Akbar Part 11

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, n.o.ble 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 peac.o.c.k 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 role 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 pa.s.s 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, n.o.ble 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 compa.s.sionate 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sist 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 pa.s.sed 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.

CHAPTER VII.

SECRET MEETINGS.

Faizi's excuse for refusing the Prince's invitation was no feigned one, for at the moment when Salim's guests were a.s.sembling he was awaiting very different company in the private apartments of the Emperor. Preceded by a servant a man entered, by whose garb any one from the West would at once have recognised a Catholic Priest. It was the Padre Rudolf Aquaviva, head of the Jesuit Mission, and deputed to the court of Agra by the Father Provincial. [81]

"You are welcome, worthy Father," said Akbar, returning his greeting; "welcome in the name of the Great Being whom we both worship, although in different ways. I hope," he continued, "that the journey has not wearied you."

"I am grateful to your Majesty for the interest you take in me,"

answered Aquaviva. "Our journey, fortunately, has been accomplished without accident, although my health is feeble; but it is fitting that insignificant man should bear, without murmuring, what the Lord appoints."

"In that I agree with you," said Akbar; "but I have to thank you for the books that in your absence you were so good as to send me--your evangelists' and other writings. My friend Faizi here, who doubtless you remember, has translated the greater part of them for me, and I a.s.sure you that we have carefully read them, together with Abu-l Fazl."

"And," asked the Padre, gazing earnestly into the Emperor's face, "may we hope that the seed is fallen in good soil?"