At this time it was represented to me that the Commander-in-Chief, the Ātālīq K͟hān-k͟hānān, as a sequel to the celebrated line, “For every rose one must bear the pain of a hundred thorns,” had written an ode, and that Mīrzā Rustam Ṣafawī and Mīrzā Murād, his son, had also tried their skill. An impromptu opening couplet came into my mind:
“A cup of wine should be poured[33] on the cheek of the rosebud.
There are many clouds, much wine should be poured.”
Of those who were present at the entertainment who had the poetic temperament each composed an ode, and presented it. It became known that the hemistich was from Maulānā ʿAbdu-r-Raḥmān Jāmī. I looked at the whole of his ode (or odes). Except this hemistich, which like a proverb has become famous over the world, he has not written anything epigrammatic. All is very simple and smooth.[34] On this day arrived the news of the death of Aḥmad Beg K., governor of Kashmir. His sons, who were of the house-born ones of the Court, and on whose foreheads the signs of intelligence and zeal were manifest, obtained suitable mansabs, and were sent to do duty in the Ṣuba of Bangas͟h and Kabul. His mansab was that of 2,500; his eldest son obtained that of 3,000 (?),[35] and three other sons that of 900 each. On Thursday, the 14th, K͟hwāja Bāqī K., who was adorned with the high qualities of dignity, honour, generosity, and valour, under whose rule was one of the thānas of the country of Berār, was promoted to the mansab of 1,500 and 1,000 horse, original and increased, and the title of Bāqī K. Rāy Kahnūr (Kunwar?), who was formerly Dīwān of Gujarat, was chosen for the dīwānship of Mālwa.
At this time the pairing of the sāras, which I had never seen before, and is reported never to have been seen by man, was witnessed by me. The sāras is a creature of the crane genus, but somewhat larger.[36] On the top of the head it has no feathers, and the skin is drawn over the bones of the head. From the back of the eye to six finger-breadths of the neck it is red. They mostly live in pairs on the plains, but are occasionally seen in flocks. People bring a pair in from the fields, and keep them in their houses, and they become familiar with men. In fact, there was a pair of sāras in my establishment to which I had given the names of Lailā and Majnūn. One day a eunuch informed me that (the) two had paired in his presence. I ordered that if they showed an inclination to pair again they should inform me. At dawn he came and told me that they were about to pair again. I immediately hastened to look on. The female having straightened its legs bent down a little: the male then lifted up one of its feet from the ground and placed it on her back, and afterwards the second foot, and, immediately seating himself on her back, paired with her. He then came down, and, stretching out his neck, put his beak to the ground, and walked once round the female. It is possible they may have an egg and produce a young one. Many strange tales of the affection of the sāras for its mate have been heard. The following case has been recorded because it is very strange. Qiyām K., who is one of the k͟hānazāds (houseborn ones) of this Court, and is well acquainted with the arts of hunting and scouting, informed me that one day he had gone out to hunt, and found a sāras sitting. When he approached, it got up and went off. From its manner of walking he perceived signs of weakness and pain. He went to the place where it had been sitting, and saw some bones and a handful of feathers on which it had been sitting. He threw a net round it, and drew himself into a corner, and it tried to go and sit in the same place. Its foot was caught in the net, and he went forward and seized it. It appeared extremely light, and when he looked minutely he saw there were no feathers on its breast and belly: its flesh and skin had separated, and there were maggots. Moreover, there was no sign of flesh left on any of its members: a handful of feathers and bone came into his hand. It was clear that its mate had died, and that it had sate there from the day it lost its companion.
“My burning heart hath melted my body with separation’s pang;
A soul-consuming sigh burnt me, as ’twere a lamp.
The day of my joy became black like the night of grief,
Separation from thee hath made my day like this.”
Himmat K., who is one of my best servants, and whose word is worthy of reliance, told me that in the Doḥad[37] pargana he had seen a pair of sāras on the bank of a tank. One of his gunners shot one of them, and in the same place cut off its head and stripped[38] it of its feathers (?). By chance we halted two or three days at that place, and its mate continually walked round it, and uttered cries and lamentation. “My heart,” he said, “ached at its distress, but there was no remedy for it save regret.” By chance, twenty-five days afterwards, he passed by the same spot, and asked the inhabitants what had become of that sāras. They said it died on the same day, and there were still remains of feathers and bones on the spot. He went there himself, and saw it was as they said. There are many tales of this kind among the people, which it would take too long to tell.