Just without one of the massive bastioned gates of the city of Fathpur-Sikri there stood in the year 1580 a caravanserai that afforded accommodation for man and beast. Here would alight travellers drawn by the calls of homage, by business, or by curiosity to the famous Town of Victory, built, as the inscription over the gateway told, by "His Majesty, King of Kings, Heaven of the Court, Shadow of God, Jalal-ad-din Mohammed Akbar Padishah."

At the time of our story Akbar was at the zenith of his glory. He had moved his court from Agra, the capital of his predecessors on the throne of the Moguls, after having raised for himself, on the spot where the birth of a son had been promised him by a hermit saint, this superb new city of Fathpur-Sikri, seven miles in circumference, walled and guarded by strong forts at its seven gateways. Emperor and nobles had vied with each other in erecting palaces of stately design and exquisite finish of adornment. A beautiful mosque commemorated the good deeds of the saint, and provided a place of prayer for those of the Moslem faith. In the palace of the Emperor was a magnificent audience hall, with marble columns and stone-carved galleries, in the centre of which stood the throne of gold sprinkled with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds, surrounded by a silver railing, and covered by a canopy of rich crimson brocade. In this audience hall the great and good Akbar was wont to receive not only his subjects, rich and poor, the former assembled to pay their court, the latter to lay their grievances before the Imperial judge; but he also extended welcome to strangers from afar. On the question of religion his mind was at this period in a state of change, for he had broken from the strict faith of the Moslem, had publicly announced that there was good in all beliefs, had overthrown ceremonial rules, whether of Islam or of Hinduism, and had proclaimed all things lawful except excess. His thoughts thus drifting toward a new religion, a divine faith that would bring into one fold the votaries of all religions, he was glad at his court to give audience to learned doctors from distant lands as well as from every part of India. All were welcome—Brahmins and Buddhists, Moslem schoolmen, Hindu fanatics, pantheists, the worshippers of fire, the Jews whose prophets are Abraham and Moses, even Christian padres from far-off Europe. It was Akbar's delight to listen to their expositions and discussions, and to the defence of their varied dogmas.

Thus did the fame of the king for tolerance, benevolence and wisdom become noised abroad far and wide, so that visitors flocked in ever-increasing numbers to the beautiful city. At our caravanserai without the gate there would often, in the cool of an evening, be gathered together on the shaded veranda a group of travellers representing diverse races and classes. Some of the town-dwellers, too, would be there, resting and refreshing themselves after their walk to the city walls, while from the near-by camp of the Rajputs, who formed a portion of the royal bodyguard, there would oftentimes stroll over a few men-at-arms.

On such occasions it would generally happen that the debates recently listened to in the Imperial Hall of Assembly would be subjected to comment. And from discussion of this kind the conversation would quite frequently change to story-telling, dear to the hearts of all natives of Hindustan, and by no means to be despised, for in a good story there may be implanted the kernel of a sound philosophy.

On a summer night in the year named eight men were assembled on the veranda of the caravanserai. The full moon had just risen above a tope of tamarind trees, and its silvern radiance revealed every detail of the scene. A Rajput chief occupied the place of central prominence, cushions arranged for his convenience, on one of which rested his scimitar, the emblem of his soldierly profession. Not far from him, in a half-reclining posture, was a general of the Afghans, also of the bodyguard of the Emperor. A hakeem, or physician, and an astrologer, both in the Moslem style of dress, were seated close together, legs crossed beneath them; while a little apart were two Hindus, as the caste marks on their foreheads showed, a tax-collector from the country and a kotwal, or city magistrate. Just above the steps leading on to the veranda, surrounded by his bales of merchandise, sat a merchant from Bombay, a big and stalwart man, attired in spotless white raiment, on his head a voluminous muslin turban. In striking contrast, squatting on the ground below the steps, at his feet a wooden begging bowl, was a fakir, or religious ascetic, a loin cloth his sole covering, his face bedaubed with ashes, his lean chin resting on his upraised knees while he listened to the dialogue and watched each speaker's face with eyes of keen alertness.

There had been some desultory conversation, which finally resulted in the Rajput chief being begged to relate in detail an experience at which he had previously hinted. The first story led to another story, and the third to yet another, and so on, until each member of the company had contributed to the general entertainment. And these are the tales that were told by the travellers on the veranda of the caravanserai outside the walls of Fathpur-Sikri that moonlight night in the days of the mighty Akbar: