Brothers at War

Chapter 7

Humayun looked around at those of his officers who had rejoined him in his makeshift headquarters twenty miles up the Ganges from Chausa, the site of the battle two days previously. Suleiman Mirza was of course dead and Humayun had taken part in the mullahs’ solemn prayers for him and the other fallen. Baba Yasaval was there, however, bandaged more heavily than Humayun himself. So too amazingly was Ahmed Khan, his face pale and drawn above his stringy brown beard. His wounded thigh was strapped and he was leaning on a stout wooden crutch.

Only a few minutes after Nizam had left Humayun on the banks of the Ganges a detachment of his cavalry had reached him. The hakims had washed and stitched together the sides of the long, deep wound in his hand and forearm, dressed it with ointments and bound it in fine muslin bandages but he had refused their offer of opium to deaden the pain. He needed more than ever to think clearly. He was pleased to find he could still move his fingers but the wound sometimes felt hot, sometimes numb, and stung unbearably every time it caught against anything. But above all, he was glad to be alive. He had suffered a major defeat but was determined to recover his lost lands just as his father Babur had done when he’d faced adversity.

‘Ahmed Khan, what are Sher Shah’s latest movements?’ he asked.

‘He hasn’t moved beyond Chausa. He and his men are dividing the contents of our treasure chests and attempting to extricate our cannon from the muddy banks of the Ganges before its waters rise so far that they cover them. Like us, they have lost many men. Others will probably slip off home once they have their booty.’

‘You’re sure of all this, Ahmed Khan? You failed to warn previously of the imminence of Sher Shah’s attack.’

‘Yes, Majesty.’ Ahmed Khan lowered his head and paused before continuing. ‘Like many others I was deluded into thinking that Sher Shah wanted peace. Although I sent out scouts, perhaps I did not send out enough. And perhaps they themselves were not vigilant enough. . and then there was the weather. . and the speed of movement of Sher Shah’s-’

Humayun held up his hand to halt Ahmed Khan’s self-exculpation. Wittingly or not he had been trying to transfer some of the burden of responsibility for what had happened on to the loyal and badly wounded Ahmed Khan. But that was unfair. He was the emperor, the sole commander, the final arbiter in decisions. He had been tormenting himself as he lay on his bed, kept awake by the pain and itching of his wound, as to how he had let this defeat happen. Had he been too trusting, too ready to hear what he wanted to hear without, as Khanzada always urged, seeking the motive? He had been complacent, that he knew, but had his military strategy also been flawed? However, he must not brood too much on the past but rather put the defeat behind him and make sure it did not happen again. Of one thing he was certain. His resolve to rule had grown in the face of setbacks.

‘I did not mean to criticise, Ahmed Khan, but make sure we keep as many scouts out as possible on both sides of the river. Have we heard from the troops accompanying my aunt and the other royal women?’

‘At least good news from them. They are making excellent progress despite the monsoon and expect to reach Agra in seven or eight weeks.’

‘Good.’ Turning to Baba Yasaval, Humayun asked, ‘What were our losses?’

‘Grievous, Majesty. Over fifty thousand men are dead or severely wounded, or have deserted, and we’ve lost at least that number of horses, elephants and baggage animals. We were able to bring off only a few of the cannon and those were mainly small ones. We lost a good part of the war chest as well as other equipment too.’

‘I feared as much.We need time to re-equip and to recruit. We must send ambassadors to reassure our allies before any unwise seeds of rebellion or defection germinate in their minds. Like Sher Shah, we’re in no position to renew the conflict immediately. Instead, we should continue our march back along the Ganges. There is no shame in such a retreat if it is a prelude to victory, as we must ensure it is.’

Although the rain had ceased and the sun was now shining brightly, producing rainbow effects in the bubbling fountains, the courtyard before Humayun’s durbar hall, his audience hall, in the Agra fort was still wet and glistening. It was four months since the ill-fated battle at Chausa. Humayun had stationed his main army one hundred and twenty miles south of Agra to block any unexpected advance by Sher Shah while he himself had returned to his capital to rally more allies.

