The Adventures of Akbar

CHAPTER IX
SPRING

Winter passed to spring and spring to early summer, and yet no certain news came of King Humâyon or Queen Humeeda. Foster-father almost gave up hope, yet he said little, though he took counsel with Old Faithful, and he in his turn consulted the old mountain chief, who at the assemblage had been the first to cry, "Long live the Heir-to-Empire."

But the old man shook his head. The times were new, he said; very few people remembered, as he did, the old ways, the old Kings. But for the sake of Babar the brave they might always count on his sword and the sabres of fifty or more of his followers. So, if the worst came to the worst, they were welcome to an asylum in his eagle's eyrie of a fortress, where at any rate they could all die together fighting for the King; and what more did any brave man want?

This was not much consolation to Foster-father, who felt that there was nothing to be done, save by every means in his power, to curry favour with the Princess Sultanum.

But, indeed, the little Heir-to-Empire made himself friends wherever he went; they could not help liking the frank little fellow who spoke to them so freely, with a certain grave dignity of his own. For by the time the peach gardens around Kandahâr lay like clouds of pink and white about the old domed city, little Prince Akbar was in looks and ways a child of three or even four; so big and strong was he. He spoke perfectly in his childish way, with great emphasis and a curious, soft burr over his r's and h's. And he actually tried to wrestle with his cousin Ibrahim, who was, however, rather a puny boy, despite the fact that he was three years older than the little Heir-to-Empire.

But with Roy as playmate Akbar began all sorts of games. There was a high, walled peach garden not far from the bastion, where the little Prince used to be allowed to go; and there, during the long sunny hours, the Râjput lad, to whom such things were all curiously familiar, taught the child how to ride on Tumbu's back, and how to hold a spear. Aye! and to take a tent peg, too; the peg being only a soft carrot stuck in the earth! But the great game was shooting with a bow and arrow, and in this, before spring passed to summer, the pupil was a match with his teacher except in strength; for, from the very beginning, Akbar showed himself steady and straight as a shot; so it is no wonder he grew up to be the finest marksman in India. But it would take too long to tell all the games they played, all the manly sports which the little prince learned without any difficulty. There was a shallow marble tank in the middle of the garden, where he took to the water like a duck, and would lie on his back and kick and shout with laughter as the tank got rough with waves, till Foster-mother would beg him not to drown, as the water splashed over him high in the air.

But Foster-father always reproved her for her fears. "Leave the lad to learn King's ways," he said, "and thank Heaven the Râjput foundling is here to teach him. Think you I could tumble head over heels in air or water or ride bareback standing on one leg?"

"No, indeed!" would reply Head-nurse, who stifled her terrors from a sense of duty, "none, seeing thy figure, friend, would ask so much of thee."

Then, when Akbar grew tired, Roy would sit leaning his back against a peach tree so as to make a soft pillow for his little master, and Akbar would lean against him and listen to endless stories while the soft fresh breeze stole over the garden wall, and sent showers of pink peach petals on both the boys. And sometimes the little Prince, outwearied, would fall asleep, and then Roy would sit still as a mouse, gently flicking away with the end of his muslin turban the blossoms that fell on the little sleeper's face. But his thoughts would be busy, wondering above other things why it was that, do what he would, he could not help when they were alone at play sometimes calling the Heir-to-Empire "little brother." It was dreadfully wrong of him, of course, and Head-nurse would rightly cuff his ears if she overheard it!

Then Akbar would wake and call imperiously for some favourite story, and as often as not it would be the tale of "How Râjah Rasâlu swung the Seventy Maidens."

