Akbar Part 10

"As much as my worthy uncle the philosopher," answered Parviz; "but I willingly confess that I can rival him as little in statecraft and learning as in deeds of arms."

"No compliments, my nephew," answered the other, laughing; "they are not fitting between us. But shall I tell you my suspicions? That you have come to have a glance at those beautifully decorated elephants yonder: the lovely daughter of Todar Mal is perhaps not unaccustomed to your appearance, although you are supposed never to have seen her."

"Uncle, now in my turn I say, no betrayal of my secrets! However,"

added Parviz, good-naturedly, "I have none from my friend Siddha, and all the more, that I am sure of his sympathy whenever he thinks of his no less dearly loved betrothed, though I am less fortunate than he; and even if I hope to find favour in the eyes of the daughter, I am not so sure of doing so in those of the father."

"That will all come right in time," remarked Faizi, good-naturedly; "but enough at present of our confidences. See, here come others, for whose ears they are not intended."

"Who is that?" asked Siddha, as he saw a group of hors.e.m.e.n approach, in the centre of which rode a young man but a few years older than himself, and whose appearance for more than one reason attracted his attention. He was dressed with the most luxurious splendour: over his coat of gold cloth he wore no less than four necklaces of pearls of unwonted size; his turban was ornamented by a heron's feather and three jewels of priceless worth. On his arms, up to the elbows, were clasped numerous bracelets, all set with precious stones; and on each finger was a ring; while his weapons and horse-trappings were a ma.s.s of pearls and diamonds. But in strange contrast to all this splendour was the wearied white face, its sallowness still more marked by the jet-black eyes and finely pencilled moustache and eyebrows. Originally the features must have been n.o.ble and beautiful, but they were ruined and aged before their time, and bore signs of many a night spent in dissipation and riot.

"What, do you not know him?" answered Faizi; "that is Salim, the Emperor's son and heir."

With a silent greeting the Prince was about to ride by, but a sudden thought striking him, he drew in his horse by Faizi, and said, "Sirs, I am glad to meet you here; I expect some friends this evening in my palace to a feast, will you also give me the pleasure of your presence?"

"The invitation," answered Faizi, "would be to me a command, if a still higher one did not prevent me from obeying: the Emperor has invited me for this evening."

"And so you will give my father another lesson from your unbelieving philosophers; is it not so?" said Salim, with a half-contemptuous smile, not quite pleased with the refusal.

"What I myself may do," was the answer, "can depend on the will of your Highness; but what the Emperor may think good to do is, it appears to me, above your opinion and above mine. Also there may be a question as to which evening will be most profitably spent."

"Now do not be angry, n.o.ble Faizi," said Salim, good-naturedly. "I mean no harm; and if I leave your evening alone, let me have mine. And you, Parviz," said he, turning to him, "have you also some important business to prevent your enjoying some innocent amus.e.m.e.nt?"

"Certainly not," answered Parviz, "and even if I had, I would desire nothing better than to thrust it on one side before the pleasure of a feast in Salim's palace. But allow me, if it is not indiscreet, to present to your Highness a new friend of mine." And signing to Siddha to approach, he announced his name and rank.

"Oh yes," said Salim, "I remember hearing of his arrival; and if you,"

he continued, turning to Siddha, "will accompany your friend this evening, it will give me pleasure."

"It will be both honour and pleasure to me," said Siddha, bowing respectfully.

"There is not much honour in it," said Salim, "I am of no consequence at this court; still I hope that our meeting may give you pleasure. Till this evening, then." And turning his horse the Prince rode off, followed by his retinue.

"And allow me also, honoured friend," said Siddha, "to take my leave; it is time that I should return to my troop."

"If you will," said Parviz, "come and fetch me this evening; my dwelling is on the way, and we can go together."

"With pleasure," answered the other, as he turned away to return to his post.

Though Siddha had antic.i.p.ated that Salim's palace would be one of great splendour, yet his expectations were far outstripped by the unheard-of luxury which surrounded him on all sides, as he pa.s.sed through different ante-rooms and rows of servants, before reaching the brilliantly lighted hall where the Prince welcomed his friends. In spite of the richness of the imperial palace, there was something grave and sober about it; but here, on the contrary, in the midst of Moorish architecture and sparkling decoration, all breathed of luxury and the search after boundless enjoyment. Many coloured hangings of silk and gold hung from the finely cut arches, and the marble walls were partly covered with variegated mosaic work and gilding; thick ma.s.ses of flowers spread fragrance around; broad mirrors reflected back the light, while the foot sank deep in soft carpets of fantastic designs; luxurious divans wooed the pa.s.ser-by to repose; and there at his hand were drinking-cups of open-worked gold and crystal, and porphyry and marble coolers of every form. On one side of the hall was a kind of stage, lighted with coloured lamps, where dancers and players were to perform. All this formed a picture that at first sight would strike the beholder with surprise, however accustomed he might be to the palaces of India.

Salim quickly caught sight of the new comers among the other guests, who stood talking in groups, while others reclined on divans, and advancing towards them, he said, "You are right welcome to my humble dwelling, and I hope that this evening will afford you enjoyment; but let me tell you that etiquette has nothing to do with pleasure, and here we are all friends."

The Prince turned away, and at the same moment Siddha saw approach a well-known but unexpected figure--that of Salhana, Governor of Allahabad.

"Well, nephew," he said, giving him his hand, "I am very glad to meet you here; I have just arrived, and found an invitation from the Prince awaiting me."

"And how goes all yonder?" asked Siddha; "and how is----"

"Iravati," interrupted Salhana. "Very well; she sends her greetings. But see, there comes a man whose acquaintance you must make; he is not much seen at court, but, for all that, is a man well worth knowing."

