Chapter XVII.The Tomb.In the neighbourhood of the village of Sikandra rises that magnificent building, the tasteful splendour of which is the pride of Hindustan, while it awakens the admiration of all travellers, and is one of the last memorials of the departed greatness of the Mughals. A wall with many towers gave entrance, through a broad gateway of red marble, to a path lined with shady trees, above which rose a building of majestic height and of great circumference. This building excited admiration, not alone by the stern beauty of its outline, but also by the richly-wrought gateways, minarets, cupolas both high and low, and open galleries, by which it was surrounded, giving it more the appearance of a number of palaces and pleasure-houses than of amonument. However, it was not destined for the abode of the living, but to preserve the memory of the illustrious dead,—of Akbar himself.1A few years after the occurrences already narrated, a silent pair stood in this park: a powerful man, in rich attire, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, while the right was thrownround a lovely woman who stood beside him, looking like the graceful ivy that clings to the oak. It was Siddha Rama, accompanied by Iravati. They stood lost in admiration before the tomb, and thought of the man of whom they had so often spoken with the greatest reverence.Much had happened in these few years. Akbar was no more, and in his place reigned his son Salim, who, in accordance with the wish of his father as he lay on his dying bed, had girded on the sword the Emperor had always worn, and who was now, under the name of Jahangir, the Emperor of Hindustan.2That he was not to be compared to Akbar was to be expected, still his reign was not bad; and it fell to the lot of his successors—toShah Jahan3and Aurangzíb4—so to corrupt the formerly powerful empire, as that it fell an easy prey into the hands of British conquerors.Salim had not entirely laid aside his evil habits, and Sir Thomas Roe, the English ambassador, had an opportunity of seeing him in much the same situation as Siddha had done, at the banquet given in his palace. Still he was not the hopeless drunkard that he had appeared to be.5To Iravati he had kept his word, and in spite of his disappointment, found himself happy in his marriage with the wise and beautiful Mahal, whose influence over him was great, and always for good.That Kashmir must in the end submit, had long been foreseen; and after the failure of Salim’s conspiracy, it cost Akbar but little trouble to penetrate through the ruined country and force it to come under his rule. The weak king died, his unworthy sons were banished, and Siddha’s father was made Vice-King, Siddha receiving an important appointment, with the understanding that he should succeed to the Viceroyship; while Kulluka, faithful as ever, was always ready with counsel and advice. It was not long before thepeople began to appreciate the blessing and prosperity of a wise and settled rule.The hermit of Badari-Natha did not long survive the subjection of his country. Once, when Kulluka went to visit him, he found the servant alone. His master had become suddenly unwell. He died in a few days, and was buried on the heights overlooking Kashmir. Hara, the tiger, laid himself down on the grave, and growled fiercely when the servant sought to entice him back to the house. He refused the food and water brought to him, and in a few days was lying dead on the grave of his friend and master.Parviz knew nothing of the affair with Gulbadan, and Siddha occasionally received good news from him. He was happy in his marriage with the daughter of the Treasurer, and though in high office, was busy in arranging the literary and diplomatic papers of Abú-l Fazl, his deeply lamented uncle.Abdul Kadir held himself aloof from public life, and though wiser, was still an earnest enthusiast for the true faith. He sought consolation for his many disappointments in writing his history,6in which he complained bitterly ofAkbar, and railed at Abú-l Fazl and Faizi, although they had never harmed him.Padre Aquaviva did not return to Agra, but others came to continue his work, with as little success. Though three centuries have passed, the conversion of Hindustan remains the dream of western zealots.Whether the faithful Vatsa espoused the talkative but good-hearted Nipunika, history says not; but it is very probable that they followed the example of their master and mistress. The happiness of these two was unbroken, though dark memories often arose in Siddha’s mind. But by degrees he had learnt not to allow himself to be weighed down by them, and to hide his regrets from Iravati. He had remarked how deeply it grieved her when his countenance was clouded with gloomy thoughts of the past, the cause of which she well understood, for he had confessed all to her. Soon after their marriage she had given him a son, whom he loved nearly as much as herself. He understood how great a treasure he had won, when he heard of Salim’s wishes, and what her answer had been; but when he expressed his admiration, she only replied that in her place every woman would have acted in the same manner.Siddha remained long lost in thought before Akbar’s tomb, when his attention was rousedby an approaching footstep. In dismay he stepped back as he recognised who drew near; and the exclamation which broke from him told Iravati what an unhappy meeting had chanced.“Faizi!” he cried.He who, lost in thought, was passing them, suddenly stood still, and then drew back, as he recognised the man who had so deeply injured him. But, changing his mind, he slowly advanced, and as he saw Siddha preparing hastily to withdraw, he said:“Remain, and listen to me. Here, by the tomb of the prince who ever more willingly forgave than punished his enemies, and who did not know what hate was, I should feel no anger. I have often striven to follow his noble example, and to forgive the wrong you have done me. I could not, I had not the strength; but now, on this holy spot, where accident has brought us together, I have found strength to do what Akbar in my place would have done. I forgive you, Siddha.”Deeply touched, and with bowed head, Siddha stood before his noble enemy, while Iravati gazed with admiration on the man who in such a strife had been victor over himself.“Look up,” continued Faizi; “no longer avoid the sight of your former friend. The words that I addressed to you in my anger were not undeserved,but to a man of your character they were a fearful and perhaps too severe a punishment; and I know from Kulluka what an influence they have had on you, and to what wild actions they nearly drove you. From our friend I learnt that in the first place you were not the tempter, nor in the beginning did you know who the tempter was. Her great influence and power I know well myself; but she is no longer to be feared. In her captivity she herself made an end to her guilty life. Enough of the past, especially in the presence of her whom I must greet as your noble consort. Let the past, then, be forgotten by us. What I have since heard of you, has made you again worthy of the respect and friendship of a man of honour. Take, then, my hand, as of old.”It was Iravati who clasped it, while Siddha could scarcely conquer his emotion.