More bad news had greeted him on his arrival in Agra. Bahadur Shah the Sultan of Gujarat and his allies the Lodi pretenders had taken advantage of his preoccupation with Sher Shah in Bengal to re-emerge from their hiding places in the highlands and drive out Humayun’s governors and their few men from Gujarat’s strongholds. Recognising that he could not fight a war on two fronts, Humayun had sent Kasim, his vizier and veteran of so many perilous ambassadorial missions for his father Babur, to Gujarat to negotiate a peace deal. Humayun would return autonomy to Gujarat provided the sultan nominally at least recognised him as his overlord.

A week ago, a tired, dusty but smiling Kasim had dismounted from his horse and told Humayun that the sultan had agreed to his proposals. And there had been other encouraging developments, Humayun reflected as he moved across the courtyard towards the durbar hall where his courtiers and commanders were waiting. His half-brothers had sent small contingents of troops from their provinces, together with promises of much larger contributions. There was no sign — as yet at least — of Kamran and his other half-brothers using his misfortunes to attempt a rising against him, rather Sher Shah’s revolt seemed to have brought them together.All would yet be well, Humayun comforted himself, and a half-smile crossed his face.

‘Get back. Do not dare approach His Majesty.’

Humayun turned to look behind him where the shout had come from. A tall, black-turbaned guard was gripping a small, struggling figure firmly by the wrists.

‘He told me to come — that I could sit on his throne for an hour or two.’

‘Have you been touched by the sun? Don’t be disrespectful — you’ll get yourself flogged at best, crushed beneath the elephant’s foot at worst.’

Humayun looked closer at the wriggling figure with the determined voice. It was Nizam, the water-carrier who had saved his life.

‘Release him.’ The guard did so and Nizam dropped to his knees before Humayun, head bowed.

‘You may stand, Nizam. I remember well how you helped me from the battlefield of Chausa and across the Ganges. I also remember how you asked for no reward and — to show my gratitude — I did say that for a short while you could sit on my throne and that any command you gave would be carried out.’ Humayun’s guards and the courtiers including Kasim and Baisanghar who had been escorting him to the durbar hall were exchanging surprised glances but he ignored them. ‘Fetch a fitting robe for our temporary emperor,’ he ordered Jauhar, who returned a few minutes later with a red velvet robe and a gold-tasselled sash of the same material.

Nizam himself was gazing round the flower-filled courtyard and fountains bubbling with rosewater. His self-confidence seemed to have deserted him and as Jauhar approached him with the robe he recoiled.

‘Courage, Nizam.’ Humayun patted the youth’s shoulder. ‘To have your dearest wish fulfilled isn’t always easy.’ He took the robe from Jauhar and himself helped Nizam into it, fastening the silver clasps at waist and right shoulder and tying the sash around Nizam’s slight frame. There should have been something comical about the sight of the shock-headed young water-carrier in the velvet robe, but Nizam drew himself up and the carriage of his head had a dignity.

‘Let us proceed.’ Humayun nodded to the two drummers stationed outside the durbar hall, who at once began to strike with the flats of their hands the tall ox-hide drums resting on their lapis lazuli inlaid golden stands, announcing the coming of the emperor.

‘Come Nizam, let us go together — you the emperor of the hour, I the emperor born to carry the burden of leadership to the grave.’

Humayun and Nizam led the procession into the durbar hall where Humayun’s courtiers and commanders were waiting. As they approached the throne, Humayun stopped and pushed Nizam gently forward. To a huge gasp of surprise, Nizam slowly mounted the throne and, turning, sat down.

Humayun raised his hands for silence.‘I acknowledge before all my court the bravery and loyalty of this youth, Nizam the water-carrier, in saving my life after Chausa. I promised Nizam that for a short while he should sit on my throne and make whatever pronouncements he wished. He has already shown himself honourable and will not, I know, abuse the power that I have put into his hands. Nizam — what are your wishes?’

Humayun was intrigued. What would Nizam ask for? Money, jewels, land? He must know that his life — and that of his family — need never be the same again. It felt good to be able to grant Nizam’s wishes.

