This least of the servants of Allah, Asad, son of Muhammad Murád, has written the following: When the auspicious life of the most learned Nawáb, Shaikh Abú-l Fazl, son of Shaikh Mubárak, came to a close, and that most excellent of the men of genius of his age and most rare one of his time was killed at Saráí Barár,* a dependency of Sironj, at prayer time on Friday, the 7th of Rabí'u-l awwal, in the year 1010, and when the news of that dire calamity and dreadful event reached that shadow of God, the Emperor Akbar, he was extremely grieved, disconsolate, distressed, and full of lamentation. That day and night he neither shaved, as usual, nor took opium, but spent his time in weeping and lamenting. It was then that the love of that Emperor of the world shone forth; for in the midst of his distressing grief and uneasiness, he thought of the author of these lines, and said to those around him, “What has become of Asad?” They, not knowing what had happened to this broken-winged one, could not answer. Just then Mirzá Ja'far Ásaf Khán came in, and could not refrain from weeping, on seeing his sovereign in the depths of grief and sorrow. His lord asked him what news he had of Asad? whether he was with Abú-l Fazl, or not? That noble chief, drying his tears, replied with courtesy, “Asad Beg was with him as far as Sironj, but the deceased Shaikh appointed him to govern the conquered pro­vinces in Málwa, leaving with him the troops he had brought from the Dakhin, while he himself, taking those which Gopál Dás Nakta had enlisted in Málwa, set off for the Court. Asad was most unwilling to obey, and being much distressed, he begged per­mission to escort him to Gwálior; but the Shaikh would not con­sent, and left him with his veterans at Sironj. It is pretty certain that Asad was not with him in the fight.” The Emperor imme­diately ordered Ásaf Khán instantly to write a farmán with his own hand to Asad, ordering him to leave all the followers of the deceased Shaikh with Gopál Dás at Sironj, and to come with his own people to Court as soon as possible. Ásaf Khán sat down, and did as his lord directed, then sealing it with his seal, delivered it to Miyán Gadá, with orders to send it by one of his own brothers to Asad at Sironj, and bring him away with his attendants.

It was decreed by the will of Providence, that the most learned should travel thus, and his fortune was perfidious; therefore it was that, following the advice of Gopál Dás Nakta, he went un­attended and unguarded to the place of his death, as I will now explain: When that most learned one reached the city of Sironj, the wretched villain Gopál Dás had been for a long time ruler of those parts, and had raised about 300 irregular cavalry, most of them low Rájpúts, who did not receive more than twenty rupees a month. Meanwhile that learned one, and we also, had heard in the Dakhin the account of Rájá Nar* Singh Deo's depreda­tions, and never a day passed but despatches on this subject reached us from Abú-l Khán and the rest of our faithful friends. Still, Fate so ordered it, that that learned one never paid the least heed to them. When we reached Sironj, Gopál Dás per­suaded him that the troops which he had brought with him from the Dakhin were many of them sick and fatigued from the speed of their march, and that it would be well to provide for them there, leaving them with Asad Beg to fight against Indrajít Bundela, and taking with him as his guard the fresh troops which he had raised.

The ill-fated learned one agreed to this unwise proposition, and throwing away his life, preferred those fresh troops, who had never faced a single enemy, to his own victorious soldiers, tried in a thousand fights. In fact, many of these men did not even arrive in time to be of any use. He had taken Gadáí Khán the Afghán and his son with him, but left their troops with me; had he but had a hundred of them with him, that disastrous accident had never occurred. True, Gadáí Khán was a tried courageous man, but he fought alone; he fell, charging the enemy; his son escaped with a wound. Another Afghán, Jalál Khán by name, charged and fell; and two others, Salím Khán and Sher Khán, were taken prisoners, and put to death for refusing to betray the most learned. Mansúr Chábuk too, one of the Nawáb Khán-khánán's servants, who had resigned his former office and come to Sironj, under pretence of turning fákír, and had been employed in the kitchen, charged and fell; he was of the Turkomán race. Mirzá Muhammad Khán Beg was also among the slain, as well as Jabbár Khássa-khail, an Abyssinian, who was with them. When the Nawáb was pierced and fell, he slew the Rájpút who had wounded him, and rushed upon the enemy. He had still life in him when Nar Singh came up with the main body. He first trod Jabbár under foot, and then cut off the head of the great 'Allámí. Excepting those I have mentioned, all, whether veterans or raw troops, escaped. Had they set off, as Mirzá Muhsin, son-in-law of Fazl Khán of Badakhshán, advised, when he told them that robbers were lying in wait, they would have arrived safely; but as Fate had decreed, so it occurred; there was no help for it. The day when the deceased 'Allámí gave me a dress of honour and a horse at Sironj, and dismissed me in the presence of Gopal Dás, Mahdí 'Alí the Kashmírian, and all the atten­dants, with tearful eyes, I entreated to be allowed to escort him as far as Gwálior with the troops that he had left with me; but he would by no means consent, for the hour of that great man had arrived, and it was decreed that he should go. When he mounted to start, I too mounted, in order to follow him; but he peremp­torily forbade me to do so, or even to come out of my house, and dismissed me from that place. ^{* *}