“I thank you,” she said, “from my heart, for your generosity. What you have said has lifted the dark cloud that overshadowed our married happiness, and the leaden weight is at last removed which for so long has weighed my Siddha down.”“I seek for words,” at last said Siddha; “but words to express what at this moment I feel are not to be found. Once I thought myself comforted and strengthened by the words of awise man, and as though I were born to a new life; but now I feel the new birth for the first time. Your friendship, Faizi, was always most deeply prized by me, and all the bitterer was my self-reproach, and the harder my punishment, to lose it so shamefully, and through my own fault. The friendship that you give me back so nobly, I esteem as the highest gift I could receive.”“Our present accidental meeting,” replied Faizi, “must be of short duration, and in all probability it will be our last. That I have withdrawn from the service of the State is already known to you. Salim, or, as he likes better to be called by his proud title, Jahangir, never looked upon me or my brother with a favourable eye; besides, I should find it hard to serve him, for reasons which you need not that I should explain, and so I withdrew myself from public life, and lived retired at Agra. But now Shah Abbas, King of Persia, has invited me to his capital, and to occupy myself there with literary studies.7This invitation I have accepted. I start for Ispahanto-morrow, and I may remain there. But I could not leave this country without a farewell visit to the last resting-place of my princely friend—the friend who was everything to me, Siddha, more than life or happiness; and had you sinned against him, I do not believe that I could ever have pardoned it. But you have shown that you honoured and prized him, though you never had the opportunity of knowing him intimately, as but few did, both in his greatness and his weaknesses, which were still loveable.”“It is true,” rejoined Siddha, “I never learnt to know him closely, but I have known enough to awaken my deepest admiration and reverence. I knew another prince whose life has ended, to whom I owed a debt of gratitude, and his memory is dear to me; but if I was asked which was the greatest, I am now convinced that the secluded philosopher, who had said farewell to all worldly joys, was surpassed by the philosopher on his throne, who in the midst of the wildest divisions and disturbances knew how to preserve the same evenness of character and uprightness of mind. In truth Akbar deserves his name.”“And that shall be said by all coming generations,” replied Faizi, “both in the East and West. The title of ‘the Great’ has been given by favourites and flatterers to many a prince, but with littleright. To be truly great means that a ruler knows how to govern himself as well as others, and to give up his life to sorrow and trouble for the welfare of his fellow-men; and it was in this that he who rests yonder was great. There have been princes, and there still may be more, whose names in the world’s history will be better known than his; and it is possible that there may be those who will win still higher fame, but seldom in history can one point to the name of a ruler who, in the midst of his greatness, knew, like Akbar, how to remain a man in the most beautiful and noblest meaning of the word. And now,” concluded Faizi, clasping the hands of Siddha and Iravati, “farewell. Think of me sometimes, when I am far from here. You can do so now without bitterness; and this also takes from me a burden which I have often found hard to bear.”For some time after Faizi had left them, Siddha and Iravati remained in the park. At last they left the spot where they had come to render a last silent homage to the memory of the Great Emperor.“So they all pass away,” said Siddha, musingly, as they turned towards home; “all we have learnt to know and reverence. He who has just left us, in all probability we shall see no more. But such men as Akbar, Faizi, and Abú-l Fazl do notdie when death ends their lives here; they live in the memory they leave us, and in their works. The thought of them animates those who come after them; and is not that true immortality?”1Akbar died in October 1605, aged sixty-three. There is grave suspicion that he was poisoned at the instigation of his son Salim, who ascended the throne under the name of Jahangir. He was buried at Sikandra, about four miles from Agra, and a splendid mausoleum was erected over his grave. The building was commenced by himself; and Mr. Fergusson says that it is quite unlike any other tomb built in India either before or since, and of a design borrowed from a Hindu or Buddhist model. It stands in an extensive garden, and is approached by one noble gateway. In the centre of the garden, on a raised platform, stands the tomb, of a pyramidal form. The lower storey measures 320 feet each way, exclusive of the angle towers. It is thirty feet high, and is pierced by ten great arches on each face, with a larger entrance in the centre. On this terrace stands another far more ornate, measuring 186 feet on each side, and fourteen feet nine inches in height. A third and fourth of similar design stand on this, all being of red sandstone. Within and above the last is a white marble enclosure, its outer wall entirely composed of marble trellis work of the most beautiful patterns. Inside is the tombstone, a splendid piece of arabesque tracery. But the mortal remains repose under a plainer stone in a vaulted chamber in the basement.—Fergusson’s “Indian Architecture,” p. 583.The Earl of Northbrook, when Viceroy of India, presented a rich carpet to the tomb at Sikandra, to be placed over the stone which covers the remains of the greatest ruler of India.2Salim, under the name of Jahangir, reigned from 1605 to 1627. His mother was a Rajpút. He was cruel, avaricious, and debauched. He suppressed the rebellion of his son Khusru with the most horrible cruelties. In 1608 Captain William Hawkins landed at Surat, and was received with great favour by Jahangir at Agra. But, after two years, he failed in securing trading privileges for the East India Company, and left Agra in 1611. The influence of Nur Mahal, his favourite wife, was paramount over Jahangir; but he had no children by her. Of his four sons, he kept the eldest, Khusru, in prison for rebellion. Parwiz, the second, was a drunkard. Khurram, afterwards known as Shah Jahan, succeeded his father. Shahryar was the youngest. In 1615 Sir Thomas Roe arrived at the court of Jahangir, as ambassador from James I., and remained until 1618. Jahangir died on October 12th, 1627, and was succeeded by his rebellious son as Shah Jahan.3Shah Jahan reigned from 1628 to 1658.4Aurangzíb reigned from 1658 to 1707.5It was Nur Mahal who induced Jahangir to be more moderate in his cups.6Best known as the “Tarikh-i-Badauni.”7This invitation is, of course, not historical. Our author, as he tells us in his Introduction, has prolonged the life of Faizi for the purposes of his story. In reality, Faizi died before the murder of his brother Abú-l Fazl.
