalted
rank. She wore a simple white robe, with a narrow border of dark red,
clasped by a golden girdle; a golden band held back her thick black
locks, in which a single flower formed her only ornament, and that
was all. But what need had the slight graceful figure, the fine-cut
face, with its great dark eyes shaded by long silken lashes, for other
ornament than that given by nature, and by Rama the god of love? And
assuredly no offshoot of degenerate stem, no daughter of low degree,
could have arrayed herself with so much elegance, and at the same
time with such simplicity.
But the longing eyes did not, as of yore, rest with delight on the
magnificent scene around. To-day, as yesterday and many days before,
she gazed on the far-off mountains, in the direction from which the
long-expected one must come; but long had she watched in vain. Where
did he tarry? What could keep him? And did he think of her, or was
it only occasionally that his thoughts wandered to her, who for days
and months had devoted every thought to him and to him alone?
Then a heavy step was heard behind, in the room which opened on the
verandah, and, preceded by a servant who flung back the curtain hanging
before the door, a short, thick-set man of middle age approached,
in a close-fitting garment that came down to his feet. A short sword
with a richly ornamented hilt, stuck in his belt, was the only token
of his rank.
"Noble lady," said the servant, respectfully waking his mistress from
her day-dream, "Salhana the governor, your father, comes to visit you."
"He is welcome," answered the girl, accustomed from infancy to be
addressed with respect; and rising, she advanced to meet her father.
"Iravati," [50] said he, looking at her with his black, penetrating
eyes, which gave the only expression to his pale countenance,
"some time ago I told you that I expected Siddha Rama, from Kashmir,
your cousin and betrothed, with Kulluka his tutor. They have just
arrived, and are now in the neighbouring gallery. We will go there
to receive them."
On hearing these tidings, for one moment Iravati seemed to forget all
the calm reserve to which she had schooled herself, and would have
hurried past her father to welcome him whom she had so long waited for;
but Salhana delayed her by a slight motion of his hand.
"First one word," he said. "It is known to me that the professors of
Islam, under whom we live, disapprove most highly of free intercourse
between unmarried youths and young girls, and that many of our Hindus
have adapted themselves to the opinions of our governors; but for my
part, as you know, I am a follower of our old customs, however much I
wish to see observed all fitting forms, and so I give you permission,
as in early days in our own country, freely to speak with your cousin
and bridegroom, but only allow our most trusted friends to know it,
otherwise my influence here, where I govern, and your good name,
may suffer. Now come." And going before her, he led the way to the
open verandah looking down on the river, where their two visitors
stood awaiting their appearance.
"You are welcome, my lords and friends," said Salhana, with dignity;
"and I thank you for granting my request, and coming straight to
my dwelling, instead of taking up your abode in the town, as many
do." These words sounded cordial, though the tone in which they were
pronounced was as expressionless as his stiff countenance.
Some might have remarked this, but not Siddha, who, barely greeting
his stately uncle or giving Kulluka time to receive the reverent
greeting of Iravati, flung himself on his knees before her, and
pressed a burning kiss on the hand she held out to him.
"Welcome," she said, signing to him to rise, (and how sweet sounded
that gentle voice!) "welcome, friend. How long we have watched for
your approach, looking towards yonder mountains, and almost doubting
if you would ever come!"
"You did not believe, beloved," cried Siddha, almost indignantly,
"that I would have delayed my arrival in Allahabad for one moment
longer than was necessary. If I could have leapt over rivers and
mountains to have been sooner with you, and had my horse had more wings
than Vishnu's Garuda, [51] I should not, indeed, have spared him."
"I believe you willingly," said Iravati, with a friendly smile, "and
indeed I meant no reproach to you or to our trusty friend Kulluka,
and we must rejoice all the more at being together, as I hear from
my father that it is only for a very short time."
"Indeed," said Salhana, after a few words with Kulluka, interrupting
the conversation of the two lovers, "our friends must leave us early
to-morrow; but I did not expect otherwise. Yet, noble Siddha, I must
shorten by a few minutes your interview with your bride, as I wish
to speak a few words with you, and at once, for my time is precious,
and before our mid-day meal I have many things to do. Will it please
you to follow me?"
This request was not to be refused, and unwillingly and with many
a longing look towards Iravati, Siddha followed his courteous but
imperious uncle to the garden on the other side of the palace. There,
under the thick shade of trees, Salhana seated himself on a carpet,
signing to his nephew to take a place by his side.
"And so you are going," he began, "to seek your fortune in the
immediate service of the great Emperor. In truth you may hold
yourself fortunate that you have a father who knows how to give
you so favourable an opportunity, and also, if I may add it without
presumption, an uncle who, by the accident of his position, may be
able to afford you help in case of need."
"For that I am very grateful," answered Siddha, "and I hope never to
forget that you, perhaps more than my father, have aided to make easy
to me the first step on the ladder, not only because it may be that I
shall have opportunities of distinguishing myself, but that I shall
be able to achieve more here than in our own beautiful but far-away
country; and at the same time I shall see the Emperor living in all
the splendour of his court, of which I have heard so much at home."
"Certainly," said Salhana, "but a word of counsel; beware of
exaggerated expectations, not as regards the magnificence of palaces
and courts, of which in the north we can hardly form an idea, but
of the Emperor himself; it is better to begin without highly wrought
expectations."
"How," asked Siddha, in astonishment; "in truth does not Akbar deserve
his name? is he not, as my father and my tutor have always represented
him, a great man as well as a mighty prince?"
"That I did not say," was the answer; "but our great men can have their
faults, which may threaten to become dangerous for others. Listen,"
continued the governor, looking round to see there was no one within
earshot, and sinking his voice to a whisper: "whenever a man attains
such power as Akbar, through his own courage and prudence, then is
the longing to attain more not easily satisfied. The Emperor, who
has subdued states and people to his rule, can hardly bear that your
and my fatherland should remain so entirely independent. You know,
moreover, do you not, how every now and then, although it was kept
secret from most, divisions have broken out in Kashmir between our
king and his two sons, in the same way as in earlier days between
him and his brother Nandigupta?"
"No, I did not know it," said Siddha; "this is the first time it has
come to my ears."
"Well," rejoined the other, "you should inquire about it when the
opportunity offers. I can tell you somewhat of it at once, but do not
speak of it to Kulluka; for that, I think, might not be well. The
divisions between the king and his two sons were stirred up--you
understand by whom. If open feuds once broke out, and the country
was divided into parties, then a pretence for declaring war on us
would easily be found, and the Emperor would invade our country with
a strong army, guided through the mountain passes by his spies, and
so our country would be incorporated in his empire. This does not
prevent my acknowledging with admiration his wonderful conquests,
but the same ambition which has made his people great may be the
cause of the destruction of our independence."
"But how," asked Siddha, after a moment's thought,--"if this is so,
how can you remain the servant of a man who has sworn the destruction
of our country?"
"And why not?" said Salhana, in his turn surprised. "Is it not well
that one of us, without harming the Emperor, but, on the contrary,
serving him in many important affairs, should keep an eye on his plans
and actions. It is well that you yourself, under my recommendation
and protection, should come still more closely in contact with our
ruler. Certainly you will be less suspicious than I, but still in
this respect you can be of great service."
"But," asked Siddha, doubtfully, after a moment's thought, "is that
honourable?"
"Young man," answered Salhana, in a dignified tone, although his
countenance expressed no anger, "let me remark to you that a man of
my age and experience should know well what is honourable and what
is not; and you, only just commencing your part in life, should not
attempt to give counsel on such a subject."
"Forgive me, uncle," answered Siddha, "you know that I am still
so little acquainted with the principles of state affairs, that I
cannot understand them at once; and, also, Kulluka, my guru, [52]
has always impressed on me to follow the right path, and never to
act ambiguously towards anyone, and----"
"Kulluka, my best friend," interrupted the other, "is an excellent man,
for whom I have the greatest respect; but he is a man of learning, not
of facts; a man of theory, not of what is practical. See, now, your
country and people, who are dear to you, are threatened by a prince
whom you look upon with admiration, and would willingly serve in all
but that one thing. You should hold it as a duty to work against him
in this, as far as possible. The opportunity is now opened to you,
not entirely, but in a certain measure. Should you now spurn this
opportunity, because of an exaggerated idea of political honour? And
does he himself act with honour in accepting your services and mine
while at the same time he has designs on our king and country? and if
not, what claim has he on such special loyalty on our side? Moreover,
go, if you will, to Akbar, and say to his face, if you dare, that
you see through his plans and will oppose them; and before the day is
over, my good friend, you will be fettered in a dungeon, or on your
way banished to the furthest bounds of the Dakhin or Bengal, if worse
does not befall you. Such opposition would be of no service to us; far
otherwise would it be to make good use of favourable opportunities. By
doing so, there would be no harm done to the prince, while, on the
other hand, we may perchance save our fatherland from destruction."
Not convinced, but still not knowing how to refute such reasoning,
Siddha vainly sought for an answer, and remained silent, waiting for
what his uncle might have further to say. But he appeared to consider
the interview at an end, and made a movement to rise, when, in the path
leading to the place where they were seated, a figure appeared, just
such a one as would attract Siddha's attention and draw his thoughts
from the preceding conversation. He was tall, brown, and closely shaven
all but a single long lock of hair; his right arm and breast were naked
excepting for the sacred cord of the Brahmans; a narrow white garment
was thrown round his emaciated limbs. His sunken dull eyes and hollow
cheeks spoke of long fasts and severe penances. Although not easily
alarmed by man or beast, and accustomed to strange appearances, yet
for a moment Siddha started back. Many a tiger had he slain in the
jungle, and without fear killed many a deadly snake, yet he could
not overcome a feeling of horror at this sudden appearance.
"Gorakh [53] the Yogi," [54] explained Salhana, "priest of the Durga
[55] temple, yonder on the hills. Meet him with respect; he deserves
it, and has more to impart to you than you suspect."
Gliding rather than walking, the priest approached the two men who
had stood up to receive him, and, raising his clasped hands to his
forehead, he said, in a slow, drawling voice, "Om, Om! [56] You,
the favoured of the Lord of the World, and of Durga his glorious
consort. Om!"
"I greet you well, most honoured Gorakh," answered Salhana to this
curious salutation; "you see here my nephew Siddha Rama, from Kashmir,
of whom I have already spoken to you."
"He is welcome," was Gorakh's reply; "and may he, above the strife of
disunion, know how to lay the foundation that leads to the endless
blessings of union, wherein you, my friend, begin more and more to
recognise the true part of salvation. Yet," continued he, after a
moment of dignified silence, "the experience of life must teach him
the way, as it has done for you and me. We must allow the time needed
for the scholar. In truth, I know him, and know that he will belong to
us." And here he turned to Siddha: "It is but lately that I met you."
"Pardon me, honoured lord," was the reply; "that I cannot recall."
"You could not," was the answer, "for at that moment I was invisible
to human eye."
Too well acquainted with the extraordinary claims to the power
of rendering themselves invisible asserted by the Yogis, Siddha
contented himself with listening in silence to the priest, who,
to his astonishment, continued:--
"It was on that evening when you gave chase to the hermit's tiger;--but
we will speak to each other later. Now the noble Salhana wishes to
converse with me, so for the present farewell, and may Durga's mighty
consort bless you." And murmuring in a low tone his "Om, Om!" the
priest of Durga and Salhana left him in the garden, his uncle crying
to him, "We shall meet again soon."
The last communication of the Yogi was well calculated to excite
Siddha's astonishment. How could the man know what had happened to
him yonder in the mountains, where, excepting his own companion,
he had seen no human being? But here the sight of his servant at a
little distance, wandering through the trees, brought to his mind
the way by which the riddle might be unravelled.
"Vatsa," said he, beckoning to the man, "have either you or Kulluka's
servant just spoken with a priest?"
"No, my lord," answered Vatsa, "we have not even seen one."
"No!" said Siddha, now really astonished. "Good; you can go." And
turning away, he murmured to himself, half disturbed and half alarmed,
"I will speak to Kulluka about this." But how could a priest or
anyone else occupy his thoughts when, having gone but a little way,
he caught sight of the white robe and slight figure of Iravati,
seated under the thick shade of a mango, close to a pool of lotuses,
while the air was filled with the sweet music of a sparkling fountain,
and cooled by its falling waters. Flowers lay scattered around, and
in her hand was a half-finished wreath. Hearing footsteps approaching,
and catching sight of Siddha, she flung the wreath away, and hastened
to meet her lover, raising her clasped hands to her forehead. Siddha
seized them in his own, and, leading her back, flung himself on the
moss at her side.
"What a cruel man your father is," said he, "to part us so soon,
when we had scarcely exchanged two words!"
"Well," answered Iravati, "you must thank him for allowing us to talk
together, since it is long since this was allowed to those who are
betrothed to each other."
"From my heart I will be grateful to him," said Siddha, "and more
highly prize the happy moments spent with you. But you do not seem
quite to share in my joy; tell me the reason."
"Ah!" sighed Iravati; "how can our meeting be unclouded happiness,
when we are to part again so soon? Perhaps, and even probably, these
are the only short moments in which, for a long time, we shall speak
freely one to another; and to-morrow you depart for the luxurious,
turbulent city, where a simple girl like me may easily be forgotten."
"Forgotten!" cried Siddha; "have I deserved such suspicion from
you? and what is the absence of a few months! Returns not"--asked he,
in the words of Amaru, as, taking her hand in his, he drew her nearer
to him--"Returns not he who departs? Why, then, beloved, art thou
sad? Do not my heart and word remain yours, even though we part?" [57]
"Ah," answered Iravati, "if poets could comfort us! But tell me,
Siddha, have you never made any verses on me?"
