_Yet when from off the table of God's grace
He gives what each may carry to their place
Satan draws nigh, "Even for me" he says
"A portion has been portioned in God's ways_."
--Sa'adi
The Most Illustrious, the Mighty in Power, the High in Pomp, the
Exalted in Splendour, the Father of his People, the Conqueror of the
Age, the Pole Star of Faith, the Sun of the World, Jalal-ud-din
Mahommed Akbar, Great Mogul, Emperor of India, sate enthroned on a
dais which had been erected for the purpose of the festivities on the
uppermost terrace of the Palace Gardens.
The violet blackness of the sky above him was ablaze with stars, as
only an Indian sky can blaze, when the dust held in the atmosphere has
been laid by recent rain. And, to the infinite relief of the town and
all concerned in its welfare, rain had fallen--fallen in torrents,
suddenly sharply, during the later hours of dawn, leaving every tank
full, every street washed clean under the vivid blue sky which the
storm seemed to have washed also.
Relief had come from heaven, but no one looked at the stars, for the
blaze below held all eyes. A circle of Bengal lights so arranged that
the King's head should show against them, shed veritable sunlight on
his golden throne and on the white-robed figure that sate on it; for,
as ever, Akbar was dressed with studied simplicity. True, the Benares
muslin with its fine stitched edging of silver had taken years in the
loom, the ropes of pearls he wore over it were worth a king's ransom,
but there was no note of colour anywhere, and the turban, guiltless of
all ornament save the heron's plume of chieftainship, showed dull
without the calm radiance of the great diamond. Yet all things centred
on the man who sate enthroned, because it was his thought, his
imagination which had inspired the whole marvellous spectacle that was
being held in the terraced garden surrounded by distant half-seen
palaces.
And it was marvellous, indeed! The dais (behind which in darkest
shadow rose the latticed vantage ground of the court ladies) was
semicircular, round-fronted and was superabundantly lit by that crown
of twelve Bengal lights (representing the twelve solar months) which
hung like a halo round the man who claimed to be the Sun of his World.
A big claim, but in this instance it was made with such magnificent
straightforwardness, such clear perception of all that the claim
entailed, as to disarm criticism. This dais, some ten feet high, rose
from a semicircular round-fronted plinth which was lost in shadow,
partly because of a projecting eave which prevented the light from
above striking on it, and partly because seven equi-distant lights
(representing the seven days of the week and in varying colours
showing the tints of a rainbow) were so cunningly set in shades round
the dais that their light left the plinth in darkness and shot out, in
ever widening rays, through the garden, growing less and less distinct
until at its farther end colour seemed lost in a general mist of
light.
And in six of these rays, red, orange, yellow, blue, indigo, violet,
widening with the light, sate, in ordered rows, on the red side the
Hindus and Buddhists of the court, upon the violet side the
Mahommedans, the Jains, the Jews. Only the central green ray,
compounded of these two factors blue and yellow remained empty,
showing nothing but a narrow marble walk bordered on either side by
wide water ways, out of which fountains shot high into the still, dark
air; shot, illumined so far by the lights, then, rising high above
them, mere ghostly shadows on the darkness, to fall again in drops
that grew iridescent as they fell.
There was no other illumination in the garden; but the distant palaces
were outlined in every curve, every detail, by little soft flickering
lamplets like stars.
The running water in the waterways came out of the dark plinth
below the dais, and about fifty yards from it, ran under a wider
crossways marble platform which ended the narrow pathway; emerging
from this short hiding to fall rippling over a marble slope, where
(safe-sheltered from every drop in deftly cut niches) cunning little
coloured lamps shone, converting the whole cascade into a rainbow.
Hence, united, the stream of the two waterways merged into one, and
flowed to disappear from the garden through a low archway tunnelled
beneath the palace; thence to find its way by underground passages to
the tank at the bottom of the Sikri ridge.