Chapter XVII.The Tomb.In the neighbourhood of the village of Sikandra rises that magnificent building, the tasteful splendour of which is the pride of Hindustan, while it awakens the admiration of all travellers, and is one of the last memorials of the departed greatness of the Mughals. A wall with many towers gave entrance, through a broad gateway of red marble, to a path lined with shady trees, above which rose a building of majestic height and of great circumference. This building excited admiration, not alone by the stern beauty of its outline, but also by the richly-wrought gateways, minarets, cupolas both high and low, and open galleries, by which it was surrounded, giving it more the appearance of a number of palaces and pleasure-houses than of amonument. However, it was not destined for the abode of the living, but to preserve the memory of the illustrious dead,—of Akbar himself.1A few years after the occurrences already narrated, a silent pair stood in this park: a powerful man, in rich attire, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, while the right was thrownround a lovely woman who stood beside him, looking like the graceful ivy that clings to the oak. It was Siddha Rama, accompanied by Iravati. They stood lost in admiration before the tomb, and thought of the man of whom they had so often spoken with the greatest reverence.Much had happened in these few years. Akbar was no more, and in his place reigned his son Salim, who, in accordance with the wish of his father as he lay on his dying bed, had girded on the sword the Emperor had always worn, and who was now, under the name of Jahangir, the Emperor of Hindustan.2That he was not to be compared to Akbar was to be expected, still his reign was not bad; and it fell to the lot of his successors—toShah Jahan3and Aurangzíb4—so to corrupt the formerly powerful empire, as that it fell an easy prey into the hands of British conquerors.Salim had not entirely laid aside his evil habits, and Sir Thomas Roe, the English ambassador, had an opportunity of seeing him in much the same situation as Siddha had done, at the banquet given in his palace. Still he was not the hopeless drunkard that he had appeared to be.5To Iravati he had kept his word, and in spite of his disappointment, found himself happy in his marriage with the wise and beautiful Mahal, whose influence over him was great, and always for good.That Kashmir must in the end submit, had long been foreseen; and after the failure of Salim’s conspiracy, it cost Akbar but little trouble to penetrate through the ruined country and force it to come under his rule. The weak king died, his unworthy sons were banished, and Siddha’s father was made Vice-King, Siddha receiving an important appointment, with the understanding that he should succeed to the Viceroyship; while Kulluka, faithful as ever, was always ready with counsel and advice. It was not long before thepeople began to appreciate the blessing and prosperity of a wise and settled rule.The hermit of Badari-Natha did not long survive the subjection of his country. Once, when Kulluka went to visit him, he found the servant alone. His master had become suddenly unwell. He died in a few days, and was buried on the heights overlooking Kashmir. Hara, the tiger, laid himself down on the grave, and growled fiercely when the servant sought to entice him back to the house. He refused the food and water brought to him, and in a few days was lying dead on the grave of his friend and master.Parviz knew nothing of the affair with Gulbadan, and Siddha occasionally received good news from him. He was happy in his marriage with the daughter of the Treasurer, and though in high office, was busy in arranging the literary and diplomatic papers of Abú-l Fazl, his deeply lamented uncle.Abdul Kadir held himself aloof from public life, and though wiser, was still an earnest enthusiast for the true faith. He sought consolation for his many disappointments in writing his history,6in which he complained bitterly ofAkbar, and railed at Abú-l Fazl and Faizi, although they had never harmed him.Padre Aquaviva did not return to Agra, but others came to continue his work, with as little success. Though three centuries have passed, the conversion of Hindustan remains the dream of western zealots.Whether the faithful Vatsa espoused the talkative but good-hearted Nipunika, history says not; but it is very probable that they followed the example of their master and mistress. The happiness of these two was unbroken, though dark memories often arose in Siddha’s mind. But by degrees he had learnt not to allow himself to be weighed down by them, and to hide his regrets from Iravati. He had remarked how deeply it grieved her when his countenance was clouded with gloomy thoughts of the past, the cause of which she well understood, for he had confessed all to her. Soon after their marriage she had given him a son, whom he loved nearly as much as herself. He understood how great a treasure he had won, when he heard of Salim’s wishes, and what her answer had been; but when he expressed his admiration, she only replied that in her place every woman would have acted in the same manner.Siddha remained long lost in thought before Akbar’s tomb, when his attention was rousedby an approaching footstep. In dismay he stepped back as he recognised who drew near; and the exclamation which broke from him told Iravati what an unhappy meeting had chanced.“Faizi!” he cried.He who, lost in thought, was passing them, suddenly stood still, and then drew back, as he recognised the man who had so deeply injured him. But, changing his mind, he slowly advanced, and as he saw Siddha preparing hastily to withdraw, he said:“Remain, and listen to me. Here, by the tomb of the prince who ever more willingly forgave than punished his enemies, and who did not know what hate was, I should feel no anger. I have often striven to follow his noble example, and to forgive the wrong you have done me. I could not, I had not the strength; but now, on this holy spot, where accident has brought us together, I have found strength to do what Akbar in my place would have done. I forgive you, Siddha.”Deeply touched, and with bowed head, Siddha stood before his noble enemy, while Iravati gazed with admiration on the man who in such a strife had been victor over himself.“Look up,” continued Faizi; “no longer avoid the sight of your former friend. The words that I addressed to you in my anger were not undeserved,but to a man of your character they were a fearful and perhaps too severe a punishment; and I know from Kulluka what an influence they have had on you, and to what wild actions they nearly drove you. From our friend I learnt that in the first place you were not the tempter, nor in the beginning did you know who the tempter was. Her great influence and power I know well myself; but she is no longer to be feared. In her captivity she herself made an end to her guilty life. Enough of the past, especially in the presence of her whom I must greet as your noble consort. Let the past, then, be forgotten by us. What I have since heard of you, has made you again worthy of the respect and friendship of a man of honour. Take, then, my hand, as of old.”It was Iravati who clasped it, while Siddha could scarcely conquer his emotion.