Tales of Destiny | Page 2

means to be despised, for in a good story there
may be implanted the kernel of a sound philosophy.
On a summer night in the year named eight men were assembled on the
veranda of the caravanserai. The full moon had just risen above a tope
of tamarind trees, and its silvern radiance revealed every detail of the
scene. A Rajput chief occupied the place of central prominence,
cushions arranged for his convenience, on one of which rested his
scimitar, the emblem of his soldierly profession. Not far from him, in a
half-reclining posture, was a general of the Afghans, also of the
bodyguard of the Emperor. A hakeem, or physician, and an astrologer,
both in the Moslem style of dress, were seated close together, legs
crossed beneath them; while a little apart were two Hindus, as the caste
marks on their foreheads showed, a tax-collector from the country and
a kotwal, or city magistrate. Just above the steps leading on to the
veranda, surrounded by his bales of merchandise, sat a merchant from
Bombay, a big and stalwart man, attired in spotless white raiment, on
his head a voluminous muslin turban. In striking contrast, squatting on
the ground below the steps, at his feet a wooden begging bowl, was a
fakir, or religious ascetic, a loin cloth his sole covering, his face
bedaubed with ashes, his lean chin resting on his upraised knees while
he listened to the dialogue and watched each speaker's face with eyes of

keen alertness.
There had been some desultory conversation, which finally resulted in
the Rajput chief being begged to relate in detail an experience at which
he had previously hinted. The first story led to another story, and the
third to yet another, and so on, until each member of the company had
contributed to the general entertainment. And these are the tales that
were told by the travellers on the veranda of the caravanserai outside
the walls of Fathpur-Sikri that moonlight night in the days of the
mighty Akbar:

I. THE MAID OF JHALNAGOR
TOLD BY THE RAJPUT CHIEF
Well, since you would have it so, listen to the story of Rukpur Singh,
hereditary chief of Jhalnagor, mansabdar of five hundred men, captain
of the bodyguard of Akbar the Great, King of Kings, Lord of the Earth.
"This day in the Hall of Assembly, in the presence of the great
Padishah himself, we have listened to the arguments of men of diverse
faiths. It is well. As Akbar, the Most High, himself has said, all
religions are good; each man has the god or gods of his fathers; let
there be no obstacle placed against worshipping the divine power in
any manner that seemeth fit. That is both wisdom and justice. That is
why I, a Hindu, a Rajput, one of the twice born, can serve my lord, the
Moslem Emperor Akbar, with loyalty of heart and of sword that no
man may question."
At these words the captain of the bodyguard touched the jewelled hilt
of his scimitar lying on the cushion by his side. He glanced around, as
if to see whether anyone present dared to question the fidelity he had
professed. But there was neither movement nor remark among his
listeners, and with a disdainful little smile of self-complacency he
resumed.
"During to-day's discussion, in the spirit of tolerance that Akbar teaches

to all of us, we Rajputs have had to harken to severe upbraiding. We
are accused of inhumanity because in our homes a female child may be
done away with at birth, lawfully and without dishonour. Be it so; the
fact itself I shall not dispute. Nor shall I defend the practice except to
point out that a woman more or less in the world does not matter, that
the babe suffers no pain and knows no ill, that had she lived it might
have been to a life of widowhood--if courage were wanting to choose
the suttee--and therefore to long days of shame and sorrow.
"Furthermore, has it to be remembered that the marriage of one of our
daughters costs much money. According to the rules of our caste and
the customs of our race, the ceremony must be worthy of the parents
and of the position they occupy; all of the district must be feasted, and
let the expense be grievous as it may it must be borne. To some who
are rich the money thus spent is of no account. But to others who are
poor yet proud--and all Rajputs are proud--a wedding that is seemly for
a daughter of the house may mean poverty and ruin for the father and
brothers during twenty years to follow. In certain circumstances this
misfortune cannot be thought of. The honour of the race, the very
safety of