From morn till night I follow her But she no word doth deign.

Oh! ice chill maid! for pity's sake Give me at least disdain.

Wind! make each scented tress unbind.

Sun! set her life-blood free.

Lamp! make her weary for true love.

Moon! bring her dreams of me."

"'Tis only a translation," he said thoughtfully, "but I like it--'tis so simple."

And then his mind drifted away to that spring morning among the flowers on the high alps at Ilak when he had wondered at the look in Dearest-One's eyes. And his hand went out to seek hers and found it.

So they sat there hand in hand like children for a s.p.a.ce, and a great weariness of the uselessness of life came to Babar.

"Lo!" he said suddenly, "I will make over my kingdom to thee, Humayon.

Thou art young. I grow old and I am tired of ruling and reigning. A garden and those I love--what more can any man desire?" He spoke half in earnest, half in jest.

Maham turned pale; Dildar and the paternal aunts and khanums--by this time there were ninety-six in all!--cracked their thumbs, and even Dearest-One shook her head and said quickly: "May G.o.d keep you in His Peace upon the throne for many, many years."

But the Blessed-Damozel who always sat a little apart only smiled. "My lord means the Garden of the Eighth Heaven," she put in quickly. "Yea!

there is peace there, and rest for everybody."

"My lady says sooth," acquiesced Babar and their grave eyes met.

But little Gulbadan was agog because it was time the fireworks began or _Nanacha_ would be sending her to bed, so the idea of abdication ended in Babar's catching her up in his arms and carrying her off to see how the wheels turned round. Then Alwar, while Dildar gave little shrieks of horror (in which she was joined in louder echo by the Astonishingly Beautiful Princess who invariably wept and laughed to order) actually set fire himself to a bomb and when it exploded clapped his hands with glee.

"When I am a big man like my father, the Emperor," he said boastfully, "I will fire ten guns at a time."

"'Tis silly to say such things," retorted Madam Gulbadan superbly.

But the child's keen little face was not in the least abashed.

"Lo! sister, 'tis silly of thee to say no when thou canst not tell where I shall be as grown man. Likely in some bigger place than this."

And he waved his hand contemptuously towards Babar's great palaces.

Whereat they all laughed; for they were a merry, happy party. So they feasted and enjoyed themselves. As little Gulbadan wrote in after years: "It was like the day of Resurrection."

CHAPTER VIII

Death stood among my flowers, his bright wings furled: "This bud I take with me to that still world Where no wind blows, where sunshine does not fade, Yon open rose is yours," he gently said; But I refused. He smiled and shook his head, So empty-handed back to Heaven sped And lo! by sun-scorch and the wild wind shorn Ere eve, my bud, my blossom both were gone.

Humayon remained with his father for a week or two. Handsome, _insouciant_, always agreeable and of a curious dignity of carriage he seemed cut out to be a King. Wherever he went, no matter in what society he might be--even his father's--the eye rested on him with pleasure. And yet Babar's eyes, fond as they were, failed to see something he fain would have seen. There seemed no sense of responsibility, such as he, Babar, had had at his years. Yet it was hardly fair to judge the lad by the standard of one who had perforce been thrust into power at eleven years of age. And, after all, Humayon was barely two and twenty; still quite a lad. There was time yet.

So, weary as he was, Babar said no more about abdicating; he even tried to think no more about a plan he had cherished of going back for the next hot weather to Kabul and leaving Humayon in charge of Hindustan.

"My Kabul," as he ever called it; saying to his sons in jesting earnest--"Let none of you covet it for I will not give it! It is mine own, my very own. The only thing in G.o.d's earth I care to keep, for there He gave me happiness."

Still he was happy enough as it was in Hindustan, and, thanks to Maham's good care, felt more himself. But, like all women, she was a trifle fussy.

"Lo! my lord," she said, one extremely hot Friday when a dust-storm was blowing, and Babar, despite this, was preparing for his weekly visit to his paternal aunts; a duty he had never once neglected when in Agra for three whole years. "How would it be if you did not go this one Friday? The Begums could not be vexed seeing how good you are to them."

Goodness, she thought privately, was a mild word, considering that each and all of the ninety-six female relations had palaces and gardens a.s.signed to them and that the Court architect had standing orders to give precedence to whatever work, even if it were on a great scale, the ladies desired to have done, and to carry it through with all might and main.

But the bare suggestion hurt the Emperor's affectionate heart.

"Maham," he said in pained astonishment, "it is not like you to say such thoughtless things. Think a moment. They are the daughters of my fathers, deprived by G.o.d of their parents. Therefore, being female, they are helpless. I am the head of the family; if I do not cheer them, who will?"

Maham could not forbear a smile. No one, in truth; but Babar, beloved, kindly Babar, would think twice about a pack of old women; and she would not change him for worlds. So, despite her anxiety for his health, she said no more.