“I thank you,” she said, “from my heart, for your generosity. What you have said has lifted the dark cloud that overshadowed our married happiness, and the leaden weight is at last removed which for so long has weighed my Siddha down.”“I seek for words,” at last said Siddha; “but words to express what at this moment I feel are not to be found. Once I thought myself comforted and strengthened by the words of awise man, and as though I were born to a new life; but now I feel the new birth for the first time. Your friendship, Faizi, was always most deeply prized by me, and all the bitterer was my self-reproach, and the harder my punishment, to lose it so shamefully, and through my own fault. The friendship that you give me back so nobly, I esteem as the highest gift I could receive.”“Our present accidental meeting,” replied Faizi, “must be of short duration, and in all probability it will be our last. That I have withdrawn from the service of the State is already known to you. Salim, or, as he likes better to be called by his proud title, Jahangir, never looked upon me or my brother with a favourable eye; besides, I should find it hard to serve him, for reasons which you need not that I should explain, and so I withdrew myself from public life, and lived retired at Agra. But now Shah Abbas, King of Persia, has invited me to his capital, and to occupy myself there with literary studies.7This invitation I have accepted. I start for Ispahanto-morrow, and I may remain there. But I could not leave this country without a farewell visit to the last resting-place of my princely friend—the friend who was everything to me, Siddha, more than life or happiness; and had you sinned against him, I do not believe that I could ever have pardoned it. But you have shown that you honoured and prized him, though you never had the opportunity of knowing him intimately, as but few did, both in his greatness and his weaknesses, which were still loveable.”“It is true,” rejoined Siddha, “I never learnt to know him closely, but I have known enough to awaken my deepest admiration and reverence. I knew another prince whose life has ended, to whom I owed a debt of gratitude, and his memory is dear to me; but if I was asked which was the greatest, I am now convinced that the secluded philosopher, who had said farewell to all worldly joys, was surpassed by the philosopher on his throne, who in the midst of the wildest divisions and disturbances knew how to preserve the same evenness of character and uprightness of mind. In truth Akbar deserves his name.”“And that shall be said by all coming generations,” replied Faizi, “both in the East and West. The title of ‘the Great’ has been given by favourites and flatterers to many a prince, but with littleright. To be truly great means that a ruler knows how to govern himself as well as others, and to give up his life to sorrow and trouble for the welfare of his fellow-men; and it was in this that he who rests yonder was great. There have been princes, and there still may be more, whose names in the world’s history will be better known than his; and it is possible that there may be those who will win still higher fame, but seldom in history can one point to the name of a ruler who, in the midst of his greatness, knew, like Akbar, how to remain a man in the most beautiful and noblest meaning of the word. And now,” concluded Faizi, clasping the hands of Siddha and Iravati, “farewell. Think of me sometimes, when I am far from here. You can do so now without bitterness; and this also takes from me a burden which I have often found hard to bear.”For some time after Faizi had left them, Siddha and Iravati remained in the park. At last they left the spot where they had come to render a last silent homage to the memory of the Great Emperor.“So they all pass away,” said Siddha, musingly, as they turned towards home; “all we have learnt to know and reverence. He who has just left us, in all probability we shall see no more. But such men as Akbar, Faizi, and Abú-l Fazl do notdie when death ends their lives here; they live in the memory they leave us, and in their works. The thought of them animates those who come after them; and is not that true immortality?”1Akbar died in October 1605, aged sixty-three. There is grave suspicion that he was poisoned at the instigation of his son Salim, who ascended the throne under the name of Jahangir. He was buried at Sikandra, about four miles from Agra, and a splendid mausoleum was erected over his grave. The building was commenced by himself; and Mr. Fergusson says that it is quite unlike any other tomb built in India either before or since, and of a design borrowed from a Hindu or Buddhist model. It stands in an extensive garden, and is approached by one noble gateway. In the centre of the garden, on a raised platform, stands the tomb, of a pyramidal form. The lower storey measures 320 feet each way, exclusive of the angle towers. It is thirty feet high, and is pierced by ten great arches on each face, with a larger entrance in the centre. On this terrace stands another far more ornate, measuring 186 feet on each side, and fourteen feet nine inches in height. A third and fourth of similar design stand on this, all being of red sandstone. Within and above the last is a white marble enclosure, its outer wall entirely composed of marble trellis work of the most beautiful patterns. Inside is the tombstone, a splendid piece of arabesque tracery. But the mortal remains repose under a plainer stone in a vaulted chamber in the basement.—Fergusson’s “Indian Architecture,” p. 583.The Earl of Northbrook, when Viceroy of India, presented a rich carpet to the tomb at Sikandra, to be placed over the stone which covers the remains of the greatest ruler of India.2Salim, under the name of Jahangir, reigned from 1605 to 1627. His mother was a Rajpút. He was cruel, avaricious, and debauched. He suppressed the rebellion of his son Khusru with the most horrible cruelties. In 1608 Captain William Hawkins landed at Surat, and was received with great favour by Jahangir at Agra. But, after two years, he failed in securing trading privileges for the East India Company, and left Agra in 1611. The influence of Nur Mahal, his favourite wife, was paramount over Jahangir; but he had no children by her. Of his four sons, he kept the eldest, Khusru, in prison for rebellion. Parwiz, the second, was a drunkard. Khurram, afterwards known as Shah Jahan, succeeded his father. Shahryar was the youngest. In 1615 Sir Thomas Roe arrived at the court of Jahangir, as ambassador from James I., and remained until 1618. Jahangir died on October 12th, 1627, and was succeeded by his rebellious son as Shah Jahan.3Shah Jahan reigned from 1628 to 1658.4Aurangzíb reigned from 1658 to 1707.5It was Nur Mahal who induced Jahangir to be more moderate in his cups.6Best known as the “Tarikh-i-Badauni.”7This invitation is, of course, not historical. Our author, as he tells us in his Introduction, has prolonged the life of Faizi for the purposes of his story. In reality, Faizi died before the murder of his brother Abú-l Fazl.
Chapter XVII.The Tomb.