‘Majesty. .’ Nizam’s voice from high up on the throne sounded reedy and thin. As if he’d realised it, he tried again. ‘Majesty.’ This time his young voice rang out, true and clear. ‘I have just two commands. That I receive a grant of a small parcel of land near the Ganges where I can grow crops and that the tax on all water-sellers be rescinded for a year.’

Humayun heard some open sniggers. Even Kasim’s usually serious, ascetic face seemed in danger of twitching into a smile, but Humayun himself was touched by Nizam’s modest requests. He was not seeking to enrich himself excessively like so many at court.

‘It shall be as you command.’

‘Then I am ready to descend the throne.’ Nizam got up and, relief etched on his small features, stepped lightly down, holding his robes clear of his feet to avoid tripping. Looking at him Humayun realised he had witnessed real courage. What must it have cost Nizam to come to court to ask Humayun to honour his promise? For all he knew, Humayun might have forgotten all about him or been angered by his presumptuousness. Just as the guard had yelled at the struggling boy he might well have paid the price of a flogging or even death for his temerity in calling an emperor to account.

Humayun now mounted the throne. ‘As emperor again I too have orders to give. These are that Nizam the water-carrier also be given five hundred gold coins and that the grant of land should be sufficient to support him and all his family in comfort.’ Humayun watched as the small figure, with one backward glance at him, was escorted from the durbar hall.

Later that day, with all business done and the pale moon just beginning to rise and the first cooking fires alight, Humayun climbed to the battlements of the Agra fort. He had dismissed his guards and wished to be alone with his thoughts for a while. His love of solitude which to Babur had seemed such a vice in a ruler had never entirely deserted him. Neither had his fascination with the machinations of the stars. Though he curbed such feelings, as he knew he must, they were still there — far stronger than any longing for Gulrukh’s concoction of wine and opium.

His father had once spoken to him of the tyranny of kingship — and he had been right. In some ways, was being a ruler any better than being a poor man? At least Nizam, dipping his water bottles into the Ganges, was his own man. It wasn’t easy to bear the burden of the future of a dynasty, yet he knew he would never wish to abandon such a sacred charge.

Night had fallen around him while he mused. It was time to return to his apartments where Jauhar and his attendants would be spreading the evening meal — the plates of lamb, buttered rice and root vegetables of the Moghuls’ homelands and the spicy dishes of Hindustan with their saffron and turmeric, intense as the sun which burned by day above the plains of his new empire. By the light of a blazing torch mounted on the wall, Humayun made for the three flights of steep stone steps that led back towards his apartments. Still lost in his thoughts he descended the first flight, then, about to round the corner to descend the second, he paused at the sound of voices.

‘I thought the emperor had cured himself of his madness. We put up with months of his lunacy. . all that rubbish about days of Mars and days of Jupiter and that stupid carpet with the planets. I’m surprised we were allowed to piss when we wanted. .’

‘That smelly little peasant should never have got near the durbar hall, let alone have sat on the imperial throne,’ said another voice after a pause. ‘If the emperor had wanted to reward him, a copper coin and a goodbye kick would’ve done. I hope this isn’t the start of some fresh insanity. With Sher Shah’s armies pressing nearer we need a warrior, not a dreamer.’

‘The emperor is a fighter — no one is braver in the field. .’ said a third man. His voice was deep and sounded older but — as with the others — Humayun didn’t recognise it.

‘Well let’s hope he remembers that’s what he’s there for. Babur was a real man — that’s why I rode from Kabul with his invasion force. I didn’t leave everything behind for a fanciful star-gazer I can’t trust. .’

‘But he’s already won great victories. . remember Gujarat and how we. .’ the deeper voice went on, but as the men began to move off Humayun couldn’t catch the rest.

Their words had angered him. He’d been tempted to leap out and confront them but there’d been justice in some of what they’d said. Doped with opium and living in a twilight world he had lost touch with his commanders and courtiers and let his people down. But they were wrong about Nizam. He had given Nizam his word and had kept it. That was the action of an honourable man. To do otherwise would have damned him in the next life, if not in this. .

‘First, what do we know of our enemy, Ahmed Khan?’

