Chapter XX

The sword and the dagger are my fragrant flowers;
Contemptible, in my opinion, are the narcissus and the myrtle;
Our drink is the blood of our enemies;
Our cups their skulls.

ARABIC VERSES.

From the council-chamber, Acbar was removed to his apartments in the harem, where his physicians succeeded in restoring the current of life that had almost ceased to flow, in consequence of the shock he had experienced on receiving the letter which announced the death of the prince Daniel. That unfortunate youth had been commissioned to quell a formidable insurrection in the Deccan, and had marched thither at the head of a large army. In the course of his journey, surrounded by some of his favourite companions, he gave himself up so entirely to the debaucheries which had already worn out his constitution, that the emperor was obliged to recall him, and entrust the command of the army to another officer. On reaching Burhampoor, Daniel was informed of the disgrace that awaited him; he proceeded, however, to the banquet, attended by the parasites who seldom left his presence, and ordered an extra quantity of wine to be served up. The carouse was continued, with little intermission, until the following morning, when the dancing women were sent for. On their entering, the prince rose, as it is said, flushed with wine, and attempted to join them, his companions having previously clothed him in female attire. But before he could perform this last act of ignominy, he fell prostrate on the floor; the ruby colour on his cheeks gave way to a livid paleness, which soon announced that the vital spark had fled. Messengers arrived at Agra with the fatal intelligence just as the emperor, after finishing his morning prayers, was proceeding to the Am-kas. He resolved, however, not to adjourn the assembly, and was ascending the throne when the parental grief, which for the moment he attempted to suppress, overwhelmed him. Fortunately, the soft carpets spread over the steps leading to the musnud, protected his person from any serious injury; but his frame, enfeebled through the exertions of a reign exceeding fifty years, and the sufferings brought upon his mind by the discords prevailing in his family, seemed incapable of much longer holding out against the many misfortunes which clouded the evening of his glorious life.

Meanwhile Abul Fazeel proceeded to take measures for securing the succession to the throne. That experienced and upright minister had long narrowly watched the conduct and character of the Prince Selim, and had arrived at a conclusion, which further observation on his part seemed unlikely to alter, that, although the legitimate heir, Selim was decidedly unfit to preside over the destinies of a monarchy so extensive, and still so unsettled as Hindostan. There was a feminine softness in his disposition utterly inconsistent with the energies, which were required in the chieftain of so vast an empire. He gave much more of his attention to the dresses, in which he should dazzle the eyes of the people whenever he appeared in public, than to the acquisition of even the ordinary degree of information necessary to prepare him for the discharge of the imperial functions. He reposed implicit faith in the predictions of the most ignorant astrologers; courted the company of magicians, in whose feats he experienced a puerile delight; lavished money on dervishes, who persuaded him that, as chosen saints of heaven, they had the power of working miracles; and withal surrendered himself so repeatedly to the influence of wine, in violation of the most solemn commands of the Prophet, that no statesman, looking forward to the welfare of Hindostan, could contemplate the accession of such a prince to the throne, without apprehending consequences of the most disastrous description.

If Selim were set aside, all eyes would be naturally turned to Chusero, his eldest son, by the daughter of Rajah Bharmul. Her brother, Man-Singh, was at that period one of the most illustrious commanders in the empire, a circumstance of great importance should the succession be seriously disputed. Chusero was a prince of great promise, active in the field, energetic in the pursuit of knowledge, unassuming in his deportment, and free from the stain of any of those enormities by which his father, and his uncle, Daniel, had been so unfortunately distinguished. The expectation that he might possibly be called upon to wield the sceptre before the period to which he might, in the ordinary course of nature, calculate upon so important a change in his position, was not unfamiliar to his mind, as Man-Singh had often spoken to him upon the subject. One stipulation he always mentioned, as so sacred in his eyes, that, unless it were promised and observed in the most inviolable manner, he declared he would never comply with the wishes of his friends--the blood of his father was under no circumstances to be shed--he never would sit upon a throne, reddened by a single drop from the veins to which he owed his own existence. If his father’s character were so effeminate, as it had been described, it would not be difficult, Chusero thought, to persuade him that a splendid retirement in the valley of Cashmere, would be infinitely more conducive to his happiness than the throne of Hindostan.

The rumour of Selim’s passion for the daughter of the high-treasurer, which had been borne on a thousand tongues through the noble circles of Agra, had not failed to reach the ears of Fazeel. He was not surprised that the charms of such a woman had produced their natural effect upon the mind of Selim: and had she not been betrothed to Shere-Afkun, it was said that Fazeel would not have discouraged the feelings of the prince in her favour. For the minister fully appreciated the talents of Nourmahal, recognising in them all the resources fit for the exercise of unlimited power, and for holding under control the ill-regulated mind, of whose sway he felt such calamitous forebodings. But the law was not to be broken; she was the affianced bride of the Subah of Cashmere, and Fazeel’s first care was to despatch a trusty messenger to that officer, informing him of the state of things at Agra, and directing him to return to the capital without delay.