Even as a mere spectacular effect the scene was striking, but once the
inner meaning of it, so clear to the mind of the white-robed figure on
the throne, was grasped, it became of absorbing interest as
representing the vast empire which Akbar had so far succeeded in
welding together. First the surging misty radiance of the crowd at the
end; then, strengthening as each ray narrowed, the broad demarcations
of the various religions professed by Akbar's subjects. Rajputs in
their red robes on the one side elbowing the Brahmins in the orange of
the ascetic; Shiahs in purple beside the Sunnis in indigo; while in
the yellow ray sate Buddhists in their devotional colour; in the blue
the Sufis, the Jews, the Jains, all the smaller cults that are to be
found in India.
Between them, centring all, shone the green ray of the true faith,
the perfect equality of toleration and freedom which was Akbar's
ideal--and it was empty!
Perfect as the scene was, every soul in the garden that night felt a
consciousness of vague depression, vague expectation. Eyes wandered as
they were not used to wander from that central figure on the throne.
"'Tis the talisman which the scapegrace wears," whispered Aunt
Rosebody ruefully from behind the latticed screen to little Umm Kulsum
who was holding her hand--she had been holding it practically ever
since the fatal moment, a few hours back, when they had seen the
Prince walk away unconcernedly with the hidden diamond in his turban
of state. "Oh! Ummu, I feel so cold down my back. But there is no
remedy against one's own acts! Though why such temptation should be
put in the way of an old woman only God and His Prophet knows! But
'tis always so. He had but one eye and the grit fell in it."
"We did what we thought best, auntie!" whimpered the Mother of
Plumpness, "and we can take it back when the Audience is over--or we
can die!"
Aunt Rosebody shook her head mournfully. "Dying is no good" she
protested, "but why doth not the scapegrace come and have done with
it! If oil isn't ready when the frying pan's ready, it had best go
away!"
"In truth it appears long waiting, mayhap, for the last day," sighed
Umm Kulsum tragically.
"Last day!" echoed Aunt Rosebody snappishly. "Lo! who wants a last
day? Not I. Sure I am betwixt and between. Earth too hard, sky too far
like the swallows. Please God they'll hurry up and let me get to my
prayers. Lo! there goes Khodadad with a smile on his face. True is it
that lies only shine in the dark."
In truth Khodadad stepped jauntily and his face shone with content as
he passed to his place in the light-screened plinth where the court
officials were gathered awaiting the signal which was to summon them
to the dais above, there to range themselves behind the Emperor for
the coming audience.
"It is nigh time," said Mirza Ibrahim, who as Court Chamberlain had
charge of the ceremonies. "Gentlemen are you ready?"
Then he bent forward to the newcomer and whispered something. The
whispered reply brought such satisfaction to Ibrahim's face also, that
he stared with open contempt at Birbal, who lounging in, lazily late,
was making his way toward him.
"My lord has nearly missed his chance," he said meaningly.
"Nay! Sir Chamberlain," replied Birbal coolly, "I am about to take it,
and--and give it." He held out a paper as he spoke. "The matter is
urgent, since as the Envoy comes with all the Insignia of Royalty, he
must be presented before the Heir-Apparent. But such etiquettes are
safe in the hands of a Chamberlain! For the rest, he and his retinue
await reception at the gate."
"What is't?" asked Khodadad in an undertone as he saw Ibrahim's face
change. But his own turned grayish green, as, over the shoulder he
read the titular address:
"I, Payandar Tarkhan of the House of Sinde coming by order----"
"Impossible," he gasped. "This--this is some jest of my lord Birbal's.
Payandar is----"
"There be other Tarkhans so called besides the one who died in the
wilderness," retorted Birbal slowly, "and this one comes as King--so
he says. Read through the document, Mirza Sahib, and see if all is in
order. If so, do the duty of Chamberlain; and be quick about it, for
yonder go the royal _nakarahs_. The Hour of Audience has come.
Gentlemen! to our places. I will inform the Emperor."
