SALIM.
"Form quickly," said the commandant of the Rajpúts, as he stood in
the court of the fortress, while the cavalry fell into rank; "and
then march for the field where the Emperor reviews the troops to-day."
This order was obeyed without delay, and, when outside the
fortification, they broke into a trot, until they reached a plain,
at some little distance from the town, where the review was to be
held. A splendid sight lay stretched out before Siddha, as, at the
head of his detachment, he ascended a small hill. On the right was
a whole town, as it were, of tents; long, broad streets, laid out
with the utmost regularity. In the middle stood the imperial tent,
made of red cloth, with a gilded dome-shaped roof,--if one might call
a palace of cloth and wood a tent; and on the left, brilliant with
many colours, were drawn up the different army corps--some horsemen in
armour and some without, some armed with lances and some with guns;
and there stood the artillery and war elephants; and further off,
other elephants with luxurious hauda, on whose cushions were seated
ladies, most of them veiled, who had come to see the spectacle.
Soon after the arrival of the Rajpúts the troops moved forward,
and, preceded by their bands, defiled before the Emperor and his
staff. Siddha did not hesitate long before deciding which was the
Emperor among that brilliant group of officers, their arms and
horse-trappings glittering with gold and jewels. Unmistakable was
his whole bearing--a robust man on a splendid white horse, with the
commander's staff in his hand, standing a few steps in advance of
the others, his standard and umbrella bearer behind him. Instantly
Siddha recognised in the mighty ruler the man with whom he had spoken
in the gardens of the palace, a suspicion of whose real rank had for
a moment crossed his mind.
When his turn came to pass before the Emperor with his men, he bent
his head and pointed his lance to the ground, as he had seen others do;
and stealing a glance at the Emperor, saw a smile pass over his stern
features, from which he gathered that Akbar had not taken ill his bold
words, and he remembered that excepting a passing outburst of anger,
his interlocutor had maintained during the whole interview a frank
and friendly tone. He came to the conclusion that he had no cause
to dread his presentation to the Emperor, which Faizi had warned him
would most likely take place after the review. This expectation was
soon fulfilled. No sooner had the halt been sounded, a sign that the
troops might for a time repose, than Siddha saw Faizi beckon, and on
joining him he was guided through tents, the magnificence of which
rivalled that of the palace itself; and a few minutes later he found
himself in presence of the Emperor. Faizi was not a little surprised
at seeing Akbar, without waiting for the official presentation, step
forward to meet Siddha, replying to his reverential greeting with
a gracious movement of his hand, and say, "Well, I saw you at the
head of your troop, and it seems to me that you will turn out a good
officer. Take care that my expectations are fulfilled. I have already
made acquaintance with your friend," he continued, turning to Faizi;
"we met a few days ago, although at the time he had no idea who I was."
"Even had I known it, Sire," said Siddha, respectfully, "I could
not have regarded your Majesty with more reverence than I did the
unknown stranger."
"But perhaps spoken a little less freely," said Akbar,
smiling. "However, there is no harm done, and I had far rather hear
what men think of me than guess what they say behind my back. Our
former meeting induces me to command, or rather to request, for what
I wish cannot be forced, that now you know me, you will trust me as
you did when I was a stranger. You see to-day that your confidence was
not misplaced. Turn to me, and not to others, when you think that you
have cause of complaint against me or mine. I never refuse to hear
grievances: if they are groundless I try to refute them; if real,
to redress them. Boldness and free speaking, my friend Faizi here
can bear witness, never arouse my anger, however much dissimulation
and falsehood may do so."
After some questions and replies regarding the particulars of Siddha's
service, the Emperor signified that the audience was at an end, and
they took their leave, Faizi not a little bewildered about this first
meeting, a full account of which his young companion soon gave him.
"You are indeed a child of fortune," said Faizi; "such things do not
happen to every one, however easy of access Akbar is, and however
willingly he enters into conversation. You seem to have made a
favourable impression on him, and that rejoices me from my heart. But
do I not see Parviz approaching? Yes, indeed; but what can he be doing
here? Well," continued he to his nephew, "what is my lord the future
councillor doing here among warriors in their tents?"
