Brothers at War

Chapter 23

Humayun lay back against a red and gold brocade cushion and away from the low gilded table piled with silver plates from which he and Hamida had just eaten their midday meal. Humayun had chosen chicken baked slowly with spices and yoghurt in the tandoor — the clay oven that was essential to any Moghul kitchen and was always taken with them on campaign. He smiled at Hamida who after taking a bite from a sticky orange sweetmeat was daintily rinsing her fingers in a small, engraved copper bowl of rosewater. She smiled back. As he watched a shaft of sunlight fall through the casement on to the small, bubbling marble fountain behind her, Humayun felt content.

He smiled again at Hamida and from the quiver in her lips and the twinkle in her eyes he realized that she knew he was contemplating love-making after the meal and she would welcome it. He was about to stretch his arm out to her when her attendant Zainab entered. Even before she spoke, Humayun saw from the anxiety on her face that his afternoon of warm, languorous love would have to be postponed.

‘Majesty. Ahmed Khan begs your urgent presence — they have captured your half-brother Kamran.’ As Zainab spoke the words, Humayun saw Hamida’s expression suddenly change from that of a warm lover to a triumphant, avenging mother. She had never forgiven — never mind forgotten — Kamran’s treatment of her only son and had often rebuked Humayun for the number of times he had spared Kamran’s life. She had frequently quoted to him some lines from her favourite Persian poet: Bad earth does not produce hyacinths, so don’t waste seeds of hope in it. Doing good to the evil is as bad as doing evil to the good.

Before Humayun could say anything, Hamida burst out, ‘Praise God for his capture. This time I hope there’ll be no talk of mercy. He’s had far more chances than he deserves and each time spurned the opportunity you gave him to reform. His resentment of you runs so deep within him he will never relent. Don’t think twice. Have him executed within the hour, if not for my sake, for that of our son whose life he held so cheap.’

Humayun said nothing as he rose to leave the room, pausing only to grab his father’s sword Alamgir. Nevertheless, he felt some of the same deep anger so clear in Hamida’s words welling up within him. It mingled with an almost ecstatic relief that at last he would be free of Kamran’s threat to his rear while he pressed on with his plans for probing raids beyond the Indus to test the strength of Islam Shah’s grip on Hindustan.

Ahmed Khan was waiting in the sunlit courtyard as Humayun emerged through the silver-lined doors of the women’s quarters.

‘Where did you capture him, Ahmed Khan, and how?’

‘Two days ago we seized a petty tribal chief who had supported Kamran in his last rebellion. We brought him to the citadel and confined him in the dungeons. Early this morning he asked for me and in a bid to reduce his punishment he hinted that he knew where Kamran might be. I told him I could make no deals without reference to you, Majesty, but he should tell me immediately what he knew. He could be sure that if Kamran were found you would not be ungrateful. He said he believed that Kamran was hiding in a poor quarter of Kabul itself — the area around the tanneries. He admitted when I pressed him that his information was old — at least a week — and that his informant, a petty thief who had been among Kamran’s camp followers, was not necessarily reliable. Nevertheless, I thought it worthwhile to send a strong detachment of our men immediately down to the tanneries area to cordon it off and make a house to house search.

‘I’m glad I did, Majesty. When the soldiers came to the house of a tanner whose family is from the south, the tanner seemed panic-stricken and tried to prevent them entering, claiming that his wife’s mother was lying gravely ill with the spotted fever. My men pushed him aside and searched the house, throwing aside piles of skins and even probing with their spears the deep copper vats of dye and urine used for tanning. They found nothing, but still convinced that the tanner was hiding something — or someone — they entered the curtained-off portion of the top floor where the tanner claimed his sick mother-in-law was lying. Here they found a body hunched beneath some dirty blankets. Pulling the blankets off they saw a large figure with big feet and hands — too big for a woman, they thought — curled up like a baby. The so-called “mother-in-law” was wearing rough women’s garments and had a thick black veil of the type worn by Arab women over her face. She was pleading piteously in a high-pitched voice to be left to die in peace. Nevertheless, the officer leading the party reached out to lift up her veil. As he did so, the figure pulled a dagger from the voluminous folds of her grubby brown robe and stabbed him in the forearm. Two of the officer’s men quickly restrained her, and without her veil it was clear she was no woman but your stubble-chinned half-brother.

