Why was this?
It is said that a lack of water at Fatehpur was the cause. And yet with the river Jumna close at hand, and Akbar"s wealth and boundless energies, what was a lack of water had he really been set on remaining there?
It seems as if we must seek for a cause behind this patent and pitiful one. Such cause, deep-seated, scarcely acknowledged, is surely to be found in the bitter disappointment caused to the emperor by his sons.
From his earliest years Salim had given trouble. At eighteen he was dissolute, cruel, arrogant beyond belief. His younger brothers, Murad and Danyal, were little better. Of the three, Murad was the best; it was possible to think of him as his father"s son. Yet the iron must have eaten into that father"s soul as he saw them uncomprehending even of his idea, his dream. In leaving Fatehpur Sikri, as he did in 1585, therefore, it seems likely that he left behind also much of his personal interest in empire.
The ostensible cause of his northward journey was the death of his brother, and a consequent revolt in Kabul; but he did not return for fourteen long years--years that while they brought him success, while they justified his wisdom, brought him also much sorrow and disappointment. Though both earlier historians and Western commentators fail, as a rule, to notice it, there can be no doubt to those who, taking Akbar"s whole character as their guide, attempt to read between the lines, that the emperor"s policy changed greatly after he left Fatehpur Sikri behind him. A certain personal note is wanting in it. Take, for instance, the war which he carried out in the province of Swat, and which ended in a disaster that cost him his dearest friend, Rajah Birbal. Now that disaster was due entirely to this new note in Akbar"s policy. He did not desire conquest; not, at least, conquest on the old blood-and-thunder lines. He wished, and he ordered, what we should nowadays call a "peaceful demonstration to the tribes." The army was to march through the Swat territory, using as little violence as possible, and return. The idea was outrageous to the regulation general, so Abul-fazl and Birbal drew lots as to which of them should go and keep Zein-Khan"s martial ardours in check. It fell on Birbal; much, it is believed, to Akbar"s regret. Of the exact cause of disagreement between Birbal and Zein-Khan little is known; but they did disagree, and with disastrous results. The whole Moghul army was practically overwhelmed, and it is supposed that Birbal, in attempting escape by the hills, was slain. His body was never found.
Elphinstone, in his History, accuses Abul-fazl of giving a confused and contradictory account of this event, "though he must have been minutely informed of its history"; but a little imagination supplies a cause for this: Abul-fazl knew that Birbal was undoubtedly acting on the king"s orders.
The emperor for a long time refused even to see Zein-Khan, and he was inconsolable for the loss of his friend--his greatest friend--who had known his every thought. It is said, indeed, that these two men, both keenly interested in the answer to the Great Riddle of Life, the one Agnostic, the other hopeless Optimist by virtue of his genius, had agreed that they would come back the one to the other after death if possible, and that therein lay Akbar"s strange eagerness to credit the many reports which gained currency, that Birbal had been seen again alive.
There can be no doubt but that the loss of his friend saddened the remainder of Akbar"s life. Indeed, it may be said that from the year in which he quitted Fatehpur Sikri, thus abandoning his Town of Conquest to the flitting bats, the prowling hyenas, the year also of Birbal"s loss, a cloud seems to fall over the gorgeous pageant of Akbar"s royalty.
Just before this, however, on the very eve of departure, an event occurred at Fatehpur Sikri which in itself, had the Dreamer-King but possessed second sight, would have been sufficient to dim the l.u.s.tre of his personal life.
For in 1585 three travellers from England arrived with a letter from Elizabeth their queen, to one "Yellabdin Echebar, King of Cambaya, Invincible Emperor."
The letter is worth giving:--
"The great affection which our subjects have to visit the most distant places of the world, not without good intention to introduce the trades of all nations whatsoever they can, by which meanes the mutual and friendly traffique of merchandise on both sides may come, is the cause that the bearer of this letter, John Newberie, joyntly with those that be in his company, with a courteous and honest boldnesse, doe repaire to the borders and countreys of your Empire; we doubt not but that your Imperiall Maiestie, through your royal grace, will favourably and friendly accept him. And that you wold doe it the rather for our sake, to make us greatly beholden to your Maiestie, wee should more earnestly, and with more words, require it, if wee did think it needful.
