Fat drops of rain were splashing from a leaden sky into the large puddles of water that had already formed outside Humayun’s scarlet command tent. As he looked out from beneath its dripping awning while he waited for his commanders to join him for a council of war, he could see that the puddles had already coalesced to form pools in some of the lower-lying and muddier parts of his camp. The water rose over the feet of his soldiers who, heads hunched into their shoulders against the downpour, splashed their way to and from picket duty. In whatever direction he looked there was no sign of a break in the weather.
Humayun turned back into his tent, where his officers were now assembled in a semicircle, some of them still shaking from their clothes the rain which had soaked them as they ran the short distance from their own tents across to his. Humayun took his place in the centre with the young Akbar at his side.
‘Ahmed Khan, what are the latest reports of Sekunder Shah’s army?’
‘He remains six miles away behind his fortified positions at Sirhind, just as he did for the fortnight we were making our way towards him before we set up camp here. We know from the number of his scouts that we’ve encountered or captured that he has long been aware of our approach, yet he has made no move to confront us. No doubt he still believes that we will not attack him during the monsoon for fear of being slowed down by all the mud and made into easy targets for his well dug-in cannon and for his archers and musketeers.’
‘I have delayed our assault for this last week to encourage Sekunder Shah in that false belief, attempting to convince him that we will be as cautious and conventional in our thinking as he is and that — having come up to his position — we will postpone any combat until the rains have abated and the ground has begun to dry.’
‘But doesn’t he have a point, Majesty?’ asked Zahid Beg, a deeply concerned expression on his thin face. ‘We cannot move our cannon at any speed and the powder for our muskets is always getting damp. There have been several accidents when our men have rashly brought it too close to fires in an attempt to dry it out.’
‘Of course we will face some problems when we attack,’ said Humayun, ‘but these will be mere inconveniences compared to the benefits surprise will secure us.’
Bairam Khan was nodding but some others still looked doubtful. Suddenly, Akbar, who usually listened attentively but rarely spoke, rose from the place where he had been sitting and said in a steady, firm voice, ‘I believe you are right, Father. Now is the time to seize our destiny and surprise Sekunder Shah before he succeeds in raising more troops. He has a far greater reservoir to draw on than we.’
‘Well spoken, Akbar,’ Humayun said. ‘I will have Ahmed Khan send scouts to test out the firmest approach route to Sekunder Shah’s camp. It would seem to lie over that slightly higher ground northeast of here. If we go in that direction we may have to ride a mile or so further but it will be worth it. We will not attempt to move our cannon forward but will take some mounted musketeers. Even if only some of their muskets fire because of the damp it will help.’
‘But if we follow that route we will be seen and it will give Sekunder Shah longer to prepare,’ interrupted Nadim Khwaja.
‘I’ve thought of that.To add to the surprise and to conceal our movements, I intend to attack under cover of darkness in the hour before dawn tomorrow. We will make our preparations as inconspicuously as we can today and will rouse our troops at three in the morning to begin our advance an hour later. We’ll move in separate divisions of five hundred men, each identified by a brightly coloured cloth tied around the arm to reduce the chances of confusion in the dark.’
‘Majesty,’ said Bairam Khan, ‘I understand your plan. I believe our men will be disciplined enough to carry it out, trusting as they do in their leaders.’
‘I intend to go amongst the troops towards dusk with Akbar to encourage our soldiers and tell them of our plan and of my faith in it — and in them — to see it through.’
The rain had slackened a little during the day but more dark clouds were gathering on the horizon as, with Akbar, Ahmed Khan and Bairam Khan at his side, Humayun rode up to the cluster of tents occupied by some of Bairam Khan’s cavalry — mostly men from Badakhshan. Humayun had decided to keep his address to this group to the last. He dismounted from his tall black horse and, as the men gathered around, began.
‘Your fathers served my father well as he won an empire. You have served me well in this campaign to win back the lands clawed away by greedy usurpers. Tomorrow you will join me in the vanguard. Together we will face our greatest battle so far. When we conquer, as I know we will, we will regain Hindustan and secure its rich lands for our sons.’
Humayun paused to put his arm around Akbar’s shoulders before continuing. ‘I know that your sons — like young Akbar here — will be worthy of the legacy we will win for them. Remember that tomorrow we fight for their future as well as our own. Let us seize our destiny. Let us show such valour and gain such a victory that our grandsons and their children will still talk with awe and gratitude of our deeds, just as we recall the fabled feats of Timur and his men.’
As Humayun finished a burst of cheering rose from the Badakhshanis. His words had hit home, just as they had with all the other men he had spoken to on his tour of the camp.
Jauhar quietly entered Humayun’s tent at two in the morning to rouse him but found that Humayun was already awake. He had been for some time.While listening to the rain falling steadily on his tent he’d searched his mind, rehearsing his battle plan over and over again to check he had overlooked nothing. Eventually he had convinced himself that he had not.
Then his thoughts had turned involuntarily to the course of his life since he had first left Agra seventeen years ago to confront Sher Shah. At that time — he now realised — he had been immature, too ready to believe that success would be his by right and consequently not sufficiently motivated to apply all his inner resources to achieving it. However, he had never lost his belief in himself and in his destiny, never conceded that a setback, however severe, might be a final defeat. He was immensely grateful that he had been granted a second chance and for that he knew he had deserved his birth name of Humayun, ‘Fortunate’. So many — even kings — only received a single opportunity and, if they did not grasp it, disappeared from history as if they had never lived, all their promise, all their hopes and ambitions evaporating into eternal obscurity. He had learned over his reign that a consistently indomitable spirit was as essential to a ruler as bravery in battle. Today, however, was to be a day of battle and he knew he must put his courage to the test once more.
