The call of trumpets sounding gaily awoke Siddha from his morning sleep, and, on springing up and looking out of the window, he saw the great court before the castle filled with horsemen, half of whom were occupied in unsaddling their horses, while the others were mounting and forming in line. These, with whom our travellers were to continue their journey, were on the point of starting for Agra, to relieve the soldiers just arrived; and amongst them Siddha saw his servant waiting with his grey charger. It took him but a few minutes to finish his preparations for the journey, and he was in the saddle some moments before Kulluka and the Governor appeared. But in the meantime, before the cavalcade moved off, Siddha found an opportunity to ride round the corner of the bastion to the balcony towards which, the day before, he had so often and so vainly looked. This time it was not in vain, for between the plants that covered the balcony he caught sight of a well-known figure, dressed in white, who at his approach waved a handkerchief in the gentle breeze; and as he drew nearer, she let it slowly fall; but he, quickly turning his horse, caught it on the point of his lance. It was one of the brightly coloured tissues of Kashmir, fine as a spider’s web, well calculated to be the despair of all the weavers in the world, and as easily drawn through a finger-ring as bound into a turban. He quickly pressed to his lips this parting gift so precious to him; then, binding it to the hilt of his sabre, he waved a farewell, and in a few bounds had rejoined his travelling companions. Salhana accompanied his guests for a short distance, and then took leave, telling his nephew that he hoped before long to see him again, as in a few days he thought of visiting Agra himself. Our travellers continued their way, in company with the commanding officer of the detachment.

The journey lasted for more than one day, generally by or near the banks of the Jamuna, and led through sandy plains, where stones were more frequently met with than trees, though sometimes they came to lovely hills clad in green. At length the evening of their last halt came, at a short distance from Agra, and on the following morning a short ride took them to the city of the Emperor, the view of which more than repaid them for the weariness of their journey.

In a semicircle on the opposite shore of the river, lay, between garden and fortification, the long row of palaces and mosques, which made, at this time and for long after, Agra, or Akbarabad, one of the most beautiful as well as one of the most magnificent cities in the world. In the middle, standing above all, as brooking no rivalry, stood the palace of the Emperor.1 The central building, which from the delicate joining of its red, smooth-polished sandstones, seemed hewn from a cloud of granite glittering in the sunshine, was surrounded on all sides by small pleasure-houses and thick clumps of trees. This building, from its colossal size, with its numerous cupolas, and slight towers, with their delicate tracery visible against the blue sky, could not fail to strike the beholder with wonder and admiration. Around the central palace were the pleasure-houses of the great courtiers, of rich noblemen and prosperous citizens, and mosques with their cupolas and minarets, while here and there a few solitary temples were the only witnesses of a civilisation whose ascendancy belonged to the past.

The beauty of the view made the travellers draw rein, and gaze on it with delight. One man alone, a mighty conqueror and deep-thinking reformer, had, as though by magic, called this splendour and beauty to life, as it were, from the barren plain. A feeling of anxiety crept over Siddha as he thought how soon he would meet him, and perhaps exchange a few words, formal though they might be.

On reaching the other side of the river, they took leave of the officer who had been their travelling companion, and, with their servant, made their way to a house that had been hired for them by a friend of Kulluka. It was simply but tastefully and comfortably arranged, with cheerful views of the gardens around, and of the river that lay glittering in the morning sun.

“Come, this will do,” said Kulluka, as he entered; “and I see the camels with our baggage have arrived. We must not be idle, but dress ourselves, and at once go to wait on AbÚ-l Fazl the Minister. Now for a bath, and meantime Vatsa can unpack.”

Half an hour later both were ready for the visit, Siddha in a dress of cloth-of-gold, reaching to the knees, and opening a little at the throat, showing a pearl necklace. On his head was a turban ornamented with a feather. Kulluka was also dressed with elegance and with less severe simplicity than hitherto. They were armed with sabre and dagger, but more for show than use.

It was not far to the palace of the Minister, and passing through the courtyard, they gave their names to a servant, who immediately showed them into one of the inner apartments, to await the coming of the Wazir; but their patience was not put to proof. The curtain that separated their apartment from others was soon drawn aside, and AbÚ-l Fazl entered. He was a man of middle height, rather inclined to corpulence, and about fifty years of age. He was dressed in a costly garment of yellow flowered silk, wore no beard, and his smooth countenance, in spite of a look of weariness, expressed manly strength and a strong resolute will, though this was tempered by kindly dark eyes.2

“It gives me great pleasure to see you here so soon,” said he, after the usual greetings, which on the part of Kulluka and Siddha were full of respect. “Our young friend shows himself no laggard in entering the Emperor’s service—thanks, I suppose, to your inciting, O wise Kulluka.”