"As much as my worthy uncle the philosopher," answered Parviz; "but
I willingly confess that I can rival him as little in statecraft and
learning as in deeds of arms."
"No compliments, my nephew," answered the other, laughing; "they are
not fitting between us. But shall I tell you my suspicions? That you
have come to have a glance at those beautifully decorated elephants
yonder: the lovely daughter of Todar Mal is perhaps not unaccustomed
to your appearance, although you are supposed never to have seen her."
"Uncle, now in my turn I say, no betrayal of my secrets! However,"
added Parviz, good-naturedly, "I have none from my friend Siddha, and
all the more, that I am sure of his sympathy whenever he thinks of
his no less dearly loved betrothed, though I am less fortunate than
he; and even if I hope to find favour in the eyes of the daughter,
I am not so sure of doing so in those of the father."
"That will all come right in time," remarked Faizi, good-naturedly;
"but enough at present of our confidences. See, here come others,
for whose ears they are not intended."
"Who is that?" asked Siddha, as he saw a group of horsemen approach,
in the centre of which rode a young man but a few years older than
himself, and whose appearance for more than one reason attracted his
attention. He was dressed with the most luxurious splendour: over
his coat of gold cloth he wore no less than four necklaces of pearls
of unwonted size; his turban was ornamented by a heron's feather and
three jewels of priceless worth. On his arms, up to the elbows, were
clasped numerous bracelets, all set with precious stones; and on each
finger was a ring; while his weapons and horse-trappings were a mass
of pearls and diamonds. But in strange contrast to all this splendour
was the wearied white face, its sallowness still more marked by the
jet-black eyes and finely pencilled moustache and eyebrows. Originally
the features must have been noble and beautiful, but they were ruined
and aged before their time, and bore signs of many a night spent in
dissipation and riot.
"What, do you not know him?" answered Faizi; "that is Salim, the
Emperor's son and heir."
With a silent greeting the Prince was about to ride by, but a sudden
thought striking him, he drew in his horse by Faizi, and said, "Sirs,
I am glad to meet you here; I expect some friends this evening in
my palace to a feast, will you also give me the pleasure of your
presence?"
"The invitation," answered Faizi, "would be to me a command, if a
still higher one did not prevent me from obeying: the Emperor has
invited me for this evening."
"And so you will give my father another lesson from your unbelieving
philosophers; is it not so?" said Salim, with a half-contemptuous
smile, not quite pleased with the refusal.
"What I myself may do," was the answer, "can depend on the will
of your Highness; but what the Emperor may think good to do is, it
appears to me, above your opinion and above mine. Also there may be
a question as to which evening will be most profitably spent."
"Now do not be angry, noble Faizi," said Salim, good-naturedly. "I
mean no harm; and if I leave your evening alone, let me have mine. And
you, Parviz," said he, turning to him, "have you also some important
business to prevent your enjoying some innocent amusement?"
"Certainly not," answered Parviz, "and even if I had, I would desire
nothing better than to thrust it on one side before the pleasure of
a feast in Salim's palace. But allow me, if it is not indiscreet,
to present to your Highness a new friend of mine." And signing to
Siddha to approach, he announced his name and rank.
"Oh yes," said Salim, "I remember hearing of his arrival; and if you,"
he continued, turning to Siddha, "will accompany your friend this
evening, it will give me pleasure."
"It will be both honour and pleasure to me," said Siddha, bowing
respectfully.
"There is not much honour in it," said Salim, "I am of no
consequence at this court; still I hope that our meeting may give you
pleasure. Till this evening, then." And turning his horse the Prince
rode off, followed by his retinue.
"And allow me also, honoured friend," said Siddha, "to take my leave;
it is time that I should return to my troop."
"If you will," said Parviz, "come and fetch me this evening; my
dwelling is on the way, and we can go together."
"With pleasure," answered the other, as he turned away to return to
his post.