Humayun was seated once more in his scarlet command tent with his military council around him. He had arrived at his army’s camp, a hundred and twenty miles south of Agra, the previous evening to renew the war against Sher Shah.

‘The news, Majesty, is not good. After burying his dead, Sher Shah returned slowly to Kakori, the town he had used as his forward command centre. Here, ten weeks ago, he held a great parade to celebrate his victory. To the beating of drums a detachment of his elite cavalry riding beneath their purple pennants led the way. They waved to the crowd who cheered them at the tops of their voices. Sher Shah had succeeded in getting most of the bronze cannon he captured from us out of the Ganges mud and back into working order. These came next in the parade, pulled through the streets by some of our elephants which he’d rounded up.They were followed by ranks of our prisoners, forced to march in chains. According to one of our spies who got close disguised as a sweetmeat-seller, some were limping or had their wounds bandaged with dirty cloths. Others had raw, weeping sores where the chains bit into their flesh. All were gaunt and hungry-looking and held their eyes on the floor. The spy said the crowd yelled obscenities at them, jostled and pelted them with rotting rubbish and even lashed out at them with sticks.

‘They in turn were followed by further detachments of Sher Shah’s rejoicing troops and at last by Sher Shah himself riding high in a gilded howdah atop a tall elephant which had its tusks painted with gold leaf and its large saddle cloth, which reached down to the ground, embroidered with pearls and jewels. When the procession reached the main square of the city, Sher Shah dismounted to take his place on a great dais covered in purple cloth.

‘Here he distributed further gifts of our captured treasure to his chief supporters and granted assignments of our captured lands to them, and even gave them groups of our wretched prisoners to serve as slaves in their fields and quarries. Then, further shame to say, many of our former allies and vassal rulers came forward dressed in their ceremonial finery. They happily prostrated themselves in the dirt before Sher Shah to be pardoned and rewarded with positions in his army and promises of further bounty when you were defeated. They were followed by ambassadors from the rulers of the Deccan states such as diamond-rich Golconda who, seeing the opportunity to enrich themselves further from our weakness, promised aid to Sher Shah and were in turn gratified by grandiose assurances about portions of our land to be ceded to them.

‘Finally, to another loud blaring of trumpets, one of the most important of your former vassals — the Raja of Golpur — came forward and joined by many of Sher Shah’s commanders fell to his knees before Sher Shah. Together they begged him to accept the title of emperor — padishah — obsequiously and traitorously assuring him he was much better suited to hold it than ever you were. Twice Sher Shah refused with self-deprecating statements that all he sought was to help those suffering your oppression. He sought neither power nor reward for himself. However on the third occasion, beseeched in ever more flattering and vainglorious terms — the hyperbole of their words knew no limits — he accepted, saying, “If it is your settled wish, I can but agree. I promise to rule wisely and give justice to all.” Then a crown of gold set with rubies — held ready all the time; the whole thing was stage-managed, his initial refusals merely for show — was placed on his head by the Raja of Golpur and three of Sher Shah’s officers. All present prostrated themselves before him, traitorous noses pressed to the earth.

‘Later that night, Sher Shah staged a grand pageant. By the flaring light of torches young warriors from each of the states and clans now allied to him performed martial exercises before Sher Shah as he sat beneath a canopy of gold cloth on a tall, straight-backed gilded throne. A snarling tiger was carved into it, just above where Sher Shah’s head came. It had two large rubies for eyes which — I am told — glowed fiercely in the dark.Then after the performance was completed each in turn bowed low before the so-called emperor and he sprinkled their perspiring shaved heads with saffron, ground pearls, musk and ambergris as betokening the riches and sweet success he would make adhere to them and to the factions they represented.

‘The following day being a Friday, in the city’s main mosque — crowded to bursting point with Sher Shah’s commanders — the mullah too proclaimed Sher Shah emperor by reading the sermon — the khutba — in his name and traitorously and blasphemingly assigning to Sher Shah all your lands whether already occupied by him, as in Bengal, or far beyond his reach in Afghanistan and the Punjab.The next day, Sher Shah marched out to renew his advance upon us. With his new allies, his armies now number near two hundred thousand.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘About a hundred miles away, advancing slowly towards Agra.’

