Part 45 (1/2)
He looked quite crestfallen, so that the Fair-Princess, filled with pity, nudged him to say that if he sent her the flowers she would see to their being properly placed.
Whereat he was grateful and went off to his beloved gardens to choose what he wanted. Not roses or marigolds. Those were familiar. He must show his Dearest-dear, and little Gulbadan too, who was to come with this advance party, the beauties of Hindustan. They must be shown that there were some beauties! So he picked the red oleander he had found in the old gardens at Gwalior and the snowy gardenia. Then for scent there was the sweet panda.n.u.s. But his favourite of all, the scarlet hibiscus, could not be gathered till the very last, as it withered so soon. In a single hour its beauty would have gone; and Maham must see how cunningly the thing like a heart showed in the very middle of the broad flower. She must see the marvellous colour, deeper, richer, more beautiful than the pomegranate.
Then there were endless orders to give about fountains, and fireworks, and food. For everything of good in Hindustan must be laid at Maham's feet the moment she arrived.
After this there were papers to be signed, and letters to be sent out to various governors; for Babar had been many months away from his capital on a campaign in Bengal. Still, if Maham kept to her programme, he would have plenty of time for the fifty odd miles to Alighar if he rode fast; and she could hardly be due there for another twenty-four hours.
But he had reckoned without the loving heart on the other side. Maham, as eager as he for the joyful meeting, had pushed on, and reaching Alighar, had left little eight-year-old Gulbadan to follow at leisure in charge of her nurse, and had come on straight post-haste to Agra.
”Your Majesty!” faltered a breathless messenger, rus.h.i.+ng into the Presence unceremoniously--all Agra was on the _qui vive_, and this was no time for the delay of etiquette--”Her Highness is on the road--four miles out--I have just pa.s.sed Her--”
Babar stood up dazed. Maham! To fling his pen aside and start was instant. No time for a horse, not even for shoes. As he was, bareheaded, in his slipper shoon, he was out. In the dust under the stars he ran, and with G.o.d only knows what star-drift and dust-atoms in his brain. Earth there might have been, but of a surety there was heaven also.
Canopus of Victory shone to the South; the Warrior, perchance, showed to the North. But he saw neither. Venus shone like a young moon but cast no shadow on his path. And down the straight dusty road came a litter jingling as it jolted. He laughed aloud in his joy as he sprinted the last few yards.
”Maham! Maham!”
For the rest, what does it matter? Let those two keep it to themselves for all time and eternity.
”My lord! let me descend and walk, too,” faltered Maham after a bit, but he shook his head lightly.
”Nay, my moon--that would delay us and thou must get home--_home?_--G.o.d! what delight! Now then, ye bearers, a good foot first, or the King will do gangleader and make the pace!”
His joyous threat roused instant laugh, and with a will, the tired men set off at an amble, chanting in time to their steps. At every minute n.o.bles, apprised of the unexpected arrival, came galloping up, to fall into the tail of the little procession after vain efforts to make the Emperor take their horses. But Babar would none of them. He wanted to hold his wife's hand as he strode beside her and hear her sweet familiar voice saying ”Yea” and ”Nay” to the torrent of his words.
They crossed the river, and were in _Hesht-Bis.h.i.+st_. That is all there is to say; that is all we know.
Except that ere the blessed night was over Babar wrote in his diary:
”Sunday. At midnight I met Maham again. It was an odd coincidence that she and I left to meet each other on the very same day.”
After all there is no need for more. One can imagine Babar translucently, boyishly, content. One can imagine how fear at his altered looks gripped at his more than wife's heart, bringing with it a pa.s.sionate determination to stand between him and needless worry.
There was no chance of that for the present anyhow; all was pleasure and delight. Early in the morning little Gulbadan arrived in charge of the Wazir and his wife, who had been sent out to meet her. They came across her close to the Little-Garden, and, the child being hungry, they spread a carpet and gave her a hasty breakfast.
”There are many dishes,” remarked the little lady superbly, and afterwards described the meal as having been drawn out to ”fifty roast sheep, bread, sherbet and much fruit.” For the dainty child of eight had inherited much of her father's gift of words. She was rather small for her age and extraordinarily self-possessed. With a vast discrimination in etiquette also, as befitted a Royal, or rather Imperial Princess.
”There is no need to rise for her,” said the Wazir hastily, when his wife entered and little Gulbadan would have saluted her. ”She is but your old serving woman.”
This, however, did not suit the little lady who had also her father's gracious manners. And all the while she was bursting with impatience to see the man who her little life long had been held up to her as a model of all that was good, and kind, and brave. Five years is a long time when one can but count eight in all; and the child's recollection only carried her back vaguely to someone very tall and straight who used to hold her close so that she could feel something beating inside. Was it her father's heart or her own? That was not likely any more; for she was quite a big girl and her hair was plaited in virginal fas.h.i.+on.
Besides she had all her little bowings and genuflections ready. She rehea.r.s.ed them gravely in the litter as she went along to pay her respectful duty to royalty.
But after all they did not come into the meeting. She had not even time to fall at the Emperor's feet, for, in an instant, he had her in his arms.
”And then,” as she told Maham afterwards in the seclusion of the women's apartments, ”this little insignificant personage felt such happiness that greater could not be imagined.”
Maham laughed. ”Truly thou art a quaint little marionette, Gulbadan!
And what dost think of thy father?”
The little maiden pursed up her lips and sat quiet for a minute. Then she said firmly: ”I think he is too beautiful to put into words.”
Her father, however, did not share her opinion in regard to _her_ looks. He was never weary of praising them, and it was a pretty sight to see him holding her by the hand as he took her round to inspect all his new buildings and gardens. And nothing would serve him but that they must go out, both of them, and see Dholpur, which, in a vague way, might remind them of beloved Kabul. And from Dholpur they went to Sikri where they spent a happy month rowing about in the big tank.