Though Siddha had anticipated that Salim's palace would be one
of great splendour, yet his expectations were far outstripped by
the unheard-of luxury which surrounded him on all sides, as he
passed through different ante-rooms and rows of servants, before
reaching the brilliantly lighted hall where the Prince welcomed
his friends. In spite of the richness of the imperial palace, there
was something grave and sober about it; but here, on the contrary,
in the midst of Moorish architecture and sparkling decoration, all
breathed of luxury and the search after boundless enjoyment. Many
coloured hangings of silk and gold hung from the finely cut arches,
and the marble walls were partly covered with variegated mosaic work
and gilding; thick masses of flowers spread fragrance around; broad
mirrors reflected back the light, while the foot sank deep in soft
carpets of fantastic designs; luxurious divans wooed the passer-by to
repose; and there at his hand were drinking-cups of open-worked gold
and crystal, and porphyry and marble coolers of every form. On one
side of the hall was a kind of stage, lighted with coloured lamps,
where dancers and players were to perform. All this formed a picture
that at first sight would strike the beholder with surprise, however
accustomed he might be to the palaces of India.
Salim quickly caught sight of the new comers among the other guests,
who stood talking in groups, while others reclined on divans, and
advancing towards them, he said, "You are right welcome to my humble
dwelling, and I hope that this evening will afford you enjoyment;
but let me tell you that etiquette has nothing to do with pleasure,
and here we are all friends."
The Prince turned away, and at the same moment Siddha saw approach
a well-known but unexpected figure--that of Salhana, Governor of
Allahabad.
"Well, nephew," he said, giving him his hand, "I am very glad to meet
you here; I have just arrived, and found an invitation from the Prince
awaiting me."
"And how goes all yonder?" asked Siddha; "and how is----"
"Iravati," interrupted Salhana. "Very well; she sends her
greetings. But see, there comes a man whose acquaintance you must
make; he is not much seen at court, but, for all that, is a man well
worth knowing."
No introduction was necessary, for the man was no other than Abdul
Kadir, Badaoni, the Islam fanatic, whom Siddha had already met in
the imperial park with Akbar. To his astonishment this man greeted
his uncle with courtesy, although he was an unbeliever like himself;
and even to his share fell a recognition which could not be considered
uncourteous.
"I have already met your nephew accidentally," said Abdul Kadir,
as Salhana was about to introduce him; "and I hope," he continued to
Siddha, "that you regard the words I then spoke in the sense I gave
them, for you see now that persons are not hated by me, however much
I combat the false doctrines they hold."
"I honour your feelings, noble Sir," said Siddha, "although I regret
that you are not one with us; perhaps----"
"Perhaps what?" began Abdul Kadir, angrily.
"No, no, my friends," interposed Salhana; "no disputes, I pray,
over your different beliefs. Think rather of the grave dangers which
threaten us all, we Hindus as well as you true sons of the Prophet,
should the plans be carried out in true earnest that the higher powers
now think of."
Some others, apparently trusted acquaintances of Salhana and the
Muhammadan, had joined the speakers, forming a thick ring around
them, while Parviz and some young friends had gone to the other end
of the hall.
"Let us consider," continued Salhana, in a low but audible voice,
"how we should bear ourselves should our otherwise honoured Emperor
attempt, as is probable, to force upon us a religion alike abhorrent to
our feelings, customs, and morals. Will you Muhammadans, the present
rulers of the land, deny Allah, and kneel in adoration before the
sun and stars, and perhaps----"
"By the beard of the Prophet," began Abdul Kadir, laying his hand on
the hilt of his sword, "we should----"
"Let that be as it may," interrupted the other; "there are still worse
things. Consider the words 'Alláhu Akbar' [73] we now find on our
coins and firmans; they are innocent enough if you understand them as
'God is great,' but far different if you read them in the sense of
'Akbar is God.'"
"That goes indeed too far," broke out Abdul Kadir, in bitter anger.
But Salhana again interposed.
"Let us be calm," he said; "we have at present only to do with
suppositions, which may, as I hope, turn out to be groundless. But
should it be so, could you, and would you, submit?"
