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Updated: June 24, 2025
Of course, the messenger never returned from King Humâyon with the token; but Foster-father was a good-natured man and did not boast of his wisdom to Head-nurse, who, however, remained wonderfully meek and silent until at the end of a fortnight's marching they saw, against the blue of the distant valley, the white domes of the town of Kandahâr with the citadel rising above them.
The crowd outside, pale green, sage green, emerald green, leaf green, were hushed to silence, waiting; but from every thicket of rose and jasmine a chorus of singing birds, deftly concealed in cages behind the leaves, filled the air as Humâyon and his little son advanced to take their places.
But she was only in a tent; a small tent, which had been pitched in a hurry in an out-of-the-way valley among the low hills that lead from the wide plains of India to Afghanistan. For Head-nurse's master and mistress, King Humâyon and Queen Humeeda, with their thirteen months' old little son, Prince Akbar, were flying for their lives before their enemies.
And these enemies were led by Humâyon's own brothers, Prince Kumran, Askurry and Hindal. It is a long story, and a sad story, too, how Humâyon, so brave, so clever, so courteous, fell into misfortune by his own fault, and had to fly from his beautiful palaces at Delhi and wander for years, pursued like a hare, amid the sandy deserts and pathless plains of Western India.
But behind Prince Askurry were others who did not remember; who were eager to kill and have done with Humâyon and his son for ever. And when they saw Prince Askurry pause, they were quick with advice. "It is unwise to spare snakes' spawn," said one. "The boy is father to the man," said another. "He who is wise kills young rats as well as old ones."
This jewel thus became one of the heirlooms of the Moguls, who lived in such splendor as has never been seen since or elsewhere and could not be duplicated in modern times. In the winter of 1555 Humayon was descending a stairway when his foot slipped and he fell headlong to the bottom.
And a tall man stood for a second, half-blinded by the darkness. But the next he strode forward and caught the little Heir-to-Empire to his heart, murmuring, "My son my little son!" It was King Humâyon; for Kumran, after pleading for a few hours' truce to allow him to make submission, had taken advantage of this breathing time to make his escape with the more desperate of his followers.
And this one was that little Prince Akbar should choose his own mother! It would be rather a hard task for a child who had not seen her for two years and a half, and who was but a baby of less than eighteen months old when he had parted from her! But Humâyon was convinced that his son would remember; and anyway, even if he did not, no harm would be done and it would be very amusing.
If King Humâyon returned it would make him more inclined to forgive, and if he did not, why! it would prevent cruel brother Kumran from stepping in and getting all, since as father-in-law to the young king he, Askurry, would be Regent. Still, taken aback, he hummed and hawed. "It would be a long time to wait until they are old enough to marry," he began.
"Has my Amma-jân come?" whispered the little Prince to his father, "is she up there behind the lattice of roses?" "Yea! she is there sure enough, little rogue," laughed Humâyon. "So give a good look right through the flowers." "No!" said little Akbar, "I've got to shut my eyes; then I can see her with my other eyes." But his father was too busy directing the festival to hear what he said.
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