“Very willingly. Where shall we go?”
“To Fathpúr Sikri,[1] the country residence of the Emperor, the place everyone visits when they first make an expedition in the neighbourhood.”
“I submit myself entirely to your friendly guidance,” answered Siddha; “but excuse me if I leave you for a few moments to say farewell to Kulluka, who is on the point of starting.”
He found his tutor in all the hurry of departure, and, as he said farewell, entrusted him with the letter, which Kulluka took without any questions. And before long Siddha and Parviz were mounted and, followed by their servants, on their way out of the town. Their journey was nothing but a pleasant ride, their road lying as it did through an avenue overshadowed with fine trees, with beautiful views on each side, over fields and shady groves.
“See,” said Parviz, after they had ridden for some time; “such avenues the Emperor has had planted almost everywhere; and in places where formerly no green leaf was to be seen, and men died of heat, now these shady roads are to be found. Is not this a great and useful work? Certainly every traveller has good cause of gratitude to Akbar.”
“Yes, indeed, the Emperor does great things,” answered Siddha—and his thoughts turned to the extraordinary man with whom, yesterday, he had talked of Akbar. And he described to Parviz his strange meeting, and asked if he knew who the person he described could be?
“No, I know him not,” said Parviz, with difficulty suppressing a smile; “but perhaps you will meet him again.”
“Very likely,” answered Siddha, “But, tell me, how is it that here there are so many people without beards? I always supposed that your Muhammadans thought a great deal of their beards.”
“So they do; but Akbar thinks quite differently. A little moustache, like yours and mine, he can put up with, but would rather see nothing at all on one’s face. The wisest men have their whims, and this may be one. Or he may do it with intention to vex the faithful, and to show them how little he thinks of their opinions and customs. But, whatever the reason, so it is; and, unimportant and childish as it seems, this has given rise to much talk and much that is disagreeable. Now we are approaching the dwelling of one of the chiefs of the village of this district, who I know very well, through my uncle the Minister. Shall we rest with him for a few moments while our horses are watered? My bay is much in want of it, for he was waiting saddled long before I was ready.”
Agreeing to this proposal they dismounted in the inner court of a farmhouse built of stone and wood, and surrounded by tamarinds and acacias. The proprietor himself soon appeared—a middle-aged, respectable-looking Hindu, with a magisterial air. After the usual greetings, and while fresh fruit and ice-cold water was brought for their refreshment, the conversation naturally turned to agriculture and the great prosperity of the district, although but lately brought under cultivation.