‘At first he struggled and screamed that you were a worthless ruler and he the rightful king; that our men were lickspittles of a wastrel and should come to their senses and let him go. However, after a little he grew silent, seemingly resigned to whatever fate had in store for him.’

‘Where is my half-brother now?’

‘In the dungeons below the citadel, Majesty.’

In his mind’s eye, Humayun saw the three-year-old Akbar on the battlements of Kabul and again felt a sudden surge of anger against his half-brother. How easily Akbar could have been killed. How many others had died in Kamran’s rebellions? He drew his sword Alamgir from its jewelled scabbard.

‘Ahmed Khan, take me to Kamran.’

Swiftly, Ahmed Khan led the way across the courtyard, through a low door with guards on either side, and down a series of steep steps into the damp lower reaches of the citadel. Humayun struggled to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the interior corridors in which only an occasional oil lamp burned in an alcove. As his vision improved he thought he saw a large rat run close along the wall. At least he could stop his rat of a brother living to infect others with the disease of rebellion, he thought, and tightened his grip on his sword hilt. By now they were approaching the door of Kamran’s cell, which was guarded by four of Ahmed Khan’s men.

‘Let me enter alone,’ said Humayun. ‘I will deal with this obdurate traitor. I alone should spill my family’s blood.’

One of the guards pulled back the heavy iron bolts at the top and bottom of the thick wooden door. Humayun entered the small cell and there was Kamran, whom he had not seen for over five years, slumped on the straw-covered floor, his back against the damp stone wall. He was still dressed in the brown women’s clothes he’d been wearing when he was captured. They were full of holes, and with the heavy black veil thrown back over his head he looked ridiculous not rebellious.

After a moment, Kamran got slowly to his feet. He avoided Humayun’s eye, and it was he who broke the silence first. ‘I’m not going to plead with you for my life. So don’t think I’m about to fall at your feet and beg for mercy. I see our father’s sword in your hand. Use it. Kill me. If I were in your position I wouldn’t hesitate. . There’s only one thing I want. . ’ and here he raised his green eyes for the first time and looked deep into Humayun’s. ‘Bury me next to our father.’

Humayun stared unflinchingly back. ‘Why should I when you have dishonoured his memory? Why should I when you have broken every promise you ever made to me, thrown back my offers of peace and reconciliation, and worst of all exposed my son to danger?’

‘To prove you’re better than me, just as you loved to do when we were children. But what do I care about where my body lies. Get it over with. Prove you’re not the weakling everyone, including me, knows you are.’ Kamran pushed his face into Humayun’s and spat a great gob of rancid-smelling spittle into his eye.

But Humayun did not react. Suddenly the real wisdom behind Babur’s dying words, Do nothing against your brothers, however much you think they may deserve it, had hit him with a new clarity. Babur had been protecting Humayun as much as his brothers. Could he live with himself if he murdered his own brother in anger? By inciting him to kill him now in this squalid cell, Kamran — who knew him so well — was setting one last trap for him, daring him to set honour aside and descend to his level, and in his anger to prove that all his previous gestures of reconciliation had been acts of weakness, not of mercy.

Humayun lowered his sword and wiped away the spittle. ‘I am pleased you recognise you deserve death but I’ll consult with my counsellors as to your fate. If you die it will be an act of cool justice and not hot vengeance.’ As he turned to leave, Humayun thought he saw a brief half-smile cross Kamran’s lips. Was he laughing at him for what he saw as his weakness or, after all, was he simply relieved that for the moment he would live?

When he turned back to look at Kamran again, his half-brother’s eyes were downcast once more, his face expressionless.

Humayun scrutinised his counsellors, gathered in his sunlit audience chamber. His own mood was dark. He needed to decide the fate of Kamran.To delay would be to appear weak. His counsellors too seemed grave as he began.

‘It is for me to take the decision whether my half-brother Kamran should live or die but I wish to seek your views. Undoubtedly he has been responsible for the death of many men in the rebellions he has raised against me. His opposition has weakened my power, delayed my plans to reconquer Hindustan, as well as exposed my son Akbar to danger. Yet he is my half-brother, my father’s son and of the blood of Timur. If I am to spill that blood I must do so only if I am convinced that there is no other course I can take and that his death is for the sake of justice and the benefit of my realm and its people. Give me your views.’

