SPRING
Winter passed to spring and spring to early summer, and yet no certain
news came of King Humâyon or Queen Humeeda. Foster-father almost gave up
hope, yet he said little, though he took counsel with Old Faithful, and
he in his turn consulted the old mountain chief, who at the assemblage
had been the first to cry, "Long live the Heir-to-Empire."
But the old man shook his head. The times were new, he said; very few
people remembered, as he did, the old ways, the old Kings. But for the
sake of Babar the brave they might always count on his sword and the
sabres of fifty or more of his followers. So, if the worst came to the
worst, they were welcome to an asylum in his eagle's eyrie of a
fortress, where at any rate they could all die together fighting for the
King; and what more did any brave man want?
This was not much consolation to Foster-father, who felt that there was
nothing to be done, save by every means in his power, to curry favour
with the Princess Sultanum.
But, indeed, the little Heir-to-Empire made himself friends wherever he
went; they could not help liking the frank little fellow who spoke to
them so freely, with a certain grave dignity of his own. For by the
time the peach gardens around Kandahâr lay like clouds of pink and white
about the old domed city, little Prince Akbar was in looks and ways a
child of three or even four; so big and strong was he. He spoke
perfectly in his childish way, with great emphasis and a curious, soft
burr over his r's and h's. And he actually tried to wrestle with his
cousin Ibrahim, who was, however, rather a puny boy, despite the fact
that he was three years older than the little Heir-to-Empire.
But with Roy as playmate Akbar began all sorts of games. There was a
high, walled peach garden not far from the bastion, where the little
Prince used to be allowed to go; and there, during the long sunny hours,
the Râjput lad, to whom such things were all curiously familiar, taught
the child how to ride on Tumbu's back, and how to hold a spear. Aye! and
to take a tent peg, too; the peg being only a soft carrot stuck in the
earth! But the great game was shooting with a bow and arrow, and in
this, before spring passed to summer, the pupil was a match with his
teacher except in strength; for, from the very beginning, Akbar showed
himself steady and straight as a shot; so it is no wonder he grew up to
be the finest marksman in India. But it would take too long to tell all
the games they played, all the manly sports which the little prince
learned without any difficulty. There was a shallow marble tank in the
middle of the garden, where he took to the water like a duck, and would
lie on his back and kick and shout with laughter as the tank got rough
with waves, till Foster-mother would beg him not to drown, as the water
splashed over him high in the air.
But Foster-father always reproved her for her fears. "Leave the lad to
learn King's ways," he said, "and thank Heaven the Râjput foundling is
here to teach him. Think you _I_ could tumble head over heels in air or
water or ride bareback standing on one leg?"
"No, indeed!" would reply Head-nurse, who stifled her terrors from a
sense of duty, "none, seeing thy figure, friend, would ask so much of
thee."
Then, when Akbar grew tired, Roy would sit leaning his back against a
peach tree so as to make a soft pillow for his little master, and Akbar
would lean against him and listen to endless stories while the soft
fresh breeze stole over the garden wall, and sent showers of pink peach
petals on both the boys. And sometimes the little Prince, outwearied,
would fall asleep, and then Roy would sit still as a mouse, gently
flicking away with the end of his muslin turban the blossoms that fell
on the little sleeper's face. But his thoughts would be busy, wondering
above other things why it was that, do what he would, he could not help
when they were alone at play sometimes calling the Heir-to-Empire
"little brother." It was dreadfully wrong of him, of course, and
Head-nurse would rightly cuff his ears if she overheard it!
Then Akbar would wake and call imperiously for some favourite story, and
as often as not it would be the tale of "How Râjah Rasâlu swung the
Seventy Maidens."
And Roy would reply submissively: "It is ordered, Highness!" and begin:
"Now Râjah Rasâlu, soft heart and strong, heard a pitiful voice as he
rode along. 'Oh traveller! traveller! turn aside, and help God's
creature,' it moaned and cried. So the Prince turned straight and saw
that a fire had caught a bush, blazing higher and higher, while a tiny
cricket lay gasping for breath, half-scorched, half-choked, and nigh to
its death. Then Râjah Rasâlu, soft hearted and stout, put his hand in
the fire and snatched it out! And the cricket drew forth a feeler and
said: 'Take this, my preserver, 'twill bring you aid; should _any_ thing
_ever_ prove troublesome, burn _this_ in the fire and _I_ will come.'