"But, by the cingular report that is of your Imperiall Maiestie"s humanitie in these uttermost parts of the world, we are greatly eased of that burden, and therefore we use the fewer and lesse words; only we request, that because they are our subjects, they may be honestly entreated and received. And that in respect of the hard journey which they have taken to places so far distant, it would please your Maiestie with some libertie and securitie of voiage to gratify it with such privileges as to you shall seem good: which curtesie of your Imperiall Maiestie shall to our subjects at our request perform, wee, according to our royal honour, will recompense the same with as many deserts as we can. And herewith wee bid your Imperiall Maiestie to farewell."
Akbar"s answer was to give the travellers safe conduct. So John Newbery, of Aleppo, after seeing all that was to be seen, journeyed Punjab-ways, to be never again heard of. Ralph Fitch, merchant of London, went south-eastward to find the Great Delta of the Ganges, and so return to England, and by his report, help to start the first British venture to the East; and William Leedes, jeweller, who had learnt his trade in Ghent, remained to cut gems for Akbar.
A notable event, indeed, this first touch of England on India. And it happened when the Moghul dynasty was at the height of its power, when Akbar Emperor, indeed, had but one failure in his life--his sons.
Surely it must have been some prescience of what was to come, which made him, so soon after giving that safe conduct, leave the outward and visible sign of his personal hold on Empire--the City of his Heirs--a prey to the owl and the bat?
Akbar"s fourteen-year stay in the Punjab, spent partly at the Fort of Attock, which he built, and which still frowns over the rushing Indus, and at Lah.o.r.e, was marked by the annexation of Kashmir, which was effected with very little bloodshed. Owing to the difficulty of the pa.s.ses, the first expedition made terms with the ruling power, by which, while the sovereignty of the Moghul was ceded, his interference was barred. This did not suit Akbar"s dream of united, consolidated government. So he refused to ratify the treaty, and when the winter snows had melted, sent another expedition to enforce his claim to rule.
Dissensions due to bad government were rife in Kashmir. The troops detailed to defend the Pir-Punjai pa.s.s were disloyal. Half, deserted to the invading force, the remainder retired on the capital.
Whereupon, the whole valley lying at the mercy of the Moghul, terms were dictated.
Akbar himself went twice into Kashmir. Those who have been fortunate enough to see the indescribable beauties of its lakes, its trees, its mountains, can imagine how it must have appealed to a man of his nature.
Sinde and Kandahar followed Kashmir swiftly into the wide net of Moghul influence, and took their places quietly in the emperor"s Dream of Empire. Kabul followed in its turn. While there, Akbar suffered a severe blow in the news of the death in one day--though at different places and causes--of two of his most trusted friends and adherents, Rajah Todar-Mull, the great Finance-Minister, and Rajah Bhagwan-das, his first Rajput ally.
The Dekkan was in process of being netted also, when another and still heavier blow fell on the emperor in the death of his second--and, in many ways, most promising--son, Murad. He died, briefly, of drink.
But the worst blow was the conduct of his son and heir, Salim, which in 1598 made it necessary for his father to leave Lah.o.r.e for Agra, in order to check the prince"s open rebellion. He was now thirty--arrogant, dissolute, pa.s.sionate in every way; and, finding himself as his father"s viceroy at the head of a large army, made a bid for the crown, while his father"s forces were engaged in the Dekkan.
But Akbar"s love made him patient. He wrote an almost pitiful letter of dignified tolerance. His affection, he said, was still undiminished. Let his son return to duty, and all would be forgotten.
Salim chose the wiser part of submission, but even as he did so, prepared to wound his forgiving father to the uttermost.
Abul-fazl was on his way back from the Dekkan, and Prince Salim instigated the Rajah of Orchcha to lay an ambuscade for this old, this most beloved companion of the king.
History says that he and his small force defended themselves with the greatest gallantry, but were eventually cut to pieces. Abul-fazl"s head was sent to Prince Salim, who, however, had craft; for his father, mercifully, never knew whose was the hand that really dealt the death-blow. Had he done so, his grief would have been even greater than it is reported to have been. He touched no food for days; neither did he sleep.
