As I, Asad, wandering in the wood of evil destiny, had started for the second time as envoy to the four southern provinces, Bíjápúr, Golconda, Bídar, and the Carnatic, I was not present when that peerless sovereign departed this life. When the question of my embassy was in agitation, the Emperor was also projecting a combat between the elephants Chanchal and Giránbár. His Majesty, now at rest, ordered me not to depart till I had seen the elephant fight; but Fate had ordained otherwise, and I was not sorry for it, for, as I shall relate, His Majesty had cause for severe anger at that elephant fight, which came off after my departure.

A few days after I left Ágra, His Majesty had been taken somewhat ill, and in a short time was very much broken down. While he was in this condition, the combat of the elephant Chanchal with the elephant Giránbár, belonging to the royal Prince, came off. While the fight was going on, an angry dis­pute arose between the servants of Prince Salím and Sultán Khusrú, and both overstepped the bounds of courtesy. When His Majesty heard of it, he became exceedingly angry, vexed, and enraged, and this so much increased his illness, that the chief physician, one of the most skilful of his time in the healing art, could do nothing more. During the Emperor's illness the weight of affairs fell upon the Khán-i 'Azam, and when it became evident that the life of that illustrious sovereign was drawing to a close, he consulted with Rájá Mán Singh, one of the principal nobles, and they agreed to make Sultán Khusrú Emperor. They were both versed in business and possessed of great power, and determined to seize the Prince (Salím), when he came, according to his daily custom, to pay his respects at Court, thus displaying the nature of their mind, little considering that the sun cannot be smeared with mud, nor the marks of the pen of destiny be erased by the pen-knife of treachery. He whom the hand of the power of Allah upholds, though he be helpless in himself, is safe from all evil.

The next day that chosen one of Allah, not dreaming of the treachery of his foes, went, as was his wont, to pay his respects at Court, and entered a boat with several of his attendants. They had reached the foot of the tower, and were about to dis­embark, when Mír Zíáu-l Mulk of Kazwín arrived in great agitation, and jumped into the boat. He brought word of the hopeless state of the Emperor, and of the treachery and perfidy of those evil men. The boat returned, and His Royal Highness, with weeping eyes and a sore heart, re-entered his private palace. So that, through the endeavours of that faithful friend and sincere well-wisher, the arrow of those perfidious enemies missed its mark.

When the raw attempt of those wretches had thus been brought to light, and the lofty-flying phœnix had escaped their treacherous snare, and the curtain which concealed their in­tentions had been torn, they were obliged to throw off all dis­simulation.

At that time the breath was still in the Emperor's body, and all his servants and officers were assembled in the audience-room in great distress and agitation. The Khán-i 'Azam and Rájá Mán Singh sat down, and calling all the nobles together, began to consult with them, and went so far as to say, “The character of the high and mighty Prince Sultán Salím is well known, and the Emperor's feelings towards him are notorious; for he by no means wishes him to be his successor. We must all agree to place Sultán Khusrú upon the throne.” When this was said, Saiyid Khán, who was one of the great nobles, and connected with the royal house, and descended from an ancient and illus­trious Mughal family, cried out, “Of what do you speak, that in the existence of a Prince like Salím Sháh, we should place his son upon the throne! This is contrary to the laws and customs of the Chaghatáí Tátárs, and shall never be.” He and Malik Khair, who was also a great chief and well skilled in business, with others of their opinion, rose and left the assembly. The Khán-i 'Azam, who was at the bottom of all these evil designs, concealed his rage, and could say nothing. The assembly broke up, and each went his own way. Rájá Rám Dás Kachhwáha, with all his followers, immediately went to guard the treasury, and Murtazá Khán left the fort, and retiring to his own resi­dence, took steps to assemble the Saiyids of Bárah and his own followers. Meanwhile Mirzá Sharíf and Mu'tamad Khán came and asked him what he intended to do. Knowing them to be his friends, he said, “I intend to go to the Prince.” Mu'tamad Khán expressed his readiness to do the same, and Murtazá Khán bade him go first to the Prince, and say that he would be there immediately with his followers. So he went to His Royal Highness.