Kazim-Ayas readily co-operated with Fazeel in all the steps necessary to accelerate their nuptials, which, upon Shere-Afkun’s arrival, were celebrated in a private manner; and he returned forthwith to Cashmere, accompanied by her to whom he had so ardently looked, as the best reward of all the services which he had had the good fortune to render to his sovereign. Those services were of the utmost importance in that remote part of the empire, where, if he had not been restrained by his sense of duty, and his strong personal attachment to Acbar, he might have easily founded an independent monarchy. But although persons were not wanted, who suggested to Afkun temptations of that kind, he steadily repudiated every thought of power which he did not derive from the confidence of his imperial master.

Fazeel communicated freely with Man-Singh upon the dangers with which the empire was threatened. They met frequently at the house of the latter, which was on the bank of the Jumna, at some distance from the seraglio, beyond the gate leading to Delhi. Their conferences were, occasionally, attended by Chusero, and by some of the principal omrahs and rajahs, who partook of their sentiments. Bochari carefully watched all their proceedings. The performance of Nourmahal’s nuptials with Afkun, and the suddenness of her departure for Cashmere, before he had even surmised that such measures were in contemplation, though coinciding with his secret wishes in every respect, excited his jealousy, and wounded his pride; for he had been taught to believe, that no event of importance could possibly have occurred in the capital, without his being acquainted with it before-hand, so numerous and so active was the legion of emissaries retained in his employment. He rightly conjectured at once the object which the parties had in view, who assembled so frequently at the house of Man-Singh; and although, from the secrecy with which their councils were attended, he failed to discover any tangible ground upon which he could openly accuse them of a conspiracy to change the lawful succession to the throne, he took care to diffuse through the court, and to convey to the ear of the emperor, reports well calculated to create alarm.

The affairs of the Deccan having become more and more embarrassing, Acbar, to whom the supposition that Fazeel had any share in preparing the exclusion of Selim from the throne was peculiarly painful, resolved to send the prime minister to the peninsula, with a view, as well to make use of Fazeel’s unrivalled talents in reducing to order the scattered elements of authority in that district, as to spare himself the mortification of degrading, in the last hours of his life, a servant, in whom he had found incorruptible zeal and fidelity, during the vicissitudes of his chequered career. Acbar, though he clearly saw the defects of character, which promised, according to all human experience, to betray, before the lapse of many years, the unfitness of Selim for the duties of the throne, nevertheless, could not persuade himself that those defects were incurable. The fate of Daniel, he fondly hoped, could not be unproductive of salutary effects upon a mind, which, although devoid of energy, could scarcely be considered as altogether lost to every elevated and virtuous feeling. During his latter illness Selim was constantly in his chamber, attending him with the most pious assiduity. His paternal heart was touched by the prince’s attentions; his pride was interested in the promotion to the place, which he must soon leave vacant, of his eldest son, the natural preserver of his dynasty in the right line of descent; his first-born, whom he had cherished in infancy with so much delight, and who was even now endeared to him by those very weaknesses, of which the sages of the empire complained.

Fazeel was too well acquainted with Acbar’s character, not to understand the real motives upon which his appointment to the splendid office of viceroy of the Deccan was founded. They were manifested in the orders by which his commission was accompanied, to proceed to that district with the utmost expedition. It had been usual for the emperor to consult with him previously, whenever his services were required at any distance from the capital. The variation from this usage in the present instance, indicated the origin of the unexpected honours which were conferred upon him, and the necessity, at the same time, of proceeding with the utmost circumspection in the projects which he had meditated for regulating the succession to the throne. On receiving the commands of the emperor, he felt that obedience to them was an inevitable duty. The omrahs and rajahs joined with him in the confederacy against Selim were of the same opinion; and they further thought that in his capacity, as viceroy of the Deccan, he might even contribute essentially to the promotion of the object which they were pledged to accomplish. Fazeel, therefore, lost no time in repairing to the peninsula, attended, as usual, by a small escort; his name alone constituting his best safeguard, even in the worst of times, and in the provinces most distracted by civil war; such was the veneration in which his wisdom and his inflexible administration of justice were universally held.

When Bochari first heard of Fazeel’s mission to the Deccan, he looked upon it as a masterstroke of policy on the part of the emperor, imagining that it would have the effect of completely frustrating the designs which were entertained to the prejudice of Selim’s right to the throne. A little reflection, however, added to the malignity with which his soul was inflamed, whenever new honours of any description were bestowed upon Fazeel, led him to form a very different conclusion. His first impulse was to persuade the prince to have Fazeel recalled and committed to the state prison at Gualior, upon suspicion of high treason. But as it was unlikely that the emperor would sanction this measure, he conceived that the most certain mode of effecting his purpose would be to take such steps as were within his own power, for securing the accession of Selim against opposition of every kind. Through his influence, accordingly, all the omrahs and rajahs then residing at Agra were summoned to the presence of Acbar, who solemnly declared it to be his will, that at his death, Selim should be his successor. This object attained, Bochari’s next step was to disguise himself in the dress of one of the astrologers who frequent the great royal square of Agra, and to take his place in that part of it usually resorted to by the most profligate of the adventurers, who flock to the capital from all parts of the empire.

