“Faizi!” he cried.
He who, lost in thought, was passing them, suddenly stood still, and then drew back, as he recognised the man who had so deeply injured him. But, changing his mind, he slowly advanced, and as he saw Siddha preparing hastily to withdraw, he said:
“Remain, and listen to me. Here, by the tomb of the prince who ever more willingly forgave than punished his enemies, and who did not know what hate was, I should feel no anger. I have often striven to follow his noble example, and to forgive the wrong you have done me. I could not, I had not the strength; but now, on this holy spot, where accident has brought us together, I have found strength to do what Akbar in my place would have done. I forgive you, Siddha.”
Deeply touched, and with bowed head, Siddha stood before his noble enemy, while Iravati gazed with admiration on the man who in such a strife had been victor over himself.
“Look up,” continued Faizi; “no longer avoid the sight of your former friend. The words that I addressed to you in my anger were not undeserved, but to a man of your character they were a fearful and perhaps too severe a punishment; and I know from Kulluka what an influence they have had on you, and to what wild actions they nearly drove you. From our friend I learnt that in the first place you were not the tempter, nor in the beginning did you know who the tempter was. Her great influence and power I know well myself; but she is no longer to be feared. In her captivity she herself made an end to her guilty life. Enough of the past, especially in the presence of her whom I must greet as your noble consort. Let the past, then, be forgotten by us. What I have since heard of you, has made you again worthy of the respect and friendship of a man of honour. Take, then, my hand, as of old.”
It was Iravati who clasped it, while Siddha could scarcely conquer his emotion.
“I thank you,” she said, “from my heart, for your generosity. What you have said has lifted the dark cloud that overshadowed our married happiness, and the leaden weight is at last removed which for so long has weighed my Siddha down.”
“I seek for words,” at last said Siddha; “but words to express what at this moment I feel are not to be found. Once I thought myself comforted and strengthened by the words of a wise man, and as though I were born to a new life; but now I feel the new birth for the first time. Your friendship, Faizi, was always most deeply prized by me, and all the bitterer was my self-reproach, and the harder my punishment, to lose it so shamefully, and through my own fault. The friendship that you give me back so nobly, I esteem as the highest gift I could receive.”
“Our present accidental meeting,” replied Faizi, “must be of short duration, and in all probability it will be our last. That I have withdrawn from the service of the State is already known to you. Salim, or, as he likes better to be called by his proud title, Jahangir, never looked upon me or my brother with a favourable eye; besides, I should find it hard to serve him, for reasons which you need not that I should explain, and so I withdrew myself from public life, and lived retired at Agra. But now Shah Abbas, King of Persia, has invited me to his capital, and to occupy myself there with literary studies.[7] This invitation I have accepted. I start for Ispahan to-morrow, and I may remain there. But I could not leave this country without a farewell visit to the last resting-place of my princely friend—the friend who was everything to me, Siddha, more than life or happiness; and had you sinned against him, I do not believe that I could ever have pardoned it. But you have shown that you honoured and prized him, though you never had the opportunity of knowing him intimately, as but few did, both in his greatness and his weaknesses, which were still loveable.”
“It is true,” rejoined Siddha, “I never learnt to know him closely, but I have known enough to awaken my deepest admiration and reverence. I knew another prince whose life has ended, to whom I owed a debt of gratitude, and his memory is dear to me; but if I was asked which was the greatest, I am now convinced that the secluded philosopher, who had said farewell to all worldly joys, was surpassed by the philosopher on his throne, who in the midst of the wildest divisions and disturbances knew how to preserve the same evenness of character and uprightness of mind. In truth Akbar deserves his name.”