All that winter they were an extraordinarily happy family party.

Humayon had been sent as Governor to an up-country province, and not back to Badakhshan where he and his half-brother Kamran had almost come to blows. And family quarrels were, in the Emperor's opinion, positively indecent, besides being so unnecessary; since there were always plenty of outsiders with whom to have a fine fight. Then the news from Bengal, where the success of his arms was being a.s.sured, was satisfactory. Babar did not mind beating the down-country Pagans; it was different in Rajputana where you had to kill real men. But, even there, peace was coming fast; for few brave soldiers could withstand Babar's frankly outstretched hand of friendship. And he asked for so little in return. He took no money, no land. He only claimed suzerainty; and it was much to have a strong man as final referee.

Then Babar's friend Tardi-Beg came back to him, not as soldier, but in the _darvesh's_ peaked cap and white blanket frock. However he came he was welcome, especially to Mistress Gulbadan who appropriated him wholesale. They were a quaint pair, as hand in hand they inspected the gardens, and the stables, and all the ins and outs of the Royal household; for the little lady had great ideas of management.

And Babar would follow, as often as not with Alwar, who was but a weakling in body, perched on his broad shoulder.

The "four children," as Maham would call them as they played at ball together in the marble alleys; Tardi-Beg with his cap off, his shaven head glittering to match little Gulbadam's tinsel and jewellery; Alwar, a miniature of the Emperor even to the tiny heron's plume in his bonnet; Babar, his haggard face beaming. The men enjoyed themselves quite as much as the children, and if Babar accused his friend of chucking easy ones to Gulbadan, Tardi-Beg a.s.serted that Alwar never got a hard one; whereat the little lad wept; but his sister stamped her foot and said she wouldn't play any more unless they played fair. A remark that, of course, brought the immediate capitulation of Tardi-Beg and Babar.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE FOUR CHILDREN, AS MAHaM WOULD CALL THEM"]

Yes! they were very happy, very guileless, very innocent, as Babar himself had written so often over less commendable amus.e.m.e.nts.

And then suddenly came a bolt out of the blue. Alwar, little Alwar, to whom every day seemed to bring some new charm of unbelievable intellect beyond his years, fell sick. From the very first he lay quiet, exhausted, spent; but smiling. It was a trick he learnt of his father.

So, after two or three days he died, his hot, thin, little hand in that father's. It was as if the sun had gone out of the sky to the whole household. Even the Blessed-Damozel shed slow tears as she wreathed the dead darling in drifts of scented gardenias and put a scarlet slipper blossom with its quaint "something like a heart" upon the breast.

Babar, placing the light corpse in the niche cut for it in the flower-filled grave, felt as if it were his own heart he were burying; but it was _Darvesh_ Tardi-Beg who recited the committal prayer, and that gave him comfort.

Besides he was a man, and the women had to be sustained. The poor mother, Dildar-Begum, was literally frantic with grief. Doubtless, she said, the child had been poisoned, because its father loved it so; doubtless, in her mad despair, she accused Maham of doing the deed.

Polygamy is a fair-weather craft; it is apt to fail in a storm.

But the poor soul was mad. Everyone saw that; and the women took it more quietly than the man. Even blur-eyed, half-silly Astonishingly Beautiful Princess nodded her head and remarked sagely: "They say that sort of thing always in grief-time, nephew; so why fuss about it. She will forget it after a time."

And Ak-Begum came with her bright squirrel eyes all soft with tears to Babar, and whispered: "We all know it is not true, nephew. Our lady is G.o.d's kindness itself; so why fret."

But it did fret the man and added a bitterness to his grief, which even Maham could not sweeten.

"If my lord will listen to this slave," said the Blessed-Damozel at last, "it will be better to beguile the poor distraught one by change of scene. Lo! the lotus must be out in the Dholpur lakes. Why not go there for awhile? Good rain has fallen; it is cooler now."

So they all went, sailing down the river Jumna in tented boats. Far and near the wide level plain was tinted green with fresh spring gra.s.s. The parch of an Indian summer was over. This was the Indian spring. With magical, marvellous quickness the flowering trees burst into blossom, the Persian roses budded in a single night, and down amongst their grey-green, velvet leaves you could positively hear the calyx burst as the scented petals struggled to the sun. The climbing gardenias hung like white scarves round the dark cypresses, the hedges of Babar's favourite slipper flower were ablaze with their great flat scarlet circles.

Yes! it was spring! So as they journeyed, the sad little party became more cheerful. The women, especially, had begun to talk of their departed darling as one of G.o.d's angels; even his mother had sobered down to copious tears, and pathetic requests that she might be given back her other son Hindal--whom Maham certainly _had_ taken from her as a baby.

"Let her have the boy, my lord," said Maham pitifully. "Lo! it is but fair she should have one son; and I have Humayon."