A minute later, the court officials stood in a serried semicircle
behind the King, and the green light, the central light of the seven,
had divided into two and shone guarding either side of a narrow marble
staircase which was disclosed leading upward to the dais. At the foot
of this stood Mirza Ibrahim, reading aloud, in a voice which betrayed
his agitation, the titular names and designations of the Amir of
Sinde. His mind was busy with a thousand questionings. What did it all
mean? And why had Khodadad been so disturbed? Surely their plans were
secure? Surely the Prince had been told of the talisman? Surely this
knowledge would breed confidence--and so--with aid--defiance? Every
one was ready. That very night might see conspiracy successful at
last, the Prince, at last, forced into taking his part.
"Let the Royalty of Sinde, as represented by him who wears the
Insignia of Royalty be welcome to the Court of the Sun of the World."
The words were spoken by Abulfazl, as Prime Minister. His face showed
a slight astonishment which was reflected even on Akbar's. He leant
forward as if eager to see the unexpected visitor, and all eyes
followed his toward the dim radiance of the distant crowd. Something
there was in the multitude of faces, half seen though deep-shadowed,
which thrilled many of the lookers. But the thrill passed into
something like an electric shock, as tearing the still night air with
discordant clangour, an almost inconceivable clash and crash of copper
kettledrums and brass cymbals seemed to crack the ears that heard it.
Instinctively almost every one present drew back from the sound,
blinked, then opened eyes afresh upon the world of coloured lights and
hidden imaginations. Even Akbar started, and Birbal, looking eagerly
into his eyes, gave a quick sigh of relief.
So swiftly had the start come and gone, yet so real had been its
effect upon every nerve, that people felt dazed, uncertain, waking as
it were to the perception that a figure was standing on the crossway
platform of marble above the rainbow cascade--standing almost alone,
though backed by a confused crowding of retinue on either side the
central waterway.
The only other figures really visible were two misshapen dwarfs, one
in front, bearing a tasselled lance, the other behind, bearing a
tasselled lance also. But both showed jet black from head to foot, and
each carried, the front one on his breast, the one behind on his back
a round, brilliant mirror. Or was it a brilliant light? Certain it is
that as the dwarfs strutted forward, leading and following the central
figure these round plaques shot out a dazzling brilliance, and for, an
instant seemed to cloud all else.
The next thing that became clear was the vivid green of emeralds; such
ropes of them, shining like young green wheatfields, in the green
radiance shed by the central light of green.
"The emeralds of Sinde, sure enough," said Man Singh half to himself,
and settled down comfortably to look, as he sate heading the red ray
of Rajputs. But there were others in those converging rays who stared
and said doubtfully, "Sure, yonder are Birbal's daughter's two dwarfs
that all know!" Until hushed by some neighbour's contemptuous denial,
they also saw their mistake, and looked with believing eyes. There was
one man, however, who, though he denied strenuously grew grayer and
grayer as he watched the slight figure with the long black curls
resting on its sloping shoulders, and the slight beard scarce covering
the thin narrow cheeks. '"Tis Sufurdar for sure!" muttered Khodadad
fighting against fear--"it is but the emeralds that bring the
resemblance--that is all!--before God, that is all!"
So, the green light in which the little group was enveloped growing
greener as the three figures approached the dais, they advanced, until
at the foot of the stairs, the dwarfs stood one to each side, the one
who had walked in front wheeling to show his mirror also to the
watching eyes.
To that confused crowd at the end of the garden these two shining
spots glowed beneath the green lamps. That was all; and the familiar
words of welcome given as Akbar motioned the representative of Sinde
to the cushions beside him took all the strangeness from the scene. It
was the beginning of the marriage festival; other Princes had sent, or
would send their representatives. Sinde, no doubt to curry favour with
the Mogul, had sent its Royalty by the hand of an envoy; but the great
event of the evening was yet to come. For that was the reception of
the Bridegroom-Elect, the Heir-Apparent--the man who might come to his
own any day, since Akbar was ever reckless of his own life. Had he not
escaped by a miracle being killed at _chaugan_ but the other day?
So the whole assembly stirred as one man, when the Royal _nakarahs_
sounded once more, and Prince Salim followed by a right royal retinue
showed, where the Envoy of Sinde had showed, on the marble platform
above the rainbow cascade.
"Lo! Ummu!" whispered Auntie Rosebody, "we did the right thing. He
looks the Archangel Gabriel. Let me go to bed in the dark, my day is
full!"