"I wish that I could," was the modest reply; "and indeed I have tried,
but what I wrote was never worthy of you. Still, there is another
art in which I am more accomplished than in poetry, and my attempt in
that line you shall see." And drawing from his girdle a small locket,
set with jewels, he showed a miniature, in which she recognised her
own image.
"Siddha!" she exclaimed, joyfully; "but I am not so beautiful as that."
"Not so beautiful!" repeated he. "No; but a hundred times more
beautiful than my pencil or that of any other could represent."
And he was right, for according to Indian taste he had exaggerated
the eyes and mouth, when their regularity was one of the beauties of
Iravati's face.
"But why," said he, as she suddenly drew herself up and quickly
escaped from his arms, "why are you now going to leave me?"
"Wait a moment," she replied; "in an instant I will be back."
With the swiftness of a gazelle he saw her taking her way through
the trees to the palace, ascending the broad marble steps as though
she scarcely touched them, and in a few moments return, holding in
her hand an object which, in the distance, he could not distinguish,
but as she drew nearer, and, with a blush, held it out to him, with an
exclamation of admiration, he recognised his own portrait. But this,
in truth, was an idealized likeness.
"My dearest!" he said, in ecstasy; and before she could draw back he
had thrown his arms round her, and pressed a burning kiss on her lips.
"See," said she, gently disengaging herself; "my father should be well
pleased with us, for we have done just like the princes and princesses
in our old national legends, and have drawn each other's portraits."
"Not exactly so," added Siddha, "for they drew their own likenesses,
and then exchanged with one another. But I think our way is much the
best; theirs appears to me extravagant vanity, in our way of looking
at it, or utterly aimless."
"Fie!" said Iravati, reproachfully; "do you make such remarks on the
writings of the ancients? Who knows if you will not next criticise
our holy books!"
"And why not," asked he, "if they here or there make mistakes, or
show a want of taste, or----"
"But you are not, I hope, an unbeliever?"
"An unbeliever in what?"
"In the law of the Holy Veda, for example."
"Come, dear one," interrupted Siddha, laughing, "do not let us employ
the few moments allowed us as many of our countrymen do, who can
hardly meet each other without at once discussing theological and
philosophical questions."
"You are right," she answered, "and I know of a game that is far
prettier, and one that you also know." And bending over the brink of
the tank, she gathered a dark-blue lotus, and picking up a long leaf
that lay on the ground, and weaving it into a kind of boat, she placed
the lotus in it and let it float on the surface of the water, which was
gently stirred by the falling fountain. "The lotus is my Siddha," said
she, half to herself; "let us see if he will remain faithful to me."
"No," said Siddha, in his turn reproachfully, "that is a foolish game,
and one that you should not play."
Iravati hardly listened to him, but watched with breathless attention
the waving leaf that was dancing on the rippling water. "Faithful,
faithful!" she cried; but then a sigh from the south wind caught the
frail vessel. It turned over and floated bottom upwards, while the
lotus disappeared. "Alas!" cried Iravati, as she let her head sink
in her breast; "my forebodings, then, have not deceived me."
"Fie! I say now in my turn," said Siddha; "a noble, well educated
lady to hold to such follies, that are only to be excused in ignorant
peasant girls. And so you place more faith in the leaf of a tree than
in the word of honour of a nobleman who has pledged you his troth,
as you have to him?"
"Ah! Siddha," sighed Iravati, "you must forgive me if I do seem
rather childish; and does not my uneasiness show you how much I love
you? However great my faith in your word is, I cannot help thinking
with anxiety of the city to which you go; and who knows what temptation
awaits you there? But I confess that I was wrong, and," continued
she, leaning her head on his shoulder, "I know that Siddha is mine,
now and always, and no other woman lives who can rob me of his heart."
Putting his arm around her, Siddha gazed at her in silence; but his
look said more than the warmest assurance could have done. A jingling
of bangles made them look up, and Iravati said, "Our interview, my
friend, is ended; there comes Nipunika, my servant, to warn us." And a
moment after, the servant appeared, her brown ancles and arms clasped
with golden bangles, and announced to her mistress that the Governor
requested her to return to her apartments, and begged his nephew to
join him and Kulluka at their meal. Giving him her hand for a moment,
Iravati, accompanied by Nipunika, returned to the palace. Siddha
followed to seek his uncle and his travelling companion. The meal
was not wanting in magnificence and luxury, and was served in one of
the smaller apartments, from the open verandah of which there was a
magnificent view of the country around. There were cushions of silk
with richly embroidered borders, on which the guests took their places;
gold and silver vessels; choice meats and wines; numbers of servants
of all nations, and in every costume; in a word, everything that was
conformable to the rank of Salhana, governor of the fortress, and,
for the moment, the man of the highest rank of all the inhabitants of
the royal palace. But merriment was wanting to the courtly feast, and
confidential intercourse was not possible. All was formal, stately, and
stiff, and the conversation meaningless and polite, and only sustained
by the three men because silence would have been uncourteous. How
different, thought Siddha, was their simple meal with the hermit of
the mountain; and it seemed that Kulluka was of the same opinion,
for, stealing a glance at his guru, he saw a smile on his face,
unobserved by Salhana. At last their repast came to an end, but the
remainder of the day brought no pleasure to Siddha. He wandered for
some time under the balcony of the apartments which Nipunika, whom he
met, pointed out as those of her mistress. But Iravati did not show
herself, and when, towards evening, she appeared in the presence of
her father and his guests, it was only to take leave of him with the
same formality that had attended their meeting in the morning.
At dawn next morning they were to recommence their journey, to avoid
the heat of mid-day, and the travellers withdrew early to their
apartments. Needful as rest was, the younger man was not inclined at
once to seek it. Taking off his arms, instead of throwing himself on
his bed, he stood for some time at the open window, from which there
was a view of the whole fortress, and all the thickets of trees,
half-hidden in the dimness of night. Behind them rose hills, with
here and there temples and other sacred buildings. His mind was not
alone occupied with Iravati's image, but also with the conversation
with his uncle, and the strange meeting with the mysterious priest,
who, by some artifice or accident, had become acquainted with his
adventure with the tiger, though how, he could not guess. But to what
did all this tend? What did the man want? And Salhana the governor;
could he trust him? and were his instructions to be followed, and all
that had happened this morning kept secret from Kulluka? or would it
not be better to consult him about it?
An unexpected appearance made Siddha for an instant lose the thread
of his thoughts, though they were at once brought back to him. On the
nearest wall, where the low breastwork stood sharply out against the
light that still lingered in the sky, two figures suddenly showed
themselves above the parapet, who, though he could not distinguish
their features, he recognised as his uncle the governor, and Gorakh
the priest of Durga. Again the two were together, and at so late an
hour. But the most wonderful part of this apparition was the entirely
changed bearing of both. There was no trace of their former stiffness
and stateliness, and one gesticulated more violently than the other,
carried away by their engrossing conversation, as they walked up and
down, now towards the castle, and now towards the hills. This continued
until they were suddenly disturbed by the appearance of other figures,
which, one by one, moved along the outer wall, their emaciated forms
entirely naked with the exception of a white cord round their necks,
which here in the half light was visible in contrast with their dark
skins. On their approach Salhana disappeared, probably through some
stairs leading to the palace, invisible from where Siddha was. The
priest, immediately regaining his dignity, and pointing with his right
hand towards one of the temples, placed himself at the head of the
band, and led the way along the wall to the dark wood lying at the
foot of the rocks. A long row of figures followed him, and Siddha
had long ceased to count them ere the last disappeared in the jungle.
In spite of himself a slight feeling of horror had seized on him as
he saw their strange forms pass by, and associated them with the name
of the goddess to whose service Gorakh was dedicated, and to whose
temple they appeared bound. Could it be true that the sect still
existed, of which he had so often heard, but believed to be either
rooted out or to have died out--that mysterious league of demons in
human form that had so long been the plague and terror of Hindustan,
the most terrible product that religious fanaticism had ever brought
to life? And with the leader of such a band was it possible that his
uncle, the servant of the Emperor, should be allied! It was indeed
not to be believed, and laughing at his foolish fancies, Siddha left
the window, and hastily throwing off his clothes, flung himself on
the bed prepared for him. But it was long before he could sleep,
for the conflicting images of Iravati, Salhana, Gorakh, and his
naked followers, kept passing through his head; and before he fell
asleep he had come to the determination not to speak to Kulluka of
what he had that day seen and heard. That his uncle was mixed up
with secret affairs was clear to him; still for a statesman that was
not unnatural, and there was nothing to make him suspect they were
criminal, though their discovery might be injurious to Salhana, and
perhaps to his nearest relatives. He would not, he felt, be justified
in betraying what confidential conversation and a pure accident had
made him acquainted with. Kulluka himself would certainly condemn
such a course of action.
CHAPTER III.
AGRA.
The call of trumpets sounding gaily awoke Siddha from his morning
sleep, and, on springing up and looking out of the window, he saw the
great court before the castle filled with horsemen, half of whom were
occupied in unsaddling their horses, while the others were mounting
and forming in line. These, with whom our travellers were to continue
their journey, were on the point of starting for Agra, to relieve the
soldiers just arrived; and amongst them Siddha saw his servant waiting
with his grey charger. It took him but a few minutes to finish his
preparations for the journey, and he was in the saddle some moments
before Kulluka and the Governor appeared. But in the meantime, before
the cavalcade moved off, Siddha found an opportunity to ride round the
corner of the bastion to the balcony towards which, the day before,
he had so often and so vainly looked. This time it was not in vain,
for between the plants that covered the balcony he caught sight of
a well-known figure, dressed in white, who at his approach waved a
handkerchief in the gentle breeze; and as he drew nearer, she let it
slowly fall; but he, quickly turning his horse, caught it on the point
of his lance. It was one of the brightly coloured tissues of Kashmir,
fine as a spider's web, well calculated to be the despair of all
the weavers in the world, and as easily drawn through a finger-ring
as bound into a turban. He quickly pressed to his lips this parting
gift so precious to him; then, binding it to the hilt of his sabre,
he waved a farewell, and in a few bounds had rejoined his travelling
companions. Salhana accompanied his guests for a short distance, and
then took leave, telling his nephew that he hoped before long to see
him again, as in a few days he thought of visiting Agra himself. Our
travellers continued their way, in company with the commanding officer
of the detachment.
The journey lasted for more than one day, generally by or near the
banks of the Jamuna, and led through sandy plains, where stones were
more frequently met with than trees, though sometimes they came to
lovely hills clad in green. At length the evening of their last halt
came, at a short distance from Agra, and on the following morning a
short ride took them to the city of the Emperor, the view of which
more than repaid them for the weariness of their journey.
In a semicircle on the opposite shore of the river, lay, between
garden and fortification, the long row of palaces and mosques, which
made, at this time and for long after, Agra, or Akbarabad, one of
the most beautiful as well as one of the most magnificent cities in
the world. In the middle, standing above all, as brooking no rivalry,
stood the palace of the Emperor. [58] The central building, which from
the delicate joining of its red, smooth-polished sandstones, seemed
hewn from a cloud of granite glittering in the sunshine, was surrounded
on all sides by small pleasure-houses and thick clumps of trees. This
building, from its colossal size, with its numerous cupolas, and slight
towers, with their delicate tracery visible against the blue sky, could
not fail to strike the beholder with wonder and admiration. Around
the central palace were the pleasure-houses of the great courtiers, of
rich noblemen and prosperous citizens, and mosques with their cupolas
and minarets, while here and there a few solitary temples were the
only witnesses of a civilisation whose ascendancy belonged to the past.
The beauty of the view made the travellers draw rein, and gaze on
it with delight. One man alone, a mighty conqueror and deep-thinking
reformer, had, as though by magic, called this splendour and beauty to
life, as it were, from the barren plain. A feeling of anxiety crept
over Siddha as he thought how soon he would meet him, and perhaps
exchange a few words, formal though they might be.
On reaching the other side of the river, they took leave of the officer
who had been their travelling companion, and, with their servant,
made their way to a house that had been hired for them by a friend
of Kulluka. It was simply but tastefully and comfortably arranged,
with cheerful views of the gardens around, and of the river that lay
glittering in the morning sun.
"Come, this will do," said Kulluka, as he entered; "and I see the
camels with our baggage have arrived. We must not be idle, but dress
ourselves, and at once go to wait on Abú-l Fazl the Minister. Now
for a bath, and meantime Vatsa can unpack."
Half an hour later both were ready for the visit, Siddha in a dress
of cloth-of-gold, reaching to the knees, and opening a little at the
throat, showing a pearl necklace. On his head was a turban ornamented
with a feather. Kulluka was also dressed with elegance and with less
severe simplicity than hitherto. They were armed with sabre and dagger,
but more for show than use.
It was not far to the palace of the Minister, and passing through
the courtyard, they gave their names to a servant, who immediately
showed them into one of the inner apartments, to await the coming
of the Wazir; but their patience was not put to proof. The curtain
that separated their apartment from others was soon drawn aside, and
Abú-l Fazl entered. He was a man of middle height, rather inclined
to corpulence, and about fifty years of age. He was dressed in a
costly garment of yellow flowered silk, wore no beard, and his smooth
countenance, in spite of a look of weariness, expressed manly strength
and a strong resolute will, though this was tempered by kindly dark
eyes. [59]
"It gives me great pleasure to see you here so soon," said he,
after the usual greetings, which on the part of Kulluka and Siddha
were full of respect. "Our young friend shows himself no laggard in
entering the Emperor's service--thanks, I suppose, to your inciting,
O wise Kulluka."
"It would indeed have been a bad beginning," was the reply, "if he had
delayed a moment longer than was necessary in assuming the position
which your favour and the Emperor's had assigned him."