And Roy would reply submissively: "It is ordered, Highness!" and begin:

"Now Râjah Rasâlu, soft heart and strong, heard a pitiful voice as he rode along. 'Oh traveller! traveller! turn aside, and help God's creature,' it moaned and cried. So the Prince turned straight and saw that a fire had caught a bush, blazing higher and higher, while a tiny cricket lay gasping for breath, half-scorched, half-choked, and nigh to its death. Then Râjah Rasâlu, soft hearted and stout, put his hand in the fire and snatched it out! And the cricket drew forth a feeler and said: 'Take this, my preserver, 'twill bring you aid; should any thing ever prove troublesome, burn this in the fire and I will come.' Then Rasâlu laughed with a great big laugh, 'I thank you, weakling! But none of your chaff! You couldn't help me I'll go bail.' So he rode on careless o'er hill and dale, a glittering knight in his shining mail, till he came to the city of King Surkâp, whom he'd sworn to kill with his sword so sharp. Now as he rode through a garden gay, Seventy Maidens barred the way; Seventy Maidens young and fair, with flowers decking their golden hair. Seventy daughters of the king, come out to play and laugh and swing and jibe at the stripling who'd sworn to slay their father, the mightiest king of this day. But the youngest maid had a heart of gold, and when she saw Rasâlu so bold, and strong and handsome riding to death, on his horse Irâki, she caught her breath, and whispered to him as he passed her way:

 
"'Fair prince on thy charger so gray,
Turn thee back, turn thee back.
If thou lowerest thy lance for the fray,
Thy head will be forfeit to-day.
Dost love life? then, stranger! I pray
Turn thee back—turn thee back.'
 

"But Rasâlu smiled in the maiden's face, and drew his rein for an instant's space, while he gave her answer with courtly grace: 'Fair maiden, I come from afar, sworn conqueror in love and in war. Thy father my coming will rue, for his head in four pieces I'll hew. Then forth as a bridegroom I'll ride with you, little maid, as my bride.'

"Now at these words, and his face so kind, and strong, and brave, the maiden's mind fluttered, the blood through her heartstrings whirled, she felt she could follow him through the world; but her sixty-nine sisters were jealous and cried: 'Not so fast, young man! If she be your bride, you be our younger brother, beside! So do our bidding or go on your way.' 'Fair sisters,' quoth he, 'let me hear your say!' Now the sisters vowed he should not succeed, so they took a whole hundred-weight of seed, as fine as the hundred-weight of sand they mixed it with, then gave command: 'If you wish to marry our sister, sir, take the seed from the sand without demur.'

"Then Râjah Rasâlu stood aghast; but he thought of the cricket's gift at last, and taking it out of his pocket thrust it into the fire, and a cloud as dust showed in the sky and the distant whirr of thousands of wings caused the air to stir, as, dark'ning the day like a fun'ral pall, a flight of crickets appeared at the call. 'What is our task?' asked his friend with a laugh; 'only that? I've brought too many by half!' So they set to work with a will indeed, till the sand lay separate from the seed, and sixty-nine maidens pouted and frowned as they wondered what new task could be found, to puzzle Rasâlu and keep him there a slave to the wishes of maidens fair. 'Now swing us all, sir, one by one, when we grow tired your task is done!'—they laughed in their sleeve, for they knew right well, that when they'd be tired, none could tell!

"But Rasâlu laughed: 'What! seventy girls—for my little bride is the pearl of pearls—and only one man to swing the lot! Shall I spend my life in such silly rot? No! into one swing the seventy go; I'll fasten the rope to my mighty bow, and shoot an arrow for all I know, so in with you, girls, sit all in a row, and don't be frightened, my little dears, I'll swing till you're tired, so have no fears.'

"Then the seventy clambered into one swing—so merry, so careless, their voices ring. And Rasâlu stood in his shining array, as merry and careless as happy as they. He fastened the ropes to his mighty bow, and bent till it would no further go; then with a twang he loosed the string, and like an arrow the laden swing with its burden of seventy maidens fair, shot like an arrow into the air. Merry and careless with laugh and smile, up in the sky for many a mile; like a soaring bird in the distant blue, while merry and careless, and tall and true, Rasâlu waited upon the plain, till the swing swung back to its place again. Then he out with his sword and laughed anew, 'Ye have had a fine ride, ye giggling crew; enough and to spare, so out with you there!' Then he severed the ropes with one mighty sweep, and the seventy maidens fell in a heap; and some were broken and some were bruised, and the only one that was not ill-used was the youngest maid, for she did not drop till the very last, so she fell on top!"

And here Prince Akbar used always to laugh gravely and say: "Glad she didn't tumble down really, for she was a nice little girl."

