serene mask lay a gloomy, lonely soul. It was the pathetic fate of the Moghul emperor to live and die alone. Solitary state was the heritage of his rank, and his natural bent of mind widened the breach that severed him from those around hi. The fate of Shah Jahan preyed upon his mind. He was wont to remind his sons that he was not one to be treated as he had used his own father. His eldest son had paid the penalty of his brief and flighty treason by a lifelong captivity; and Aurangzib 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 restless suspicion was aroused more than once, and from 1687 to 1694 he endured a rigorous captivity. On his release, another brother, A'zam, became in turn the object of jealousy, and it is said that he never received a letter from his father without turning pale. One son after another was tried and found wanting. Towards the close of his life the jealous father was drawn closer to his youngest son, Kam Bakhsh, whose mother, Udaipuri Bai, was the only woman for whom the emperor entertained anything approaching real love. The young prince was suspected of trafficking the imperial honour with the Marathas and was placed under temporary arrest, but his father forgave or acquitted him, and his last letters breathe a tone of tender affection.
The end of the lonely unloved life was approaching.
