The Adventures of Akbar
Page 4
CHAPTER I
FAREWELL
_Bismillah Al-la-hu Akbar!_
These queer-looking, queer-sounding words, which in Arabic mean "thanksbe to God," were shrilled out at the very top of Head-nurse's voice. Hadshe been in a room they would have filled it and echoed back from thewalls; for she was a big, deep-chested woman. But she was only in atent; a small tent, which had been pitched in a hurry in anout-of-the-way valley among the low hills that lead from the wide plainsof India to Afghanistan. For Head-nurse's master and mistress, KingHumayon and Queen Humeeda, with their thirteen months' old little son,Prince Akbar, were flying for their lives before their enemies. Andthese enemies were led by Humayon's own brothers, Prince Kumran, Askurryand Hindal. It is a long story, and a sad story, too, how Humayon, sobrave, so clever, so courteous, fell into misfortune by his own fault,and had to fly from his beautiful palaces at Delhi and wander for years,pursued like a hare, amid the sandy deserts and pathless plains ofWestern India. And now, as a last resource, his followers dwindled to amere handful, he was making a desperate effort to escape over thePersian border and claim protection at the hands of Persia's King.
So the poor tent was ragged and out at elbows, for all that it was madeof costly Kashmir shawls, and that its poles were silver-gilt.
But Head-nurse's "Thanks be to God!" came from a full heart.
"What is it? What _is_ it?" called an anxious voice from behind thecurtain which divided the tent in two.
"What?" echoed Head-nurse in high glee. "Only this: His ImperialHighness, Prince Akbar, the Admired-of-the-World, the Source-of-Dignity,the Most-Magnificent-Person-of-the-Period--" She went on, after herwont, rolling out all the titles that belonged of right to the littlePrince, until the soft, anxious voice lost patience and called again,"Have done--have done; what is it? Heaven save he hath not been indanger."
Head-nurse, stopped in her flow of fine words, sniffed contemptuously."Danger! with me to guard him? No! 'Tis that the High-in-Pomp hath cuthis first real back tooth! He can eat meat! He has come to man's estate!He is no longer dependent upon milk diet." Here she gave a witheringglance at the gentle looking woman who was Baby Akbar's wet-nurse, who,truth to tell, was looking just a little sad at the thought that hernursling would soon leave her consoling arms.
"Heavens!" exclaimed the voice from within, "say you so?" And the nextinstant the curtain parted, and there was Queen Humeeda, Baby Akbar'smother, all smiling and eager.
Now, if you want to know what she was like, you must just think of yourown dearest dear mummie. At least that was what she seemed to littlePrince Akbar, who, at the sight of her, held out his little fat arms andcrowed, "Amma! Amma!" Now, this, you will observe, is only English"Ma-Ma" arranged differently; from which you may guess that English andIndian children are really very much alike.
And Queen Humeeda took the child and kissed him and hugged him just asany English mother would have done. Head-nurse, however, was not a bitsatisfied with this display of affection. That would have been theportion of any ordinary child, and Baby Akbar was more than that: he wasthe heir apparent to the throne of India! If he had only been in thepalaces that belonged to him, instead of in a miserable tent, therewould have been ceremonials and festivities and fireworks over thiscutting of a tooth! Aye! _Certainly_ fireworks. But how could one keepup court etiquette when royalty was flying for its life? Impossible!Why, even her determination that, come what might, a royal umbrella mustbe held over the blessed infant during their perilous journeys had verynearly led to his being captured!
Despite this recollection, as she listened impatiently to the cooingsand gurglings, she turned over in her mind what she could do tocommemorate the occasion. And when pretty Queen Humeeda (thinking of herhusband, the king, who, with his few followers, had ridden off to see ifa neighboring chief would help them) said, "This will be joyful newswherewith to cheer my lord on his return," Head-nurse's irritation foundvoice.
"That is all very well," she cried. "So it would be to anycommon father of any common child, Your Royal Highness! This oneis the Admired-of-the-Whole-World, the Source-of-Dignity, theMost-Magnificent-Person-of-the-Period----"
And she went on rolling out queer guttural Arabic titles tillFoster-mother implored her to be silent or she would frighten the child.Could she not see the look on the darling's face?
For Baby Akbar was indeed listening to something with his little fingerup to command attention. But it was not to Head-nurse's thunderings, butto the first long, low growl of a coming storm that outside themiserable tent was turning the distant hills to purple and darkening thefast-fading daylight.
"Frighten?" echoed Head-nurse in derision. "The son of Humayon theheroic, the grandson of Baber the brave could never be frightened atanything!"
And in truth the little lad was not a bit afraid, even when a distantflash of lightning glimmered through the dusk.
"Heavens!" cried gentle Queen Humeeda, "his Majesty will be drenched tothe skin ere he returns." She was a brave woman, but the long, longstrain of daily, hourly danger was beginning to tell on her health, andthe knowledge that even this coming storm was against them brought thetears to her eyes.
"Nay! Nay! my royal mistress," fussed Head-nurse, who, in spite of herlove of pomp, was a kind-hearted, good woman, "this must not be on suchan auspicious day. It must be celebrated otherwise, and for all we areso poor, we can yet have ceremonial. When the child was born were we notin direst danger? Such danger that all his royal father could do inhonor of the glad event was to break a musk-bag before his faithfulfollowers as sign that the birth of an heir to empire would diffuseitself like perfume through the whole world? Even so now, and if Icannot devise some ceremony, then am I no Head-nurse!"