“It would indeed have been a bad beginning,” was the reply, “if he had delayed a moment longer than was necessary in assuming the position which your favour and the Emperor’s had assigned him.”

“No favour, my friend,” interrupted AbÚ-l Fazl, “but a wise choice, I hope. We do not consider it needful to give all appointments to our own noblemen, but hold them out also as prizes to the native nobility of countries that are allied with us. And you know that our Rajputs would see with displeasure their commanders chosen from any but their own countrymen. And what could give me greater pleasure than to call the son of an old and tried friend to a post that his father wished to see him fill!”

“Nevertheless, my lord,” said Siddha, as the Minister finished, “allow me to look upon it as a favour, and to thank you most heartily both for my father and for myself, and I hope to prove myself not unworthy of your goodness.”

“Above all, be faithful,” said AbÚ-l Fazl, gravely. “Perhaps this recommendation appears needless to you; but when you have been here longer you will discover that treachery lurks in every corner, and even the best may sometimes be led away and become faithless. To-morrow, meantime, your commander will give you the necessary instructions for your service, and he will warn you to be careful with your Rajputs, for you know that many of them, although their position is lowly, are noble as you yourself, and you cannot treat them as though they were common soldiers. Now, doubtless, you wish to see more of the city than you have yet done, and I will not keep you. But wait a moment,” he continued, as Siddha rose to take his leave; “a guide would be welcome to you, and I think I can give you a good one.” Clapping his hands, he asked the servant who appeared, “Is my nephew Parviz in the house?”

“I have just seen him in the courtyard,” answered the servant.

“Say that I wish to see him.”

In a few minutes a young man appeared, of about Siddha’s age, richly dressed, and with ornaments of pearls and jewels. His face was pleasing, but, in spite of a black moustache, somewhat feminine.

“Parviz,” said AbÚ-l Fazl, “you see here our two visitors from Kashmir, of whose coming I spoke to you; the noble Siddha I hope you will soon call your friend; and now will you serve him as guide, for this is his first visit to our city?”

“Willingly, uncle,” answered Parviz, as he greeted Siddha with friendliness; “it will be as much a pleasure as an honour.”

“Then go,” said the Minister; “Kulluka will perhaps remain a little longer with me, to talk over the affairs of Kashmir. But, gentlemen,” said he, more to Siddha than to the Brahman, “do not forget to visit my brother Faizi to-day; he might take it amiss if you put off doing so until to-morrow, although he would not grudge me the preference.” And making them a friendly sign of farewell, the two young men left the palace together.

“Come,” said Parviz, “luckily it is not so very hot, and we can go at once to see—what to our visitors to Agra is the greatest of all the sights—the Palace of the Emperor—that is if the walk is not too far for you, after your long ride of this morning.”

“Oh,” answered Siddha, quickly becoming familiar with his new friend, “I care as little for heat as for cold—we are well accustomed to both amongst our mountains; nor do we think much of fatigue. But I am sorry to give you the trouble of showing me what you must often have seen before.”

“Though not so indifferent to weather,” said Parviz, jestingly, “as you who come from wild mountains and forests, still I can manage a short walk, and, even if it is hot, all inconvenience will be forgotten in the pleasure of your companionship.”

They soon became more familiar, and confided to each other their various affairs and concerns. Parviz, among other things, told Siddha that he had no taste for military service, and that his uncle thought him unfitted for it, and therefore destined him for some civil employment. Thus talking they came to a fine broad street that formed one of the principal approaches to the royal palace. This street ended in a gateway in the form of a triumphal arch. Passing through it they entered a large maidan overshadowed with plane-trees. Six other streets equally broad opened on this space, under similar arches; in the middle stood a colossal stone elephant, the trunk of which formed a fountain, throwing up jets of water. Three sides of the place were shut in by marble colonnades, behind which arose gradually the different stories of the building. Though this view was not so striking or picturesque as that from the river, yet the extraordinary extent of palace, with its various buildings and fortifications, was more apparent.

“You understand,” said Parviz, “that it is impossible to visit all we see at once; even if we were proof against fatigue, we should not have the time. But let us take a glance around, so that you may be able to form an idea of the whole, and later you will become acquainted with it all.”

