Even the external appearance of Akbar appeals to us sympathetically. We sometimes find reproduced a miniature from Delhi which pictures Akbar as seated; in this the characteristic features of the Mongolian race appear softened and refined to a remarkable degree.[B] The shape of the head is rather round, the outlines are softened, the black eyes large, thoughtful, almost dreamy, and only very slightly slanting, the brows full and bushy, the lips somewhat prominent and the nose a tiny bit hooked. The face is beardless except for the rather thin closely cut moustache which falls down over the curve of the month in soft waves. According to the description of his son, the Emperor Jehângir, Akbar's complexion is said to have been the yellow of wheat; the Portuguese Jesuits who came to his court called it plainly white. Although not exactly beautiful, Akbar seemed beautiful to many of his contemporaries, including Europeans, probably because of the august and at the same time kind and winsome expression which his countenance bore. Akbar was rather tall, broad-shouldered, strongly built and had long arms and hands.
Akbar, the son of the dethroned Emperor Humâyun, was born on October 14, 1542, at Amarkot in Sindh, two years after his father had been deprived of his kingdom by the usurper Shêr Chân. After an exile of fifteen years, or rather after an aimless wandering and flight of that length, the indolent pleasure-and opium-loving Humâyun was again permitted to return to his capital in 1555,—not through his own merit but that of his energetic general Bairâm Chân, a Turk who in one decisive battle had overcome the Afghans, at that time in possession of the dominion. But Humâyun was not long to enjoy his regained throne; half a year later he fell down a stairway in his palace and died. In January 1556 Akbar, then thirteen years of age, ascended the throne. Because of his youthful years Bairâm Chân assumed the regency as guardian of the realm or "prince-father" as it is expressed in Hindî, and guided the wavering ship of state with a strong hand. He overthrew various insurgents and disposed of them with cold cruelty. But after a few years he so aroused the illwill of Akbar by deeds of partiality, selfishness and violence that in March 1560 Akbar, then 17 years of age, decided to take the reins of government into his own hand. Deprived of his office and influence Bairâm Chân hastened to the Punjab and took arms against his Imperial Master. Akbar led his troops in person against the rebel and overcame him. When barefooted, his turban thrown around his neck, Bairâm Chân appeared before Akbar and prostrated himself before the throne, Akbar did not do the thing which was customary under such circumstances in the Orient in all ages. The magnanimous youth did not sentence the humiliated rebel to a painful death but bade him arise in memory of the great services which Bairâm Chân had rendered to his father and later to himself, and again assume his old place of honor at the right of the throne. Before the assembled nobility he gave him the choice whether he would take the governorship of a province, or would enjoy the favor of his master at court as a benefactor of the imperial family, or whether, accompanied by an escort befitting his rank, he would prefer to undertake a pilgrimage to Mecca.[5] Bairâm Chân was wise enough to choose the last, but on the way to Mecca he was killed by an Afghan and the news caused Akbar sincere grief and led him to take the four year old son of Bairâm Chân under his special protection.
Mâhum Anâga, the Emperor's nurse, for whom he felt a warm attachment and gratitude, a woman revengeful and ambitious but loyal and devoted to Akbar, had contributed in bringing about the fall of the regent. She had cared for the Emperor from his birth to his accession and amid the confusion of his youth had guarded him from danger; but for this service she expected her reward. She sought nothing less than in the rôle of an intimate confidante of the youthful Emperor to be secretly the actual ruler of India.
Mâhum Anâga had a son, Adham Chân by name, to whom at her suggestion Akbar assigned the task of reconquering and governing the province of Mâlwâ. Adham Chân was a passionate and violent man, as ambitious and avaricious as his mother, and behaved himself in Mâlwâ as if he were an independent prince. As soon as Akbar learned this he advanced by forced marches to Mâlwâ and surprised his disconcerted foster-brother before the latter could be warned by his mother. But Adham Chân had no difficulty in obtaining Akbar's forgiveness for his infringements.
On the way back to Agra, where the Emperor at that time was holding court, a noteworthy incident happened. Akbar had ridden alone in advance of his escort and suddenly found himself face to face with a powerful tigress who with her five cubs came out from the shrubbery across his path. His approaching attendants found the nineteen year old Emperor standing quietly by the side of the slaughtered beast which he had struck to the ground with a single blow of his sword. To how much bodily strength, intrepidity, cold-blooded courage and sure-sightedness this blow of the sword testified which dared not come the fraction of a second too late, may be judged by every one who has any conception of the spring of a raging tigress anxious for the welfare of her young. And we may easily surmise the thoughts which the sight aroused in the minds of the Mohammedan nobles in Akbar's train. At that moment many ambitious wishes and designs may have been carried to their grave.[6]
The Emperor soon summoned his hot-headed foster-brother Adham Chân to court in order to keep him well in sight for he had counted often enough on Akbar's affection for his mother Mâhum Anâga to save him from the consequences of his sins. Now Mâhum Anâga, her son and her adherents, hated the grand vizier with a deadly hatred because they perceived that they were being deprived of their former influence in matters of state. This hatred finally impelled Adham Chân to a senseless undertaking. The embittered man hatched up a conspiracy against the grand vizier and when one night in the year 1562 the latter was attending a meeting of political dignitaries on affairs of state in the audience hall of the Imperial palace, Adham Chân with his conspirators suddenly broke in and stabbed the grand vizier in the breast, whereupon his companions slew the wounded man with their swords. Even now the deluded Adham Chân counted still upon the Emperor's forbearance and upon the influence of his mother. Akbar was aroused by the noise and leaving his apartments learned what had happened. Adham Chân rushed to the Emperor, seized his arm and begged him to listen to his explanations. But the Emperor was beside himself with rage, struck the murderer with his fist so that he fell to the floor and commanded the terrified servants to bind him with fetters and throw him head over heels from the terrace of the palace to the courtyard below. The horrible deed was done but the wretch was not dead. Then the Emperor commanded the shattered body of the dying man to be dragged up the stairs again by the hair and to be flung once more to the ground.[7]
I have related this horrible incident in order to give Akbar's picture with the utmost possible faithfulness and without idealization. Akbar was a rough, strong-nerved man, who was seldom angry but whose wrath when once aroused was fearful. It is a blemish on his character that in some cases he permitted himself to be carried away to such cruel death sentences, but we must not forget that he was then dealing with the punishment of particularly desperate criminals, and that such severe judgments had always been considered in the Orient to be righteous and sensible. Not only in the Orient unfortunately,—even in Europe 200 years after Akbar's time tortures and the rack were applied at the behest of courts of law.
Mahum Anâga came too late to save her son. Akbar sought with tender care to console her for his dreadful end but the heart-broken woman survived the fearful blow of fate only about forty days. The Emperor caused her body to be buried with that of her son in one common grave at Delhi, and he himself accompanied the funeral procession. At his command a stately monument was erected above this grave which still stands to-day. His generosity and clemency were also shown in the fact that he extended complete pardon to the accomplices in the murder of the grand vizier and even permitted them to retain their offices and dignities because he was convinced that they had been drawn into the crime by the violent Adham Chân. In other ways too Akbar showed himself to be ready to grant pardon to an almost incomprehensible extent. Again and again when an insubordinate viceroy in the provinces would surrender after an unsuccessful uprising Akbar would let him off without any penalty, thus giving him the opportunity of revolting again after a short time.
It was an eventful time in which Akbar arrived at manhood in the midst of all sorts of personal dangers.