The Adventures of Akbar Part 17

Now out of this arose a plan which came into King Humayon's head, as so many other plans came, without very much thought; for he was full of kindly, not over-wise fancies. And this one was that little Prince Akbar should choose his own mother!

It would be rather a hard task for a child who had not seen her for two years and a half, and who was but a baby of less than eighteen months old when he had parted from her! But Humayon was convinced that _his_ son would remember; and anyway, even if he did not, no harm would be done and it would be very amusing. So orders were given for a huge entertainment in the Arta Gardens just outside Kabul. They were the most beautiful gardens, not close cropped and orderly like English gardens, but with wide, bare, marble-paved walks and squares, big marble-stepped tanks full of waterlilies, all set in tangles of widespread roses and jasmine and gardenia. And here Humayon's fancy set up a Mystic Palace of three Houses: The House of Pleasure; The House of Fortune, and the House of Power. Never was such a beautiful Palace. By day it shone with the reflected light of thousands and thousands of looking-gla.s.ses, by night it rose outlined in every detail by thousands and thousands of little lamps. Every marble path was spread with priceless silken carpets, the very fountains were scented with attar-of-rose. All the musicians and dancers and acrobats and jugglers of Kabul were commanded to be there, snow came from the higher hills to ice the drinks, and cooks worked day and night to prepare the most wonderful dishes.

"That is what I call a King," remarked the Afghan sentry, whom Roy, going with his little master to see the preparations, found keeping guard at the gate. "None of your skinflints like k.u.mran. Aye!" he continued, seeing Roy's look of surprise and distaste, "I have done what I said I would--fought for k.u.mran till there was no more fighting to be done. And now, like His Gracious Majesty King Humayon, I am enjoying myself. I want no more! Ha! Ha!"

Little Prince Akbar, who was standing by, turned on him sharply. "Thou art a slave, fellow, and know nothing of Kingship. Roy and I do. In his country Kings ride and shoot and play polo, and--and do things.

Besides," he added, "I want my mother."

"Your Highness will have to choose her then, so I hear," began the sentry almost rudely, and Roy started to rebuke him, but Prince Akbar was first.

"Of course I shall choose my own mother, slave. She is quite different, you know, from any one else in the world. Isn't she, Roy?"

The Rajput lad pa.s.sed his hand over his forehead. "Mine was, Most n.o.ble!

I should know her again if I ever saw her, but I never shall."

"Say not that, boy," said the sentry, who, despite his roughness, had a kind heart and was touched by the sorrow in Roy's voice. "I have an old comrade down Suryamer way and I will speak to him of thee and see what he says; then who knows but----"

Little Akbar interrupted him gravely. "It is as G.o.d chooses. Roy always says that. Don't you, Roy?"

"By my word!" said the sentry, saluting, "you are a proper pair of Kings."

There were to be three days festival. On the first, that of Pleasure, everybody was to be dressed in white, on the second day of Power all were to be in scarlet, and on the third, the day of Fortune, the day on which little Prince Akbar was to choose his mother, every one was to wear green. Head-nurse and Foster-mother spent all their time in devising wonderful new designs for their darling's dresses, and Humayon himself added many little fanciful touches, for he had a most wonderful imagination, and this festival, which was to welcome his wife to Kabul and give her back her little son, occupied all his thoughts.

The queen arrived on the first day, but, according to custom, in a closed litter, and she went straight to the secluded balcony arranged for the royal ladies, whence she could see without being seen. So she had the advantage of her little son, who, in a magnificent costume of white and silver, looked such a darling that Queen Humeeda longed to hug him.

"Has my Amma-_jan_ come?" whispered the little Prince to his father, "is she up there behind the lattice of roses?"

"Yea! she is there sure enough, little rogue," laughed Humayon. "So give a good look right through the flowers."

"No!" said little Akbar, "I've got to shut my eyes; then I can see her with my other eyes."

But his father was too busy directing the festival to hear what he said.

So the first day pa.s.sed on and everybody thought it was the very finest entertainment that ever was seen. But the second day surpa.s.sed it. The crowds, all in scarlet, filling the gardens, looked like bright roses amid the green leaves, and the blare of golden trumpets, the scattering of golden coins as _largesse_, the stately processions of soldiers made it, indeed, a marvellous show of power; and this was increased by the arrival of amba.s.sadors from the Shah of Persia, who had so much helped King Humayon. They brought magnificent presents and hearty congratulations on success. So, nothing was lacking; and at night, lit up by red fires, the scene was one never to be forgotten. But with the dawn everything changed! A thousand servants set to work, and in one short half hour the garden showed green. Green carpets, green trees, green water falling from the fountains like liquid emeralds. And by-and-bye came green crowds, every shade of green mixing and mingling in harmony. And inside the arched pavilion of the house of Good Fortune were green rustlings of silk, green shimmerings of satin as three hundred ladies of the Court, all veiled with green veils, took their seats in a semicircle. Three hundred ladies in green all dressed alike!

Which was Queen Humeeda? _That_, it was the part of a child of four to tell, a child who had not seen his mother for two and a half years!