When 'Allámí arrived at Saráí Barár and dismounted from his horse, a religious beggar came to him, and told him all par­ticulars about Nar Singh Bundela, how he intended to attack him the next day on his march; but he only dismissed him with a present of money, such as he used to give to others of his class. That night he passed in careless security. On Friday morning he rose, and, performing his ablutions, clothed himself in the white garments usually worn on Friday, and in the gold-em­broidered robes of victory. He then courteously dismissed all who had attended him from the neighbouring provinces on the part of the jágírdárs and receivers of revenue, such as the ser­vants of Mirzá Rustam, who had a jágír in the neighbourhood, and had sent forty or fifty horsemen, and Shaikh Mustafá, governor of Kálábágh, who had a guard with him, and several other persons of that sort, amounting in all to about 200 horse­men, who would have been of great service had he retained them. But it is in vain to lament. When Fate droops its wing from heaven, the most able men become deaf and dumb.

As the sun rose, that rising sun set off with Ya'kúb Khán, with whom he was at that time very familiar. The attendants hearing the drum beat for marching, prepared to follow. The private tent of Abú-l Fazl was yet standing, when the troops of the Bundela appeared from behind the Saráí with a shout, and fell upon the camp. All the attendants who were ready, mounted and escaped along the road, while Mirzá Muhsin of Badakh-shán, who was in the act of mounting, got on his horse and advanced towards the robbers to reconnoitre. When he had gone a little way, he came upon Nar Singh's main body. After care­fully surveying these forces from an eminence, he, like a courage­ous man, cut his way through them all, horse and foot, and reached 'Allámí. As soon as he came up with the escort, he saw at a glance that they were all quite off their guard, marching in disorder, careless, and without their arms. Going forward, he reported what he had seen of the robbers. As soon as the Shaikh heard it, he halted, and asked him what was to be done. He advised him to proceed rapidly. The Shaikh said, “You mean we are to fly?” He answered, “It is not flying; only let us go on thus,” and, striking his spurs into his horse, he set for­ward at a rapid pace, saying, “Let us proceed in this way; as I am going, so do you go, as far as Gwálior.”

While 'Allámí was halting thus long, a troop of the robbers caught the elephant which bore the standard and drum, and fell upon the escort; so the fighting commenced. The Shaikh turned back, and had just reached the drum and ensign, which was at the distance of a bow-shot, when the noise of Nar Singh's army, which consisted of about 500 horsemen clad in mail, was heard. Gadáí Khán the Afghán, with several other armed horsemen who were on in front, charged, and seizing the bridle of the Shaikh's horse, exclaimed, “What have you to do here? Do you begone! This is our business.” With these words that brave soldier attacked the enemy, with his son and others before mentioned, and fell. At that moment one of the strangers in the company said, “The robbers are armed, and your attendants are not; we had better escape to the skirts of the hills; perhaps we may save our lives.” So he took the bridle of the Shaikh's horse and turned about. Just then the robbers made an onslaught, spearing every man within reach. A Rájpút came up and struck the Shaikh with a spear in the back, so that it came out through his breast. There was a small stream in the place, and the Shaikh tried to leap his horse over it, but he fell in the attempt. Jabbár Khássa-khail, who was close behind, slew that Rájpút, and then dismounting, drew the Shaikh from under his horse and carried him a little off the road; but as the wound was mortal, the Shaikh fell.

Just then Nar Singh coming up with the rest of the Rájpúts, Jabbár concealed himself behind a tree. But the horses of the Shaikh attracted the attention of Nar Singh, and he halted. The driver of the Shaikh's female elephant was with him, and pointed out his wounded lord. As soon as Nar Singh saw him, he dis­mounted, and taking his head upon his knees, began to wipe his mouth with his own garment. Jabbár, observing from be­hind the tree that Nar Singh was in a compassionate mood, came forward and saluted him. Nar Singh asked who he was. Just then the Shaikh unclosed his eyes. Nar Singh, sitting as he was, saluted him, and telling his attendants to bring the farmáns, said to the Shaikh with blandishment, “The all-conquering lord has sent for you courteously.” The Shaikh looked bitterly at him. Nar Singh swore that he would carry him in safety to him. The Shaikh began to abuse him angrily. Nar Singh's attendants then told him he would not be able to convey him away, for the wound was mortal; upon hearing which, Jabbár drew his sword, and, slaying several Rájpúts, had nearly reached Nar Singh, when they killed and trampled him under foot. Nar Singh then rose from the Shaikh's head, and his attendants despatched him, and, cutting off the head of that great one, started off, meddling with no one else, but even releasing those whom they had taken prisoners.