No introduction was necessary, for the man was no other than Abdul Kadir, Badaoni, the Islam fanatic, whom Siddha had already met in the imperial park with Akbar. To his astonishment this man greeted his uncle with courtesy, although he was an unbeliever like himself; and even to his share fell a recognition which could not be considered uncourteous.

"I have already met your nephew accidentally," said Abdul Kadir, as Salhana was about to introduce him; "and I hope," he continued to Siddha, "that you regard the words I then spoke in the sense I gave them, for you see now that persons are not hated by me, however much I combat the false doctrines they hold."

"I honour your feelings, n.o.ble Sir," said Siddha, "although I regret that you are not one with us; perhaps----"

"Perhaps what?" began Abdul Kadir, angrily.

"No, no, my friends," interposed Salhana; "no disputes, I pray, over your different beliefs. Think rather of the grave dangers which threaten us all, we Hindus as well as you true sons of the Prophet, should the plans be carried out in true earnest that the higher powers now think of."

Some others, apparently trusted acquaintances of Salhana and the Muhammadan, had joined the speakers, forming a thick ring around them, while Parviz and some young friends had gone to the other end of the hall.

"Let us consider," continued Salhana, in a low but audible voice, "how we should bear ourselves should our otherwise honoured Emperor attempt, as is probable, to force upon us a religion alike abhorrent to our feelings, customs, and morals. Will you Muhammadans, the present rulers of the land, deny Allah, and kneel in adoration before the sun and stars, and perhaps----"

"By the beard of the Prophet," began Abdul Kadir, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword, "we should----"

"Let that be as it may," interrupted the other; "there are still worse things. Consider the words 'Allahu Akbar' [73] we now find on our coins and firmans; they are innocent enough if you understand them as 'G.o.d is great,' but far different if you read them in the sense of 'Akbar is G.o.d.'"

"That goes indeed too far," broke out Abdul Kadir, in bitter anger.

But Salhana again interposed.

"Let us be calm," he said; "we have at present only to do with suppositions, which may, as I hope, turn out to be groundless. But should it be so, could you, and would you, submit?"

This question was addressed as much to those standing around as to Abdul Kadir, and made a deep impression on Siddha. That Akbar had thought of founding a new religion had already come to his ears; but could it be that he thought of using force as an aid to conversion; was this possible?

"Therefore," concluded Salhana, "let there be no division between us; let us consider together, and by unanimity and the use of legitimate measures we may ward off the dangers that threaten us, through the excited imagination of an otherwise excellent sovereign being worked on by fanatics and intriguers. But I believe that the Prince already signs to us that the feast is about to begin. Let us for the moment break off our conversation; I shall remain at your command, my lords. Perhaps I am in error; from my heart I wish that it may turn out so."

As the guests were taking their places on the divans, Siddha heard, in pa.s.sing one of the groups of talkers, a few words that attracted his attention--"And Kashmir," asked one of the speakers; "is she informed?"

"Thoroughly," was the reply; "the mine is almost ready to be sprung."

"And the letter?"

"Is in the best of hands."

Other guests divided Siddha from the two whose conversation he had accidentally heard, and he was soon seated, not far from Salhana, but divided from him by several young people, with whom he was soon in conversation; while servants carried round various refreshments, and rich wines flowed in the golden drinking-cups. Now and then the words he had heard crossed his mind, but their meaning was dark. Could they refer to secret divisions in his native land, which, according to Salhana were stirred up by Akbar. And the letter! Involuntarily his thoughts turned to Rezia's letter that he had entrusted to Kulluka; but what could that have to do with state affairs? His attention was soon engrossed by the dancers who, accompanied by musicians, appeared on the stage at the end of the hall. Their bronze-coloured arms and necks were bare, while a long robe fell to their feet. To the music of stringed instruments and cymbals, they commenced one of those dances so dear to both Indians and Muhammadans, and which they can watch unwearied for hours. Now and then, for a change, their places were taken by singers, who treated their audience with extracts from the Persian poets, which Salim and his friends listened to with great pleasure, but which to Siddha appeared a little monotonous.

"Where is Rembha," at last asked the Prince, "that she does not come and sing a few translated pa.s.sages from an old Indian poem, that you, Siddha, doubtless know well--I mean the Gita Govinda?"

"Oh yes," answered Siddha; "the pastoral of Jayadeva, which describes the adventures of the G.o.d Krishna with the shepherdesses, and his reconciliation with the beautiful Radha. I have myself attempted a translation." [74]

"Let us listen," said Salim; "here comes Rembha." And on the stage appeared a dark but beautiful young woman, in rich and luxurious costume; and, accompanied by soft music, she began half to sing, half to recite, the following:

"In this love-tide of spring, when the amorous breeze Has kiss'd itself sweet on the beautiful trees, And the humming of numberless bees, as they throng To the blossoming shrubs, swells the Kokila's song,-- In the love-tide of spring, when the spirit is glad, And the parted--yes, only the parted--are sad, Thy lover, thy Krishna, is dancing in glee, With troops of young maidens, forgetful of thee.

"The season is come when the desolate bride Would woo with laments her dear lord to her side; When the rich-laden stems of the Vakul bend low, 'Neath the cl.u.s.tering flowers in the pride of their glow; In this love-tide of spring, when the spirit is glad, And the parted--yes, only the parted--are sad, Thy lover, thy Krishna, is dancing in glee With troops of young maidens, forgetful of thee.

"Dispensing rich odours, the sweet Madhavi, With its lover-like wreathings encircle the tree; And oh! e'en a hermit must yield to the power, The ravis.h.i.+ng scent of the Mallika [75] flower.