So they went on their way, while in lessening sound came the chorus which holds the Secret of the Sin for which all religions promise forgiveness.
It brought a vague, throbbing restlessness to the hot air.
[CHAPTER X]
Opportunity flies, O brother.
As the clouds that quickly pass.
Make use of it now, for another
Will never be yours, Alas!
--Hafiz.
"Birbal! Lo! It is always Birbal. May God's curse light on him for an infidel!"
Prince Salîm's young, sullen face lowered gloomily, he flung aside the half-tasted sweetmeat he had taken from the golden basket which was always held within his reach by a deaf and dumb slave.
"Ameen!" murmured Mirza Ibrahîm piously.
Khodadâd who in the petit comite of the Heir-Apparent's innermost circle of friends was enjoying the newly imported luxury of smoking, puffed a cloud into the scented air, smiled, bowed gravely; finally yawned. In truth the Prince wearied him not a little with his childish petulance, his hasty resentments, his invariable failure to take action; for he had just enough of his father in him to desire power, to feel aggrieved at his own subordinate position, yet not sufficient to make him set his desire above comfort, even above family affection.
They managed such matters better in Sinde. There, since time immemorial, fathers had killed superfluous sons, sons had killed a superfluous father, and brother removed brother without ridiculous reference to relationship.