One day when the peach blossoms had all floated away, leaving in their place grey-green fluffy ovals that by-and-bye would be luscious ripe fruits, Foster-father arrived in a great state of excitement just as Rasâlu had finished swinging his Seventy Maidens.

"News, news!" he cried; "real news at last; and thank Heaven they are good! My master, the King, has not only secured shelter, but help, and hath written to his brother, Prince Askurry, advising him not to listen to ill advice, but to give in his allegiance at once, when all shall be forgotten. In token of which clemency he is sending to his still-dearly-beloved brother, Her Royal Highness the Princess Bakshee Bâni Begum, that she may be a companion to her half-brother, the Heir-to-Empire."

Prince Akbar, who was leaning on Roy's breast, suddenly sat up. "Is that my sister?" he asked eagerly, "is she a nice little girl like Rasâlu's bride?"

Head-nurse laughed. "Nice enough I'll warrant, though I never saw her; she has been since she was born, six years past, with her mother's people; but so long as they send no fine ladies of nurses with her she is welcome."

Little Prince Akbar stood up and stretched himself, and looked at Head-nurse critically.

"Akka will welcome her, and Akka will tell you to be her nurse, and Akka will swing her a great big swing."

So far as he was concerned that settled the question; but up at the Court there were endless questionings of heart. Prince Askurry was, as ever, in two minds as to what he should do. Cruel brother Kumran, who was Governor at Kâbul, pressed his advice to stand firm, to send the child to him, to let him show King Humâyon that paid Persian troops could not stand up against Indian ones. But Princess Sultanum had really become fond of the little Heir-to-Empire, and felt sure that if they only played their cards carefully the king, out of gratitude, would consent to a betrothal between his son and her little daughter Amina. And in the end the wife's counsel prevailed. So a better lodgment was found for the royal children in an old palace surrounded by a lovely garden, and here, just as the roses were beginning to bloom, little Prince Akbar, dressed in his best, stood awaiting his sister's arrival. He had insisted on having, like Râjah Rasâlu, a coat of mail; so Foster-mother had made him a tight-fitting corselet of silver tissue, in which he looked very fine indeed, as he stood brandishing a wooden sword covered with tin foil.

But when the red and gold bedecked camel did finally come up the marble-paved pathway with silent soft elastic swing, little Akbar forgot all about the part he was playing, and when he saw his sister, just ran up to her and hugged her tight, and said breathlessly: "Ah! you are a nice little girl!"

And a very nice little girl she was! Very small for her age, with a little oval delicate face, big hazel eyes, and brownish hair all plaited in tiny, tiny little plaits on her forehead.

And she was dressed just like a grown-up, with little ear-rings and wristlets and anklets and necklaces and rings, with the dearest, daintiest of flimsey gauze veils set with little silver stars wound all about her! Never, said Head-nurse, had been such a darling little marionette, and when the small person fell gracefully at her brother's feet and begged his favour in a little piping voice, that stern believer in court etiquette was perfectly enchanted.

"It will be a real boon to the First-Gentleman-of-the-World, the Courtly-one-of-Courts, etc., etc., to have the society of his equals," she said with a darkling look at Princess Sultanum's Head-nurse, who had brought Prince Ibrahim and Baby Amina to welcome their cousin.

But, after all, Bakshee Bâni Begum did not turn out so demure as she looked! Indeed, when Head-nurse was not by, she was a regular tomboy; and after a whole morning spent in most lady-like fashion either playing with her dolls, or stringing beads, while Down, the cat, on her lap blinked and purred and stared out on the world with her big blue eyes and her little white feet tucked well inside, she would, when the women retired to get ready the mid-day meal, spring up like a squirrel, scattering beads and cats as if they were of no account! Then the garden would re-echo to children's laughter.

And she would let Mirak, as she elected to call her brother, swing her for hours, but she obstinately refused to tumble down!

"But, Bija," expostulated the little lad, "the princess did tumble down in the story."

"I am not a princess in a story," said Bija calmly, "I am Her Royal Highness Princess Bakshee Bâni Begum."

CHAPTER X
THE NIGHT OF RECORD

So the summer days passed and winter set in once more. Though more satisfied, Foster-father felt still that safety depended on King Humâyon's success or failure.

