A few years after the occurrences already narrated, a silent pair stood in this park: a powerful man, in rich attire, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, while the right was thrown round a lovely woman who stood beside him, looking like the graceful ivy that clings to the oak. It was Siddha Rama, accompanied by Iravati. They stood lost in admiration before the tomb, and thought of the man of whom they had so often spoken with the greatest reverence.
Much had happened in these few years. Akbar was no more, and in his place reigned his son Salim, who, in accordance with the wish of his father as he lay on his dying bed, had girded on the sword the Emperor had always worn, and who was now, under the name of Jahangir, the Emperor of Hindustan.[2] That he was not to be compared to Akbar was to be expected, still his reign was not bad; and it fell to the lot of his successors—to Shah Jahan[3] and Aurangzíb[4]—so to corrupt the formerly powerful empire, as that it fell an easy prey into the hands of British conquerors.
Salim had not entirely laid aside his evil habits, and Sir Thomas Roe, the English ambassador, had an opportunity of seeing him in much the same situation as Siddha had done, at the banquet given in his palace. Still he was not the hopeless drunkard that he had appeared to be.[5] To Iravati he had kept his word, and in spite of his disappointment, found himself happy in his marriage with the wise and beautiful Mahal, whose influence over him was great, and always for good.
That Kashmir must in the end submit, had long been foreseen; and after the failure of Salim’s conspiracy, it cost Akbar but little trouble to penetrate through the ruined country and force it to come under his rule. The weak king died, his unworthy sons were banished, and Siddha’s father was made Vice-King, Siddha receiving an important appointment, with the understanding that he should succeed to the Viceroyship; while Kulluka, faithful as ever, was always ready with counsel and advice. It was not long before the people began to appreciate the blessing and prosperity of a wise and settled rule.
The hermit of Badari-Natha did not long survive the subjection of his country. Once, when Kulluka went to visit him, he found the servant alone. His master had become suddenly unwell. He died in a few days, and was buried on the heights overlooking Kashmir. Hara, the tiger, laid himself down on the grave, and growled fiercely when the servant sought to entice him back to the house. He refused the food and water brought to him, and in a few days was lying dead on the grave of his friend and master.
Parviz knew nothing of the affair with Gulbadan, and Siddha occasionally received good news from him. He was happy in his marriage with the daughter of the Treasurer, and though in high office, was busy in arranging the literary and diplomatic papers of Abú-l Fazl, his deeply lamented uncle.
Abdul Kadir held himself aloof from public life, and though wiser, was still an earnest enthusiast for the true faith. He sought consolation for his many disappointments in writing his history,[6] in which he complained bitterly of Akbar, and railed at Abú-l Fazl and Faizi, although they had never harmed him.
Padre Aquaviva did not return to Agra, but others came to continue his work, with as little success. Though three centuries have passed, the conversion of Hindustan remains the dream of western zealots.
Whether the faithful Vatsa espoused the talkative but good-hearted Nipunika, history says not; but it is very probable that they followed the example of their master and mistress. The happiness of these two was unbroken, though dark memories often arose in Siddha’s mind. But by degrees he had learnt not to allow himself to be weighed down by them, and to hide his regrets from Iravati. He had remarked how deeply it grieved her when his countenance was clouded with gloomy thoughts of the past, the cause of which she well understood, for he had confessed all to her. Soon after their marriage she had given him a son, whom he loved nearly as much as herself. He understood how great a treasure he had won, when he heard of Salim’s wishes, and what her answer had been; but when he expressed his admiration, she only replied that in her place every woman would have acted in the same manner.
Siddha remained long lost in thought before Akbar’s tomb, when his attention was roused by an approaching footstep. In dismay he stepped back as he recognised who drew near; and the exclamation which broke from him told Iravati what an unhappy meeting had chanced.