‘And Baba Yasaval, what of our own armies? Has the re-equipment progressed well?’

‘Yes, the armourers have done good work. Our men have new weapons. The foundries have blazed red fire day and night to produce more cannon. The horse brokers have supplied us with sufficient animals to re-mount our cavalry — even if some are not as big and strong as those bred on the steppes of our ancestral homelands.’

‘And how about the promises of further detachments of troops by our allies and by my half-brothers too?’

‘Here the news is less good. Several of our allies have procrastinated, citing the monsoon or local rebellions as reasons for delay in despatching troops or for only sending small detachments. Your younger half-brothers Hindal and Askari have, however, fulfilled and in the case of Hindal exceeded their promises, but your eldest half-brother Kamran has sent from the Punjab only a small detachment of two hundred and fifty cavalry, albeit mounted on fine horses. In response to our promptings for further assistance he will give no clear timescale and hints he must hold some troops back in case you suffer further reverses.’

‘But that is the certain way to ensure that we do suffer further defeats,’ Humayun snapped but then stopped himself from saying more. It would do no good to criticise his half-brother publicly.Yet his commander’s words chimed with his own private correspondence with Kamran. His half-brother had delayed responding to messages and — when he did reply — although suitably bellicose in his hostility to Sher Shah, he was noncommittal about despatching troops to serve under Humayun’s command. Instead, Kamran had offered to lead all his men to join the fight himself. He must have known that Humayun had to refuse, since to accept would be to leave the Punjab without a governor and without troops to keep order. Kamran seemed to be playing a waiting game, more anxious to preserve his personal position than to recover the lost provinces of their father’s empire if it meant adding to Humayun’s glory rather than his own.

‘I will write to my half-brother. But how many men can our commanders deploy now?’

‘A hundred and seventy thousand, Majesty.’

‘So for the present Sher Shah’s forces outnumber us?’

‘Yes, Majesty. Until reinforcements arrive from your brother Kamran and others.’

Humayun felt a soft, warm evening breeze on his cheek as, not far from the settlement of Kanauj on the Ganges, he looked from his command position on a sandstone ridge dotted with scrubby bushes and the occasional stunted tree towards the opposite ridge where, if his scouts’ reports were correct, Sher Shah’s army would emerge the next morning. Briefly, the breeze reminded Humayun of the gentle winds of summer in his birthplace, Afghanistan. At the recollection a half-smile crossed his face only to be driven away by the ever-present knowledge that the two months since his military council had brought nothing but bad news.

Sher Shah’s advance had continued, slow but relentless. That was perhaps only to be expected but what Humayun had not anticipated was the defection to Sher Shah of Hanif Khan, Raja of Moradabad, one of Humayun’s most senior cavalry commanders now Suleiman Mirza was dead, together with fifteen thousand of his men, all drawn from Hanif Khan’s feudal lands to the east of Delhi. Just after his desertion, Sher Shah — in an obviously prearranged move — had attacked a fortified town on the Ganges which had previously been under the command of Hanif Khan. Demoralised by Hanif Khan’s desertion, the few thousand of Humayun’s troops who had remained loyal had put up little resistance and the town had soon surrendered, clearing the way for Sher Shah’s advance. Humayun could scarcely blame these troops. Instead he reproached himself that he had devoted insufficient time to understanding the characters and ambitions of those around him — a mistake he would avoid in future.

Equally troubling to Humayun had been reports of what was happening to his rear. There had been a rising in favour of Sher Shah in Hindal’s province of Alwar which, Hindal wrote, he’d only been able to put down with difficulty. Other rebellions had broken out among Hanif Khan’s vassals in the mountains near Delhi and Humayun had had to detach troops to suppress them who should have been training in preparation for joining his army.