So saying she began to bustle around, and ere long even poor, unhappyQueen Humeeda began to take an interest in the proceedings.
A mule trunk, after being ransacked for useful odds and ends, was put ina corner and covered with a worn satin quilt. This must do for a throne.And a strip of red muslin wound about the little gold-embroidered skullcap Baby Akbar wore must, with the heron's plume from his father'sstate turban, make a monarch of the child.
In truth he looked very dignified indeed, standing on the mule trunk,his little legs very wide apart, his little crimson silk trousers verybaggy, his little green brocade waistcoat buttoned tight over his littlefat body, and, trailing from his shoulders in great stiff folds, hisfather's state cloth-of-gold coatee embroidered with seed pearls.
So, as he always wore great gold bracelets on his little fat arms, andgreat gold jingling anklets fringing his little fat feet, he looked veryroyal indeed. Very royal and large and calm, for he was a grave babywith big, dark, piercing eyes and a decided chin.
"He is as like his grandfather as two splits of a pea!" cried Head-nursein rapture, and then she went to the tent door and shrilled out:
"Slaves! Quick! Come and perform your lowly salute on the occasion ofthe cutting of a back tooth belonging to the Heir-to-Empire, theMost----"
She cut short her string of titles, for a crash of thunder overheadwarned her she had best be speedy before the rain soaked through theworn tent.
"Quick, slaves!" she added; "keep us not waiting all day. Enter andprostrate yourselves on the ground with due reverence! Quick! Quick!"
She need not have been in such a hurry, for it did not take long for the"slaves," as she called them, to perform their lowly salaam by touchingthe very ground with their foreheads. There were but three of them--OldFaithful, the trooper; Roy, the Rajput boy; and Meroo, the scullion; therest were away with their master, King Humayon.
Old Faithful, however, tall, lank, grey-bearded, brought enough devotionfor half a dozen followers. He had served with little Akbar'sgrandfather, Babar the brave, and when he saw the child standing so fairand square, he gave almost a sharp cry of remembrance and delight. Andwhen he stood up after his prostration, in soldier fashion he held outthe hilt of his old sword for the baby to touch in token that itsservice was acce
pted. Queen Humeeda, who stood beside her little son,guided his fat fingers to the sword; but at the very moment a vividflash of lightning made her give a shriek and cover her face with herhands. But little Prince Akbar having got a hold of the hilt, would notlet go. And to Old Faithful's huge delight he pulled and pulled till thesword came out of the scabbard.
"An omen! An omen!" cried the old man. "Like his grandfather, he willfight battles ere he be twelve!"
Then there was Roy, the Rajput lad, whom the royal fugitives had foundhalf dead from sunstroke in the wide, sandy Rajputana deserts, and whom,with their customary kindness, they had succoured and befriended,putting him on as a sort of page boy to the little Heir-to-Empire. Hewas a tall, slim lad for his twelve years, was Roy, with a small,well-set head and a keen, well-cut face. And his eyes! They were like adeer's--large, brown, soft, but with a flash in them at times.
For the sunstroke which had so nearly killed the lad had left his mind alittle confused. As yet he could remember nothing of what had happenedto him before it, and could not even recollect who he was, or anythingsave that his name was Roy. But every now and again he would saysomething or do something which would make those around him looksurprised, and wonder who he could have been to know such things andhave such manners.
After him came Meroo, the misshapen cook-boy. He was an odd fellow, alllong limbs and broad smiles, who, when his time arrived, shambledforward, cast himself in lowliest reverence full length on the groundand blubbered out his delight--now that the princely baby could reallyeat--at being able to supply all sorts of toothsome stews full of onionsand green ginger, to say nothing of watermelons and sugar cane. Thesethings, strange to say, being to little Indian children very much whatchocolate creams and toffee are to English ones.
So far all had gone well, and now there only remained one more salute tobe made. But little Adam, who was Head-nurse's own son, and who hadhitherto been Baby Akbar's playmate, refused absolutely to do as he wasbid. He was a short, sturdy boy of five, and nothing would induce him togo down on his knees and touch the ground with his forehead. In vainMeroo, the cook-boy, promised him sweets if he would only obey orders;in vain Old Faithful spoke of a ride on his old war-horse, and Roy, whowas a most wonderful story-teller, promised him the best of all,Bopuluchi. In vain his mother, losing patience at such a terrible pieceof indecorum, rushed at him and cuffed him soundly. He only howled andkicked.
And then suddenly Baby Akbar, who had been listening with a solemn face,brought his little bare foot down on the mule trunk with such a stampthat the golden anklets jingled and jangled, and his little forefingerwent up over his head in the real Eastern attitude of royal command.
"Salute, slave, salute," he said with a tremendous dignity. And therewas something so comical about the little mite of a child, something somasterful in the tiny figure, something so commanding in the loud,deep-toned baby voice, that every one laughed, and somehow or other Adamforgot his obstinacy and made his obeisance like a good boy.
And then once more pretty Queen Humeeda hugged and kissed her littleson, and all the rest applauded him, and made so much of him that hebegan to think he had done something very fine indeed, and crowed andclapped his hands in delight.
But the merriment did not last long, for there was a clatter of horsesand swords outside the tent.
"My husband!" cried Queen Humeeda in a flutter. "What news does my lordbring?"