As they entered one of the verandahs Parviz spoke to the guard, who at once called a servant to guide them to those apartments that were accessible to visitors of their rank. Following him, they passed through long rows of rooms, each furnished with more splendour than the last, and all built in the light Moorish style, with charming views of the gardens around, with their fountains and luxuriant growth of flowers of all kinds. Here were marble walls, inlaid with flowers in delicate Mosaics; there, from all corners, tiny fountains filled the air with coolness; everywhere curtains and hangings of silk, embroidered with gold and silver; and heavy carpets, and soft silken cushions.

“In the other wing,” said Parviz, “are things still more beautiful; but they are not shown, for there are the women’s apartments. I have had just a glance at one or two before they were finished, and while they were uninhabited. The great audience hall, is it open?” he said, turning to the guide.

“No, my lord,” was the answer; “but in a few days.”

“It does not signify,” interrupted Parviz. “Soon,” continued he to Siddha, “there will be a public audience given, and we can then see it. As to the apartments of the Emperor, in all probability you will soon become well acquainted with them.”

They then took their way through high, broad galleries, filled with servants and soldiers, and then through the pleasure-grounds, while Parviz pointed out to his companion the various halls and buildings, telling him to what purposes they were destined. Here was the imperial library, with its richly bound manuscripts; yonder the work-room of the goldsmith and jeweller, and laboratories of the perfumers, the store-houses and kitchens, and also the arsenal of the fortress, and stables for the horses, elephants, and camels, kept for the use of the Emperor.

Siddha had considered himself well acquainted with palaces, but the conviction now crept over him that, until this moment, he had never seen one. The extent of the stables struck him with astonishment, appearing like a village from the compound round which they were built.

“What a number of noble animals there must be there!” he remarked.

“Yes,” answered Parviz, “there are at least a hundred elephants here; and I scarcely know how many are kept for the Emperor in other places, but according to report he has as many again, and equal numbers of horses and hunting-leopards.”

“But,” asked Siddha, “what can any one, even though he be the great Akbar, do with such profusion?”

“Not much for himself,” was the answer. “Less perhaps than you imagine. Born in a wilderness, while his father wandered in banishment, and brought up in a camp, he places no value on all this excessive luxury; but he is convinced, I believe, that a prince like him, in these countries and among such people as he governs, has as great need of a striking magnificence as of a fine army and experienced statesmen. We all—Persians, Mughals, Arabs, or Hindus, your people as well as ours—are accustomed to feel greater respect for a monarch the more outward show he makes. But you must not think that with all this show there is also great prodigality. On the contrary, I can assure you nothing is lost or wasted, and in the smallest affairs of this great court there is the same strict order as in the different departments of government, which can perhaps everywhere in the kingdom of the Great Mughal be held up as an example of what intelligent administration should be. My uncle AbÚ-l Fazl is busied in describing all this exactly in his great work on the institutions and the government of the Emperor,3 in which he allows me to help him occasionally. But there are some things in which Akbar may be called prodigal, especially in aiding those who are in trouble and difficulties, and who have some claim on his liberality; and also in the advancement of science and art. As regards these, his treasurer has some trouble in keeping him within bounds. But now,” continued Parviz, after a moment’s silence, “it is about time to be returning; the sun commences to burn, and I must confess to a little fatigue. If we loiter here longer I shall be inclined to repose on one of these seats, and await the coolness of the evening; but in this way we should lose our meal.”

“So let us turn back,” answered Siddha; “and I thank you heartily for your company.”

Taking a by-path on the other side of the garden and building, Parviz guided his friend back to his lodging, and there taking leave, he said, “To-morrow probably you will be too busy with your appointment to see more of our town; but the day after, or later, I shall gladly be at your orders, only let me know if I am to come for you.”

The two young men took leave of each other, and Siddha sought, in a cool apartment, the mid-day rest, which he found far from unwelcome. When evening fell, he, with his elder friend, took their way to Faizi, brother of the Minister. A comfortable and tastefully built bungalow, surrounded by thickly growing trees, was the habitation of AbÚ-l Fazl’s younger brother. They were immediately admitted, and presently a servant appeared, to lead them to Faizi’s own apartment. There, close to a verandah that ran round the greater part of the building, sat a man, in the prime of life, bending over a table covered with papers. Around him, on the ground, were scattered many others. He rose to meet his visitors without any formality, and holding out his hand with a simple welcome, signed to them to seat themselves with him on the cushions before the verandah.4

What principally distinguished Faizi from his elder brother was the frank, joyous expression of his smoothly shaven countenance, and a peculiar easiness of manner, mixed with the courtly forms of a man of the world. His calm and tranquil look was more characteristic of a quiet thinker than of a man of warlike experience, although as a warrior he had not failed in many a brave deed, and as ambassador had aided in setting at rest many an intricate question.