In the neighbourhood of the village of Sikandra rises that magnificent building, the tasteful splendour of which is the pride of Hindustan, while it awakens the admiration of all travellers, and is one of the last memorials of the departed greatness of the Mughals. A wall with many towers gave entrance, through a broad gateway of red marble, to a path lined with shady trees, above which rose a building of majestic height and of great circumference. This building excited admiration, not alone by the stern beauty of its outline, but also by the richly-wrought gateways, minarets, cupolas both high and low, and open galleries, by which it was surrounded, giving it more the appearance of a number of palaces and pleasure-houses than of amonument. However, it was not destined for the abode of the living, but to preserve the memory of the illustrious dead,—of Akbar himself.1A few years after the occurrences already narrated, a silent pair stood in this park: a powerful man, in rich attire, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, while the right was thrownround a lovely woman who stood beside him, looking like the graceful ivy that clings to the oak. It was Siddha Rama, accompanied by Iravati. They stood lost in admiration before the tomb, and thought of the man of whom they had so often spoken with the greatest reverence.Much had happened in these few years. Akbar was no more, and in his place reigned his son Salim, who, in accordance with the wish of his father as he lay on his dying bed, had girded on the sword the Emperor had always worn, and who was now, under the name of Jahangir, the Emperor of Hindustan.2That he was not to be compared to Akbar was to be expected, still his reign was not bad; and it fell to the lot of his successors—toShah Jahan3and Aurangzíb4—so to corrupt the formerly powerful empire, as that it fell an easy prey into the hands of British conquerors.Salim had not entirely laid aside his evil habits, and Sir Thomas Roe, the English ambassador, had an opportunity of seeing him in much the same situation as Siddha had done, at the banquet given in his palace. Still he was not the hopeless drunkard that he had appeared to be.5To Iravati he had kept his word, and in spite of his disappointment, found himself happy in his marriage with the wise and beautiful Mahal, whose influence over him was great, and always for good.That Kashmir must in the end submit, had long been foreseen; and after the failure of Salim’s conspiracy, it cost Akbar but little trouble to penetrate through the ruined country and force it to come under his rule. The weak king died, his unworthy sons were banished, and Siddha’s father was made Vice-King, Siddha receiving an important appointment, with the understanding that he should succeed to the Viceroyship; while Kulluka, faithful as ever, was always ready with counsel and advice. It was not long before thepeople began to appreciate the blessing and prosperity of a wise and settled rule.The hermit of Badari-Natha did not long survive the subjection of his country. Once, when Kulluka went to visit him, he found the servant alone. His master had become suddenly unwell. He died in a few days, and was buried on the heights overlooking Kashmir. Hara, the tiger, laid himself down on the grave, and growled fiercely when the servant sought to entice him back to the house. He refused the food and water brought to him, and in a few days was lying dead on the grave of his friend and master.Parviz knew nothing of the affair with Gulbadan, and Siddha occasionally received good news from him. He was happy in his marriage with the daughter of the Treasurer, and though in high office, was busy in arranging the literary and diplomatic papers of Abú-l Fazl, his deeply lamented uncle.Abdul Kadir held himself aloof from public life, and though wiser, was still an earnest enthusiast for the true faith. He sought consolation for his many disappointments in writing his history,6in which he complained bitterly ofAkbar, and railed at Abú-l Fazl and Faizi, although they had never harmed him.Padre Aquaviva did not return to Agra, but others came to continue his work, with as little success. Though three centuries have passed, the conversion of Hindustan remains the dream of western zealots.Whether the faithful Vatsa espoused the talkative but good-hearted Nipunika, history says not; but it is very probable that they followed the example of their master and mistress. The happiness of these two was unbroken, though dark memories often arose in Siddha’s mind. But by degrees he had learnt not to allow himself to be weighed down by them, and to hide his regrets from Iravati. He had remarked how deeply it grieved her when his countenance was clouded with gloomy thoughts of the past, the cause of which she well understood, for he had confessed all to her. Soon after their marriage she had given him a son, whom he loved nearly as much as herself. He understood how great a treasure he had won, when he heard of Salim’s wishes, and what her answer had been; but when he expressed his admiration, she only replied that in her place every woman would have acted in the same manner.Siddha remained long lost in thought before Akbar’s tomb, when his attention was rousedby an approaching footstep. In dismay he stepped back as he recognised who drew near; and the exclamation which broke from him told Iravati what an unhappy meeting had chanced.“Faizi!” he cried.He who, lost in thought, was passing them, suddenly stood still, and then drew back, as he recognised the man who had so deeply injured him. But, changing his mind, he slowly advanced, and as he saw Siddha preparing hastily to withdraw, he said:“Remain, and listen to me. Here, by the tomb of the prince who ever more willingly forgave than punished his enemies, and who did not know what hate was, I should feel no anger. I have often striven to follow his noble example, and to forgive the wrong you have done me. I could not, I had not the strength; but now, on this holy spot, where accident has brought us together, I have found strength to do what Akbar in my place would have done. I forgive you, Siddha.”Deeply touched, and with bowed head, Siddha stood before his noble enemy, while Iravati gazed with admiration on the man who in such a strife had been victor over himself.“Look up,” continued Faizi; “no longer avoid the sight of your former friend. The words that I addressed to you in my anger were not undeserved,but to a man of your character they were a fearful and perhaps too severe a punishment; and I know from Kulluka what an influence they have had on you, and to what wild actions they nearly drove you. From our friend I learnt that in the first place you were not the tempter, nor in the beginning did you know who the tempter was. Her great influence and power I know well myself; but she is no longer to be feared. In her captivity she herself made an end to her guilty life. Enough of the past, especially in the presence of her whom I must greet as your noble consort. Let the past, then, be forgotten by us. What I have since heard of you, has made you again worthy of the respect and friendship of a man of honour. Take, then, my hand, as of old.”It was Iravati who clasped it, while Siddha could scarcely conquer his emotion.“I thank you,” she said, “from my heart, for your generosity. What you have said has lifted the dark cloud that overshadowed our married happiness, and the leaden weight is at last removed which for so long has weighed my Siddha down.”