Then Rasâlu laughed with a great big laugh, 'I thank you, weakling! But
none of your chaff! _You_ couldn't help _me_ I'll go bail.' So he rode
on careless o'er hill and dale, a glittering knight in his shining mail,
till he came to the city of King Surkâp, whom he'd sworn to kill with
his sword so sharp. Now as he rode through a garden gay, Seventy Maidens
barred the way; Seventy Maidens young and fair, with flowers decking
their golden hair. Seventy daughters of the king, come out to play and
laugh and swing and jibe at the stripling who'd sworn to slay their
father, the mightiest king of this day. But the youngest maid had a
heart of gold, and when she saw Rasâlu so bold, and strong and handsome
riding to death, on his horse Irâki, she caught her breath, and
whispered to him as he passed her way:
"'Fair prince on thy charger so gray,
Turn thee back, turn thee back.
If thou lowerest thy lance for the fray,
Thy head will be forfeit to-day.
Dost love life? then, stranger! I pray
Turn thee back--turn thee back.'
"But Rasâlu smiled in the maiden's face, and drew his rein for an
instant's space, while he gave her answer with courtly grace: 'Fair
maiden, I come from afar, sworn conqueror in love and in war. Thy father
my coming will rue, for his head in four pieces I'll hew. Then forth as
a bridegroom I'll ride with you, little maid, as my bride.'
"Now at these words, and his face so kind, and strong, and brave, the
maiden's mind fluttered, the blood through her heartstrings whirled, she
felt she could follow him through the world; but her sixty-nine sisters
were jealous and cried: 'Not so fast, young man! If _she_ be your bride,
_you_ be our younger brother, beside! So do our bidding or go on your
way.' 'Fair sisters,' quoth he, 'let me hear your say!' Now the sisters
vowed he should not succeed, so they took a whole hundred-weight of
seed, as fine as the hundred-weight of sand they mixed it with, then
gave command: 'If you wish to marry our sister, sir, take the seed from
the sand without demur.'
"Then Râjah Rasâlu stood aghast; but he thought of the cricket's gift at
last, and taking it out of his pocket thrust it into the fire, and a
cloud as dust showed in the sky and the distant whirr of thousands of
wings caused the air to stir, as, dark'ning the day like a fun'ral pall,
a flight of crickets appeared at the call. 'What is our task?' asked his
friend with a laugh; 'only _that_? I've brought too many by half!' So
they set to work with a will indeed, till the sand lay separate from the
seed, and sixty-nine maidens pouted and frowned as they wondered _what_
new task could be found, to puzzle Rasâlu and keep him there a slave to
the wishes of maidens fair. 'Now swing us all, sir, one by one, when we
grow tired your task is done!'--they laughed in their sleeve, for they
knew right well, that when they'd be tired, none could tell!
"But Rasâlu laughed: 'What! seventy girls--for my little bride is the
pearl of pearls--and only one man to swing the lot! Shall I spend my
life in such silly rot? No! into one swing the seventy go; I'll fasten
the rope to my mighty bow, and shoot an arrow for all I know, so in
with you, girls, sit all in a row, and don't be frightened, my little
dears, I'll swing till you're tired, so have no fears.'
"Then the seventy clambered into one swing--so merry, so careless, their
voices ring. And Rasâlu stood in his shining array, as merry and
careless as happy as they. He fastened the ropes to his mighty bow, and
bent till it would no further go; then with a twang he loosed the
string, and like an arrow the laden swing with its burden of seventy
maidens fair, shot like an arrow into the air. Merry and careless with
laugh and smile, up in the sky for many a mile; like a soaring bird in
the distant blue, while merry and careless, and tall and true, Rasâlu
waited upon the plain, till the swing swung back to its place again.
Then he out with his sword and laughed anew, 'Ye have had a fine ride,
ye giggling crew; enough and to spare, so out with you there!' Then he
severed the ropes with one mighty sweep, and the seventy maidens fell in
a heap; and some were broken and some were bruised, and the only one
that was not ill-used was the youngest maid, for she did not drop till
the very last, so she fell on top!"
And here Prince Akbar used always to laugh gravely and say: "Glad she
didn't tumble down _really_, for she was a nice little girl."
