midable resistance at Kábul, where he was sure of the support of the governor, Mahábat Khán, turned south to Sind. Aurangzíb at once saw that the enemy had practically disarmed himself; and, leaving a few thousand horse to keep up the chase, he returned to the east, where Shujá' had again raised the standard of civil war. To sum up many months of misfortune, Dárá once more braved the army of Aurangzíb in the hills near Ajmír, and, after four days' hard fighting, was again put to flight. With his wife and daughter and a few servants he made for Ahmadábád. The servants plundered his baggage and ravished the jewels of the princesses, and, to crown his misery, when the fugitive at length reached the once friendly city, he found its gates closed against him. The Governor dared not risk his life in a hopeless cause.
'I had now been three days with Dárá,' says Bernier, 'whom I met on the road by the strangest chance imaginable; and, being destitute of any medical attendant, he compelled me to accompany him in the capacity of physician. ... It was at break of day that the Governor's message was delivered, and the shrieks of the females drew tears from every eye. We were all overwhelmed with confusion and dismay, gazing in speechless horror at each other, at a loss what plan to recommend, and ignorant of the fate which perhaps awaited us from hour to hour. We observed Dárá stepping out, more dead than alive, speaking now to one, then to another; stopping and consulting even the commonest soldier. He saw consternation depicted in every countenance, and felt assured that he should be left without a single follower: but what was to become of him? Whither