"No favour, my friend," interrupted Abú-l Fazl, "but a wise choice,
I hope. We do not consider it needful to give all appointments to our
own noblemen, but hold them out also as prizes to the native nobility
of countries that are allied with us. And you know that our Rajputs
would see with displeasure their commanders chosen from any but their
own countrymen. And what could give me greater pleasure than to call
the son of an old and tried friend to a post that his father wished
to see him fill!"
"Nevertheless, my lord," said Siddha, as the Minister finished,
"allow me to look upon it as a favour, and to thank you most heartily
both for my father and for myself, and I hope to prove myself not
unworthy of your goodness."
"Above all, be faithful," said Abú-l Fazl, gravely. "Perhaps this
recommendation appears needless to you; but when you have been here
longer you will discover that treachery lurks in every corner, and even
the best may sometimes be led away and become faithless. To-morrow,
meantime, your commander will give you the necessary instructions for
your service, and he will warn you to be careful with your Rajputs,
for you know that many of them, although their position is lowly,
are noble as you yourself, and you cannot treat them as though they
were common soldiers. Now, doubtless, you wish to see more of the city
than you have yet done, and I will not keep you. But wait a moment," he
continued, as Siddha rose to take his leave; "a guide would be welcome
to you, and I think I can give you a good one." Clapping his hands,
he asked the servant who appeared, "Is my nephew Parviz in the house?"
"I have just seen him in the courtyard," answered the servant.
"Say that I wish to see him."
In a few minutes a young man appeared, of about Siddha's age,
richly dressed, and with ornaments of pearls and jewels. His face
was pleasing, but, in spite of a black moustache, somewhat feminine.
"Parviz," said Abú-l Fazl, "you see here our two visitors from Kashmir,
of whose coming I spoke to you; the noble Siddha I hope you will soon
call your friend; and now will you serve him as guide, for this is
his first visit to our city?"
"Willingly, uncle," answered Parviz, as he greeted Siddha with
friendliness; "it will be as much a pleasure as an honour."
"Then go," said the Minister; "Kulluka will perhaps remain a little
longer with me, to talk over the affairs of Kashmir. But, gentlemen,"
said he, more to Siddha than to the Brahman, "do not forget to visit my
brother Faizi to-day; he might take it amiss if you put off doing so
until to-morrow, although he would not grudge me the preference." And
making them a friendly sign of farewell, the two young men left the
palace together.
"Come," said Parviz, "luckily it is not so very hot, and we can go
at once to see--what to our visitors to Agra is the greatest of all
the sights--the Palace of the Emperor--that is if the walk is not
too far for you, after your long ride of this morning."
"Oh," answered Siddha, quickly becoming familiar with his new friend,
"I care as little for heat as for cold--we are well accustomed to
both amongst our mountains; nor do we think much of fatigue. But I
am sorry to give you the trouble of showing me what you must often
have seen before."
"Though not so indifferent to weather," said Parviz, jestingly, "as you
who come from wild mountains and forests, still I can manage a short
walk, and, even if it is hot, all inconvenience will be forgotten in
the pleasure of your companionship."
They soon became more familiar, and confided to each other their
various affairs and concerns. Parviz, among other things, told
Siddha that he had no taste for military service, and that his uncle
thought him unfitted for it, and therefore destined him for some civil
employment. Thus talking they came to a fine broad street that formed
one of the principal approaches to the royal palace. This street ended
in a gateway in the form of a triumphal arch. Passing through it they
entered a large maidan overshadowed with plane-trees. Six other streets
equally broad opened on this space, under similar arches; in the middle
stood a colossal stone elephant, the trunk of which formed a fountain,
throwing up jets of water. Three sides of the place were shut in by
marble colonnades, behind which arose gradually the different stories
of the building. Though this view was not so striking or picturesque
as that from the river, yet the extraordinary extent of palace,
with its various buildings and fortifications, was more apparent.
"You understand," said Parviz, "that it is impossible to visit all we
see at once; even if we were proof against fatigue, we should not have
the time. But let us take a glance around, so that you may be able
to form an idea of the whole, and later you will become acquainted
with it all."
As they entered one of the verandahs Parviz spoke to the guard,
who at once called a servant to guide them to those apartments
that were accessible to visitors of their rank. Following him,
they passed through long rows of rooms, each furnished with more
splendour than the last, and all built in the light Moorish style,
with charming views of the gardens around, with their fountains and
luxuriant growth of flowers of all kinds. Here were marble walls,
inlaid with flowers in delicate Mosaics; there, from all corners,
tiny fountains filled the air with coolness; everywhere curtains and
hangings of silk, embroidered with gold and silver; and heavy carpets,
and soft silken cushions.
"In the other wing," said Parviz, "are things still more beautiful;
but they are not shown, for there are the women's apartments. I have
had just a glance at one or two before they were finished, and while
they were uninhabited. The great audience hall, is it open?" he said,
turning to the guide.
"No, my lord," was the answer; "but in a few days."
"It does not signify," interrupted Parviz. "Soon," continued he to
Siddha, "there will be a public audience given, and we can then see
it. As to the apartments of the Emperor, in all probability you will
soon become well acquainted with them."
They then took their way through high, broad galleries, filled with
servants and soldiers, and then through the pleasure-grounds, while
Parviz pointed out to his companion the various halls and buildings,
telling him to what purposes they were destined. Here was the imperial
library, with its richly bound manuscripts; yonder the work-room
of the goldsmith and jeweller, and laboratories of the perfumers,
the store-houses and kitchens, and also the arsenal of the fortress,
and stables for the horses, elephants, and camels, kept for the use
of the Emperor.
Siddha had considered himself well acquainted with palaces, but the
conviction now crept over him that, until this moment, he had never
seen one. The extent of the stables struck him with astonishment,
appearing like a village from the compound round which they were built.
"What a number of noble animals there must be there!" he remarked.
"Yes," answered Parviz, "there are at least a hundred elephants here;
and I scarcely know how many are kept for the Emperor in other places,
but according to report he has as many again, and equal numbers of
horses and hunting-leopards."
"But," asked Siddha, "what can any one, even though he be the great
Akbar, do with such profusion?"
"Not much for himself," was the answer. "Less perhaps than you
imagine. Born in a wilderness, while his father wandered in banishment,
and brought up in a camp, he places no value on all this excessive
luxury; but he is convinced, I believe, that a prince like him, in
these countries and among such people as he governs, has as great
need of a striking magnificence as of a fine army and experienced
statesmen. We all--Persians, Mughals, Arabs, or Hindus, your people as
well as ours--are accustomed to feel greater respect for a monarch the
more outward show he makes. But you must not think that with all this
show there is also great prodigality. On the contrary, I can assure you
nothing is lost or wasted, and in the smallest affairs of this great
court there is the same strict order as in the different departments of
government, which can perhaps everywhere in the kingdom of the Great
Mughal be held up as an example of what intelligent administration
should be. My uncle Abú-l Fazl is busied in describing all this
exactly in his great work on the institutions and the government of
the Emperor, [60] in which he allows me to help him occasionally. But
there are some things in which Akbar may be called prodigal, especially
in aiding those who are in trouble and difficulties, and who have some
claim on his liberality; and also in the advancement of science and
art. As regards these, his treasurer has some trouble in keeping him
within bounds. But now," continued Parviz, after a moment's silence,
"it is about time to be returning; the sun commences to burn, and I
must confess to a little fatigue. If we loiter here longer I shall
be inclined to repose on one of these seats, and await the coolness
of the evening; but in this way we should lose our meal."
"So let us turn back," answered Siddha; "and I thank you heartily
for your company."
Taking a by-path on the other side of the garden and building, Parviz
guided his friend back to his lodging, and there taking leave, he said,
"To-morrow probably you will be too busy with your appointment to see
more of our town; but the day after, or later, I shall gladly be at
your orders, only let me know if I am to come for you."
The two young men took leave of each other, and Siddha sought,
in a cool apartment, the mid-day rest, which he found far from
unwelcome. When evening fell, he, with his elder friend, took
their way to Faizi, brother of the Minister. A comfortable and
tastefully built bungalow, surrounded by thickly growing trees, was
the habitation of Abú-l Fazl's younger brother. They were immediately
admitted, and presently a servant appeared, to lead them to Faizi's
own apartment. There, close to a verandah that ran round the greater
part of the building, sat a man, in the prime of life, bending over a
table covered with papers. Around him, on the ground, were scattered
many others. He rose to meet his visitors without any formality,
and holding out his hand with a simple welcome, signed to them to
seat themselves with him on the cushions before the verandah. [61]
What principally distinguished Faizi from his elder brother was the
frank, joyous expression of his smoothly shaven countenance, and a
peculiar easiness of manner, mixed with the courtly forms of a man
of the world. His calm and tranquil look was more characteristic of
a quiet thinker than of a man of warlike experience, although as a
warrior he had not failed in many a brave deed, and as ambassador
had aided in setting at rest many an intricate question.
"I knew well," he said, as a servant offered wine and refreshments,
"that you would not let the day pass, worthy Kulluka, without giving
me, as well as my brother, the pleasure of seeing you and making
acquaintance with your young friend, who, before long, I hope to call
mine. And what do you think of our new city?" he asked Siddha. "You
must already have seen something of it."
"Your nephew Parviz, noble lord," answered Siddha, "was so kind as to
show me a part of the palace this morning; but to tell the truth, I
cannot at this moment form an opinion of it. I am now simply overcome
with astonishment at so much magnificence and such a profusion of
splendid works of art. I had imagined much, but my imagination fell
far short of the reality."
"That I can easily believe," rejoined Faizi: "it happens to everyone
on their first arrival here. However much one may have heard or read
of Akbar's palace beforehand, one is overcome with astonishment on
really seeing it. But tell me, Kulluka, how things go in the north;
I am anxious to hear news of your Kashmir."
Kulluka willingly replied, keeping to general affairs, and without
then alluding to the divisions that were beginning to arise; and soon
Siddha also took a lively share in the conversation. Never before had
he found himself so quickly at his ease with a stranger as he did with
the celebrated Faizi, the great Emperor's friend and councillor, and
of whose learning and knowledge he had heard so much. The conversation
soon passed from the subjects of the day to various topics, especially
those relating to literature.
"You admire our palaces," said Faizi, turning to Siddha, "and say
they far out-do your expectations; but it was quite the contrary with
me when I first made acquaintance with your simple, classical, and
sacred literature. Our faithful were not very learned; Mullahs had
assured me they were nothing but a confused and tasteless collection
of monstrosities, as pernicious to our civilisation as dangerous
to our belief in Allah and His Prophet. I say nothing about this
last accusation; but as to what concerns the cultivation of taste
and knowledge, I find far more aid in your poets and thinkers than
in ours. How splendid is your heroic poetry, how fine your lyrics,
and sparkling your dramas! what noble, elevated feelings, yet, at the
same time, what purity and humanity, and what a breadth and depth of
thought was there in your philosophers of old! But why should I remind
you of all this, which you naturally know and understand far better
than I do, who with great difficulty have learnt to understand your
language, which is so entirely different from our Persian or Arabic."
"After all," said Siddha, "Sanscrit does not come so naturally to
us Hindus, who generally speak Hindustani. Ask Kulluka if he did not
find difficulties in teaching it to me."
"Even," remarked Kulluka, "even if in the beginning Faizi found
the same difficulties in learning Sanscrit that others have done,
his translation of our Kashmiri chronicles, and his rendering of Nala
and Damayanti, [62] can well make us forget that the language is not
his native one."
"What splendid poetry, is it not?" continued Faizi, who did not let the
conversation easily drop when it once touched on Hindu literature;
"and how far short any translation must fall when compared with
the original, so simple and yet so exalted, with its unsurpassed
women! Think of the noble, pure Damayanti, proof against all the
trials and slights of her unworthy husband! My translations have been
undertaken to please Akbar, who naturally cannot find time to learn
a strange language, and yet is desirous of reading everything. Now
he has given me the task of translating the Evangelists."
"Of what?" asked Kulluka.
"Of the holy books used by the people of the West, who are called
Christians, after the founder of their religion, of whom you must
have heard. There is much worth reading in those books, and I find
many exalted and profound ideas in them, mixed with matter of less
consequence, as is also the case with your philosophies; but on the
whole there is not much that is new to those who are acquainted with
your philosophical writings. But what always strikes me particularly,"
he continued, again turning the conversation to the praise of ancient
India, "are your proverbs. How insipid ours appear when compared with
them! Even if I had only learnt this one of you, it would have been
enough to give me fresh courage for working at my manuscript,--
"The treasure that never fades is never robbed, but grows
The more it is expended; that treasure is called knowledge."
"Is that right?" said he, turning to Siddha; "or have I made some
fault in the pronunciation?"
For a moment Siddha hesitated, but glancing at Kulluka, who smiled
and nodded to him, he replied, with confidence, "Not quite right,
my lord; but the mistake is a very slight one." And repeating the
word in fault, he showed how it should be pronounced.
"Now I am fortunate," cried Faizi, joyfully; "but do repeat one of
the sayings from Bhartrihari; [63] no doubt you know many."
Siddha thought for a moment, and then recited:--
"Every one who lives was born, but only those are truly born
Who, dying, leave a name to their descendants."
"Oh," laughed Faizi, "in your Kashmir you have learnt other things than
Sanscrit,--you are also learned in the art of flattery, my friend."
"Flattery?" asked Siddha. "Should not your name and that of your
brother Abú-l Fazl--that have penetrated from Persia to the furthest
districts of Hindustan--should not your names be preserved by coming
generations?"
