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Updated: May 16, 2025
So far as he was concerned that settled the question; but up at the Court there were endless questionings of heart. Prince Askurry was, as ever, in two minds as to what he should do. Cruel brother Kumran, who was Governor at Kâbul, pressed his advice to stand firm, to send the child to him, to let him show King Humâyon that paid Persian troops could not stand up against Indian ones.
A dignified, gracious-looking image with forefinger held up in the attitude of kingly command; and on that forefinger what? The Signet of the King! The Ring of Empire! It was unmistakable! Askurry must have found it in his fugitive brother's tent. He must have concealed it. Uncertain what part he meant to play in the end, he must have worn it on his person until the child the true Heir-to-Empire
On high days and holidays, indeed, Prince Askurry and his wife used often to amuse themselves by seeing the discomfiture of other less experienced children who were set up to compete with the young wrestler.
Now, Askurry was no fool; he saw that, for the present at any rate, until Humâyon's fate was decided, it would be wiser to be kind; so he decided that when he held the New Year's assemblage he would present the little prince in due form to the chiefs and nobles. Head-nurse was almost crazy with delight at the very idea.
Prince Askurry, full of laughter, pulled off the soft turban he wore it was all wound round and round to fit the head like a cap and in obedience to the Indian custom, which always prevents a child from falling of itself in its first attempt at walking, flung it full at the little lad. It caught him between his outspread balancing arms and over he went on to the thick pile carpet.
"It is his only chance " interrupted the poor King, his face full of grief and anger, of bitter, bitter regret "His only chance of life! In the mountains yonder, with winter snow upon us, lies certain death for one so young. Were we to stay with him here, he would find death with us for my brother Askurry is close behind us. But if we are gone, God knows, but he might spare the child.
Create the scullion Prime Minister, so I have my sleep." And he was snoring almost before the words were out of his mouth. So next morning Head-nurse, refusing the baggage camel with panniers which Prince Askurry sent for the use of the little Heir-to-Empire, organised a procession of her own.
A great pile of cushions had been placed on the muletrunk, and in the centre of these sat Baby Akbar, the Royal heron's plume of his turban waving gently in the breeze caused by the slow dignified sweep of the Royal fan which Roy, who stood behind his young master, was swinging backwards and forwards. But it was not the prettiness of the picture which made Prince Askurry pause.
They looked at each other, then at the child staggering along under the Prince's plumed turban, then at Prince Askurry himself standing bareheaded before his nephew. It was an ill omen. And yet as Head-nurse said proudly when they got back to the rooms that had been given them in a frowning bastion of the palace, Baby Akbar had once more scored off his uncle.
Their last camp was pitched just outside the city of Kandahâr, so that Prince Askurry could make a regular triumphal entry the next morning and let everybody see with their own eyes that he had come back victorious, holding Baby Akbar as prisoner and hostage. But this did not suit Head-nurse at all.
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