And in truth the Prince had never looked better in his life. Perhaps
the whole-heartedness of his plunge into Love's sea was the only
reason why his hopes ran high; perhaps he knew of the talisman he
carried, but carried it with no evil intention; perhaps again those
hopes of his had gone further than mere Love, so that he saw himself
master of the situation, able to give the Rajput girl whom he had
never seen the go by, able to do in future what he chose, what he
desired. But certain it is that every eye followed his youthful
dignity with admiration, and more than one looked furtively from the
son to the father, appraising both. In that father's mind, however,
was no hint of jealousy, only unmixed joy.
As he raised his son from his obeisance and kissed him on both cheeks,
it seemed to him as if, at long last, content had come to him. The
questionings which had so harassed him of late seemed to have fled.
Here was an heir, indeed!
"How well thou lookest Shaikie!" he whispered affectionately in the
young man's ear ere taking him by the hand and leading him forward so
that they might be seen by all the populace.
A goodly pair indeed! The younger man, somehow--for this evening at
any rate--with more personal charm about him; but the elder one even
in his plain dress, his unadorned turban, a king every inch of him.
"Heralds! read out the Titles of this my beloved son, Salim!"
Akbar's voice raised in command penetrated to the farthest corner of
the garden and every ear strained to catch the honours that were to be
showered on this Heir to Empire. Aunt Rosebody's face, flushed with
anxiety grew crimson dark with sheer delight as she listened.
"Captain of Ten Thousand--praise be to Allah!" she commented
breathlessly. "What! a Viceroy in the Northeast--now may I go to
Paradise!--Master of Distinctions!--what! Sunshade and Fly whisk! Umm
Kulsum! I go again to Mecca to give thanks--And the jewels--not
_sir-a-pa_, head to foot!--not _sir-a-pa!_--Yes!--Now may they kill
me--one can take two kicks from a milch cow! Unalienable--did I hear
right--Ummu tell me! tell this poor old woman who--who--cannot
believe--her ears."
"Unalienable, never to be neglected. Always to be considered by right,
election, and consent Crown Prince." So far the Mother of Plumpness
repeated in a trembling voice; then the two women fell on each other's
necks and wept.
"Bring the well!" murmured Auntie Rosebody. "I'll drown myself."
And Akbar stood holding his heir by his right hand, full of a great
triumph.
"Lo! I have given thee all, Shaikie" he said fondly, "art content?"
"Not all!" said a quiet voice beside him. "There is yet one honour
withheld from this Peerless Prince, this Honourable Heir."
It was the Envoy from Sinde who as the representative of royalty stood
on Akbar's left hand a step behind him.
Akbar flashed round on him haughtily. "What honour hath Sinde to
suggest?"
"The honour of Brotherhood to the Sun of the World. The honour of the
exchange of turbans!"
The converging rays of spectators suddenly seemed to quiver, as if
some of their component parts stirred, but the Emperor stood still,
his eyes upon the envoy's.
Then his own narrowed with quick thought. "Sinde is right," he said
slowly, "there is no tie like brotherhood. It is the chain which links
the whole world to One." He turned swiftly to his son withdrawing his
hand from him and so for an instant standing apart, dissevered,
independent.
The stir in the rays grew more evident, but his voice quieted it.
"Brother," it said, and its ringing tones filled the wide spaces, "let
us exchange the sign of brotherhood!"
His own simple turban with its heron's plume was in his hand.
For an instant Prince Salim hesitated; the next his more elaborate one
with its hidden diamond was in his. It could not be otherwise.
"So!" smiled Akbar, giving himself up as he did always, to
imagination, to sentiment, to dreams. "Take thou the inner place,
Shaikie, next my heart--my arms are longer!"
Long enough any how to reach round Salim's less sinewy ones and place
the tufted turban of Kingship on the young man's head, where being a
trifle too large it slipped well down over the ears and forehead.
"Thou must grow to it, little brother," quoth Akbar in fond pleasure.
"As for me I must walk circumspectly lest my brotherhood fall!"