"My brother's name," he answered; "yes, that will not lightly
be forgotten: preserved, perhaps, not so much through his deeds
as through his immortal work, the 'Akbar Nama,' [64] in which he
describes the history of our great Emperor's reign. That is indeed
a book, my friend, in comparison with which all my writings sink to
nothing. But I have remarked to him that he raises Akbar too much
to the clouds; for after all, he, as a man, has his faults, like
others, and perhaps in the future he may be accused of flattery of
princes and of prejudice. But he would not listen to me, nor in the
least diminish his praise of the Emperor. 'If I,' he answered me,
'may not say all that I in truth think of the man, who is more than
my prince--he is my benefactor and truest friend,--rather than not
say what I think, I would throw my book away.' As you can understand,
against all that there was no reasoning; and one can see also that to
Akbar, although he says nothing, the praise of a friend whose opinion
he prizes so highly is very welcome."
"Noble Faizi," said Siddha, interrupting a short silence, "may I ask
you a question?"
"Certainly," was the reply; "and I hope to be able to answer it
frankly."
"Well, then, when we spoke of Abú-l Fazl, a warning he gave me this
morning crossed my mind. He warned me against treachery that here
surrounds the Emperor. Do you, whose opinion is of such great weight,
believe that there can be people here so foolish and so criminal as to
league themselves against so great and beneficent a prince as Akbar;
can it really be?"
"Oh!" cried Faizi; "my brother sees treachery everywhere; but after
all, that is but natural to a Minister, and still more to the first,
the great Wazir. However, you may make yourself easy; people here are
not so base, nor are they so foolish, as to engage in a game in which
their heads are the stakes, and the chances ten to one against them."
"Faizi," said Kulluka, gravely and half reproachfully, "your hopeful
views prove your good heart; but do you not think that they may be
sometimes dangerous to young people, and lead them, as for example
might be the case with our inexperienced friend here, into imprudence?"
"I do not see that he is inclined to want of caution," was the reply;
"and I only mean that it is better that he should not begin with his
head full of imaginations of court and state intrigues, but enter life
with confidence and courage. We all began so, and dangers never harmed
us. If he begins with too much suspicion, he will end by trusting no
one, not even my brother or myself."
"That could never be," cried Siddha, quickly, as he looked confidently
into Faizi's friendly face. "As little as I could ever suspect secret
enmity from you, so little could you expect faithlessness and treachery
from one who prizes your friendship and good opinion as highly as
I do."
"Remember what you have said," Kulluka remarked, gravely; "and
think, too, that no one has the power of foreseeing all the events
and circumstances that may end in influencing him, short-sighted as
he is, to give up his free will."
"See," said Faizi, in his usual joyous tone, "here we are again in
philosophy. You know well it is my favourite subject, although I have
not made so much progress in it as Kulluka maintains. Let us call for
lights--night begins to close in--and we will have some discussion
touching Sankhya and Vedanta, [65] in which he is so strong. What a
pity that we cannot ask Akbar to join us! he finds more pleasure in the
driest philosophical discussion than in the most sparkling banquets."
"Nothing should I like better, honoured Faizi," answered Kulluka,
"than to pass an hour with you deep in such subjects, as in past days;
but now I am afraid we must go, Siddha must take over his command early
to-morrow morning, and I have much to settle to-night in readiness
for my departure, which is fixed for the day after to-morrow. Will
you, then, excuse us if we take our leave, and thank you for your
reception--as kind and friendly as ever it was in days gone by?"
"Indeed I will excuse you, my worthy friend," answered Faizi,
as he called to a servant to show them out. "Siddha," he said, as
he took leave, "we were speaking of imprudences; be on your guard
against them. But a young man like you may happen to fall into them
as well at your court as at ours; and if you ever find yourself in
any difficulty, come straight to Faizi, who may be able to keep you
out of the fire." And without waiting for either answer or thanks,
he turned back to his own apartments.
Who could have asked for more, on his entry into life, than was
given to Siddha! Neither councillors nor support failed him. For
important affairs there was the hermit of the mountain; for more
trifling difficulties the wise and influential Faizi. The favour
of the First Minister had already been granted him, and that of the
Emperor himself was promised him.
CHAPTER IV.
AKBAR.
Early next morning, on the great maidan of the fortress, our young
soldier took over the command of his detachment from the chief
mansabdar [66] of the Rajputs. The officer above him exacted a
strict observance of discipline; but to that Kulluka's pupil was well
accustomed, and he himself saw the necessity for it. This mansabdar,
too,--who presented him with the white feather and other symbols of
his rank,--in spite of the severity of his disposition, was a man
of cultivation and courteous, friendly manners. Siddha was equally
pleased with the appearance of his men, clad in the same splendid
array as their leaders. They were splendid riders, with soldier-like
bearing, and countenances sparkling with life and courage.
At the request of the commander, Siddha put his troopers through
some evolutions, which gave him the opportunity of showing off his
own admirable riding and the training of his horse. Had Kulluka been
present at these exercises he would have seen with satisfaction the
approbation with which his pupil was regarded by his superiors. After
some evolutions with all the troops assembled, the bugle signalled that
the exercises for the day were over, and commanded the retreat. Siddha,
giving his horse to Vatsa, who was in waiting, turned his footsteps
towards one of the gardens of the palace, to which officers of his
rank had access. But before he had reached the court he saw a young
woman approaching him by one of the side-paths, who, from her attire,
appeared to be a servant belonging to some great house. As she drew
near she hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Are you not, my lord,
the noble Siddha, just arrived from Kashmir?"
"You are right," he answered; "you seem to know me."
"Not personally," said the servant; "but the noble lady who sent me
gave me your description. She requests a few minutes' conversation
with you, if you will have the kindness to grant them to her."
"But," asked Siddha, "who is your mistress?"
"Excuse me, my lord," was the answer, "if I withhold her name for the
present; doubtless she will herself enlighten you, if you honour her
with a visit, and, if you will, she expects you this evening. Come at
about ten, by that mosque." And she pointed to a beautiful building
on a height, whose gilded cupolas and marble minarets were sparkling
in the sunshine.
Siddha hesitated and sought for an answer. An adventure--and he thought
of Iravati. A plot--and he remembered the warning of Abú-l Fazl.
"Well?" asked the maid, mockingly. "A soldier like you, and not know
what to do when an illustrious lady asks for a short conversation! You
are not afraid, I hope."
"Afraid!" cried Siddha, while a flush of anger mounted to his
face. "What gives you the right--but," continued he, restraining
himself, "my irresolution may appear strange, but the reasons are no
concern of yours. Meet me at the appointed time at the mosque."
"It is well," replied the woman; and greeting him, she returned the
way she had come.
For a moment Siddha thought of attempting to follow her unseen, and
so to discover with whom he had to do; but a moment's consideration
convinced him she certainly would be on her guard. Dissatisfied with
the whole affair, and with himself, he continued his walk, and soon
reached the garden.
Rich and magnificent as it was, there was more to fatigue than satisfy
the eye. Straight paths, one resembling another, paved with smooth
polished stones, were shaded by trees; and there were tanks bordered
with marble, from the centres of which fountains of various forms
arose. The groups of trees in all directions threw thick, cool shade,
inviting the passers-by to repose. After having wandered for some time
without meeting any one, Siddha saw a middle-aged and powerfully-built
man seated under the shade of one of these trees. There was something
in the man's appearance that immediately excited his attention, though
he could scarcely have given a reason. The stranger was distinguished
from the courtiers he had met, by something that words can hardly
convey. The expression of his face, closely shaven, like others, was
calm and frank; neither handsome nor the contrary, his attire was rich
yet simple; and excepting the elaborately worked hilt of his sword,
his only ornament was a diamond of extraordinary size that glittered
in the folds of his turban. But what neither ornaments nor beauty
of feature could give, was the peculiar expression and bearing that
Siddha had remarked in Gurupada the hermit, but which was still more
marked in this man, and bespoke him a ruler. Still, in the unknown
he did not suspect more than a courtier or a great warrior attached
to some prince who was in attendance at Akbar's court. With a silent
greeting he was about to pass by, when the stranger addressed him
by name, and without rising or further introduction, asked if he had
made acquaintance with his Rajputs. Somewhat surprised that everyone
should know who he was, Siddha replied in the affirmative, and the
other proceeded in explanation.
"By the heron's feathers I recognised your rank, and knowing all your
fellow-officers personally, and knowing also that you were expected
to take up your appointment, I had no difficulty in guessing who you
were. And how do you like your appointment? Sit down by me."
"I should indeed be ungrateful," said Siddha, accepting the invitation,
which sounded more like a command, and scarcely noticing that the
stranger treated him as an inferior,--"I should indeed be ungrateful
to my benefactor and the Emperor if I did not highly prize the noble
occupation in which they have placed me."
"The Emperor!" repeated the other; "well, yes. But tell me, do you
come to serve him, or simply to enjoy the privileges that your rank
gives you at his court?"
"A hard question, noble lord," answered Siddha, frankly, "and one I
have never put to myself; but still I can answer without difficulty,
that, above all, I should desire faithfully to serve the Emperor,
as far as honour and duty allow. My having entered into his service
of my own free will testifies to this."
"Prudently answered," remarked the stranger; "but now the question is,
what do you understand by honour and duty?--those are difficult words
to explain."
"For some," replied Siddha; "but I do not find them so. I take them in
their strongest meaning. Honour and duty would forbid me to undertake
anything against my country, even if Akbar himself should give the
orders; and in that case to give up all the privileges secured to me
by his favour."
"And you would do well," replied the other, approvingly; "but what
reasons have you for imagining that the Emperor would ever require from
you what would be to the prejudice of yourself and your countrymen?"
For a moment Siddha hesitated, as the conversation with his uncle
crossed his mind. But quickly recovering himself, and looking in
the stranger's open face, he asked, with no further introduction,
"Is not Akbar ambitious?"
"Young man," exclaimed the stranger, in a tone and with a look that
made Siddha involuntarily shrink from his side, "until now you have
contented yourself with prudent remarks; but, at the court of Akbar
himself, so to express yourself to a perfect stranger appears to me
rather rash."
"It may appear so," answered Siddha, without embarrassment. "I do not
know you, that is true; but to know your name or rank is indifferent
to me. I see you and hear your voice, and know that it would be
impossible for you to betray or harm a young and inexperienced man,
who has trusted you and spoken frankly."
These simple words caused a look of pleasure to cross the stranger's
countenance, not of flattered vanity, but a nobler and purer feeling of
satisfaction. Flattery was not strange to him, nor was he insensible
to it. But these were words from the heart, spoken in ignorance of
who he was, and praising in him that which he prized above everything.
He said, laying his hand on Siddha's shoulder, while his voice sounded
gentler, "What you have said is true. You trust me, you say, though
you do not know me; do the same when the time comes that you know me
well. But now for Akbar. He is ambitious: in that you are right. I
know him, and all is not so well as I could wish, and I agree that he
is ambitious; but then, in what way? Do you really believe that his
only desire is to add more and more kingdoms and peoples to his empire,
which already is far too extended? Should he not be content with what
he already has? I think the small kingdom of Agra and Delhi were his
sole inheritance. Little if anything else was left him by Humayun,
[67] his unfortunate and sorely tried father; and at present his
dominions extend from the borders of Persia to the furthest extremes
of Bengal, and to the districts of the Dakhin and Golkonda. Then why
do you imagine to yourself new conquests, and especially that of your
far-distant Kashmir, which would not repay the many sacrifices that
would be necessary to attain it. Still, reasons might arise which would
force a prince no longer to respect the independence of neighbouring
states; that is, if they should threaten to become dangerous for the
peace and prosperity of his own people. And in such a case he must
act, although he would gladly leave his sword in the scabbard; and
although the peace and liberty of surrounding nations are as dear to
him as those of his own dominions. Still all this does not prevent the
descendant of Baber and Timur [68] from being ambitious; and from his
earliest manhood his ambition has been not only to found a great and
mighty empire, but, above all, to ensure the happiness, prosperity, and
cultivation of the people that the great Power has entrusted to him. He
has striven to improve their condition, and to calm the jealousies and
divisions of the different races, to put an end to religious disputes,
and to bridle the tyranny and oppression of the powerful and selfish
nobles. He has tried to benefit the industrious classes of Bengal,
and striven to increase prosperity everywhere, to encourage science
and art, and to raise his subjects to a state of cultivation and
enlightenment for which many have shown great aptitude. Say, if you
will, frankly, that this is too much for one mortal to accomplish,
and I shall not contradict you; but the striving after an ideal
should not be condemned even if it is unattainable. And, in truth,
Akbar's own ideal will never be fulfilled. How many years of thought
and toil has he devoted to this goal; and how far, alas! is he now
from attaining it!"
With respect and awe Siddha listened, as, carried away with his
subject, the stranger rose to his feet, lifting his hand toward heaven;
but as he finished, dejectedly he sank back, bending his head on that
breast which contained a warm and noble heart. For a moment Siddha
felt inclined to rise to his feet, not doubting but that he saw before
him the Emperor himself; but then the idea that so great a man should
so confide in a young, unknown stranger appeared too absurd to be
reality. As he was about to attempt, by roundabout questions, to find
out with whom he was speaking, approaching footsteps interrupted the
conversation, and presently a man appeared, short and bent, clad in
grave garments, and with what was rare at court, a thick black beard.
"Abdul Kadir," [69] said the stranger, more to himself than to
Siddha, while a dark cloud crossed his countenance. Notwithstanding,
he greeted the new comer with courtesy, at the same time making him
a sign that he wished to remain unknown.
With a defiant glance Abdul Kadir looked at Siddha, who had stepped
on one side, from head to foot, and then turned his back on him,
without saying a word. That the blood rose to the cheeks of our Indian
nobleman at such treatment was not surprising; but as he was about
to demand an explanation of the insult, the stranger restrained him,
and said, "Do not, noble Siddha, allow the treatment of my friend here
to arouse your anger. It is not personally meant, of that I am sure;
but he cannot bear the sight of you Hindus, as he imagines that you
damage his faith. Is it not so?" he asked, turning to Abdul Kadir.