This question was addressed as much to those standing around as to
Abdul Kadir, and made a deep impression on Siddha. That Akbar had
thought of founding a new religion had already come to his ears; but
could it be that he thought of using force as an aid to conversion;
was this possible?
"Therefore," concluded Salhana, "let there be no division between us;
let us consider together, and by unanimity and the use of legitimate
measures we may ward off the dangers that threaten us, through
the excited imagination of an otherwise excellent sovereign being
worked on by fanatics and intriguers. But I believe that the Prince
already signs to us that the feast is about to begin. Let us for the
moment break off our conversation; I shall remain at your command,
my lords. Perhaps I am in error; from my heart I wish that it may
turn out so."
As the guests were taking their places on the divans, Siddha heard,
in passing one of the groups of talkers, a few words that attracted his
attention--"And Kashmir," asked one of the speakers; "is she informed?"
"Thoroughly," was the reply; "the mine is almost ready to be sprung."
"And the letter?"
"Is in the best of hands."
Other guests divided Siddha from the two whose conversation he had
accidentally heard, and he was soon seated, not far from Salhana,
but divided from him by several young people, with whom he was soon
in conversation; while servants carried round various refreshments,
and rich wines flowed in the golden drinking-cups. Now and then the
words he had heard crossed his mind, but their meaning was dark. Could
they refer to secret divisions in his native land, which, according to
Salhana were stirred up by Akbar. And the letter! Involuntarily his
thoughts turned to Rezia's letter that he had entrusted to Kulluka;
but what could that have to do with state affairs? His attention was
soon engrossed by the dancers who, accompanied by musicians, appeared
on the stage at the end of the hall. Their bronze-coloured arms and
necks were bare, while a long robe fell to their feet. To the music
of stringed instruments and cymbals, they commenced one of those
dances so dear to both Indians and Muhammadans, and which they can
watch unwearied for hours. Now and then, for a change, their places
were taken by singers, who treated their audience with extracts from
the Persian poets, which Salim and his friends listened to with great
pleasure, but which to Siddha appeared a little monotonous.
"Where is Rembha," at last asked the Prince, "that she does not come
and sing a few translated passages from an old Indian poem, that you,
Siddha, doubtless know well--I mean the Gita Govinda?"
"Oh yes," answered Siddha; "the pastoral of Jayadeva, which describes
the adventures of the god Krishna with the shepherdesses, and his
reconciliation with the beautiful Radha. I have myself attempted a
translation." [74]
"Let us listen," said Salim; "here comes Rembha." And on the stage
appeared a dark but beautiful young woman, in rich and luxurious
costume; and, accompanied by soft music, she began half to sing,
half to recite, the following:
"In this love-tide of spring, when the amorous breeze
Has kiss'd itself sweet on the beautiful trees,
And the humming of numberless bees, as they throng
To the blossoming shrubs, swells the Kokila's song,--
In the love-tide of spring, when the spirit is glad,
And the parted--yes, only the parted--are sad,
Thy lover, thy Krishna, is dancing in glee,
With troops of young maidens, forgetful of thee.
"The season is come when the desolate bride
Would woo with laments her dear lord to her side;
When the rich-laden stems of the Vakul bend low,
'Neath the clustering flowers in the pride of their glow;
In this love-tide of spring, when the spirit is glad,
And the parted--yes, only the parted--are sad,
Thy lover, thy Krishna, is dancing in glee
With troops of young maidens, forgetful of thee.
"Dispensing rich odours, the sweet Madhavi,
With its lover-like wreathings encircle the tree;
And oh! e'en a hermit must yield to the power,
The ravishing scent of the Mallika [75] flower.
In this love-tide of spring, when the spirit is glad,
And the parted--and none but the parted--are sad,
Thine own, thy dear Krishna, is dancing in glee;
He loves his fair partners, and thinks not of thee." [76]
"The poetry and the meaning," said Salim, as the singer paused,
"leave nothing to be desired; but what, noble Siddha, do you think
of the translation?"