So, whenever one of the long files of camels tied together in a string, head-and-tail, showed on the hill road above Kandahâr, he was off to the halting-place outside the city to see what news it had collected in its march from Hindustan; for caravans in those days were the postmen.

And sometimes he heard one thing, and sometimes another, but as often as not he returned as he went, without any remedy but patience.

"Anyhow the child grows in stature and strength," Head-nurse would say, "and our present lodging is better than our last!"

Which was true; for the old house of three stories which they now inhabited was full of little rooms leading one out of the other like a rabbit-warren. And if there was no furniture in them, so much the better for the children's games of "I espy" and "Touch who Touch can."

For Bija and Mirak played such games with infinite zest. As Head-nurse had foretold, the coming of his little sister had been an immense gain to the Heir-to-Empire; not only in manners, but also in his outlook upon life. For Princess Bakshee Bâni Begum was a very determined small person, who did not in the least see why the elder sister of a boy should give way to him in all things, simply because he was Heir-to-Empire.

"I won't have it, Mirak," she would say with a stamp of her little foot; "you shall not break my doll's head just because you want to."

So Prince Akbar, who was full of sound common sense, began to think she had reason on her side; and this was of great advantage to him, for with Head-nurse, and Foster-mother and the others, he stood a great chance of being spoiled.

And after a time he became quite devoted to the prim little maid, who, for all her primness in general, could be as wild as a hawk on occasion.

And out of that arose an incident which, unfortunately, turned Princess Sultanum against the little lad and so endangered his safety. It came about in this way. Prince Askurry's son Yakoob was, as has been said, three years older than Akbar, a lanky, rather weedy lad-ling of nearly six. Now Prince Askurry was himself a noted wrestler, and was determined his son should be one also. So he had the boy carefully taught, and set a good deal of store by the quickness of the little fellow in learning the grips, and how to trip up an adversary. On high days and holidays, indeed, Prince Askurry and his wife used often to amuse themselves by seeing the discomfiture of other less experienced children who were set up to compete with the young wrestler. Baby Akbar had been one of these, and being so much younger, he had always gone down before Yakoob's skill; but he had always taken his overthrow in good part, though Head-nurse had felt as if she could not keep her fingers off the victor. It was not fair, she would say afterwards, to match a baby of two with a child of six, and then she would try to hug the vanquished Heir-to-Empire and cover him with kisses; but Akbar, always independent, resented this. "Akbar tumble him down some day," he would say philosophically; and indeed there seemed every chance of it, for, mere baby as he was, there was more promise of future strength in his little finger than in Yakoob's whole body.

Now, as winter came on, the children were driven indoors for their play, and Old Faithful at their earnest request, rigged up a swing in a large empty room in the palace, and here Princess Bija would be swung like the Seventy Maidens, until Prince Akbar wearied of swinging her; and knowing that nothing would induce his elder sister to tumble down like the princesses in the story, would say quite plaintively:

"Please, Bija, get down; I'm tired of being Rasâlu," when the little maid would descend gracefully and they would play at something else.

But one day, just after the New Year, Prince Yakoob came to spend the day with his cousins, and the children fell to acting the adventures of Râjah Rasâlu; Yakoob, as the guest, playing the hero's part.

They got through several of them quite successfully, Princess Bija making a spirited carpenter's lad and killing his dragon with great vigour, while the Heir-to-Empire, disguising his deep baby voice in a high squeak, doubled the parts of the seventy-nine maidens and the cricket. So all went merry as a marriage bell until Rasâlu had to order the giggling crew out of the swing.

Then, of course, Bija refused; whereupon Yakoob, a spoiled boy, cast aside the tinsel-covered wooden sword, and whipped out from his belt a toy dagger his father had given him that morning. It was not very sharp, but very little cuts a taut rope, and one furious slash severed some of the strands, the weight of the two children did the rest, and there they were both on the marble floor!

