Akbar: An Eastern Romance

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