She looked very fierce as she spoke, while Akbar listened with grieved attention.  In fact, what Bija would have done, had Head-nurse not had her in her arms cossetting her, became quite a subject of conversation between the two children, Bija sitting demurely threading beads and inventing new methods of just punishment, and the Heir-to-Empire lolling on the floor pretending to sharpen his tinfoil sword, and interposing objections such as, “But you couldn’t do that, Bija, you’re not strong enough,” or “That wouldn’t be fair, Bija, for he only hurt you a little, you know.”  For Akbar was born with a sense of fair-play and justice which never forsook him, because he always gave it fair play.

So the idea of somehow getting the better of Yakoob became a fixed one in the little lad’s mind until an opportunity for action came to him.

It was about a month afterwards, on the “Festival of Record”; that is to say, the day when good Mohammedans pray for guidance during the coming year, and believe that God’s Angel, accompanied by the spirits of their dead ancestors, appears on earth to judge the record of the past year, and write on the forehead of each man and woman and child what reward or punishment is deserved in the next.  In the evening, thousands of little lamps are lit, so that there shall be no darkness anywhere, but all things shall be made manifest, and when the little platters of sweets and food are set out lest any of the spirits, who come to plead for their descendants, should feel hungry, it is a very solemn affair; but the day is generally spent in amusement.

So Princess Sultanum arranged an entertainment, and, as usual, there was to be a bout of wrestling between her son and some little companions, amongst them the Heir-to-Empire.  Head-nurse was furious, of course.  The show was invented, she declared, to disgrace the Mighty-in-Pomp, the Pole-star of the Universe, etc., etc.

Akbar himself took it very complacently and allowed himself to be undressed and oiled all over, so as to make a grip very hard; for these are the Indian customs.  And a very sturdy specimen he looked as he stood up and crossed his arms and then slapped himself with resounding slaps before crossing them again; also after Indian fashion, for so much he had learned of wrestling.

Then the signal was given, and Yakoob, as was his wont, began, in imitation of grown-up wrestlers, to steal an advance on his adversary.

But Akbar would none of that.  Whether, watching real wrestling, he had noticed the method of attack he employed, or whether Roy had taught him, or whether he got it out of his own head, does not matter; but the little fellow rushed forward furiously and charging like a butting ram, caught his cousin full in the stomach, then making a snatch at his ankle tripped him up.  So there in a second was Yakoob on his back, and Akbar, breathless but triumphant, on top of him.