Birbal shook his head. "What is self, my master? Purûsha gazes upon the Dancer Prakrîti, but by and by his eyes will tire of her disguises----"
"And then," interrupted Akbar, eagerly, "what then? When the object is gone, what of the subject? Answer me that, thou cold Kapilian! Nay! Birbal! I cannot believe it so. It strikes a chill to my very marrow. 'Tis warmer beneath the shelter of All-pervading Âtman holding both mind and matter in tenacious grip. Yet even that is cold to my hot life."
He turned slightly, and let his eyes follow the inlaid marble lettering of the legend which he himself had ordered to be set round his great Arch of Victory.
Said Jesus, on whom be peace: The world is a bridge, pass over it, but build no house there. Who hopes for an Hour, hopes for Eternity. Spend the Hour in Devotion. The rest is unknown.
"Aye! but a bridge to what?" he murmured. "Could I but know what lies before me--before this land!" His eyes embraced the darkening plain, and questioned vainly the reddening flush behind the departed sun. "We hope--that is all--hope for an hour--hope for eternity!--an eternity for ourselves and for our children!"
Those far-seeing eyes turned to rest lovingly on the red towers of Fatehpur Sikri. "No! I will never give it up. Birbal--it is my city of dreams--the heritage of those who shall come after me--the birthplace and the death-place of the holder of an empire that is deathless. Water? Lo! what is water? 'Man,' says Pâdré Rudolfo the Jesuit, 'doth not live by bread alone.' Neither does he live by water."
"Natheless, sire!" put in Birbal drily, "it hath a trick of being the birthplace of most things; and the last report of the engineers is unfavourable. There is not even a dampness at three hundred feet!"
"Then we must make an aqueduct from the river--the Ganges, an' thou wilt--even from Holy Himâlya," answered the King gaily. "Akbar is not to be let or hindered by aught save Death--and even so"--he glanced with his winning, affectionate, almost womanish smile, at the man beside him--"thou dost not forget the promise that whoever of us finds freedom first shall come back--with news."
"I have not forgotten, Master," replied Birbal. "Yet who should want my poor ghost--if I have one?"
Akbar's face lit up with curiosity, almost with credulousness.