“I seek for words,” at last said Siddha; “but words to express what at this moment I feel are not to be found. Once I thought myself comforted and strengthened by the words of awise man, and as though I were born to a new life; but now I feel the new birth for the first time. Your friendship, Faizi, was always most deeply prized by me, and all the bitterer was my self-reproach, and the harder my punishment, to lose it so shamefully, and through my own fault. The friendship that you give me back so nobly, I esteem as the highest gift I could receive.”“Our present accidental meeting,” replied Faizi, “must be of short duration, and in all probability it will be our last. That I have withdrawn from the service of the State is already known to you. Salim, or, as he likes better to be called by his proud title, Jahangir, never looked upon me or my brother with a favourable eye; besides, I should find it hard to serve him, for reasons which you need not that I should explain, and so I withdrew myself from public life, and lived retired at Agra. But now Shah Abbas, King of Persia, has invited me to his capital, and to occupy myself there with literary studies.7This invitation I have accepted. I start for Ispahanto-morrow, and I may remain there. But I could not leave this country without a farewell visit to the last resting-place of my princely friend—the friend who was everything to me, Siddha, more than life or happiness; and had you sinned against him, I do not believe that I could ever have pardoned it. But you have shown that you honoured and prized him, though you never had the opportunity of knowing him intimately, as but few did, both in his greatness and his weaknesses, which were still loveable.”“It is true,” rejoined Siddha, “I never learnt to know him closely, but I have known enough to awaken my deepest admiration and reverence. I knew another prince whose life has ended, to whom I owed a debt of gratitude, and his memory is dear to me; but if I was asked which was the greatest, I am now convinced that the secluded philosopher, who had said farewell to all worldly joys, was surpassed by the philosopher on his throne, who in the midst of the wildest divisions and disturbances knew how to preserve the same evenness of character and uprightness of mind. In truth Akbar deserves his name.”“And that shall be said by all coming generations,” replied Faizi, “both in the East and West. The title of ‘the Great’ has been given by favourites and flatterers to many a prince, but with littleright. To be truly great means that a ruler knows how to govern himself as well as others, and to give up his life to sorrow and trouble for the welfare of his fellow-men; and it was in this that he who rests yonder was great. There have been princes, and there still may be more, whose names in the world’s history will be better known than his; and it is possible that there may be those who will win still higher fame, but seldom in history can one point to the name of a ruler who, in the midst of his greatness, knew, like Akbar, how to remain a man in the most beautiful and noblest meaning of the word. And now,” concluded Faizi, clasping the hands of Siddha and Iravati, “farewell. Think of me sometimes, when I am far from here. You can do so now without bitterness; and this also takes from me a burden which I have often found hard to bear.”For some time after Faizi had left them, Siddha and Iravati remained in the park. At last they left the spot where they had come to render a last silent homage to the memory of the Great Emperor.“So they all pass away,” said Siddha, musingly, as they turned towards home; “all we have learnt to know and reverence. He who has just left us, in all probability we shall see no more. But such men as Akbar, Faizi, and Abú-l Fazl do notdie when death ends their lives here; they live in the memory they leave us, and in their works. The thought of them animates those who come after them; and is not that true immortality?”
In the neighbourhood of the village of Sikandra rises that magnificent building, the tasteful splendour of which is the pride of Hindustan, while it awakens the admiration of all travellers, and is one of the last memorials of the departed greatness of the Mughals. A wall with many towers gave entrance, through a broad gateway of red marble, to a path lined with shady trees, above which rose a building of majestic height and of great circumference. This building excited admiration, not alone by the stern beauty of its outline, but also by the richly-wrought gateways, minarets, cupolas both high and low, and open galleries, by which it was surrounded, giving it more the appearance of a number of palaces and pleasure-houses than of amonument. However, it was not destined for the abode of the living, but to preserve the memory of the illustrious dead,—of Akbar himself.1
A few years after the occurrences already narrated, a silent pair stood in this park: a powerful man, in rich attire, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, while the right was thrownround a lovely woman who stood beside him, looking like the graceful ivy that clings to the oak. It was Siddha Rama, accompanied by Iravati. They stood lost in admiration before the tomb, and thought of the man of whom they had so often spoken with the greatest reverence.
Much had happened in these few years. Akbar was no more, and in his place reigned his son Salim, who, in accordance with the wish of his father as he lay on his dying bed, had girded on the sword the Emperor had always worn, and who was now, under the name of Jahangir, the Emperor of Hindustan.2That he was not to be compared to Akbar was to be expected, still his reign was not bad; and it fell to the lot of his successors—toShah Jahan3and Aurangzíb4—so to corrupt the formerly powerful empire, as that it fell an easy prey into the hands of British conquerors.
Salim had not entirely laid aside his evil habits, and Sir Thomas Roe, the English ambassador, had an opportunity of seeing him in much the same situation as Siddha had done, at the banquet given in his palace. Still he was not the hopeless drunkard that he had appeared to be.5To Iravati he had kept his word, and in spite of his disappointment, found himself happy in his marriage with the wise and beautiful Mahal, whose influence over him was great, and always for good.
That Kashmir must in the end submit, had long been foreseen; and after the failure of Salim’s conspiracy, it cost Akbar but little trouble to penetrate through the ruined country and force it to come under his rule. The weak king died, his unworthy sons were banished, and Siddha’s father was made Vice-King, Siddha receiving an important appointment, with the understanding that he should succeed to the Viceroyship; while Kulluka, faithful as ever, was always ready with counsel and advice. It was not long before thepeople began to appreciate the blessing and prosperity of a wise and settled rule.
The hermit of Badari-Natha did not long survive the subjection of his country. Once, when Kulluka went to visit him, he found the servant alone. His master had become suddenly unwell. He died in a few days, and was buried on the heights overlooking Kashmir. Hara, the tiger, laid himself down on the grave, and growled fiercely when the servant sought to entice him back to the house. He refused the food and water brought to him, and in a few days was lying dead on the grave of his friend and master.