One day when the peach blossoms had all floated away, leaving in their
place grey-green fluffy ovals that by-and-bye would be luscious ripe
fruits, Foster-father arrived in a great state of excitement just as
Rasâlu had finished swinging his Seventy Maidens.
"News, news!" he cried; "real news at last; and thank Heaven they are
good! My master, the King, has not only secured shelter, but help, and
hath written to his brother, Prince Askurry, advising him not to listen
to ill advice, but to give in his allegiance at once, when all shall be
forgotten. In token of which clemency he is sending to his
still-dearly-beloved brother, Her Royal Highness the Princess Bakshee
Bâni Begum, that she may be a companion to her half-brother, the
Heir-to-Empire."
Prince Akbar, who was leaning on Roy's breast, suddenly sat up. "Is that
my sister?" he asked eagerly, "is she a nice little girl like Rasâlu's
bride?"
Head-nurse laughed. "Nice enough I'll warrant, though I never saw her;
she has been since she was born, six years past, with her mother's
people; but so long as they send no fine ladies of nurses with her she
is welcome."
Little Prince Akbar stood up and stretched himself, and looked at
Head-nurse critically.
"Akka will welcome her, and Akka will tell you to be her nurse, and Akka
will swing her a great big swing."
So far as he was concerned _that_ settled the question; but up at the
Court there were endless questionings of heart. Prince Askurry was, as
ever, in two minds as to what he should do. Cruel brother Kumran, who
was Governor at Kâbul, pressed his advice to stand firm, to send the
child to him, to let him show King Humâyon that paid Persian troops
could not stand up against Indian ones. But Princess Sultanum had really
become fond of the little Heir-to-Empire, and felt sure that if they
only played their cards carefully the king, out of gratitude, would
consent to a betrothal between his son and her little daughter Amina.
And in the end the wife's counsel prevailed. So a better lodgment was
found for the royal children in an old palace surrounded by a lovely
garden, and here, just as the roses were beginning to bloom, little
Prince Akbar, dressed in his best, stood awaiting his sister's arrival.
He had insisted on having, like Râjah Rasâlu, a coat of mail; so
Foster-mother had made him a tight-fitting corselet of silver tissue, in
which he looked very fine indeed, as he stood brandishing a wooden sword
covered with tin foil.
But when the red and gold bedecked camel did finally come up the
marble-paved pathway with silent soft elastic swing, little Akbar forgot
all about the part he was playing, and when he saw his sister, just ran
up to her and hugged her tight, and said breathlessly: "Ah! you are a
nice little girl!"
And a very nice little girl she was! Very small for her age, with a
little oval delicate face, big hazel eyes, and brownish hair all plaited
in tiny, tiny little plaits on her forehead.
And she was dressed just like a grown-up, with little ear-rings and
wristlets and anklets and necklaces and rings, with the dearest,
daintiest of flimsey gauze veils set with little silver stars wound all
about her! Never, said Head-nurse, had been such a darling little
marionette, and when the small person fell gracefully at her brother's
feet and begged his favour in a little piping voice, that stern believer
in court etiquette was perfectly enchanted.
"It will be a real boon to the First-Gentleman-of-the-World, the
Courtly-one-of-Courts, etc., etc., to have the society of his equals,"
she said with a darkling look at Princess Sultanum's Head-nurse, who had
brought Prince Ibrahim and Baby Amina to welcome their cousin.
But, after all, Bakshee Bâni Begum did not turn out so demure as she
looked! Indeed, when Head-nurse was not by, she was a regular tomboy;
and after a whole morning spent in most lady-like fashion either playing
with her dolls, or stringing beads, while Down, the cat, on her lap
blinked and purred and stared out on the world with her big blue eyes
and her little white feet tucked well inside, she would, when the women
retired to get ready the mid-day meal, spring up like a squirrel,
scattering beads and cats as if they were of no account! Then the
garden would re-echo to children's laughter.
And she would let Mirak, as she elected to call her brother, swing her
for hours, but she obstinately refused to tumble down!
"But, Bija," expostulated the little lad, "the princess did tumble down
in the story."
"I am not a princess _in a story_," said Bija calmly, "I am Her Royal
Highness Princess Bakshee Bâni Begum."