Part 12 (1/2)
And forward it proved to be from that moment. Marghinan his, the country people, disgusted with the late usurpers, crowded round their old young King.
Of course Grandmother Isan-daulet was in at the finish with her horde of two thousand wild Moghul hors.e.m.e.n; who nevertheless did good, if barbarous, service at aks.h.i.+, where treachery met with its just reward.
For the Moghuls, stripping their horses, rode barebacked into the stream and sabred the escaping traitors in their boats.
So the peach trees had not shed their blossoms before, by the Grace of the most High (and many real fine fights) Babar recovered his paternal kingdom, of which he had been deprived for two years.
Two years!
He could hardly believe it as he rode through on the mantle of lambskins between the fort of Andijan and the river, where not so long ago he had been playing leap-frog when first King-s.h.i.+p came to him.
”Nevian-Gokultas.h.!.+” he cried suddenly, ”an thou lovest me! off from thy horse and give me a back like a kind soul. I must leap to my kingdom once more!”
He stood there laughing, the embodiment of boyish youth and energy; forgetful of past troubles, eager to enjoy life.
”Ul-la-la!” shouted some of the n.o.bles catching the spirit of the thing and throwing themselves from their horses.
So leap Babar did, not over Nevian only, but over half-a-score or more of the friends of his adversity including Kasim who nearly tumbled over with laughter and joy.
And the young King, as he once more cast himself face upwards on the soft furry little blobs of blossom amid a chorus of applause, felt that the whole world was splendid indeed.
CHAPTER VII
Blessed is he who has not to learn How the favour of fortune may change and turn, Whose head is not raised in his high estate Nor his heart in misfortune made desolate.
_Nizami_.
”There is no use in talking,” quoth Isan-daulet decisively. ”Send the trays to Ayesha Begum, my daughter, and prepare the wedding comestibles. It has been high time, these two years back, that Zahir-uddin Mahomed got himself married, but of a truth there was not the wherewithal. One cannot marry out of a basket. But now all is smooth, so send for the bride. G.o.d grant she be not so unwilling as the groom.”
And in truth Babar, seated on the floor, of course, between his grandmother and his mother, looked far from happy. His hands lean, supple, strong, hung over his gra.s.shopper knees, and his head--small for the rest of his body--had not its usual frank bearing.
”I am not unwilling,” protested the young man; ”Lo! it has to be done, that I know. 'Tis the duty of Kings to marry and have sons; but, see you, I have no experience at all; indeed I have never been so circ.u.mstanced as either to hear or witness any words expressive of the amorous pa.s.sion, and I have never seen my betrothed since I was five.”
”G.o.d forbid!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Khanum piously.
”But how then can I love her?” protested Babar; ”'tis not like Dearest-One and Cousin Baisanghar--”
A shriek of outrage drowned what he would have said. Not that either of the two good ladies really felt shocked, but that in dealing with Babar they held it wiser to adhere to the strictly conventional; otherwise, heaven only knew if he would not go off at a tangent as Dearest-One had done. Poor Dearest-One on whom the blow of uttermost fate had fallen at last. For a terrible tale had come to Andijan but a month before, snuffing out the lamps of festival like a dust-storm at a wedding. For who could rejoice when they thought of a poor young prince who was n.o.body's enemy but his own, like Baisanghar, strangled with a bowstring by the orders of the miserable and infidel-like wretch, worthless, contemptible, without birth or talents, reputation or wisdom, Khosrau Shah? Babar had been beside himself with rage, and had expended every known epithet on the murderer, who though he prayed regularly, was black-hearted and vicious, of mean understanding, slender talents, faithless and a traitor. A man who for the sake of the short and fleeting pomp of this vain world had done to death the sweetest prince, the son of his old benefactor, in whose service he had been and by whom he had been patronised and protected. Thus rendering himself accursed of G.o.d, abhorred of men, and worthy of shame and execration till the judgment day. Perpetrating his crimes too for the sake of trivial enjoyment, and, despite his power and place, not having the spirit to face a barn-door chicken!
The young man had poured all this and much more into his sister's ears, hoping to comfort her, but she had only turned her face to the wall, and wept.
Strange, indeed, were women-folk; she had been so composed when she herself renounced him, but now that Death had stepped in she was all tears.
The thought of her weeping brought him a quick excuse. ”Anyhow,” he remarked, with evident relief, ”there can be no weddings yet awhile; my sister is not in condition for festivals.”
Isan-daulet sniffed. ”Sisters are not indispensables to a marriage. So be good boy, Babar, and listen to reason. Do I not ever advise thee to thy benefit?”
”Not ever,” retorted the young King sulkily; ”thou did'st advise me to set my promise aside and let thy cursed Moghuls and others plunder those I had sworn to protect.”