Parviz knew nothing of the affair with Gulbadan, and Siddha occasionally received good news from him. He was happy in his marriage with the daughter of the Treasurer, and though in high office, was busy in arranging the literary and diplomatic papers of Abú-l Fazl, his deeply lamented uncle.
Abdul Kadir held himself aloof from public life, and though wiser, was still an earnest enthusiast for the true faith. He sought consolation for his many disappointments in writing his history,6in which he complained bitterly ofAkbar, and railed at Abú-l Fazl and Faizi, although they had never harmed him.
Padre Aquaviva did not return to Agra, but others came to continue his work, with as little success. Though three centuries have passed, the conversion of Hindustan remains the dream of western zealots.
Whether the faithful Vatsa espoused the talkative but good-hearted Nipunika, history says not; but it is very probable that they followed the example of their master and mistress. The happiness of these two was unbroken, though dark memories often arose in Siddha’s mind. But by degrees he had learnt not to allow himself to be weighed down by them, and to hide his regrets from Iravati. He had remarked how deeply it grieved her when his countenance was clouded with gloomy thoughts of the past, the cause of which she well understood, for he had confessed all to her. Soon after their marriage she had given him a son, whom he loved nearly as much as herself. He understood how great a treasure he had won, when he heard of Salim’s wishes, and what her answer had been; but when he expressed his admiration, she only replied that in her place every woman would have acted in the same manner.
Siddha remained long lost in thought before Akbar’s tomb, when his attention was rousedby an approaching footstep. In dismay he stepped back as he recognised who drew near; and the exclamation which broke from him told Iravati what an unhappy meeting had chanced.
“Faizi!” he cried.
He who, lost in thought, was passing them, suddenly stood still, and then drew back, as he recognised the man who had so deeply injured him. But, changing his mind, he slowly advanced, and as he saw Siddha preparing hastily to withdraw, he said:
“Remain, and listen to me. Here, by the tomb of the prince who ever more willingly forgave than punished his enemies, and who did not know what hate was, I should feel no anger. I have often striven to follow his noble example, and to forgive the wrong you have done me. I could not, I had not the strength; but now, on this holy spot, where accident has brought us together, I have found strength to do what Akbar in my place would have done. I forgive you, Siddha.”
Deeply touched, and with bowed head, Siddha stood before his noble enemy, while Iravati gazed with admiration on the man who in such a strife had been victor over himself.
“Look up,” continued Faizi; “no longer avoid the sight of your former friend. The words that I addressed to you in my anger were not undeserved,but to a man of your character they were a fearful and perhaps too severe a punishment; and I know from Kulluka what an influence they have had on you, and to what wild actions they nearly drove you. From our friend I learnt that in the first place you were not the tempter, nor in the beginning did you know who the tempter was. Her great influence and power I know well myself; but she is no longer to be feared. In her captivity she herself made an end to her guilty life. Enough of the past, especially in the presence of her whom I must greet as your noble consort. Let the past, then, be forgotten by us. What I have since heard of you, has made you again worthy of the respect and friendship of a man of honour. Take, then, my hand, as of old.”
It was Iravati who clasped it, while Siddha could scarcely conquer his emotion.
“I thank you,” she said, “from my heart, for your generosity. What you have said has lifted the dark cloud that overshadowed our married happiness, and the leaden weight is at last removed which for so long has weighed my Siddha down.”
“I seek for words,” at last said Siddha; “but words to express what at this moment I feel are not to be found. Once I thought myself comforted and strengthened by the words of awise man, and as though I were born to a new life; but now I feel the new birth for the first time. Your friendship, Faizi, was always most deeply prized by me, and all the bitterer was my self-reproach, and the harder my punishment, to lose it so shamefully, and through my own fault. The friendship that you give me back so nobly, I esteem as the highest gift I could receive.”
“Our present accidental meeting,” replied Faizi, “must be of short duration, and in all probability it will be our last. That I have withdrawn from the service of the State is already known to you. Salim, or, as he likes better to be called by his proud title, Jahangir, never looked upon me or my brother with a favourable eye; besides, I should find it hard to serve him, for reasons which you need not that I should explain, and so I withdrew myself from public life, and lived retired at Agra. But now Shah Abbas, King of Persia, has invited me to his capital, and to occupy myself there with literary studies.7This invitation I have accepted. I start for Ispahanto-morrow, and I may remain there. But I could not leave this country without a farewell visit to the last resting-place of my princely friend—the friend who was everything to me, Siddha, more than life or happiness; and had you sinned against him, I do not believe that I could ever have pardoned it. But you have shown that you honoured and prized him, though you never had the opportunity of knowing him intimately, as but few did, both in his greatness and his weaknesses, which were still loveable.”
“It is true,” rejoined Siddha, “I never learnt to know him closely, but I have known enough to awaken my deepest admiration and reverence. I knew another prince whose life has ended, to whom I owed a debt of gratitude, and his memory is dear to me; but if I was asked which was the greatest, I am now convinced that the secluded philosopher, who had said farewell to all worldly joys, was surpassed by the philosopher on his throne, who in the midst of the wildest divisions and disturbances knew how to preserve the same evenness of character and uprightness of mind. In truth Akbar deserves his name.”
“And that shall be said by all coming generations,” replied Faizi, “both in the East and West. The title of ‘the Great’ has been given by favourites and flatterers to many a prince, but with littleright. To be truly great means that a ruler knows how to govern himself as well as others, and to give up his life to sorrow and trouble for the welfare of his fellow-men; and it was in this that he who rests yonder was great. There have been princes, and there still may be more, whose names in the world’s history will be better known than his; and it is possible that there may be those who will win still higher fame, but seldom in history can one point to the name of a ruler who, in the midst of his greatness, knew, like Akbar, how to remain a man in the most beautiful and noblest meaning of the word. And now,” concluded Faizi, clasping the hands of Siddha and Iravati, “farewell. Think of me sometimes, when I am far from here. You can do so now without bitterness; and this also takes from me a burden which I have often found hard to bear.”