Akbar, indeed, was fast becoming almost unnerved by his tenderness of heart. Salim, professedly repentant, abandoned himself to still further debaucheries at Allahabad.
As a last resource, a last effort, Akbar resolved, in a personal interview, to appeal to his son"s better feelings.
He had hardly started from Agra, however, when he was recalled to his mother"s death-bed. It was yet another shock to Akbar, who, ever since that day of choice, when, surrounded by smiling, expectant faces, he had stood frightened, almost tearful, then with a cry found--he knew not how--Hamida-Begum"s loving arms, had held his mother as he held no other woman in the world.
Something of the pity of it must have struck even Salim"s pa.s.sion-torn heart, for he followed his father and gave in his submission. Not for long, however. Akbar could not be hard on those he loved. The restraint was soon slackened; the physicians who were to break the drug-habit sent to the right-about, and the patient restored to freedom and favour.
And still Fate had arrows in store for poor Akbar"s wounded heart.
Prince Danyal, his youngest son, drank himself to death in the thirtieth year of his age, having accomplished his object by liquor smuggled to him in the barrel of his fowling piece.
A pretty prince, indeed, to be the son of the greatest king India has ever known.
This rapid succession of sorrow left the emperor enfeebled. He had always been a hard worker, had spared himself not at all; now Nature was revenging herself on him for his defiance of fatigue.
As he lay dying in the fort at Agra, the emperor, bereft of his friends, worse than bereft of his sons, had but one comfort--his grandson, Prince Khurram, who afterwards succeeded his father under the t.i.tle of Shah-jahan. A word from Akbar might have set him on the throne; but the father was loyal to his disloyal son. He summoned his n.o.bles around him, and his personal influence was still so great that not a voice of dissent was raised against his declaration of Prince Salim--little Shaikie, as he still called him at times--as his heir.
Akbar died at sixty-three, almost his last words being to ask forgiveness of those who stood about his bed, should he ever in any way have wronged any one of them.
The Mahomedan historians a.s.sert loudly that he also repeated the Orthodox creed; but this is not likely. He had wandered too far from the fold of Islam to find shelter from death in it.
So died a man who dreamt a dream, who turned that dream into a reality for his lifetime; but for his lifetime only. Fate gave him no future.
Even his enemies admit with a sneer, saying he had it a gift from a Hindu _jogi_, his almost marvellous power of seeing through men and their motives at a glance. Did he ever, we wonder, look at his own face in the gla.s.s, and see written there his failure?
Most of his administrative reforms exist to the present day. Some, such as the abolition of _suttee_ and the legislation for widow remarriage which he enforced easily, nearly cost us India to establish.
But Akbar had the advantage of being a king indeed.
"There is but one G.o.d, and Akbar is his Viceroy."
Such was his first motto. If it made him a despot, his second one made him tolerant.
"There is good in all things. Let us adopt what _is_ good, and discard the remainder." And this admixture of despotism and tolerance is the secret of Indian statesmanship.
Akbar was the most magnificent of monarchs; but all his magnificences held a hint of imagination. Whether in the scattering amongst the crowd by the king"s own hand, as he pa.s.sed to and fro, of dainty enamelled rose-leaves, silvern jasmine-buds, or gilded almonds, or in the daily Procession of the Hours, all Akbar"s ceremonials have reference to something beyond the weary, workaday world. In the midst of it all he was simplicity itself.
No better conclusion to this ineffectual record of his reign can be given than this description of him by a European eyewitness:--
"He is affable and majestical, merciful and sincere. Skilful in mechanical arts, as making guns, etc.; of sparing diet, sleeping but three hours a day, curiously industrious, affable to the vulgar, seeming to grace them and their presents with more respective ceremonies than those of the grandees; loved and feared of his own; terrible to his enemies."
One word more. He invariably administered justice sitting or standing below the throne; thus declaring himself to be the mere instrument of a Supreme Power to which he also owned obedience.
So not without cause did this record begin by calling Akbar a Dreamer.