“I knew well,” he said, as a servant offered wine and refreshments, “that you would not let the day pass, worthy Kulluka, without giving me, as well as my brother, the pleasure of seeing you and making acquaintance with your young friend, who, before long, I hope to call mine. And what do you think of our new city?” he asked Siddha. “You must already have seen something of it.”

“Your nephew Parviz, noble lord,” answered Siddha, “was so kind as to show me a part of the palace this morning; but to tell the truth, I cannot at this moment form an opinion of it. I am now simply overcome with astonishment at so much magnificence and such a profusion of splendid works of art. I had imagined much, but my imagination fell far short of the reality.”

“That I can easily believe,” rejoined Faizi: “it happens to everyone on their first arrival here. However much one may have heard or read of Akbar’s palace beforehand, one is overcome with astonishment on really seeing it. But tell me, Kulluka, how things go in the north; I am anxious to hear news of your Kashmir.”

Kulluka willingly replied, keeping to general affairs, and without then alluding to the divisions that were beginning to arise; and soon Siddha also took a lively share in the conversation. Never before had he found himself so quickly at his ease with a stranger as he did with the celebrated Faizi, the great Emperor’s friend and councillor, and of whose learning and knowledge he had heard so much. The conversation soon passed from the subjects of the day to various topics, especially those relating to literature.

“You admire our palaces,” said Faizi, turning to Siddha, “and say they far out-do your expectations; but it was quite the contrary with me when I first made acquaintance with your simple, classical, and sacred literature. Our faithful were not very learned; Mullahs had assured me they were nothing but a confused and tasteless collection of monstrosities, as pernicious to our civilisation as dangerous to our belief in Allah and His Prophet. I say nothing about this last accusation; but as to what concerns the cultivation of taste and knowledge, I find far more aid in your poets and thinkers than in ours. How splendid is your heroic poetry, how fine your lyrics, and sparkling your dramas! what noble, elevated feelings, yet, at the same time, what purity and humanity, and what a breadth and depth of thought was there in your philosophers of old! But why should I remind you of all this, which you naturally know and understand far better than I do, who with great difficulty have learnt to understand your language, which is so entirely different from our Persian or Arabic.”

“After all,” said Siddha, “Sanscrit does not come so naturally to us Hindus, who generally speak Hindustani. Ask Kulluka if he did not find difficulties in teaching it to me.”

“Even,” remarked Kulluka, “even if in the beginning Faizi found the same difficulties in learning Sanscrit that others have done, his translation of our Kashmiri chronicles, and his rendering of Nala and Damayanti,5 can well make us forget that the language is not his native one.”

“What splendid poetry, is it not?” continued Faizi, who did not let the conversation easily drop when it once touched on Hindu literature; “and how far short any translation must fall when compared with the original, so simple and yet so exalted, with its unsurpassed women! Think of the noble, pure Damayanti, proof against all the trials and slights of her unworthy husband! My translations have been undertaken to please Akbar, who naturally cannot find time to learn a strange language, and yet is desirous of reading everything. Now he has given me the task of translating the Evangelists.”

“Of what?” asked Kulluka.

“Of the holy books used by the people of the West, who are called Christians, after the founder of their religion, of whom you must have heard. There is much worth reading in those books, and I find many exalted and profound ideas in them, mixed with matter of less consequence, as is also the case with your philosophies; but on the whole there is not much that is new to those who are acquainted with your philosophical writings. But what always strikes me particularly,” he continued, again turning the conversation to the praise of ancient India, “are your proverbs. How insipid ours appear when compared with them! Even if I had only learnt this one of you, it would have been enough to give me fresh courage for working at my manuscript,—

“Is that right?” said he, turning to Siddha; “or have I made some fault in the pronunciation?”

For a moment Siddha hesitated, but glancing at Kulluka, who smiled and nodded to him, he replied, with confidence, “Not quite right, my lord; but the mistake is a very slight one.” And repeating the word in fault, he showed how it should be pronounced.

“Now I am fortunate,” cried Faizi, joyfully; “but do repeat one of the sayings from Bhartrihari;6 no doubt you know many.”