"You are right," he answered. "I have, indeed, no personal enmity to
you, young man," he continued, turning to Siddha. "I do not know you,
but to fight and strive against you, root and branch, is to me a holy
duty; and I do strive against you, and hate you with an irreconcilable
hatred. Still, as men, there are many among you whom I respect and
honour. You injure our faith, and even make the Emperor himself averse
to it. You deny Allah and mock His Prophet, and seek to drive us, the
faithful, away, and to become masters of offices and employments, that
you may put your false gods and false doctrines in the place of the God
without whom there is no god, and of those who, in truth, acknowledge
Him. Therefore, and for that reason alone, I hate you and yours,
and will strive against you and yours till the death. You are either
atheists or idolaters; in either case you lead the people astray,
and tempt the prince. Enough that you are nothing but unbelieving----"
A severe, penetrating glance from the stranger held back on the lips
of the speaker the word that was about to follow. Had it been spoken,
Siddha, in spite of all his endeavours, would scarcely have been able
to restrain his anger.
"Unbelieving, then," continued Abdul Kadir; "and that for a true son
of the Prophet is more than enough. But what can it concern you, if I,
who here have nothing to say, nor am of the slightest importance, am
not one with your race? The favour of the Emperor is assured to you,
who can and does do anything as it best pleases him. He has freed you
from the burthen justly laid on you by the true believers for your
denial of the true faith. He calls you to all employments, places
you at the head of his armies, chooses amongst you his councillors
and friends. What would you have more? Leave me, then, leave us,
our just wrath. We cannot harm you; but it may be that the anger of
heaven will one day fall on your heads, and perhaps on his, also, who
showered favours on you, instead of chastising you with the rod and
the sword, which for this purpose Allah himself placed in his hand."
"It appears to me," coldly said the stranger, after this hot outbreak,
"it appears to me that our conversation so carried on is neither
profitable nor agreeable. Doubtless, friend Siddha, you have more to
say in reply to Abdul Kadir, and I myself am far from agreeing with
him. But if I do not mistake, this time he sought us not for the
sake of a fruitless dispute, but to talk over an important affair,
and on this I will willingly listen to him. Excuse me, therefore,
if for the present I say farewell, hoping that we may meet again
before long. Abdul Kadir," he said, as with a respectful greeting
Siddha took his leave, "what do you want with me?"
"Sire," was the answer,--for it was indeed Akbar himself with whom
Siddha had been conversing,--"my duty as a subject as well as a friend,
though one of little importance, obliges me to seek your Majesty."
"I know it," interrupted Akbar; "you are not self-seeking, you care
not for protection or favours. And yet I would that you did; then,
perhaps, I might be able to content you, in which now I seldom or never
succeed. But I suspect that it is on religious subjects you wish to
speak to me. The exaggerated words you have just used have told me what
was coming; at any rate, be so good as to use a little moderation."
"In truth," answered Abdul Kadir, "the faith, the one pure, true
faith, is what now leads me here. For that I request a few minutes'
conversation,--and," continued he, with a stern look, "earnest and
grave conversation."
"I will do my best," replied Akbar, courteously; "and will promise
not to laugh, if you will keep within bounds."
"That will depend on your opinion," remarked the other; "but I will do
my best to treat the subject calmly. To warn you, and most earnestly
to warn you, is imperative on all who mean well to Shah Akbar, and yet
know what has come to my ears. As you well know, there has long been
deep discontent among us true Muhammadans, caused by state offices
being placed in the hands of men lukewarm like Abú-l Fazl, or atheist
like Faizi. But what you do not know is that a party has arisen in the
midst of your kingdom, and in the neighbourhood even of your court,
which has irrevocably sworn to work for your fall and destruction,
because you have refused to give ear to the claims which they, as the
representatives of the ancient and only true friends of the House of
Timur, have a just right to demand. Lately I had the opportunity of
being present at an assembly of our Mullahs, and what I there heard
was enough to make me shudder when I thought what such influential
men among the Muhammadan population might accomplish, even against
Akbar, if supported by ambitious nobles and discontented generals,
of whom many may be found in the court of Agra, as well as throughout
Hindustan."
"But," asked Akbar, impatiently, "what do your Mullahs and their
followers want? Have they not the fullest liberty to think and speak
as they will, and to make as many proselytes as they can? Have I ever
laid as much as a straw in their path?"
"Certainly not," replied his companion; "but does not that also call
to heaven? Of what value to them is the liberty which is shared by
unbelievers? Here, in your court, in the army, and in every kind
of employment, are they offended by the defiling presence of the
kafirs. And where is the vindication of the true faith, to which,
above all men on earth, the Emperor is called, as the representative
of Allah?"
"Yes," cried Akbar; "here is again the old story, your people alone are
entrusted with the truth, and before that all must give way, even I;
and he who will not bend must break. But why should you alone be in
possession of the truth?"
"Because the Prophet, blessed be his name, "has himself declared it
to us, and because----"
"Because," interrupted Akbar, "because he, and no one else, is
good. Yes; we have the Padres, who come from the West, from the
land of the Franks: brave, honourable men, as yourselves. They also
have a Prophet, who, if I mistake not, they honour as their God. I
do not clearly understand it; but, in any case, their faith is
older than that of Muhammad. Then there are the Jews, who are not
content with this or that, but hold by Moses alone; and then what
do you say to our Brahmans? They have ancient books which merit the
greatest reverence,--so venerable that they themselves can scarcely
understand them; so ancient, that Moses with his Thora, Christ with his
Evangelist, and Muhammad with his Koran are all new in comparison. And
now I ask you, from your conscience, how can I, a simple man, who has
heard somewhat of all this, but not a hundredth part of the whole,--how
can I make myself judge amongst these various faiths, and decide,
for example, whether that of Christ or Muhammad is the true one?"
"But you were brought up in the teaching of Islam."
"No very satisfactory foundation for any one's faith. A sure foundation
should rest on conviction brought about by one's own inquiries, and
should hardly depend on the will of one's father. But the question now
is not what I personally believe--that concerns no one--but how I, as
prince and ruler over the kingdom of the Mughals, should conduct myself
towards the professors of the various religious sects who alike are
subject to my rule, and who alike have a claim to my protection. And
this question, best of friends, believe me, you will never answer as
long as you only look at it from one side and not the other."
"But, then, the dangers that threaten your kingdom and throne?"
"I have others to think of," replied the Emperor, with a contemptuous
smile, "than those with which the anger of your religious fanatics
threaten me."
"Others!" said Abdul Kadir, looking earnestly at the Prince. "Just so;
you mean the kind of dangers caused by strangers. But what of those
dangers, at present secret, but which may become open, and may find
support in your own house, encouraged by those of your own race? If
your son----"
"My son Salim!" exclaimed Akbar; "and yet," he continued, "that
is not impossible. Among the reigning houses around us, how many,
through family feuds, have been subjected to our rule? And so you
mean that Salim himself is ready to join these malcontents against
me? for that appears to me what your words point to."
"It is so, Sire," answered Abdul Kadir; "at least, I mean that his
religious zeal might induce him to do so; but I do not say that this
is the case already."
"One thing is certain," rejoined Akbar, "if this should ever take
place, religious zeal will not be Salim's inducement. He cares far
more for fine wines and beautiful women than for the Koran and the
Prophet. But that is no reason that I should not thank you for the
warning. If you had begun with it at first, many useless words might
have been spared. If in the future you should have any more such
communications to make, we will thank you for them. We must be a
little on our guard, and keep a look-out on our people here. But,
for the present, farewell."
And, with a somewhat ironical smile on his lips, the Emperor left Abdul
Kadir to think over the impression that his words might have made.
"By Allah," muttered the follower of the Prophet between his teeth,
"I have done a fine thing by naming Salim. I had only intended to
disturb him, and so to render him more pliant to our will; instead
of which I have simply warned him, and instead of helping, we shall
now find him still harder to deal with. Now he knows or suspects that
some of us league ourselves together with his son against him. You are
looked upon as a wise man, Abdul Kadir, and yet you have acted like
a fool. Ah! if the zeal that fills my soul for our holy faith would
but preserve to me the calm that seldom or never forsakes Akbar! What
an advantage that gives him over us!"
That the composure Akbar showed was as real as the other believed
might well have been doubted by any one who had seen him returning to
the palace, buried in thought, and with his eyes fixed on the ground.
In one of his private apartments a man awaited him, whose presence, if
Abdul Kadir had but known it, would have given him fresh grounds for
a violent outbreak. This was Kulluka the Brahman. He sat in thought,
not noticing the splendour around him, nor the lovely view over the
smiling gardens. Still, this was not the first time he had seen it.
Presently one of the Imperial Guard came to arouse him from his
thoughts, and to conduct him to the Emperor.
"It is indeed a pleasure to see you here again," said Akbar,
affectionately returning the Brahman's greeting, "and I hope you
bring me good news from Kashmir."
"Alas, Sire," answered Kulluka, "I wish that I did, or that I
could hide from your Majesty, as from others, all the causes of
uneasiness. But the confidence you have placed in me, as well as the
good of my country, oblige me to keep nothing hidden that I know."
"I understand," said Akbar; "the old story over again. Party feuds
and disputes: sons against their fathers; brothers intriguing against
each other, as in old days."
"But too true," replied Kulluka. "After Nandigupta, the lawful king,
had disappeared from the stage, leaving all in his brother's hands,
we believed that order would be established, and for some time it was
so; and the people were content with the government, although not
enthusiastic for it. At any rate, there was no thought of further
changes, but now that is no longer the case. The spirit of faction
begins to stir up discontent, and fresh revolutions appear ready to
break out. The worst of all is that we cannot discover where this
plot has its origin. The king's sons, who sooner or later threaten
to rise against him, certainly do not act from their own inspiration;
but whence, then, does it come? That is what we cannot discover."
"That may be as it will," said the Emperor, decisively. "Whether or not
they act independently, the old game seems about to begin again. And
what, if it cannot be stopped in time, will be the unavoidable
consequence? That, as before, the different parties will take arms,
and civil war will destroy your country. On all sides bands will be
formed, who, the less they find within the boundaries of Kashmir,
so much the more will they carry fire and sword among my people to
repay themselves for what they have lost at home. And now I say,
without circumlocution, and once for all, that I will not tolerate
it. My kingdom and my people shall be respected; and if force is
required, whatever trouble or treasure it may cost, I will again
assemble my armies and march to the north to re-establish the peace
that is necessary to the prosperity of my subjects. Better to tear
down and destroy the whole robber's nest than allow it to remain,
to the injury of my people."
In spite of his respect for the Emperor, these proud, defiant words
could not but excite Kulluka's anger, and, though he gave no reply,
the dark colour mounted to his bronzed cheek.
"Forgive me, worthy Kulluka," said Akbar, "if what I have said angers
you. But you should know, as well as I myself, that in so speaking
I do not mean the good men among your people, such as yourself, your
present prince, and his ministers, but the miserable intriguers that
will draw down upon you the greatest misfortune, while they threaten
us with the consequences of their turbulence. To guard against this
is my duty, and I well know how to fulfil it. Do all you can to make
my intervention unnecessary, and you may rest assured that I shall
be the last to wish to force it on you."
"I place the fullest confidence in your words," said Kulluka, "and
if I could not suppress a feeling of anger, it was certainly caused
as much by the accursed plots laid for our country and prince as by
the threats, for which, I must confess, there is some occasion. But
does treachery alone seek a home in Kashmir? Is it so impossible
that it should also be present at your court, and that among your
own courtiers and relations there may be found those who conspire
against us and against your rule?"
"How now, what do you mean by that?"
"I went, perhaps, too far, and spoke rashly; still, I have my
suspicions, and though I trust they may prove idle, yet I cannot put
them from me. Salim----"
"What, again Salim? Is he also involved in this?"
"With what else he is concerned I do not know; but some slight
indications have caused me to warn your Majesty. If they are
groundless, so much the better, but to be on one's guard can in no
case do harm."
"And that I shall be. For the present, however, all rests on
supposition and assumed possibility. We must neither judge nor act
rashly; but be assured that nothing you have told me shall escape
my closest inquiry. When we meet again the hour for action may
have come. But before you go, I must tell you something that will
be personally interesting to you--I have just seen and spoken with
your pupil."
"How, Siddha?" exclaimed Kulluka, with astonishment. "And who presented
him to you?"
"No one," answered Akbar; "I met him in the park, and guessing who
he was, spoke to him. You know, occasionally I like thus to converse."
"And did he not know that he spoke with the mighty Emperor?"
"Naturally not; nor did he guess it. Do not tell him; I will myself
enlighten him one day. You want to know what I think of him? Well,
then, I am content with him. He is a fine, honourable young man,
in whom I can trust. Perhaps somewhat imprudent in what----"
"He has not said what was not fitting to the Emperor?"
"Well," said Akbar, laughing, "if he had known to whom he was
talking. But do not be disturbed. When I made him see that he spoke
a little too freely he blamed himself in a manner that I could not
but accept. Enough: I have said he pleased me, and you know that I
am not wont to decide so favourably respecting those I see for the
first time. Let him only take care that the first good impression
continues. But now other affairs call me, and I will not detain you."
With a respectful greeting, Kulluka left the apartment. Akbar looked
after him with affection. A man so far separated by rank and station,
religion and nationality, was yet bound to him both by respect and
friendship, and by a faith that could not fail where he had once
given his word.
"On him, at least, I can reckon," said the Emperor to himself; "in
him is no deceit." And he was right; but how many stood far nearer
to him, and of whom he could not say the same!
