🧚 Opening, part 3 · page 2

Everything that the doctors could do, was done; but Humayun was sick unto death.59 Then a holy man said to Baber: “If some precious thing were given to God in exchange for Humayun, God might let him live.”60

And the holy man talked of the Kohinor, which Baber had got from Gwalior, and which is now in the crown of our King-Emperor of Britain.61

But Baber, who more than anyone we know had loved being alive, said: “No, that is not the most precious thing I have to give.62 There is my life.”63

And he walked three times round Humayun’s bed, saying: “Oh, God! if a life may be given for a life, I, who am Baber, I give my life and my being for Humayun.”64 And he went away and prayed and fasted, saying many times: “I have borne it away.65 I have prevailed.”66

That night Baber fell ill, and Humayun began to get better.67 Then Baber called his nobles together, and charged them to serve Humayun faithfully, for he himself would rule no more.68

And three days later he did indeed pass out from the life which he had loved so well, and had laid down so lovingly.69

The King who kept his Word70

There is one story told of Humayun, the Moon-Lady’s son, which is worth remembering.71

Sher Khan, the Afghan, turned traitor, and the King was compelled to fly for his life.72 But there was no escape except across a river in flood; and his horse sank exhausted in mid-stream.73 Then the King would have died; but a water-carrier on the opposite bank saw the King’s trouble, and brought him his own skin-bags, on which Humayun floated safely to land.74

“I have nothing to give thee now,” said the King; “but come to me in Agra, and if I live thou shalt sit on my throne for a whole day.”75 The King did live, and got back his kingdom; and the water-carrier came to claim his reward.76

Humayun kept his word, like the King that he was.77

For one whole day the water-carrier sat on the throne; and the skin that had saved the King’s life was cut into little pieces and stamped into money by the Royal Mint.78

Naila79

Ghyas-ud-din Tughlak, the Moghul, had heard of the beauty of the daughters of Rana-Mal-Bhatti, the Rajput: and he wished a Rajput princess for the wife of his brother Rajab.80

But when he sent to ask this, Rana Mal made a haughty answer--“No daughter of the Moon could wed with a slayer of cows.”81

Then Tughlak demanded at once, and in cash, a whole year’s tribute to be paid to Delhi.82 And Rana Mal was sad, for though the people stripped themselves bare, it would not be easy.83

And the sound of the people’s crying reached the ears of Rana Mal’s old mother, who came to her son’s house weeping, with unbound hair, to plead for the people.84 And as she came Naila, the most beautiful of Rana Mal’s daughters, saw her and ran to open the door to her.85

“Why weeps my grandmother?” asked Naila.86

“Because of you,” said the old woman.87 “The Turk is taxing our people, because your father will not give you in marriage to the Turk as he desires.”88

“If to give me to the Turk will save our people,” said Naila, “send me at once, grandmother.89 Think only that the robber Turks have carried off one of your jewels.”90 So did Naila give herself for her country.91

And afterwards her only son Firoz Shah served his people in the same spirit.92 He was loved by them all.93 Cruelty gave place to kindness, taking to giving, hating to loving--and for thirty-seven years there was peace and prosperity and goodwill in Delhi.94

The Lotus-Lady95

In the days when Ala-ud-din, the Moslem, ruled at Delhi, the beautiful rock-fortress Chittore was the capital of Rajputana, and brave Prince Bhimsi was regent for his nephew the Baby-King.96

Now Bhimsi had a most beautiful wife, the Lotus-Lady, the fame of whose beauty had gone forth all over India.97 And in the old days men thought it not wrong to try and snatch away from others anything which they wished to possess--be this thing what it might, rich city or lovely lady or priceless jewel.98

So Ala-ud-din waged war on Chittore in order to capture the lovely Lotus-Lady.99 But the Rajput warriors laughed him to scorn, and defeated him, and kept safe their beauteous Lady of the Lotus.100

Then Ala-ud-din pretended to be very much ashamed that he had ever even imagined that Prince Bhimsi would let the Princess be taken captive by an enemy.101

“But,” he added, “I have come a long way and have fought hard, and you have conquered.102 Therefore before I go, let me look, I pray, but for one minute on the beauty of which I have heard so much.103

“Let me see the face of the Princess Lady, just for a breathing-space, not openly, but in a mirror--so that I may have in my soul a vision of the Perfectly Beautiful, to help me in the days that remain.”104

And Bhimsi was so noble a knight that he was moved by these words to grant his enemy his desire.105

Ala-ud-din pretended to be very grateful, and the courteous knight Bhimsi was sorry for the enemy whom he had defeated.106 Thinking him to be also a knight and bound by knightly courtesies and honour, he accompanied him alone outside the gates of the city, to set him on his way.107

But when Ala-ud-din got Bhimsi alone and at his mercy, he carried him captive to his own camp.108 Only in exchange for the Lotus-Lady herself, he declared, would he release the Rajput Prince-Regent.109

Then all the knights and warriors of Chittore took counsel with the Princess as to what should be done.110 And the Lotus-Lady was brave: for she loved her lord very dearly.111

So in concert with her nobles, she arranged that word should be sent to Ala-ud-din that she was coming, as he commanded, to release her lord: but that she craved a few minutes’ speech of her lord, before parting with him for ever.112 And Ala-ud-din granted her request.113

So, for the camp of the enemy set forth a great procession of palanquins and mace-bearers; and Ala-ud-din was not afraid, for he knew that so great a lady might not be abroad without her waiting-women and her mistresses of the robes, and her mace-bearers and the slaves who did her bidding--one slave for each separate little duty of the care of her lovely person.114

And now the Lotus-Lady was at the prisoner’s tent of her lord; and now she had bid him farewell, and the long line of palanquins had turned once more towards Chittore.115

And Ala-ud-din said: “Ha! now will I have both the Prince and his bride!” and he ordered the palanquins to stop, thinking to make an easy capture of the prisoner whom he had just exchanged, among the palanquins of the women-folk.116

But the warriors of Chittore had prepared a surprise for Ala-ud-din, the traitor.117 Forth from every palanquin streamed the bravest of Chittore’s Rajput knights--the very palanquin-bearers were warriors: and they fought and routed Ala-ud-din and his hosts, and carried their Prince and his lady safely to the palace of their fortress home.118

And Ala-ud-din fled in haste to Delhi.119

But Ala-ud-din never forgot this second disgrace.120 Nor, it is said, could he forget the face of the Lotus-Lady.121