Siddha thought for a moment, and then recited:—

“Oh,” laughed Faizi, “in your Kashmir you have learnt other things than Sanscrit,—you are also learned in the art of flattery, my friend.”

“Flattery?” asked Siddha. “Should not your name and that of your brother AbÚ-l Fazl—that have penetrated from Persia to the furthest districts of Hindustan—should not your names be preserved by coming generations?”

“My brother’s name,” he answered; “yes, that will not lightly be forgotten: preserved, perhaps, not so much through his deeds as through his immortal work, the ‘Akbar Nama,’7 in which he describes the history of our great Emperor’s reign. That is indeed a book, my friend, in comparison with which all my writings sink to nothing. But I have remarked to him that he raises Akbar too much to the clouds; for after all, he, as a man, has his faults, like others, and perhaps in the future he may be accused of flattery of princes and of prejudice. But he would not listen to me, nor in the least diminish his praise of the Emperor. ‘If I,’ he answered me, ‘may not say all that I in truth think of the man, who is more than my prince—he is my benefactor and truest friend,—rather than not say what I think, I would throw my book away.’ As you can understand, against all that there was no reasoning; and one can see also that to Akbar, although he says nothing, the praise of a friend whose opinion he prizes so highly is very welcome.”

“Noble Faizi,” said Siddha, interrupting a short silence, “may I ask you a question?”

“Certainly,” was the reply; “and I hope to be able to answer it frankly.”

“Well, then, when we spoke of AbÚ-l Fazl, a warning he gave me this morning crossed my mind. He warned me against treachery that here surrounds the Emperor. Do you, whose opinion is of such great weight, believe that there can be people here so foolish and so criminal as to league themselves against so great and beneficent a prince as Akbar; can it really be?”

“Oh!” cried Faizi; “my brother sees treachery everywhere; but after all, that is but natural to a Minister, and still more to the first, the great Wazir. However, you may make yourself easy; people here are not so base, nor are they so foolish, as to engage in a game in which their heads are the stakes, and the chances ten to one against them.”

“Faizi,” said Kulluka, gravely and half reproachfully, “your hopeful views prove your good heart; but do you not think that they may be sometimes dangerous to young people, and lead them, as for example might be the case with our inexperienced friend here, into imprudence?”

“I do not see that he is inclined to want of caution,” was the reply; “and I only mean that it is better that he should not begin with his head full of imaginations of court and state intrigues, but enter life with confidence and courage. We all began so, and dangers never harmed us. If he begins with too much suspicion, he will end by trusting no one, not even my brother or myself.”

“That could never be,” cried Siddha, quickly, as he looked confidently into Faizi’s friendly face. “As little as I could ever suspect secret enmity from you, so little could you expect faithlessness and treachery from one who prizes your friendship and good opinion as highly as I do.”

“Remember what you have said,” Kulluka remarked, gravely; “and think, too, that no one has the power of foreseeing all the events and circumstances that may end in influencing him, short-sighted as he is, to give up his free will.”

“See,” said Faizi, in his usual joyous tone, “here we are again in philosophy. You know well it is my favourite subject, although I have not made so much progress in it as Kulluka maintains. Let us call for lights—night begins to close in—and we will have some discussion touching Sankhya and Vedanta,8 in which he is so strong. What a pity that we cannot ask Akbar to join us! he finds more pleasure in the driest philosophical discussion than in the most sparkling banquets.”

“Nothing should I like better, honoured Faizi,” answered Kulluka, “than to pass an hour with you deep in such subjects, as in past days; but now I am afraid we must go, Siddha must take over his command early to-morrow morning, and I have much to settle to-night in readiness for my departure, which is fixed for the day after to-morrow. Will you, then, excuse us if we take our leave, and thank you for your reception—as kind and friendly as ever it was in days gone by?”

“Indeed I will excuse you, my worthy friend,” answered Faizi, as he called to a servant to show them out. “Siddha,” he said, as he took leave, “we were speaking of imprudences; be on your guard against them. But a young man like you may happen to fall into them as well at your court as at ours; and if you ever find yourself in any difficulty, come straight to Faizi, who may be able to keep you out of the fire.” And without waiting for either answer or thanks, he turned back to his own apartments.

Who could have asked for more, on his entry into life, than was given to Siddha! Neither councillors nor support failed him. For important affairs there was the hermit of the mountain; for more trifling difficulties the wise and influential Faizi. The favour of the First Minister had already been granted him, and that of the Emperor himself was promised him.