For some time after Faizi had left them, Siddha and Iravati remained in the park. At last they left the spot where they had come to render a last silent homage to the memory of the Great Emperor.
“So they all pass away,” said Siddha, musingly, as they turned towards home; “all we have learnt to know and reverence. He who has just left us, in all probability we shall see no more. But such men as Akbar, Faizi, and Abú-l Fazl do notdie when death ends their lives here; they live in the memory they leave us, and in their works. The thought of them animates those who come after them; and is not that true immortality?”
1Akbar died in October 1605, aged sixty-three. There is grave suspicion that he was poisoned at the instigation of his son Salim, who ascended the throne under the name of Jahangir. He was buried at Sikandra, about four miles from Agra, and a splendid mausoleum was erected over his grave. The building was commenced by himself; and Mr. Fergusson says that it is quite unlike any other tomb built in India either before or since, and of a design borrowed from a Hindu or Buddhist model. It stands in an extensive garden, and is approached by one noble gateway. In the centre of the garden, on a raised platform, stands the tomb, of a pyramidal form. The lower storey measures 320 feet each way, exclusive of the angle towers. It is thirty feet high, and is pierced by ten great arches on each face, with a larger entrance in the centre. On this terrace stands another far more ornate, measuring 186 feet on each side, and fourteen feet nine inches in height. A third and fourth of similar design stand on this, all being of red sandstone. Within and above the last is a white marble enclosure, its outer wall entirely composed of marble trellis work of the most beautiful patterns. Inside is the tombstone, a splendid piece of arabesque tracery. But the mortal remains repose under a plainer stone in a vaulted chamber in the basement.—Fergusson’s “Indian Architecture,” p. 583.The Earl of Northbrook, when Viceroy of India, presented a rich carpet to the tomb at Sikandra, to be placed over the stone which covers the remains of the greatest ruler of India.2Salim, under the name of Jahangir, reigned from 1605 to 1627. His mother was a Rajpút. He was cruel, avaricious, and debauched. He suppressed the rebellion of his son Khusru with the most horrible cruelties. In 1608 Captain William Hawkins landed at Surat, and was received with great favour by Jahangir at Agra. But, after two years, he failed in securing trading privileges for the East India Company, and left Agra in 1611. The influence of Nur Mahal, his favourite wife, was paramount over Jahangir; but he had no children by her. Of his four sons, he kept the eldest, Khusru, in prison for rebellion. Parwiz, the second, was a drunkard. Khurram, afterwards known as Shah Jahan, succeeded his father. Shahryar was the youngest. In 1615 Sir Thomas Roe arrived at the court of Jahangir, as ambassador from James I., and remained until 1618. Jahangir died on October 12th, 1627, and was succeeded by his rebellious son as Shah Jahan.3Shah Jahan reigned from 1628 to 1658.4Aurangzíb reigned from 1658 to 1707.5It was Nur Mahal who induced Jahangir to be more moderate in his cups.6Best known as the “Tarikh-i-Badauni.”7This invitation is, of course, not historical. Our author, as he tells us in his Introduction, has prolonged the life of Faizi for the purposes of his story. In reality, Faizi died before the murder of his brother Abú-l Fazl.
1Akbar died in October 1605, aged sixty-three. There is grave suspicion that he was poisoned at the instigation of his son Salim, who ascended the throne under the name of Jahangir. He was buried at Sikandra, about four miles from Agra, and a splendid mausoleum was erected over his grave. The building was commenced by himself; and Mr. Fergusson says that it is quite unlike any other tomb built in India either before or since, and of a design borrowed from a Hindu or Buddhist model. It stands in an extensive garden, and is approached by one noble gateway. In the centre of the garden, on a raised platform, stands the tomb, of a pyramidal form. The lower storey measures 320 feet each way, exclusive of the angle towers. It is thirty feet high, and is pierced by ten great arches on each face, with a larger entrance in the centre. On this terrace stands another far more ornate, measuring 186 feet on each side, and fourteen feet nine inches in height. A third and fourth of similar design stand on this, all being of red sandstone. Within and above the last is a white marble enclosure, its outer wall entirely composed of marble trellis work of the most beautiful patterns. Inside is the tombstone, a splendid piece of arabesque tracery. But the mortal remains repose under a plainer stone in a vaulted chamber in the basement.—Fergusson’s “Indian Architecture,” p. 583.
The Earl of Northbrook, when Viceroy of India, presented a rich carpet to the tomb at Sikandra, to be placed over the stone which covers the remains of the greatest ruler of India.
2Salim, under the name of Jahangir, reigned from 1605 to 1627. His mother was a Rajpút. He was cruel, avaricious, and debauched. He suppressed the rebellion of his son Khusru with the most horrible cruelties. In 1608 Captain William Hawkins landed at Surat, and was received with great favour by Jahangir at Agra. But, after two years, he failed in securing trading privileges for the East India Company, and left Agra in 1611. The influence of Nur Mahal, his favourite wife, was paramount over Jahangir; but he had no children by her. Of his four sons, he kept the eldest, Khusru, in prison for rebellion. Parwiz, the second, was a drunkard. Khurram, afterwards known as Shah Jahan, succeeded his father. Shahryar was the youngest. In 1615 Sir Thomas Roe arrived at the court of Jahangir, as ambassador from James I., and remained until 1618. Jahangir died on October 12th, 1627, and was succeeded by his rebellious son as Shah Jahan.
3Shah Jahan reigned from 1628 to 1658.
4Aurangzíb reigned from 1658 to 1707.
5It was Nur Mahal who induced Jahangir to be more moderate in his cups.
6Best known as the “Tarikh-i-Badauni.”
7This invitation is, of course, not historical. Our author, as he tells us in his Introduction, has prolonged the life of Faizi for the purposes of his story. In reality, Faizi died before the murder of his brother Abú-l Fazl.