And unfortunately the "pearl of pearls," Râjah Rasâlu's bride, did not fall on top. She fell underneath the Heir-to-Empire, and the Heir-to-Empire was heavy! So there was her poor little lip all cut and her pretty little nose all bleeding. Then two Head-nurses rushed in, and two Foster-mothers, and ever so many pairs of nursery attendants, each taking the part of their respective nurslings, and there was a terrible to-do, for, of course, one Head-nurse said it was the fault of the other Head-nurse, and so on. In fact peace did not return until the party separated and the offender, Prince Yakoob, was being joggetted back to his mother by his excited attendants, while Princess Bija was having her swollen nose soothed by cold water. She did not cry much, but she was terribly indignant with every one, including her brother.

He couldn't have prevented his cousin from cutting the rope, of course, but he might have made his cousin's nose bleed also! If she hadn't been otherwise occupied she could have done it herself; she was quite sure she could; or at any rate have done something quite as disagreeable!

She looked very fierce as she spoke, while Akbar listened with grieved attention. In fact, what Bija would have done, had Head-nurse not had her in her arms cossetting her, became quite a subject of conversation between the two children, Bija sitting demurely threading beads and inventing new methods of just punishment, and the Heir-to-Empire lolling on the floor pretending to sharpen his tinfoil sword, and interposing objections such as, "But you couldn't do that, Bija, you're not strong enough," or "That wouldn't be fair, Bija, for he only hurt you a little, you know." For Akbar was born with a sense of fair-play and justice which never forsook him, because he always gave it fair play.

So the idea of somehow getting the better of Yakoob became a fixed one in the little lad's mind until an opportunity for action came to him.

It was about a month afterwards, on the "Festival of Record"; that is to say, the day when good Mohammedans pray for guidance during the coming year, and believe that God's Angel, accompanied by the spirits of their dead ancestors, appears on earth to judge the record of the past year, and write on the forehead of each man and woman and child what reward or punishment is deserved in the next. In the evening, thousands of little lamps are lit, so that there shall be no darkness anywhere, but all things shall be made manifest, and when the little platters of sweets and food are set out lest any of the spirits, who come to plead for their descendants, should feel hungry, it is a very solemn affair; but the day is generally spent in amusement.

So Princess Sultanum arranged an entertainment, and, as usual, there was to be a bout of wrestling between her son and some little companions, amongst them the Heir-to-Empire. Head-nurse was furious, of course. The show was invented, she declared, to disgrace the Mighty-in-Pomp, the Pole-star of the Universe, etc., etc.

Akbar himself took it very complacently and allowed himself to be undressed and oiled all over, so as to make a grip very hard; for these are the Indian customs. And a very sturdy specimen he looked as he stood up and crossed his arms and then slapped himself with resounding slaps before crossing them again; also after Indian fashion, for so much he had learned of wrestling.

Then the signal was given, and Yakoob, as was his wont, began, in imitation of grown-up wrestlers, to steal an advance on his adversary.

But Akbar would none of that. Whether, watching real wrestling, he had noticed the method of attack he employed, or whether Roy had taught him, or whether he got it out of his own head, does not matter; but the little fellow rushed forward furiously and charging like a butting ram, caught his cousin full in the stomach, then making a snatch at his ankle tripped him up. So there in a second was Yakoob on his back, and Akbar, breathless but triumphant, on top of him.

"Now you've tumbled down," remarked the Heir-to-Empire suavely, as, astride his cousin's prostrate body, he paused for breath ere getting up.

Of course, some people said it wasn't fair; but others admitted that though not the polite style of wrestling, such a method was strictly within the rules. All, however, admired the big, bold, strong little Heir-to-Empire; all but his aunt and uncle; and the former bid Head-nurse take away her young savage at once, while the latter's crafty face, uneasy before, settled into a scowl.

But Head-nurse could hardly contain her joy, even when Foster-father shook his wise old head and said he would not have had it happen for all the wealth of the world, for of late, if he were not much mistaken, things had been shaping ill for his young master, and that very morning a secret messenger had come in from Kâbul. What it might portend who could say; but it was bad fortune the child should lose favour at Court to such slight purpose.

"Slight, indeed!" sniffed Head-nurse. "Is it not something to have shown that woman that her brat cannot stand up before true Kingship?"

"I would it were so, woman," replied Foster-father, "but a child under three with but two old men and two boys for protection cannot show much fight."