"Not bad," he answered; "the imagery and spirit are well and freely
given, even if here and there the word are not exactly followed; but
that, I believe, in the poetry of the present day, would be difficult
if not impossible. Is not the name of the translator known?"
"It is Faizi, with whom I saw you talking this morning," said the
Prince, smiling at the confusion painted on Siddha's cheeks at hearing
these words and thinking of the rather magisterial opinion he had just
expressed. "Do not be disturbed," continued he; "Faizi will not take it
ill that you do not consider his work faultless; but, on the contrary,
will be grateful for any corrections. Now, Rembha, let us hear one
piece more, and then for this evening we will not trouble you again."
"This," said the singer, "is the complaint of the forsaken Radha to
her friend:
"Ah, my beloved! taken with those glances;
Ah, my beloved! dancing those rash dances;
Ah, minstrel! playing wrongful strains so well;
Ah, Krishna, Krishna, with the honeyed lip!
Ah, wanderer into foolish fellowship!
My dancer, my delight! I love thee still.
"O dancer! strip thy peacock crown away;
Rise! thou whose forehead is the star of day,
With beauty for its silver halo set;
Come! thou whose greatness gleams beneath its shroud,
Like Indra's rainbow shining through the cloud--
Come, for I love thee, my beloved! yet." [77]
For a short moment Rembha paused, and then continued in a slightly
altered measure, and with a softer and sadder tone in her sweet
voice, as though she from her heart threw herself into the rôle of
the loving Radha.
"Go to him--win him hither--whisper low
How he may find me if he searches well;
Say, if he will, joys past his hope to know
Await him here; go now to him and tell
Where Radha is, and that henceforth she charms
His spirit to her arms.
"Yes, go! say if he will that he may come--
May come, my love, my longing, my desire;
May come, forgiven, shriven, to me, his home,
And make his happy peace; nay, and aspire
To uplift Radha's veil, and learn at length
What love is in its strength." [78]
Universal applause greeted the singer as she concluded: the beauty
of the words, so fully expressed by her voice and bearing, came home
to them all.
"Then follows the reconciliation of Krishna and Radha, does it
not?" said Salim, "but that we will have another time. Tell me,
worthy Abdul Kadir," he continued, perhaps not without intention,
"does the Hindu poetry give you as much pleasure as our own, or,
like others of the Faithful, have you a horror of the false ideas
proclaimed by these Hindus?"
"With poets," answered Abdul Kadir, with difficulty suppressing
his anger, "I have not much to do; and our Holy Prophet, blessed
be his name, cursed with good reason the impious Amru-l Kais, [79]
however highly his Mullakat was famed by others. But that the Hindus,
not content with writing the wanton poetry we have just heard, should
dare to hold up such beings as Krishna and Radha as objects of worship,
appears to me too gross."
Just as Siddha was about to attempt to show the fanatic that there
was a difference between mythology and true worship, between poetry
and faith, Salim hindered further discussion by saying--"No theology,
gentlemen, I beg; let us leave that to my honoured father, who is,
at this moment, I believe, occupied with the learned Faizi, and,
it may be, with other philosophers also; but we younger ones have
met together to pass a merry evening. Ho! you singers and players! A
drinking song, and a gay one too, that may bring back the right tone
amongst us; and let wine flow to rejoice our hearts. That no anger
may linger in your mind, noble Abdul Kadir, think that even a poet,
whom our great Prophet did not curse, and who is honoured amongst
us,--think that Tarafa [80] sang:
"Wouldst thou spend the livelong day
In the tavern bright and gay,
I with song would mirthfully
Bear thee joyous company.
"Ready on the board we'll find,
When the morrow breaks again,
Foaming goblet--rosy wine--
Which with joy once more we'll drain.
And why should we not follow the good advice?"
The sullen Muhammadan muttered behind his beard, but dared say nothing,
for he had need of Salim, as the latter well knew, as an ally in the
troubles that might arise from Akbar's forsaking the faith. He was
silent, therefore, and ended with consoling himself for his wrongs
by drinking as deeply as any, in spite of what the Prophet might
have said.