The crowd outside, pale green, sage green, emerald green, leaf green, were hushed to silence, waiting; but from every thicket of rose and jasmine a chorus of singing birds, deftly concealed in cages behind the leaves, filled the air as Humayon and his little son advanced to take their places. The king was dressed in green also, a fine figure in royal robes embroidered with a thousand allegorical designs. He took his seat on a golden throne.

And little Prince Akbar!

He was the one spot of colour! He was the flower of the whole garden!

Dressed in rose satin of various shades, he looked indeed what Head-nurse had called him fondly, thus adding to her string of t.i.tles, "The Rose of the World."

And now the great moment approaches! The little fellow takes his stand fearlessly below his father; before him the semicircle of green veiled ladies; a hundred in the first row, a hundred in the second row, a hundred in the third row.

But little Akbar's eyes as he stands there do not wander from row to row. To tell the truth, his eyes are not open at all! He has them fast closed; for so, he knows, he can see his mother.

"Ladies! Unveil!" comes the king's voice. It sounds a little anxious.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Ladies! unveil!_"]

There is a rustling of silks and satins, a faint swishing of gauze and muslins, and three hundred faces flash out, like flowers against leaves, from their green draperies.

Which is Queen Humeeda's?

For an instant the child stands silent, his lips trembling, his face flushing. Then his eyes open and he sees something.

What is it?

Is one face less smiling than another?

Where is it? In the first row, or the second row, or the third row?

What matter? There is a glad cry of----

"Amma-_jan_! My Amma-_jan_. There you are!" And a little flying figure in rose-coloured satin has dashed across the floor to fling itself into the arms of--Queen Humeeda.

Little Akbar has found his own darlingest mother, and there is not a dry eye in the whole a.s.semblage.

CHAPTER XIX

BETWIXT CUP AND LIP

Now it may indeed seem that all our little Heir-to-Empire's troubles were over; but there is still somewhat to tell of our young hero. To begin with, Queen Humeeda was a wise woman, and she saw that it was not good for the little lad to be always at play. She knew that as a King's son in the East, he would have small time after he was ten for schooling, and as he was now close on four that did not leave many years for teaching.

So a tutor was found for him; but it is to be feared that he was by no means an industrious scholar. Indeed, we hear of such dreadful things as playing truant, so that when a day was fixed for an examination by learned men as to how the Heir-to-Empire was getting on with his studies, "at the master moment it was found that the scholar, having attired himself for sport, had disappeared!" Then his first tutor was dismissed because he encouraged his pupil in pigeon flying, and we read of his applying his thoughts more to dog-fancying and Arab horses than to his books. Still he did learn one thing, and a good thing, too.

The day he was four years and four days old he was taught, as all little Mohammedans are taught, to understand _what_ he was, _what_ the world about him was, and to recognise that neither he himself, nor the world he lived in were the Beginning and the End of all things. It was a stately ceremonial, not beautiful, and lavish, and expensive like the Festival of the Mystic Palace, but one which left its mark for always on the mind of the child.

Despite his dislike to books as the only way of learning to be wise, he never forgot the day in the Great Mosque, when, before all his relations, he had to stand up dressed in his simple every day clothes and take the Holy Book from the hands of the high priest. And he never forgot the high priest's words:

"Read in the Name of Him who hath made all things in Heaven and earth, and Who hath given men power to be wise."

"_Bismillah!_--_Irruhman-nirruheem!_" he had answered as in duty bound, which means, "Thanks be to Him who is merciful in this world and merciful in the next world."

In this way young Prince Akbar learned that every man has power to be wise, and that the great mystery of birth and death is a merciful mystery.

Thus the summer pa.s.sed and in early autumn King Humayon, who had now wasted nearly a whole year in amus.e.m.e.nt, found it necessary to quell rebellion in a neighbouring province.

So the governorship of Kabul was made over to a trusted n.o.ble of the Court, one Shurruf Khan by name, who was made as it were Regent for little Prince Akbar, who was left with his attendants in regal state at the palace in the Bala Hissar, while Queen Humeeda went back to India, taking Bija with her, on a visit to her mother's relations.

Roy, whose story had become known in the Court, was now made equerry to the young prince, and very handsome he looked in his chain armour, with the noonday sun all rayed and shiny in gold on his breast, in token that he claimed to be a Sun-hero. As, indeed, seemed likely, since the Afghan sentry's old Suryamer friend had a tale about a young Rajah who had been kidnapped and, it was supposed, left in the desert to die. But whether Roy was the young Rajah or not, who could tell? They might send the story to Suryamer and see what befell. Meanwhile Roy was happy, and little Akbar and he became more and more like elder and younger brother.

How much in after years the prince owed to the companionship of this friend of his childhood it is impossible to say. Perhaps it accounts for the marvellous way in which the Great Emperor Akbar ruled his Hindoo subjects.

Humayon had expected to return in a month's time, but luck was against him. A King cannot waste a whole year in amus.e.m.e.nt and so let wicked men have time to hatch plots without suffering for it. And Humayon did suffer. He had to march and counter-march with winter coming on apace, until he was struck down by sudden illness. At first the news caused no alarm, for he was known to be strong and healthy; but there came a day when folk began to whisper that the King was said to be lying unconscious, that death might come any moment.