CHAPTER V.
A NEW AND AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
Siddha reached the Mosque at the appointed time, and had not waited
long before he saw the servant approach and sign to him to follow
her. She led him through different side-paths until they reached a
high garden wall, in which there was a small door. She opened this,
and carefully shut it again, after they had entered. A path thickly
bordered with cactuses and other plants led him to a kind of terrace
with orange-trees and fountains, on which the back part of a small
but tasteful house opened; the rest of it being hidden by thickly
growing trees. Siddha's guide led him up a flight of marble steps
and through a gallery to an apartment open to the fresh air, and
having left him she disappeared behind the hangings. On a divan
was carelessly stretched a young woman richly clad in the Persian
style. No sooner did she become aware of her visitor's presence than
she arose and came forward to meet and welcome him. At the first moment
Siddha could hardly have told whether she was beautiful or not. Her
features were not regular; but her soft blue eyes, overshadowed with
silken lashes, had an indescribably sweet and friendly expression;
and though she was not tall, her figure, which her closely-fitting
robe showed to perfection, was most perfectly proportioned. But what
particularly struck Siddha was the whiteness of her neck and bosom,
round which a pearl necklace hung; and the rosy tint of her cheeks,
which he had never seen in other women.
"Noble lord," she said,--and if the impression she had already made
on Siddha had been unfavourable, the sweetness of her voice would at
once have won him to her,--"I thank you for so speedily fulfilling
my request. Perhaps it seems a little indiscreet; but when you hear
the reasons, I trust you will not think harshly of me."
"To refuse such an invitation," answered Siddha, "would indeed have
been uncourteous; though I confess I did not await the time with
the impatience I should have done, noble lady, had I known whom I
should meet."
Acknowledging this compliment with a slight inclination of her head,
she continued,--"My excuse is, that no personal reason made me take
this step, but the affairs of another, of a friend of mine, whom I
love with all my heart. Some time ago she was forced to fly from Agra
to escape the snares laid for her by powerful persons here, and sought
a refuge in your country, in Kashmir. Now I have a communication to
make to her which may be of great importance; but until now I could
think of no means of sending safely to her, as I do not trust any of
the messengers at my disposal. Then I heard accidentally, it does not
signify how, that you with your former tutor had arrived in Agra,
and that the guru would shortly return. I at once saw that I could
not do better than trust in the honour of a nobleman whose name was
well known to me, and so determined on begging you to ask your friend
to undertake the delivery of my letter, in which I inform my friend
of many things that are only of importance to her; and I trust my
request will not inconvenience you or the worthy Kulluka."
At these words, Siddha's first feeling was one of relief. So, then,
the whole affair merely consisted in taking charge of an apparently
innocent letter, and which, at any rate, did not concern him. But with
his satisfaction was mingled a certain degree of disappointment, and
that there should be no shadow of an adventure in this affair was not
flattering to his vanity. He hastened to assure her he would gladly
charge his tutor with the letter, who would willingly undertake to
convey it.
At a sign from the lady the servant appeared, bringing her a paper
folded in the form of a letter, and fastened with a silken cord,
bearing a seal. "The direction, as you see," she said, as the servant
left the room, "is not to my friend, but to some one whom perhaps
you know."
"Certainly," answered Siddha, "we have often hunted together."
"He will deliver the letter, and so your friend Kulluka will not
know who the real recipient is; for I think it is better that as
few as possible should share the secret. I hope," she continued,
after a moment's silence, "that my friend will profit by what I tell
her. Indeed I pity her greatly in her banishment, though at times I
almost envy her the opportunity she enjoys of visiting your beautiful
country, of which I have read such glowing descriptions. But tell me
frankly, are not these descriptions a little exaggerated--at least,
they are rather poetical?"
"Indeed," answered Siddha, "though my tutor has always warned
me against exaggeration as outstepping the bounds of reality and
good taste, still I must say the descriptions you mention fall far
beneath the truth. Here nature has her beauties. Charming are the
borders of your Jamuna, and with the magnificence and luxury of your
palaces there is nothing in our northern land that can be compared;
but the beauty of our mountains, woods, and valleys, can hardly be
imagined by you, accustomed to less-favoured lands." And led away
by recollections of his native land, and by the interest shown by
his new and really beautiful listener, our Siddha lost himself in
descriptions of Hindustan's world-famed paradise. His eloquence,
as well as his good looks, increased the admiration with which his
hearer regarded the handsome and powerful youth.
"But I detain you too long," she said, at last rising, "and am taking
advantage of your kindness. Still, one more request: let our interview,
for the sake of my friend, remain a secret between you and me. This
short meeting can be of no importance."
"For you, certainly not," said Siddha; "but for me more than you seem
to think."
"I see," she replied, laughing, "that you Hindus are as well versed
as our people in the art of paying compliments. But let us leave
that. There still remains something that I should say. I should show
myself indeed unworthy of your confidence, if, knowing who you are,
I should myself remain unknown; and, under the promise of secrecy,
I see no reason for withholding my name and rank, lowly as it is. My
name is Rezia; my father, an Armenian, came here for commerce, and
early married me to a merchant of this town, who was already far
advanced in years. Some time ago he went to Persia on his affairs,
and perhaps further; but it is long since I have heard anything of
him. In the meantime I live here, as you see, solitary and quiet,
enjoying the pleasure of a peaceful life. So now you know who you
have had the trouble of visiting, although we may never meet again."
"And why, noble Rezia, should that not be?" asked Siddha. "I see no
reason against it, and possibly I may have things to tell you of the
country where your friend now is, that might interest you."
"Well," answered Rezia, "I will not refuse your friendship; and if
some evening you should have an idle hour, I would gladly hear tidings
of my letter, and that its charge occasioned no trouble. At any rate,
I am sure it has a good chance. No doubt you will meet my servant, and
have only to tell her when you will visit me in my solitary dwelling."
"For the opportunity of seeing you again, I shall indeed be grateful,"
said Siddha, as he carefully placed the letter entrusted to him in
his girdle, and prepared for the moment to say farewell.
When he reached his home he stood for some time in the verandah, busied
with thought, gazing on the river that flowed softly below him. Those
were the same waters that would bathe the walls of Allahabad fortress,
and reflect back the lovely features of Iravati; true, might it not
be that the waves would take a greeting to his loving betrothed, and
whisper words of love and faith? And he snatched Iravati's portrait
from the wall, and pressing his lips to her image, he seated himself
in the gallery; and as he gazed on her, lovelier than ever seemed
the features of the noble and beautiful Hindu girl. But as his eyes
wandered over the palace and gardens bordering the river, another's
figure appeared before him--the graceful form, the blue eyes, and sweet
voice of Rezia the Armenian. What was she to him? Nothing, certainly;
but what harm was there even if he found her charming? He had never
promised Iravati that for her sake every other woman should appear
to him both ugly and unpleasing.
"Hallo!" was heard next morning in the courtyard of Siddha's
dwelling. "Is your master awake? Go and see if a visit from me will
disturb him."
Before Vatsa could obey the command, Siddha, who was preparing to go
out, recognised the cheerful voice of Parviz, Abú-l Fazl's nephew;
and hastened to meet and beg him to come in.
"Are you on service now?" he asked.
"Not for a couple of days."
"That is well. Then perhaps you will come with me for an expedition?"
"Very willingly. Where shall we go?"
"To Fathpúr Sikri, [70] the country residence of the Emperor, the
place everyone visits when they first make an expedition in the
neighbourhood."
"I submit myself entirely to your friendly guidance," answered Siddha;
"but excuse me if I leave you for a few moments to say farewell to
Kulluka, who is on the point of starting."
He found his tutor in all the hurry of departure, and, as he said
farewell, entrusted him with the letter, which Kulluka took without
any questions. And before long Siddha and Parviz were mounted and,
followed by their servants, on their way out of the town. Their
journey was nothing but a pleasant ride, their road lying as it did
through an avenue overshadowed with fine trees, with beautiful views
on each side, over fields and shady groves.
"See," said Parviz, after they had ridden for some time; "such avenues
the Emperor has had planted almost everywhere; and in places where
formerly no green leaf was to be seen, and men died of heat, now
these shady roads are to be found. Is not this a great and useful
work? Certainly every traveller has good cause of gratitude to Akbar."
"Yes, indeed, the Emperor does great things," answered Siddha--and
his thoughts turned to the extraordinary man with whom, yesterday, he
had talked of Akbar. And he described to Parviz his strange meeting,
and asked if he knew who the person he described could be?
"No, I know him not," said Parviz, with difficulty suppressing a smile;
"but perhaps you will meet him again."
"Very likely," answered Siddha, "But, tell me, how is it that here
there are so many people without beards? I always supposed that your
Muhammadans thought a great deal of their beards."
"So they do; but Akbar thinks quite differently. A little moustache,
like yours and mine, he can put up with, but would rather see nothing
at all on one's face. The wisest men have their whims, and this may be
one. Or he may do it with intention to vex the faithful, and to show
them how little he thinks of their opinions and customs. But, whatever
the reason, so it is; and, unimportant and childish as it seems, this
has given rise to much talk and much that is disagreeable. Now we are
approaching the dwelling of one of the chiefs of the village of this
district, who I know very well, through my uncle the Minister. Shall
we rest with him for a few moments while our horses are watered? My
bay is much in want of it, for he was waiting saddled long before I
was ready."
Agreeing to this proposal they dismounted in the inner court of
a farmhouse built of stone and wood, and surrounded by tamarinds
and acacias. The proprietor himself soon appeared--a middle-aged,
respectable-looking Hindu, with a magisterial air. After the usual
greetings, and while fresh fruit and ice-cold water was brought for
their refreshment, the conversation naturally turned to agriculture
and the great prosperity of the district, although but lately brought
under cultivation.
"Partly, of course," said the chief of the village, "we owe the
fortunate condition in which we find ourselves to our own labour
and exertion; but we owe great thanks to the Emperor, whose wise and
beneficent system of ruling first gave us the opportunity of using
our own strength."
"I have heard of his system," remarked Siddha; "still, to tell you
the truth, I am scarcely master of it."
"Yet it is very simple," replied the Hindu, "and, to one like you, very
easy to comprehend. The system rests principally on a wise division of
the land, and a just settlement of the taxes on land, and, above all,
on the certainty of law and justice, possessed equally by proprietor
and tenant. Everything used to depend on arbitrary decisions, and no
one knew what he might keep or what he would be obliged to pay; and we
chiefs of the villages had to decide what the yearly taxation of the
fields should be. Now that is all changed: the fields are correctly
measured, their boundaries fixed, and the taxation regulated with
reference to their productiveness, according to which they are placed
in classes, and rented for a certain number of years. [71] And what,
perhaps, is the most important of all, the taxes are payable either
in money or in kind; and no Government officer can decide as he will,
when disputes arise, but by the law alone. The consequence of all this
is, that the cultivator, proprietor, or farmer can tell beforehand
what land will cost, what he will have to pay, and what will remain
his own property. Is it any wonder, then, that he now, understanding
his affairs, applies all his energies to them, and becomes prosperous,
whereas before he was content if he could but earn his daily rice. You
see the fruits of the system around you, and can form your own opinion;
but you could do so far better if you had known the former condition
of the country as I do."
"The same system in any country would lead to the same results,"
answered Siddha. "What a blessing for a state to possess a prince
like Akbar!"
"We must also be grateful to his councillors," said the magistrate,
"particularly to Todar Mal, [72] the treasurer, who worked out the
system; and to Abú-l Fazl, the great Wazir, who put the last touch to
the work, and repressed with severity the extortions of the Government
officers. If in the beginning these measures appeared to diminish the
revenues of the state, in the long run it has been quite the contrary;
but had the revenues been lessened, still they would have been far
more productive, because the payments are certain and punctual."
"But, worthy sir," asked Siddha, "is there not danger of these
excellent regulations falling to the ground if a less wise prince
should ascend the throne?"
"I do not believe it," was the reply. "No despot could easily take
from our community such rights when it had once obtained them. You
know that our people almost entirely govern themselves by their
magistrates, and are thus, to a certain extent, independent of the
sovereign. If he attempted to deprive them of their rights he would
find that he must wage war against a dozen small states, and would not
find soldiers enough to reduce them all to obedience. Even should he
succeed in doing so, the villages would be almost entirely deserted,
and the population would seek refuge in impenetrable jungles and
wildernesses. On the other hand, our villagers leave the prince free
to act as he will. He can carry on war against other kingdoms as
much as he pleases, and as long as the state of his treasury admits;
and they never concern themselves with court intrigues and disputes."
"What a happy condition of things," said Siddha, "for both parties."
"But the union of state and people is not much advanced by it,"
remarked Parviz, joining in the conversation.
"No, that is true," answered the magistrate. "But do you believe it
possible that there can be real unity in a State such as our present
Hindustan, where so many and such different races and people are
brought together under one rule?"
"I acknowledge that it may be difficult; still, it is worth trying
for."
The conversation, which was very interesting to Siddha, continued
for some time, and then the two friends, taking leave, mounted their
horses and continued their journey. A brisk but rather long ride,
which obliged them more than once to halt and rest, brought them in
sight of the heights on which the palace of Fathpúr was built. However
striking had been the first view of the palaces of Agra, this was
not less so. The buildings rising one above another, as though built
on terraces, stood out proud and stately against the sky, with their
tall towers, and sharply cut battlements. Broad marble steps glittered
in the sunshine, here and there overshadowed by the thick green of
tamarinds and other trees.