‘Majesty,’ Bairam Khan stepped forward, his voice firm and clear, ‘I think I speak for all of us here. There can be no doubt.Your half-brother should die for the sake of you, your son, your dynasty and us all. Kamran is not your brother, he is your enemy. Put aside any brotherly feelings you have for him. They have no place in a ruler’s decisions. If you wish to remain king and to achieve the ambition we all share of regaining the throne of Hindustan for yourself and your son there is only one course to take. Execute him. Am I not right, my fellow commanders?’

Without hesitation and as with one voice they answered, ‘Yes!’

‘Does none of you advocate any other solution?’ Humayun asked.

‘No, Majesty.’

‘Thank you. I will ponder your advice.’ Humayun walked straight from the room, his brow furrowed. The decision was not as easy as his counsellors suggested. They did not share Kamran’s blood as he did. Without thinking consciously of what he was doing, Humayun headed for the women’s apartments and when he got there went straight to Gulbadan’s room. His half-sister was sitting on a low gilt chair wearing a loose purple silk robe as her attendant pulled an ivory comb through her dark hair. As soon as she saw the expression on Humayun’s face, Gulbadan dismissed the woman. ‘What is the matter?’

‘You know they have captured Kamran once more and he is imprisoned in the dungeons?’

‘Of course.’

‘I am desperately searching my conscience as to what his fate must be. I realise that by all the normal conventions he deserves death for his many misdeeds and my advisers tell me unanimously that this time he must die. Often, when I’ve anticipated the moment he’d be in my power again, anger at him for his ill-treatment of Akbar alone has made me want to kill him myself, and Hamida — as Akbar’s mother — urges this upon me. However, when I become calmer I know I must not act in anger but for what is best for our empire. I remember our father’s injunction to do nothing against my brothers and I hesitate.’

‘I understand your dilemma,’ Gulbadan said, taking Humayun’s hand. ‘You have always been a man of your word. Remember how you honoured your promise to Nizam the water-seller that he could sit on your throne for an hour or two, despite the mutterings of your courtiers? Because you always keep your word, you sometimes fail to realise that others like Sher Shah who deceived you before the battle of Chausa — or indeed our half-brothers — will not.You have given Kamran so many chances and he has exploited your mercy so often that even I believe that his persistent wickedness negates any promise you ever made to our father. . ’ She paused. ‘If I am honest I think he should die. It would be best for the dynasty that our father fought so hard to establish. With Kamran gone you will be free to concentrate on the recapture of Hindustan.’

Humayun said nothing for a long time. At last he spoke very deliberately. ‘I know that in logic you are right. I know also our father always said I loved solitude too much. . but I must go to consider alone for a time before taking my final decision.’

‘Why not take our father’s memoirs with you to see if they offer you any solace or guidance? After all, he wrote them, as he put it, “to give guidance for living and ruling”.’

A few minutes later, Humayun climbed the stone stairs to the top of the highest watchtower on the walls of the citadel in Kabul. In his hand were his father’s memoirs which, in their ivory binding, he had preserved so carefully throughout all his vicissitudes. He had left Jauhar at the entrance to the watchtower with strict orders that no one should be allowed to enter. As he reached the top of the stairs and emerged on to the flat roof, Humayun felt that the day’s heat was dying. It would be dark in an hour. Perhaps he should wait until the stars came out to see what guidance they might offer him, but then he dismissed the idea. He had learned from the many trials and disappointments he had endured during his life that he could not abdicate responsibility for his decisions to the stars any more than he could to his advisers, his wife or his blood relations.

Babur had told him that he had discovered early that a ruler had to rule. This gave the ruler an unparalleled freedom and opportunity to fulfil his ambitions, but it also made his role an intensely lonely one. He had not only to take the decisions but to live with the consequences both in this life and when called to judgement in the life beyond.

As the light began to fade, Humayun opened his father’s memoirs at random. His eyes first fell on a paragraph which described how, during one of his campaigns, Timur had in a rare moment of mercy followed an older tradition among the dwellers on the steppes and had a powerful member of his own family who had been caught plotting an uprising blinded rather than killed to avoid creating a blood feud. Babur had commended this as a way of disarming a rebel and noted that such punishments still continued among many of the tribes and were considered just and proper.