The other guests made good use of their time, and the drinking-cups
were no sooner emptied than they were refilled. Then the singers
and bayadires, at a sign from Salim, mingled in the gay company,
and took their places on the divans amongst them.
The beautiful Rembha seated herself by Siddha, and before long they
were in conversation. He discovered her not only to be accomplished
but good-hearted, from the compassionate manner in which she spoke
of the unfortunate dancers, who, though not slaves in reality, were
sold in their earliest years by their parents to the highest bidders,
and then passed from one to another like so much merchandise, leading
a life but little better than real slavery.
"And though," she said, frankly, "in the beginning mine was the
same fate, fortunately I had a talent for music. My patron gave me a
thorough education in it; and now I can support myself by means of
my art. And when," she continued, smiling, "I become old and ugly,
then----"
"Then what?" cried Siddha, who had listened with sympathy to all
she said.
"Oh no," answered Rembha, "I know what you mean, and you forget
yourself. When I become old and ugly, I need not descend to a life of
adventure; being a Hindu of high caste, there will be no difficulty
in finding employment in one of the temples to superintend the dancers
and singers kept by the priests for their ceremonials."
Here the words were interrupted by a wilder and louder burst of music,
and when it ceased other guests and women joined in the talk. But
now the conversation became less guarded, and many an expression
met Siddha's ear that until now was unknown to him, but the meaning
of which he soon caught. By degrees he also began to lose his sense
of decorum. Here and there lay a reveller, still clasping his empty
goblet, and quite unconscious of all around. And there on the divan
were groups whose bearing showed no recollection of the high presence
in which they found themselves.
But the Prince had long ceased to take much notice of what went
on around him; he had thrown himself carelessly back between two
dancers, one of whom played with the hilt of his dagger, while
the other examined the many bracelets on his arms. One of these
he unclasped and flung at her, tossing at the same time two costly
pearls, he had torn from his coat, to her companion; then filling high
his goblet, he drained it to the last drop, and sank back senseless
on his cushion. And now, as the conversation became more confused,
so also it became louder and louder, while the music played, and
the wine flowed in streams; and our Siddha, overcome by the noise,
and heavy perfume of flowers, and still more perhaps by the wine,
by degrees remarked less and less all that went on around him. But
a heavy hand laid suddenly on his shoulder aroused him from his
stupefaction. It was Salhana, who had approached him unnoticed.
"Come," he said, "it is time we departed; on occasions like these
who can tell what quarrels or disputes may break out?"
"Yes," answered Siddha, with hesitating speech; "but can we go before
the Prince gives the sign for leave-taking?"
"The Prince!" answered Salhana, contemptuously: "look! and judge
whether he is likely to know or care whether we go or remain."
He glanced towards Salim, who reclined on a divan with closed eyes,
his arm hanging over the cushion, while a few paces from him lay his
newly-filled goblet that had fallen from his hand and rolled on the
carpet. Though Siddha did his best, he could not see Salim; or, if he
did, it appeared to him there were two Salims; and without resisting he
let his uncle lead him from the hall, and assist him into a palanquin
which awaited them at the door; and after giving directions to the
bearers, Salhana, who had certainly not drunk less than his nephew,
turned, with a firm and steady tread, towards his dwelling. As he
passed through one of the narrow streets he saw under the shadow of
a house a tall thin figure, which, after looking cautiously around,
left its hiding-place and approached him--it was Gorakh the Yogi.
"Does all go well?" he asked.
"Nothing could be better," was the reply. "Our cause prospers; I cannot
yet give particulars, but when I know more, and certainly in case we
have need of you and your followers, you shall be warned at once."
"And our young simpleton? keep your eye upon him, for I believe he
has suspicions of our understanding. When he is once with us that
will not signify. But tell me, is the bird in the trap?"
"Not yet," answered Salhana; "but it will not be long before he is."
Gorakh laughed, and the men parted, each going his own way.