As Siddha and his companion, leaving their horses to the charge
of their servants, entered the precincts of the palace itself,
the former, though less astonished, was far more delighted than he
had been with his first view of Agra. The gardens pleased him more,
and were more satisfying to the eye, for here no wrong was done to
nature; the paths, instead of being laid out with uniform regularity,
followed the unevenness of the ground, and were thickly overshadowed
by luxuriant vegetation. And what a magnificent and refreshing view
over the neighbouring hills and fields, rich and golden with corn, and
over the silver shining river! For some time the two wandered about,
sometimes through solitary groves, and then through galleries filled
with guards and servants. At last Parviz proposed they should go to the
lower town to seek their lodgings, and to obtain better refreshment
than had been possible on the road. This proposal was willingly
agreed to; and after the two friends had enjoyed the needful repose,
they again sallied out to visit what was to be seen in the town.
"Excuse me," said Parviz, "if I leave you for a few minutes. I have
to give some papers from my uncle to one of his officers here, and
to speak to him about some affairs which will not interest you. He
lives close by, and I shall be back immediately. In the meantime
you can visit that old temple yonder, surrounded with acacias; or,
if you like it better, pay your devotions there."
"Very much obliged," he answered, laughing; "I scarcely care to
do that, but I will willingly visit the temple, and will await you
close by."
Siddha had hardly entered the vaulted, dimly-lit building before he
recognised it as a temple of Siva by the numerous emblematic ornaments
on the pillars, and, advancing a few steps, he saw at the furthest
end a kind of hall lighted from above, where was placed a colossal
image of the god, seated cross-legged on a lotus, his arms and ancles
ornamented with numberless rings, the symbol of the trinity on his
forehead, and a necklace of skulls around his neck. Siva was the
immortal ruler of the world, creating to destroy, and destroying to
create afresh, endless in his manifestation and transformation of
being, from whence all takes origin, and to which everything must
return. Well as our young Indian understood the idea represented by
these images and their symbols, the mis-shapen, monstrous figures
struck him with the same feeling of repulsion as they had done when
he first beheld them. The temple itself was not wanting in beauty,
though disfigured by the grotesque representations on the walls.
He had not been long alone before he heard a voice behind him,
although the silence was unbroken by any sound of footsteps.
"Om," sounded through the stillness; "Om, the unworthy servant of
Siva's holy consort greets thee, O Moral Force."
Turning to the spot from whence came the voice, Siddha recognised
the Durga priest Gorakh, whom he had seen in company with his uncle
at Allahabad. "I greet you, holy man," he said, and awaited what the
other should say.
"So, then, we have not forgotten each other since our last meeting,"
replied the priest. "In truth I have not lost sight of you since I
saw you in the neighbourhood of Badrinath."
"Let that be as it will," answered Siddha, half impatiently; "but I
scarcely comprehend, honoured lord, why you should concern yourself
about me."
"Should not," asked the other, "the nephew of my old friend and pupil
have claim to the interest I feel in him? and for that reason I feel
obliged to give you a warning, if you will take it from me. You know
who Gurupada the hermit is, do you not?"
"Gurupada?" asked Siddha. "Certainly; he is a hermit living in the
mountains."
"Yes; but I mean who he was before he assumed his present name."
"Of that I know nothing--he never alluded to it."
"But your guru, Kulluka, must have told you."
"I never asked him; it was nothing to me."
Gorakh turned a penetrating look towards the speaker; but he would
have been no true Indian had his countenance displayed ought but utter
indifference. However, irritated by the persistence of his questioner,
he proceeded, with less caution, to say, "Even if I knew who and what
Gurupada had been, can you not understand that I would not tell you?"
"Ha!" cried the Yogi, "you mean you do not trust me. You mean to defy
me. Do you remember that I am a friend of the Governor of Allahabad?"
"Yes, I know that," said Siddha, expressing vexation.
"What do you know?"
"I know what I know, and that is enough."
The priest regarded Siddha with anger, not unmingled with
disquietude. What was the meaning of this tone, and what could he
really know? Still for the moment the wisest course seemed to be to
break off the conversation.
"Enough, then," said Gorakh, "both for you and for me; but bethink
yourself, my young friend--though you are so little desirous of my
friendship, and I will not force it on you,--think that the mighty
goddess, to whose service all my feeble strength is devoted, not
only protects but destroys also, and that there is no hope of mercy
or chance of salvation for him whom, through her priests, she has
chosen out for her service and who has turned from it." So saying,
he disappeared down a side aisle, without waiting for any answer to
his mysterious menace. Siddha looked after him with an involuntary
feeling of anxiety; and though in reality the Durga priest was alone,
yet he almost fancied he could see him followed by a long train
of naked bronze figures, with white cords round their necks, just
as he had seen him in the dimness of night passing along the wall
of Allahabad fortress and vanishing in the jungle. And that night,
as he went to rest, he thought it would be as well to question his
faithful servant who awaited his orders.
"Vatsa," he said, "at Allahabad you assured me that neither you nor
Kulluka's servant had spoken to any priest or penitent; but can you
not remember some other unknown person to whom you might have talked
of our journey through the mountains, and recounted to him some of
its incidents?"
"I should never have thought of it again, Sir, if you had not brought
it to my mind," replied Vatsa; "but now I remember that near the stable
a half-naked, bronze-coloured man once talked with us, and told us
much about the town and fortress, and then asked us about our journey."
"And you told him of my adventure with Gurupada's tiger?"
"I believe we did."
"And did you say anything of the hermit and his appearance?"
"Certainly," answered Vatsa. "His venerable and princely bearing had
so struck us that we were full of it, and not thinking there was any
harm in speaking of it we made no secret of our meeting with him to
the stranger."
"Did you describe Gurupada's appearance exactly?"
"I cannot distinctly remember all we said; but I believe we did speak
of it."
"There is danger," murmured Siddha to himself, "and more than
danger. The priest naturally learnt enough from his spy about our
journey to put me out of countenance. His suspicions seem to be aroused
as regards Gurupada; and it is clear he tried to find out more from
me. But what can he have to do with Gurupada or Nandigupta? And my
uncle Salhana--is he also mixed up in this?"
"I hope we have done no harm by our talk with the stranger," said
Vatsa, disquieted by seeing his young master sunk in thought.
"No, no," he replied; "and even had you done so, it was done
unintentionally, and you are not to blame. We ought to have been more
cautious, and to have warned you beforehand. But in future, Vatsa, do
not speak to any one of the hermit, whoever it may be that asks you;
do you understand?"
"Perfectly, my lord," was the answer; "and in future I have never seen
the hermit, or even if I have done so, I have entirely forgotten what
he was like."
"Nevertheless," thought Siddha, "it might be as well to warn Kulluka,
and even Nandigupta himself. I will try and find a safe opportunity,
whether Salhana has anything to do with it, or not."
CHAPTER VI.
SALIM.
"Form quickly," said the commandant of the Rajpúts, as he stood in
the court of the fortress, while the cavalry fell into rank; "and
then march for the field where the Emperor reviews the troops to-day."
This order was obeyed without delay, and, when outside the
fortification, they broke into a trot, until they reached a plain,
at some little distance from the town, where the review was to be
held. A splendid sight lay stretched out before Siddha, as, at the
head of his detachment, he ascended a small hill. On the right was
a whole town, as it were, of tents; long, broad streets, laid out
with the utmost regularity. In the middle stood the imperial tent,
made of red cloth, with a gilded dome-shaped roof,--if one might call
a palace of cloth and wood a tent; and on the left, brilliant with
many colours, were drawn up the different army corps--some horsemen in
armour and some without, some armed with lances and some with guns;
and there stood the artillery and war elephants; and further off,
other elephants with luxurious hauda, on whose cushions were seated
ladies, most of them veiled, who had come to see the spectacle.
Soon after the arrival of the Rajpúts the troops moved forward,
and, preceded by their bands, defiled before the Emperor and his
staff. Siddha did not hesitate long before deciding which was the
Emperor among that brilliant group of officers, their arms and
horse-trappings glittering with gold and jewels. Unmistakable was
his whole bearing--a robust man on a splendid white horse, with the
commander's staff in his hand, standing a few steps in advance of
the others, his standard and umbrella bearer behind him. Instantly
Siddha recognised in the mighty ruler the man with whom he had spoken
in the gardens of the palace, a suspicion of whose real rank had for
a moment crossed his mind.
When his turn came to pass before the Emperor with his men, he bent
his head and pointed his lance to the ground, as he had seen others do;
and stealing a glance at the Emperor, saw a smile pass over his stern
features, from which he gathered that Akbar had not taken ill his bold
words, and he remembered that excepting a passing outburst of anger,
his interlocutor had maintained during the whole interview a frank
and friendly tone. He came to the conclusion that he had no cause
to dread his presentation to the Emperor, which Faizi had warned him
would most likely take place after the review. This expectation was
soon fulfilled. No sooner had the halt been sounded, a sign that the
troops might for a time repose, than Siddha saw Faizi beckon, and on
joining him he was guided through tents, the magnificence of which
rivalled that of the palace itself; and a few minutes later he found
himself in presence of the Emperor. Faizi was not a little surprised
at seeing Akbar, without waiting for the official presentation, step
forward to meet Siddha, replying to his reverential greeting with
a gracious movement of his hand, and say, "Well, I saw you at the
head of your troop, and it seems to me that you will turn out a good
officer. Take care that my expectations are fulfilled. I have already
made acquaintance with your friend," he continued, turning to Faizi;
"we met a few days ago, although at the time he had no idea who I was."
"Even had I known it, Sire," said Siddha, respectfully, "I could
not have regarded your Majesty with more reverence than I did the
unknown stranger."
"But perhaps spoken a little less freely," said Akbar,
smiling. "However, there is no harm done, and I had far rather hear
what men think of me than guess what they say behind my back. Our
former meeting induces me to command, or rather to request, for what
I wish cannot be forced, that now you know me, you will trust me as
you did when I was a stranger. You see to-day that your confidence was
not misplaced. Turn to me, and not to others, when you think that you
have cause of complaint against me or mine. I never refuse to hear
grievances: if they are groundless I try to refute them; if real,
to redress them. Boldness and free speaking, my friend Faizi here
can bear witness, never arouse my anger, however much dissimulation
and falsehood may do so."
After some questions and replies regarding the particulars of Siddha's
service, the Emperor signified that the audience was at an end, and
they took their leave, Faizi not a little bewildered about this first
meeting, a full account of which his young companion soon gave him.
"You are indeed a child of fortune," said Faizi; "such things do not
happen to every one, however easy of access Akbar is, and however
willingly he enters into conversation. You seem to have made a
favourable impression on him, and that rejoices me from my heart. But
do I not see Parviz approaching? Yes, indeed; but what can he be doing
here? Well," continued he to his nephew, "what is my lord the future
councillor doing here among warriors in their tents?"
"As much as my worthy uncle the philosopher," answered Parviz; "but
I willingly confess that I can rival him as little in statecraft and
learning as in deeds of arms."
"No compliments, my nephew," answered the other, laughing; "they are
not fitting between us. But shall I tell you my suspicions? That you
have come to have a glance at those beautifully decorated elephants
yonder: the lovely daughter of Todar Mal is perhaps not unaccustomed
to your appearance, although you are supposed never to have seen her."
"Uncle, now in my turn I say, no betrayal of my secrets! However,"
added Parviz, good-naturedly, "I have none from my friend Siddha, and
all the more, that I am sure of his sympathy whenever he thinks of
his no less dearly loved betrothed, though I am less fortunate than
he; and even if I hope to find favour in the eyes of the daughter,
I am not so sure of doing so in those of the father."
"That will all come right in time," remarked Faizi, good-naturedly;
"but enough at present of our confidences. See, here come others,
for whose ears they are not intended."
"Who is that?" asked Siddha, as he saw a group of horsemen approach,
in the centre of which rode a young man but a few years older than
himself, and whose appearance for more than one reason attracted his
attention. He was dressed with the most luxurious splendour: over
his coat of gold cloth he wore no less than four necklaces of pearls
of unwonted size; his turban was ornamented by a heron's feather and
three jewels of priceless worth. On his arms, up to the elbows, were
clasped numerous bracelets, all set with precious stones; and on each
finger was a ring; while his weapons and horse-trappings were a mass
of pearls and diamonds. But in strange contrast to all this splendour
was the wearied white face, its sallowness still more marked by the
jet-black eyes and finely pencilled moustache and eyebrows. Originally
the features must have been noble and beautiful, but they were ruined
and aged before their time, and bore signs of many a night spent in
dissipation and riot.
"What, do you not know him?" answered Faizi; "that is Salim, the
Emperor's son and heir."
With a silent greeting the Prince was about to ride by, but a sudden
thought striking him, he drew in his horse by Faizi, and said, "Sirs,
I am glad to meet you here; I expect some friends this evening in
my palace to a feast, will you also give me the pleasure of your
presence?"
"The invitation," answered Faizi, "would be to me a command, if a
still higher one did not prevent me from obeying: the Emperor has
invited me for this evening."
"And so you will give my father another lesson from your unbelieving
philosophers; is it not so?" said Salim, with a half-contemptuous
smile, not quite pleased with the refusal.
"What I myself may do," was the answer, "can depend on the will
of your Highness; but what the Emperor may think good to do is, it
appears to me, above your opinion and above mine. Also there may be
a question as to which evening will be most profitably spent."
"Now do not be angry, noble Faizi," said Salim, good-naturedly. "I
mean no harm; and if I leave your evening alone, let me have mine. And
you, Parviz," said he, turning to him, "have you also some important
business to prevent your enjoying some innocent amusement?"
"Certainly not," answered Parviz, "and even if I had, I would desire
nothing better than to thrust it on one side before the pleasure of
a feast in Salim's palace. But allow me, if it is not indiscreet,
to present to your Highness a new friend of mine." And signing to
Siddha to approach, he announced his name and rank.
