as he had used his own father. His eldest son had paid the penalty of his brief and flighty treason by a life-long captivity; and Aurangzíb had early impressed the lesson upon the second brother. 'The art of reigning,' he told Mu'azzam, 'is so delicate, that a king must be jealous of his own shadow. Be wise, or a fate like your brother's will befall you also.' Mu'azzam had been docility personified, but his father's suspicion had been aroused more than once, and his next brother A'zam had shown a strictly Mughal spirit in fanning the sombre glow, till the exemplary heir was thrown into prison, where he endured a rigorous captivity for seven years (1687-94). On his release, A'zam became in turn the object of jealousy, perhaps with better reason, and a curious story is told of the way in which the Emperor convinced his son of the futility of conspiracy: –
'Having imbibed a suspicion that this Prince was meditating independence, he sent for him to Court; and as the Prince made excuses and showed alarm, he offered to meet him slightly attended on a hunting-party. A'zam on this set out, and Aurangzíb secretly surrounded the place of meeting with chosen troops: as the Prince got more and more within his toils, the old Emperor found a succession of pretences for requiring him gradually to diminish the number of his attendants, until, when they reached the place where his father was, they were reduced to three persons. As nobody offered to undertake the duty, he was obliged to leave two of his companions to hold his horses; and he and the remaining attendant were disarmed before they were admitted to the royal presence. On this he gave himself up