Head-nurse tossed her head. "So we women are not to count—" she began; but Baby Akbar had been listening seriously and now put in with his deep childish voice, and a wise little shake of the head:

"And there's Tumbu and Down, too; they can bite and scratch beautifully for me when they like."

Whereupon Foster-mother caught him up, and wept, and swore that Heaven must and would protect such a heart's darling.

Perhaps it was this conversation which put the idea of getting help into the children's heads, but after a time it was evident they had some plan between them, for after watching the women light hundreds of little lamps, and set out a quantity of tiny platters full of sweets, they stole off by themselves to an empty room which was almost dark and began to whisper.

"I think it had better be grand-dad," said the Heir-to-Empire gravely, "'cos my father isn't dead yet, and they must be deaders, you know, if they are really to help."

"And we'll take the little summer room at the very top of the house, Mirak, so's we'll be able to stop him on his way down, 'case any one else has got a platter for him," said Bija the practical. "Now, Mirak, I'll fetch the sweets if you'll get some lamps. They won't be missed, you know, if we take them betwixt and between."

After that there was much secret hurrying up and down stairs and secret gurglings of delight as the preparations advanced.

"Oh, Mirak! Won't it be lovely? He's sure to come in when he sees it!" said the little girl, clasping her hands. "And Old Faithful was saying that Grand-dad Babar was as good as twenty other men in a fight, so then you'll be quite safe."

But Mirak's face was solemn. "If Grand-dad doesn't know it's for him he won't come in, and he won't eat the sweets either. It's greedy to eat sweets as doesn't belong to you, and he wasn't greedy. Old Faithful says he wasn't. He was a real King."

"Don't you think he might be greedy just to help you?" suggested Bija mournfully; but after thinking a little she clapped her hands. "I have it, Mirak! If his name was on it that would do! I think I could write 'Ba-ba.' It's only the two first letters, you see, and I know them; and you could prick yourself for some blood to write with, and I could use my little finger as a pen. It's very, very tiddly wee."

It was, indeed! and Mirak sat large-eyed in admiration of his sister's ingenuity, while she, mistress of the situation, did this and that until even she was satisfied. And really the little arched and domed cupola set in Eastern fashion on the roof, looked quite pretty with the little glittering lights in a square on the white marble floor, and the platter of sweets placed in the middle of the square, whereon in smeared red letters showed this:

BA BA

"And now, Mirak!" chattered Bija, "we'll go down and go to bed like good boys and girls, and then when the others are saying their prayers and going to sleep we can come up again and sleep here."

"Won't it be very cold, Bija?" asked Mirak, whose little nose was half frost-bitten already, for a cold wind was blowing off the snow hills.

"We will bring quilts," said the little lady with a superior air.

So, about an hour afterwards, after the children had been put to bed and their elders had begun the serious work of watching and waiting and dozing through the night, two little figures, well wrapped up in quilted cotton gowns and dragging quilted cotton blankets behind them, stole up the stairs to the roof of the house.

"I'm going to ask God to let him come," said Baby Akbar solemnly. So they both touched the cold marble floor with their warm little foreheads and said:

"Please Great God! Let our grand-dad Babar come and take care of us, and be kind to us, and not let the Angel write nasty things on our foreheads for this next year!"

Then they cuddled themselves closely together in the blankets and were soon fast asleep.

So fast asleep that even when, after the short hullaballoo which followed on the discovery that they were not in their beds, they were traced to the roof, they did not thoroughly wake up, but were carried down again without knowing much about it.

"Shall I blow out the lights?" asked Roy, as Head-nurse prepared to descend also.

Head-nurse looked round to Foster-father for his opinion.

"No!" he said shortly, "leave them! The children have asked some one to eat those sweets. Let be! They may want all the help they can get."

So all the night long the little lamps twinkled and twinkled.

But when morning came there was not a sweet left!

"It must have been the rats," said Meroo, who, as cook, had gone up to see what he could save. "I saw the tail of one disappearing."

But Foster-father said swiftly: "I would it were some other helper, for the time has come for help. Prince Askurry hath sent to say we start for Kâbul and cruel brother Kumran at noon to-day!"