And in truth the Prince's turban showed all too much of the grizzled
hair.
"Ummu! I will go back and say thanksgiving till dawn," faltered Auntie
Rosebody behind the screen. "Truly what is to be, won't rub out. The
Lord had it in His keeping, all the time, and we were wondering which
side of the wall the cat would jump! So the King hath his own again,
and Salim hath more grace than the scapegrace deserves. Truly you may
toil and sweat. What Fate wills you'll get."
The proverb might have been quoted by many another in the assembly had
they been able to realise at once the full meaning of the little
incident. But a sort of blank amaze settled down even on those
conspirators who grasped at once that the chance of immediate defiance
was over. Mirza Ibrahim looked at Khodadad, Khodadad at Mirza Ibrahim,
and their glances betrayed one and the same thought.
This was no accident. Someone had split on their secret. Who?
"Come, my brother!" said Akbar, taking his son's hand and advancing
toward the marble steps. "Now that the conferring of titles is over,
let us pass to amusement."
The court ushers rushed to their places, the royal _nakarahs_ sounded,
and the cortege of the select few passed downward amid a seething
shout of content from that dim crowd at the end of the garden. But
above that strange sound like a surging wave, which seems to sweep
along any densely packed mass of men, rose another.
This had a rumble in it, a sharp hiss, then a deafening low, long
continued roar.
Akbar, who had just reached the narrow marble pathway, stopped dead
and looked round him sharply.
"The reservoir!" he cried, "the reservoir above!"
His instinct was right. The rain of dawn had found some weak spot in
the masonry and the next instant, bursting its hidden way beneath the
dais and hurling great blocks of marble before it, a huge volume of
water rose spurtling into the air.
"Run for it, Shaikie, run for it! Leap from the platform!"
The cry came not one moment too soon. Keeping within bounds by the
very force of its onward impulse, the great wave of water, which would
have hurled them down the marble cascade, but just touched their
heels, as choosing different sides they leapt to safety.
Leapt turbanless, their ill-fitting head-dresses having tumbled off at
their first start.
The general shriek of horror at the impending catastrophe subsided
into confused babels of relief centring round the Prince on the left,
the King on the right. So none noticed two men one on the right, one
on the left of the wide central waterway who instantly started to race
two half-floating half-sinking objects which, swept over the cascade
by that wild impulse of flood, were now unsteadily swirling down to be
engulfed under the low archway leading to subterreanean passages. And
neither Khodadad nor Birbal had eyes for anything save the prize of
that race.
A sudden swerve to the left taking the Prince's turban with its
talisman almost within reach of the enemy, decided Birbal. He paused a
second. Then his low forward dive gave him a yard or two, and he rose
to find his hand and Khodadad's both clutching at what they sought.
But his was the nearer.
"Not so fast, Tarkhan-jee," he jibed breathless, unable to resist
retort, even in that moment of stress. "Beware stealing or thy list of
crime is full! This is my master's."
Then the current caught him and hurled him almost helpless to the
other side. Half a yard farther and he would have been sucked down
into the archway, but a thin arm clutched at him and the clutch held.
A brief struggle and he stood beside the _rebeck_ player, gazing at
him stupidly, but half conscious of who he was. Only for an instant
however; the next he faced Khodadad who, backed by Mirza Ibrahim was
scowling at him across the water.
"Your pardon, gentlemen," he gasped politely, as before their very
eyes, he calmly searched for and tore out the talisman which Umm
Kulsum and Aunt Rosebody had sewn so deftly into the folds of Salim's
turban? "but I would fain see if this be my master's headdress given
him in brotherhood by his son. Yes! of a surety it is. It will be
kept, messieurs, the appointed time, and returned in due course--with
the talisman--by all the gods! with the talisman--I wot not if it be a
true or a false one--to those who gave it."
With that he turned on his heel regardless of the volley of curses
from over the water.
But he rounded fiercely on the _rebeck_ player's sardonic request to
be remembered in that he had saved the master's life.
"Thou art the devil, juggler," he said and there was real fear in his
voice. "Get thee gone, since, before God, I know not who thou art."
A laugh followed him.