Clothed in a swarthy grizzly beard, a pointed yellow hat, that came down low upon his forehead, a flowing garment of faded ruby silk, tied round his waist by a wide leathern cincture, on which the signs of the zodiac were figured, he sat down upon a piece of tattered dusty carpet under a sun-shade, holding open before him a large volume, containing charts of the sun, moon, and stars, and characters in a strange tongue, which astrologers alone have the power to interpret. To these, he added a compass and other mathematical instruments necessary for the elucidation of the mysteries of which those men become possessed in their intercourse with the superior worlds.

The sun still burning fiercely in the sky when Bochari spread his carpet on the ground, there were few persons in the square, except the rajahs in the emperor’s pay, whose weekly turn it was to mount guard before the tents, which they pitch for that purpose; those petty princes having an invincible objection to the performance of their duties within the walls of a fortress. As the day advanced, and the air became refreshed by the breezes from the Jumna, the royal horses bred in Turkestan and Tartary, were led forth from their neighbouring stables for exercise. The shops in the bazaars were again opened and crowded with customers and loungers from all parts of the city; and fakirs, mountebanks, and jugglers, story-tellers, ballad-singers, players on the dulcimer, tambourine, and cymbals, dancing women, charmers with serpents, venders of monkeys, parrots, and birds of every plumage, of Ganges water and lemonade, pomegranates and oranges, cooked meats, confectionery, and perfumes, filled the whole square with multitudinous sounds that wonderfully contrasted with the silence of the noon.

Several women, covered from head to foot with white cloth, attempted to solicit the attention of Bochari to the stories which they had to relate, hoping that he might be able to apply a remedy to their various misfortunes, and to promise them more happy destinies. But he bade them pass on, affecting to have his mind absorbed in calculations, from which he could not then be disturbed. His eye was, in fact, fixed upon a group of men, who had been for some time hovering around him. One of these strangers, at length, sat down beside him, and inquired whether he could read in the volume which he was studying the name of the country whence his interrogator and his companions had come, and the purpose for which they had repaired to Agra. Bochari turned over the leaves with becoming gravity, until he lighted upon a page at which he rested.

“You have,” said he, “a military appearance, but you are not in the pay of Acbar.”

“So far you speak the truth,” observed the stranger.

“You come from the south.”

“We do.”

“If I read the stars correctly, your object in Agra is to gain intelligence as to the journeys about to be made by rich merchants.”

The stranger’s countenance betrayed emotion, but he was silent.

“You must confide in me,” resumed Bochari, “otherwise I cannot disclose the knowledge you wish to attain. You have many other companions besides those whom I see speaking to that Tartar yonder.”

“We muster a thousand horses, whenever occasion requires.”

“What do I behold? The page glows all over with gold! Here are the rays of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies--here the full blaze of the opal! and your stars teem with prosperity--but all depends upon expedition,”----

“We dwell in the forests of Narwar--too distant from Agra for any immediate operations.”

“So I read it--Narwar--Orcha Rajaputs, are you not?”

“The true descendants, as you must know, of the princes, who, from the most ancient times, have ruled all that district of the Deccan as far as Golconda, until we were driven from our native castles by the troops of Acbar. We have now no home, save the depths of the forests, whence we expel the panther and the leopard--the dens even of the wild beasts are deemed too good for us by Fazeel, who has issued, through the mouth of the emperor, orders for our extermination.”

“He is now on his way to your country.”

“Fazeel?”

“Fazeel--viceroy of the Deccan.”

“Better than gold--better than all the mines in Hindostan,” said the Rajaput, half drawing his scimitar.

“He is attended by camels laden with new gold coin for the pay of the troops--a glorious prize!”

“The hour of revenge has come at last!”

“Not of revenge only, Rajaput, but of wealth beyond your calculation--away to your forests--assemble your associates--watch for your prey--and if you miss him!”----

“I possess only this silver rupee--it is all I can offer for your information.”

“Restore it to your purse--turn your back on Agra just as the moon is rising, and the fates will be with you. Rest here a moment longer--and the next year’s sun shall not behold a living member of your tribe.”

The Rajaput rejoined his companions, with whom he immediately disappeared from the square; and the astrologer, gathering up his books and instruments in his carpet, folded up his sun-shade with that sort of satisfaction which an artificer feels in the evening, when he thinks that he has done a good day’s work.