"Oh yes," said Salim, "I remember hearing of his arrival; and if you,"
he continued, turning to Siddha, "will accompany your friend this
evening, it will give me pleasure."
"It will be both honour and pleasure to me," said Siddha, bowing
respectfully.
"There is not much honour in it," said Salim, "I am of no
consequence at this court; still I hope that our meeting may give you
pleasure. Till this evening, then." And turning his horse the Prince
rode off, followed by his retinue.
"And allow me also, honoured friend," said Siddha, "to take my leave;
it is time that I should return to my troop."
"If you will," said Parviz, "come and fetch me this evening; my
dwelling is on the way, and we can go together."
"With pleasure," answered the other, as he turned away to return to
his post.
Though Siddha had anticipated that Salim's palace would be one
of great splendour, yet his expectations were far outstripped by
the unheard-of luxury which surrounded him on all sides, as he
passed through different ante-rooms and rows of servants, before
reaching the brilliantly lighted hall where the Prince welcomed
his friends. In spite of the richness of the imperial palace, there
was something grave and sober about it; but here, on the contrary,
in the midst of Moorish architecture and sparkling decoration, all
breathed of luxury and the search after boundless enjoyment. Many
coloured hangings of silk and gold hung from the finely cut arches,
and the marble walls were partly covered with variegated mosaic work
and gilding; thick masses of flowers spread fragrance around; broad
mirrors reflected back the light, while the foot sank deep in soft
carpets of fantastic designs; luxurious divans wooed the passer-by to
repose; and there at his hand were drinking-cups of open-worked gold
and crystal, and porphyry and marble coolers of every form. On one
side of the hall was a kind of stage, lighted with coloured lamps,
where dancers and players were to perform. All this formed a picture
that at first sight would strike the beholder with surprise, however
accustomed he might be to the palaces of India.
Salim quickly caught sight of the new comers among the other guests,
who stood talking in groups, while others reclined on divans, and
advancing towards them, he said, "You are right welcome to my humble
dwelling, and I hope that this evening will afford you enjoyment;
but let me tell you that etiquette has nothing to do with pleasure,
and here we are all friends."
The Prince turned away, and at the same moment Siddha saw approach
a well-known but unexpected figure--that of Salhana, Governor of
Allahabad.
"Well, nephew," he said, giving him his hand, "I am very glad to meet
you here; I have just arrived, and found an invitation from the Prince
awaiting me."
"And how goes all yonder?" asked Siddha; "and how is----"
"Iravati," interrupted Salhana. "Very well; she sends her
greetings. But see, there comes a man whose acquaintance you must
make; he is not much seen at court, but, for all that, is a man well
worth knowing."
No introduction was necessary, for the man was no other than Abdul
Kadir, Badaoni, the Islam fanatic, whom Siddha had already met in
the imperial park with Akbar. To his astonishment this man greeted
his uncle with courtesy, although he was an unbeliever like himself;
and even to his share fell a recognition which could not be considered
uncourteous.
"I have already met your nephew accidentally," said Abdul Kadir,
as Salhana was about to introduce him; "and I hope," he continued to
Siddha, "that you regard the words I then spoke in the sense I gave
them, for you see now that persons are not hated by me, however much
I combat the false doctrines they hold."
"I honour your feelings, noble Sir," said Siddha, "although I regret
that you are not one with us; perhaps----"
"Perhaps what?" began Abdul Kadir, angrily.
"No, no, my friends," interposed Salhana; "no disputes, I pray,
over your different beliefs. Think rather of the grave dangers which
threaten us all, we Hindus as well as you true sons of the Prophet,
should the plans be carried out in true earnest that the higher powers
now think of."
Some others, apparently trusted acquaintances of Salhana and the
Muhammadan, had joined the speakers, forming a thick ring around
them, while Parviz and some young friends had gone to the other end
of the hall.
"Let us consider," continued Salhana, in a low but audible voice,
"how we should bear ourselves should our otherwise honoured Emperor
attempt, as is probable, to force upon us a religion alike abhorrent to
our feelings, customs, and morals. Will you Muhammadans, the present
rulers of the land, deny Allah, and kneel in adoration before the
sun and stars, and perhaps----"
"By the beard of the Prophet," began Abdul Kadir, laying his hand on
the hilt of his sword, "we should----"
"Let that be as it may," interrupted the other; "there are still worse
things. Consider the words 'Alláhu Akbar' [73] we now find on our
coins and firmans; they are innocent enough if you understand them as
'God is great,' but far different if you read them in the sense of
'Akbar is God.'"
"That goes indeed too far," broke out Abdul Kadir, in bitter anger.
But Salhana again interposed.
"Let us be calm," he said; "we have at present only to do with
suppositions, which may, as I hope, turn out to be groundless. But
should it be so, could you, and would you, submit?"
This question was addressed as much to those standing around as to
Abdul Kadir, and made a deep impression on Siddha. That Akbar had
thought of founding a new religion had already come to his ears; but
could it be that he thought of using force as an aid to conversion;
was this possible?
"Therefore," concluded Salhana, "let there be no division between us;
let us consider together, and by unanimity and the use of legitimate
measures we may ward off the dangers that threaten us, through
the excited imagination of an otherwise excellent sovereign being
worked on by fanatics and intriguers. But I believe that the Prince
already signs to us that the feast is about to begin. Let us for the
moment break off our conversation; I shall remain at your command,
my lords. Perhaps I am in error; from my heart I wish that it may
turn out so."
As the guests were taking their places on the divans, Siddha heard,
in passing one of the groups of talkers, a few words that attracted his
attention--"And Kashmir," asked one of the speakers; "is she informed?"
"Thoroughly," was the reply; "the mine is almost ready to be sprung."
"And the letter?"
"Is in the best of hands."
Other guests divided Siddha from the two whose conversation he had
accidentally heard, and he was soon seated, not far from Salhana,
but divided from him by several young people, with whom he was soon
in conversation; while servants carried round various refreshments,
and rich wines flowed in the golden drinking-cups. Now and then the
words he had heard crossed his mind, but their meaning was dark. Could
they refer to secret divisions in his native land, which, according to
Salhana were stirred up by Akbar. And the letter! Involuntarily his
thoughts turned to Rezia's letter that he had entrusted to Kulluka;
but what could that have to do with state affairs? His attention was
soon engrossed by the dancers who, accompanied by musicians, appeared
on the stage at the end of the hall. Their bronze-coloured arms and
necks were bare, while a long robe fell to their feet. To the music
of stringed instruments and cymbals, they commenced one of those
dances so dear to both Indians and Muhammadans, and which they can
watch unwearied for hours. Now and then, for a change, their places
were taken by singers, who treated their audience with extracts from
the Persian poets, which Salim and his friends listened to with great
pleasure, but which to Siddha appeared a little monotonous.
"Where is Rembha," at last asked the Prince, "that she does not come
and sing a few translated passages from an old Indian poem, that you,
Siddha, doubtless know well--I mean the Gita Govinda?"
"Oh yes," answered Siddha; "the pastoral of Jayadeva, which describes
the adventures of the god Krishna with the shepherdesses, and his
reconciliation with the beautiful Radha. I have myself attempted a
translation." [74]
"Let us listen," said Salim; "here comes Rembha." And on the stage
appeared a dark but beautiful young woman, in rich and luxurious
costume; and, accompanied by soft music, she began half to sing,
half to recite, the following:
"In this love-tide of spring, when the amorous breeze
Has kiss'd itself sweet on the beautiful trees,
And the humming of numberless bees, as they throng
To the blossoming shrubs, swells the Kokila's song,--
In the love-tide of spring, when the spirit is glad,
And the parted--yes, only the parted--are sad,
Thy lover, thy Krishna, is dancing in glee,
With troops of young maidens, forgetful of thee.
"The season is come when the desolate bride
Would woo with laments her dear lord to her side;
When the rich-laden stems of the Vakul bend low,
'Neath the clustering flowers in the pride of their glow;
In this love-tide of spring, when the spirit is glad,
And the parted--yes, only the parted--are sad,
Thy lover, thy Krishna, is dancing in glee
With troops of young maidens, forgetful of thee.
"Dispensing rich odours, the sweet Madhavi,
With its lover-like wreathings encircle the tree;
And oh! e'en a hermit must yield to the power,
The ravishing scent of the Mallika [75] flower.
In this love-tide of spring, when the spirit is glad,
And the parted--and none but the parted--are sad,
Thine own, thy dear Krishna, is dancing in glee;
He loves his fair partners, and thinks not of thee." [76]
"The poetry and the meaning," said Salim, as the singer paused,
"leave nothing to be desired; but what, noble Siddha, do you think
of the translation?"
"Not bad," he answered; "the imagery and spirit are well and freely
given, even if here and there the word are not exactly followed; but
that, I believe, in the poetry of the present day, would be difficult
if not impossible. Is not the name of the translator known?"
"It is Faizi, with whom I saw you talking this morning," said the
Prince, smiling at the confusion painted on Siddha's cheeks at hearing
these words and thinking of the rather magisterial opinion he had just
expressed. "Do not be disturbed," continued he; "Faizi will not take it
ill that you do not consider his work faultless; but, on the contrary,
will be grateful for any corrections. Now, Rembha, let us hear one
piece more, and then for this evening we will not trouble you again."
"This," said the singer, "is the complaint of the forsaken Radha to
her friend:
"Ah, my beloved! taken with those glances;
Ah, my beloved! dancing those rash dances;
Ah, minstrel! playing wrongful strains so well;
Ah, Krishna, Krishna, with the honeyed lip!
Ah, wanderer into foolish fellowship!
My dancer, my delight! I love thee still.
"O dancer! strip thy peacock crown away;
Rise! thou whose forehead is the star of day,
With beauty for its silver halo set;
Come! thou whose greatness gleams beneath its shroud,
Like Indra's rainbow shining through the cloud--
Come, for I love thee, my beloved! yet." [77]
For a short moment Rembha paused, and then continued in a slightly
altered measure, and with a softer and sadder tone in her sweet
voice, as though she from her heart threw herself into the rôle of
the loving Radha.
"Go to him--win him hither--whisper low
How he may find me if he searches well;
Say, if he will, joys past his hope to know
Await him here; go now to him and tell
Where Radha is, and that henceforth she charms
His spirit to her arms.
"Yes, go! say if he will that he may come--
May come, my love, my longing, my desire;
May come, forgiven, shriven, to me, his home,
And make his happy peace; nay, and aspire
To uplift Radha's veil, and learn at length
What love is in its strength." [78]
Universal applause greeted the singer as she concluded: the beauty
of the words, so fully expressed by her voice and bearing, came home
to them all.
"Then follows the reconciliation of Krishna and Radha, does it
not?" said Salim, "but that we will have another time. Tell me,
worthy Abdul Kadir," he continued, perhaps not without intention,
"does the Hindu poetry give you as much pleasure as our own, or,
like others of the Faithful, have you a horror of the false ideas
proclaimed by these Hindus?"
"With poets," answered Abdul Kadir, with difficulty suppressing
his anger, "I have not much to do; and our Holy Prophet, blessed
be his name, cursed with good reason the impious Amru-l Kais, [79]
however highly his Mullakat was famed by others. But that the Hindus,
not content with writing the wanton poetry we have just heard, should
dare to hold up such beings as Krishna and Radha as objects of worship,
appears to me too gross."
Just as Siddha was about to attempt to show the fanatic that there
was a difference between mythology and true worship, between poetry
and faith, Salim hindered further discussion by saying--"No theology,
gentlemen, I beg; let us leave that to my honoured father, who is,
at this moment, I believe, occupied with the learned Faizi, and,
it may be, with other philosophers also; but we younger ones have
met together to pass a merry evening. Ho! you singers and players! A
drinking song, and a gay one too, that may bring back the right tone
amongst us; and let wine flow to rejoice our hearts. That no anger
may linger in your mind, noble Abdul Kadir, think that even a poet,
whom our great Prophet did not curse, and who is honoured amongst
us,--think that Tarafa [80] sang:
"Wouldst thou spend the livelong day
In the tavern bright and gay,
I with song would mirthfully
Bear thee joyous company.
"Ready on the board we'll find,
When the morrow breaks again,
Foaming goblet--rosy wine--
Which with joy once more we'll drain.
And why should we not follow the good advice?"
The sullen Muhammadan muttered behind his beard, but dared say nothing,
for he had need of Salim, as the latter well knew, as an ally in the
troubles that might arise from Akbar's forsaking the faith. He was
silent, therefore, and ended with consoling himself for his wrongs
by drinking as deeply as any, in spite of what the Prophet might
have said.
The other guests made good use of their time, and the drinking-cups
were no sooner emptied than they were refilled. Then the singers
and bayadires, at a sign from Salim, mingled in the gay company,
and took their places on the divans amongst them.
The beautiful Rembha seated herself by Siddha, and before long they
were in conversation. He discovered her not only to be accomplished
but good-hearted, from the compassionate manner in which she spoke
of the unfortunate dancers, who, though not slaves in reality, were
sold in their earliest years by their parents to the highest bidders,
and then passed from one to another like so much merchandise, leading
a life but little better than real slavery.
"And though," she said, frankly, "in the beginning mine was the
same fate, fortunately I had a talent for music. My patron gave me a
thorough education in it; and now I can support myself by means of
my art. And when," she continued, smiling, "I become old and ugly,
then----"
"Then what?" cried Siddha, who had listened with sympathy to all
she said.
"Oh no," answered Rembha, "I know what you mean, and you forget
yourself. When I become old and ugly, I need not descend to a life of
adventure; being a Hindu of high caste, there will be no difficulty
in finding employment in one of the temples to superintend the dancers
and singers kept by the priests for their ceremonials."
Here the words were interrupted by a wilder and louder burst of music,
an
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