They waited a little until the horse was brought. His Majesty then mounted and rode to two arrow-shots distance from the tents. An elephant was brought forward, and Mahábat Khán said that there was a crowd and uproar, His Majesty had therefore better mount the elephant, and so proceed to the hunting ground. The Emperor, without any observation or opposition, mounted the beast. One of the most trusted Rájpúts took his seat in front, and two others behind the howda. Mubárak Khán now came forward, and to satisfy him, took a place in the howda with the Emperor. In the confusion, Mubárak had received acciden­tally a wound in the forehead, from which a good deal of blood had run, and covered his bosom. One of the personal attendants of His Majesty, who had charge of the wine, and carried the royal wine-cup in his hand, now came up to the elephant. The Rájpúts seized their spears, and with their hands and arms tried to prevent him; but he seized fast hold of the howda, and as there was not room for three persons to sit outside, he supported himself by holding the middle of the howda. After going about half a kos, Gajpat Khán, the master of the elephant stables, brought up the Emperor's own elephant. He was seated in front, and his son behind. Apparently this roused Mahábat Khán's suspicion, and he gave the sign to the Rájpúts for killing these two innocent men.

Dressed as if for hunting, Mahábat Khán led the way to his own abode, and His Majesty went in and stayed there for a time. Mahábat placed his wretched sons around the Emperor. He had taken no thought of Núr Jahán Begam; so it now occurred to him that he would take the Emperor back to the royal abode, and make himself safe on that side also. With this intention, he conducted the Emperor back. But as it happened, Núr Jahán, thinking that His Majesty had gone out hunting, took the opportunity to pass over the river with Jawáhir Khán, the eunuch, to pay a visit to her brother Ásaf Khán. When Mahábat discovered the departure of Núr Jahán, he bitterly repented of the blunder he had made in not securing her. He now bethought him of Shahriyár, and saw that it would be a great error to let him be apart from the Emperor. So he made His Majesty mount once more, and carried him to the house of Shahriyár. Apprehension and fear for his life so distracted the traitor, that his deeds and words were not at all sensible. He neither knew what he said nor what he did, nor what was to be done. Every minute some design or some anxiety entered his mind, and caused regret. His Majesty made no opposition to any of his proposals.

When the bold traitor entered the royal apartments, Jahjú, grandson of Shujá'at Khán, one of the chief nobles of the late Emperor Akbar, was present, and he went everywhere with His Majesty, until he was taken to the abode of Shahriyár. One can­not tell what suspicion or doubt entered the heart of the traitor; but when His Majesty went in, Mahábat directed his Rájpúts to seize Jahjú and slay him, and they soon made a martyr of him.

After Núr Jahán had crossed the river, and reached the house of her brother, she summoned all the chief nobles, and addressed them in reproachful terms. “This,” she said, “has all happened through your neglect and stupid arrangements. What never entered into the imagination of any one has come to pass, and now you stand stricken with shame for your conduct before God and man. You must do your best to repair this evil, and advise what course to pursue.” With one mind and one voice they all advised that on the morrow the forces should be drawn out, and that they should pass over the river with her to defeat the rebel and deliver His Majesty. This unwise reso­lution reached the Emperor's ears, and he considered it very wrong. During the night he sent Mukarrib Khán and several others in succession to Ásaf Khán and the great nobles, warning them against passing over the river to give battle, for to do so would be a great mistake, productive of nothing but evil and repentance. With what hope and what zeal could they fight, while he was on a different side of the river. To certify and enforce this counsel, he sent his own signet ring over by Mír Mansúr. But Ásaf Khán suspected that this was done and said at the instigation of Mahábat Khán; so he paid no heed to it, but resolved to carry out the plan they had resolved on.

Fidáí Khán, on being informed of what had happened, mounted his horse, and rode down to the river; but the bridge had been burnt, and there was no means of passing over. Having no other resource, with a few of his faithful followers he rode into the river opposite the royal abode, and tried to cross over by swim­ming. Six of his men perished in the waters; others, through the coldness of the water, were unable to proceed, and returned to land half dead. The Khán, with seven other horsemen, reached the opposite bank, and made a gallant effort. Four of his companions were killed; and when he saw that the enemy was too strong, that he could not reach His Majesty, and that his effort must fail, he fell back like a block of stone in an iron wall,* and repassed the river with the same dash and spirit with which he had crossed it. The Emperor passed that night in the abode of Shahriyár.

On Sunday, the 20th Farwardín, of the Iláhí era, agreeing with 21st Jumáda-s sání, Ásaf Khán, with Khwája Abú-l Hasan, and other grandees, being resolved upon giving battle, determined to pass the river in attendance upon Núr Jahán Begam, by a ford which Ghází, the commander of the boats, had discovered. As it happened, this was one of the worst of fords. Three or four large holes had to be passed, in which the water was deep. In the passage all order was lost, and each party got over as best it could. Ásaf Khán, Khwája Abú-l Hasan, and Irádat Khán, with the elephant-litter of the Begam, landed in front of a strong party of the enemy, which held the bank, with their elephants posted in their front. Fidáí Khán crossed over at a ford about an arrow-shot lower down. Abú Tálib, son of Ásaf Khán, and a considerable number of men, passed at a ford still lower down. At times the horses were obliged to swim, the accoutrements got wet, and the harness disordered. Some of them had reached the shore, and some were still in the water, when the enemy came down upon them, their elephants leading. Ásaf Khán and Khwája Abú-l Hasan were yet in the middle of the river, when the men in advance of them recoiled (I was paralyzed at this sight, as if a mill-stone had been revolving on the top of my head). No one cared for or gave ear to another, no one showed any resolution. The first thing to be done was to secure the ford which offered the easiest passage, and to send a force over to occupy the opposite bank, and to keep the enemy off, so that the amírs and their men might cross the river without interruption, to support those who had already got over. This was a time for the exhibition of discipline, resolution, and devotion. But now every one who was in front fell back, and those who went on together fell. The officers, in a panic, rushed off in disorder, not knowing whither they went, or where they led their men.