Immediately, Humayun knew that this must be Kamran’s fate. His threat would be extinguished with his sight. No rebellious chief could ever again consider Kamran a rival to Humayun.Yet his half-brother would have time to consider and perhaps to repent before he was called to eternal judgement. Such a punishment would be harsh, but Humayun knew that in inflicting it he would be respecting his instinct to show some mercy and also be taking some account of his father’s injunction not to be provoked into unthinking violence against his half-brothers.

Closing the ivory covers of Babur’s memoirs, Humayun descended the stairs. ‘Call my advisers to me straightaway,’ he told Jauhar. Within five minutes they were standing around him. ‘I have decided that my half-brother Kamran must be blinded, both as a punishment for his consistent misdeeds and to obviate any threat he might continue to pose to my rule here and to our recovery of our possessions in Hindustan. The punishment will be carried out tonight an hour after sunset. I ask you, Zahid Beg, to take charge. I wish the method to be the quickest known to the hakims and my half-brother to be given no warning so that he does not have time to fear what is to come. I do not wish to see his agony and suffering. Jauhar, you will be my witness. However, Kamran needs to know that the punishment has been inflicted on my specific orders and I alone take responsibility for it. Therefore, you will bring my half-brother to me a little before the time of evening prayer tomorrow.’

‘Majesty,’ reported Jauhar an hour and a half later, ‘it is done. The whole thing was over within five minutes or less of Zahid Beg’s six men entering the cell. Four of them each seized one of your half-brother’s limbs and held him to the ground. As he struggled and kicked, the fifth — a bear of a man — took hold of Kamran’s head in his great hands and held it still. The sixth took needles he had previously heated red hot in the flame and quickly pierced each of your brother’s eyeballs in turn several times. As Kamran screamed like a wild beast in his agony, the man rubbed lemon juice and salt into his eyeballs to ensure all vision was lost. Then he bound your half-brother’s eyes with clean, soft cotton bandages and told him that he had no more to endure. Then they left him to contemplate both his punishment and that he was to live — albeit an impaired life. . ’

The next evening, just before prayers, Kamran was led into Humayun’s presence. His eyes were no longer bandaged and on Humayun’s orders he had been washed and clothed in garments befitting a Moghul prince of the blood. Humayun dismissed the guards and spoke softly to Kamran.

‘It is I, Humayun, your half-brother. I give you my word we are alone.’ As Kamran turned his sightless eyes towards him he continued, ‘I want you to know that I and I alone am responsible for your blinding. No blame should attach to those who committed the deed. I acted as I did because I had lost faith that any clemency I showed would cause you to repent and I needed to protect my throne and the future of Akbar and of our dynasty.’ Humayun stopped and waited, half expecting a stream of invective from Kamran or even an attempt, despite his blindness, to attack him.

But after a short silence Kamran spoke in a subdued voice. ‘You have left me with my life but at the same time taken everything I cared about from me — my plans, my ambitions. I congratulate you. You can appear the great and merciful padishah while knowing you have destroyed me more completely than if you’d struck off my head. . ’

Humayun said nothing and after a moment Kamran continued. ‘I don’t blame you. I have often scorned your mercy and know I deserved punishment. As I lay awake last night, praying for the pain in these now useless eyes to ease and reflecting that my life as I have always known it was over, another thought came into my mind. It was strange, but I felt almost a sense of relief. . the feeling that finally, after all these years, I could shake off the burden of earthly ambitions. I have one thing and one thing only to ask of you and I ask it sincerely.’

‘What is that?’

‘I do not wish to remain here, an object of contempt or of pity or even of any generosity you may wish to extend to me. Let me, like Askari, make the haj — the pilgrimage to Mecca. It may even afford me some spiritual consolation.’

‘Go,’ said Humayun, ‘go with my blessing.’ As he spoke he felt tears wet his cheeks. He was, he realised, crying partly from sadness at the loss of the innocent times he and his half-brother had so briefly enjoyed, partly for the years they had wasted in conflict when together they could have been recovering their father’s empire, and partly for the pain he had inflicted on Kamran the night before.

However, above all, his tears reflected a profound and transcending relief. He was now free to concentrate on achieving his ambition once more to be Padishah of Hindustan and even to enlarge his dominions and to build the great empire of which Babur had dreamed.