Worst of all had been the letter he had received from Kamran.While still pledging his loyalty to Humayun and the dynasty and his opposition to Sher Shah, he had questioned his brother’s military strategy in moving further east to confront Sher Shah two hundred miles and more beyond Agra. He had proposed instead preparing either Agra or Delhi for a siege and allowing Sher Shah to waste his strength in futile attempts to breach their great walls. Kamran had used his ‘disquiet’ as a pretext for refusing to send further troops, insisting that he had to hold them back under his own command to serve as a second line of defence if Humayun’s flawed strategy failed, as Kamran thought it had every chance of doing.

‘Majesty, Baba Yasaval is waiting to accompany you to review your troops.’ Jauhar broke into Humayun’s reverie. He was holding the reins of Humayun’s tall brown horse.

‘Very well.’ Humayun turned and mounted the horse to join Baba Yasaval a little further along the ridge. As the two men moved off, Humayun asked, ‘What are our scouts’ latest reports? Is there any change?’

‘No, Majesty. Sher Shah has encamped about two miles beyond the ridge opposite and from the sight and sound of the preparations being made in his camp tonight, it seems he will indeed attack tomorrow.’

‘Has the work been completed on the defensive earth ramparts I asked to be constructed halfway up this ridge?’

‘Yes, Majesty — you will see as we make our tour of inspection.’

‘Good. From the ramparts’ protection we should be able to blunt Sher Shah’s attack with cannon and musket fire as well as our archers’ arrows rather than charge headlong into a costly hand-to-hand engagement.’

‘But we’ll need to get in close, Majesty, if we are to vanquish rather than just avoid being vanquished.’

‘Of course. Once we’ve reduced Sher Shah’s numerical advantage and his men are nearing exhaustion we’ll sally out and destroy them. I want no half-measures either. It’s just the timing of our attack I want to control carefully.’

By now, they were riding along the red earth of the ramparts. His men had worked well in the heat with their picks and shovels in the four days they’d been encamped here, athwart the route to Kanauj and the Ganges. The piles of earth and stone were six feet high everywhere and in most places ten. They stretched all along the mid section of the ridge which ran roughly north to south.

‘Who am I to reward or promote during this review, Baba Yasaval?’

‘We have chosen three men, Majesty. A wounded Afghani from south of Kabul named Wazim Pathan who fought well in one of the skirmishes as Sher Shah advanced. He saved one of his officers at the cost of losing his own right hand and part of his lower arm. We have a bag of silver coin for him to take with him as he makes the long journey back to his village. The second is a junior officer from Lahore who showed great bravery in fighting off an ambush by Sher Shah’s men on one of our equipment convoys. We have a jewelled sword for you to present to him as a reward. The third man you know well — young Hassan Butt from Ghazni. As you requested, he is to be given a greater position in the cavalry.’

The troops chosen for Humayun to review were drawn up a little distance from the ramparts near where oxen and elephants had laboured to get his cannon into position. Humayun rode up and down the ranks of cavalry, some of whose horses, restless from standing in the heat, were tossing their heads or pawing the ground, and then on past the straighter lines of foot archers, infantry and gunners to a position in the centre where a dais had been erected. Those to be rewarded or promoted were called forward. A tear formed in the eye of the wounded Wazim Pathan, who was grey-haired and looked much older than many of Humayun’s troops. As he took the red velvet bag of coin in his remaining hand, he stammered, ‘Padishah, thank you. I will be able to hold my head up high in my village and be able to pay dowries for my daughters.’

‘You deserve all the respect you obtain,’ said Humayun. The officer from Lahore smiled with pride as Humayun handed him the sword. So too did young Hassan Butt, as usual wearing his pale blue turban, when before the whole army Humayun announced his appointment to command an elite band of cavalry.

While all three men returned to the ranks, Humayun spoke to the troops assembled before him. ‘Tomorrow we expect to fight Sher Shah and his men. Even though his armies are strong, his cause is weak. The throne of Hindustan is mine by right as the son of Babur and the descendant of Timur. Sher Shah is the son of a horse dealer and the descendant of nameless bastards. Let us fight so well that by tomorrow evening he will lie in a traitor’s grave and even then occupy more of this land than he is entitled to. Never forget the justice of our cause. Remember that all I ask is that you fight as bravely as the men I have just rewarded. I swear to you I will attempt to outdo them myself.’