“I suspected as much,” said the Emperor, “and therefore gave you orders not to leave your post; and now you yourself come to assure me of your treachery. Good; speak further.”
As shortly as possible, without withholding anything, Siddha recounted how, led away by Gulbadan, he had deceived his friend and benefactor, and become a traitor to his Emperor. During this recital Akbar paced up and down with slow steps, his countenance expressing nothing of what his feelings might be; but as Siddha ceased, he stopped before him, and said, sternly, “Your crimes deserve death.”
“That I know well,” was the answer; “and I come to receive my punishment at the hands of your Majesty,”
“Why did you not seek safety in flight, when you suspected that your treason was discovered?”
“Crimes demand their penalty; and how can I go forth into the world while it remains unpaid, an object of contempt to myself and others?”
“But how is it that you have come so suddenly to this determination? For this there must be some cause. I suspect you have not told me all; something is still wanting to your story.”
“You are right; but what I have still to tell could not be said until my doom was pronounced. Now I can proceed. The power which, in spite of myself, that woman so long had over me was suddenly broken. The bandage fell from my eyes, and at last I saw clearly what I was, of what I had been guilty, and what punishment I deserved.” And now followed more in detail the description of the scene that had taken place on the last evening he had seen Gulbadan, and of the plot he had overheard.
Still no expression was visible on the Emperor’s countenance; but, as he again walked up and down, his step was more hurried. When the story was ended he remained for some time silent, and then said, “With reason you seem to have thought that your last communication might have some influence over the sentence that I had to pronounce on you. You have rendered a great service to me and to my kingdom, and you are mistaken if you imagine that the sentence I pronounced was an irrevocable one. To say that a crime deserves death, is not to say that no mercy can be shown to him who is guilty of it; and yours is a case in point. Without your further communication, I might have recalled what I said, and shown you mercy. You have sinned deeply, Siddha, against me, and certainly not less against my friend. You are not a criminal, you have been the victim of an overwhelming temptation, and I know myself what it is to be so tried. But your feeling of honour was not destroyed, and sprang again into life as soon as you awoke from your dream. I do not in the least palliate what you have done, nor consider your fault a light one; but I am of opinion that you do not belong to the class incapable of improvement, and who, for the sake of society, cannot be allowed to live. I believe that your future actions will wipe away the memory of your misdeeds, and your conduct of to-day assures me that you will never again be guilty of treachery towards me. I therefore give you your life, and leave you in possession of your rank. Do not let me be deceived in you a second time.”
For some moments Siddha found it impossible to reply, but knelt before the Emperor and kissed respectfully the hem of his robe.
“I thank you, Sire,” he said at last, as the Emperor signed to him to rise, “not for life, that was no longer of any value in my eyes, but for the opportunity granted me in some measure to make up for the ill I have done. And if I may ask another favour, it is that I may at once be allowed to take part in the war that is now being waged in the north against the robber bands.”