As soon as the Prince, following the advice of Mír Zíá, had retired to his own palace, all the foolish people round him began to alarm him, saying, “Why does Your Highness sit careless here? Your enemies have completed their work, and placed Sultán Khusrú on the throne, and declare that they will point the guns of the fort against this house.” Their evil counsels were nearly taking effect upon the Prince, and he was about to order his private boats, to save himself by flight, when Shaikh Ruknu-d dín Rohilla, one of his best servants, who had a large body of followers, and was a man of known courage, came and besought him to compose himself, and wait for two hours to see what would happen. The Prince was still occupied in listening to this brave advice, when all at once Mirzá Sharíf came in, and told him how the assembly of his enemies had broken up, and that Murtazá Khán was coming to join him. His Royal Highness was much delighted, and began to encourage his people, when Fará Beg came and made salutations, and Mír Murtazá Khán arrived with a large body of attendants and many of the noble Saiyids of Bárah, and saluting him, began to beat the drums to celebrate the day. The Prince forbad the music, on account of the sad state of the Emperor, but honoured Mír Murtazá Khán with a special dress of honour and a jewelled scimitar. People began to flock in, each striving to be the first to arrive, till at last, in the evening, the Khán-i 'Azam came in great shame and paid his respects. The Prince took not the least notice of his ill-conduct, and bestowed all royal kindness upon him.

When Rájá Mán Singh saw the change in the aspect of affairs, he took Sultán Khusrú with him to his own palace, and pre­pared boats, intending to escape the next day to Bengal. As soon as the Prince was relieved from all anxiety as to the course affairs were taking, he went with the great nobles, and Mír Murtazá Khán at their head, without fear, to the fort, and approached the dying Emperor. He was still breathing, as if he had only waited to see that illustrious one. As soon as that most fortunate Prince entered, he bowed himself at the feet of His Majesty. He saw that he was in his last agonies. The Emperor once more opened his eyes, and signed to them to invest him with the turban and robes which had been prepared for him, and to gird him with his own dagger. The attendants prostrated themselves and did homage; at the same moment that sovereign, whose sins are forgiven, bowed himself also and closed his life. A loud lamentation rose on all sides, and groans and cries ascended from the world and race of men, and the voices of the angelic cherubims were heard saying, “God created him, and to God he has returned.”

When the Emperor Akbar died,
Groans arose from Earth to Heaven.

After that sad occurrence, that gracious Emperor Jahángír bade all his confidential servants and faithful friends perform the obsequies of the deceased sovereign, with all the ceremonies due to his rank. When they had gone through the funeral rites pre­scribed by religion and tradition, and had arrayed the royal corpse in all state, the Emperor, in great pomp, with weeping eyes and a sad heart, took the foot of the bier of the deceased King upon his shoulder, and carried it as far as the door of the public reception room; from thence, the great nobles, each anxious for the honour, relieving one another in quick succession, carried His Majesty as far as the gate of the fort. Thence the nobles and ministers, and courtiers and imáms, and all his servants and troops, followed the bier with heads and feet uncovered. ^{* * *}

When His Majesty had concluded this necessary business, he entrusted the fort and treasury to Rájá Rám Dás, and praised and consoled him much. Leaving the fort, he then went to his own palace, where intelligence reached him that Rájá Mán Singh, taking with him Sultán Khusrú, was embarking on board boats for Bengal, with all his servants and troops. Although the royal heart was vexed at hearing this, yet he sent Mádhav Singh, his brother, who was present, to re-assure and bring him back. Mádhav Singh went to the Rájá, and reproving him strongly, asked what he meant by acting thus towards such a sovereign, and of what use it was? He replied, “What can I do? The Prince is young, and knew nothing of all these matters. I was obliged to act as I have done, to satisfy him.” Do you go and say, ‘Let a promise be given that he may be relieved from all fear, and that I may be satisfied that no harm will befall him, and I will bring him to Your Majesty's feet.’” Mádhav Singh returned and reported Rájá Man Singh's wishes and petition to His Majesty, who gave his promise, with the utmost grace and kindness, that no harm should happen to him from any one, and sent him back confirming his word with solemn oaths. The next day Rájá Mán Singh came to Court, and brought Sultán Khusrú to the feet of his royal father. His Majesty treated him with the greatest kindness, and clasping him to his bosom, kissed his face. After a moment he dismissed him to his own house. When His Majesty had concluded that business, he passed some days in mourning and distributing alms, till at last the day arrived for him to ascend the throne.