With that thought, he had begun to prepare himself for combat, a task in which Jauhar now started to assist him, helping him draw on his long yellow leather riding boots and — as he had done since they were both young men — strapping on Humayun’s jewel-studded, engraved steel breastplate. As Jauhar finally handed him his father’s great sword Alamgir, Humayun smiled at him and touching him on the arm said, ‘Thank you for your loyal service during all my troubles. Soon we will be back in our fine quarters at Agra.’
‘Majesty, I have no doubt of that,’ said Jauhar as he held open the tent flaps for Humayun to step out into the wet night air.
Akbar was waiting outside for his father and they embraced. Then Akbar asked, ‘May I not join the attack? I envy my milk-brother Adham Khan who will ride in the vanguard. He will be able to boast of his part in the fight when we again meet our tutors while I. . ’
‘No, you are the future of our dynasty,’ Humayun interrupted.‘If, God forbid, Adham Khan were to fall, Maham Anga would weep but his loss would be a personal one to his family. If you and I fell together our line would be extinguished. I cannot risk that happening so you must remain behind.’
Humayun realised that Akbar had asked more in hope than expectation and could not but admire him for doing so. As he moved away from Akbar towards the place beneath the neem tree where Bairam Khan and his other commanders were waiting, he saw by the ghostly light of one of the frequent flashes of sheet lightning that a few yards away Bairam Khan’s young qorchi — his squire — was bent over being sick as he held on to the reins of his own horse and that of his master. Humayun turned and walked over to him. Seeing him approach, the young man quickly straightened up and wiped his mouth with a cloth.
‘Are you nervous. . or perhaps a little frightened?’ Humayun asked.
‘A bit, Majesty,’ the youth, whose smooth face showed that he was no older than Akbar, admitted.
‘It’s normal,’ said Humayun. ‘But remember something my father told me before the battle of Panipat. True courage is to feel fear but still to mount your horse and head into battle.’
‘Yes, Majesty. I will not let you or Bairam Khan down.’
‘I know you will not.’
The weather had deteriorated dramatically by the time — an hour later — Humayun and the first division of his Badakhshani cavalry halted.They had reached the point where they would need to turn from the relatively firm but circuitous northeastern approach track Ahmed Khan had successfully identified to begin their final assault on Sekunder Shah’s camp. The rain was slanting down harder and heavier than ever, reducing further what little visibility there was in the darkness. Even the flickering sheets of lightning revealed little more than the drenching drops of rain which they turned silver and steel before the peering eyes of Humayun and his men. The occasional rumbles of distant thunder had turned into an almost constant crash and crack overhead. Even the elements were allying themselves to him, thought Humayun with grim satisfaction. From his perspective, the change in the weather was not a worsening but an improvement. There was little prospect that Sekunder Shah’s men would see or hear their approach before they were almost on them.
Minutes earlier, Ahmed Khan had ridden up through the downpour. The rat tails of wet hair protruding from beneath his helmet were now flecked with grey and his face was deeply lined, but the smile that lit it was as broad and as vital as when together they had climbed the sheer cliff to assault the Gujarati fortress of Champnir.
‘Majesty, we have captured the only outpost of Sekunder Shah’s that we picked out in daylight as protecting this approach to his camp. Thirty of my men crept up to and silently climbed a section of its low mud wall which was crumbling away in the rains. Then they rushed the garrison, which numbered a dozen men, and quickly and quietly slit their throats or strangled them with thin cords. None escaped to give the alarm — none even raised a cry.’
‘As usual you’ve done well, Ahmed Khan,’ Humayun had said and Ahmed Khan had departed to despatch more of his scouts to advance stealthily towards Sekunder Shah’s camp. Their task now was to try as best they could in the conditions to pick out the worst quagmires between Humayun’s current position and the camp which lay unseen in the darkness no more than a mile away so that Humayun’s assault troops could skirt them, avoiding becoming bogged down.
Impatient as he was to bring on the battle that would decide his destiny, Humayun knew their task was a crucial one and that it would be worth the wait for their report. In any case, the distances were small and they should soon return. After what seemed to Humayun an age but was, in fact, no more than a quarter of an hour, Ahmed Khan reappeared with six of his scouts, all mud-spattered and soaked like himself. Ahmed Khan spoke.
‘The mission was so important I went forward myself with these brave men. We were not detected. We used lances to probe the firmness of the ground and the depth of the mud. We found that if we ride directly forward we will indeed come upon great stretches of extremely boggy ground which would impede our advance and might even cause some of the horses to become completely stuck. However, if as we ride we take a rightward arc we will have a better if still very muddy approach. We will reach the earth barricades that Sekunder Shah has thrown up around his camp at their northern corner. Here they stand higher than a man. We may need to use the ladders that you ordered to be brought with us.’
‘Thank you, Ahmed Khan. Jauhar, tell Bairam Khan to choose some pairs of soldiers from among the vanguard, each to carry slung between their horses one of the ladders we have brought this far on the backs of pack animals. Ask him to let me know once he is ready and I will join him in the advance.’
Jauhar rode off and Humayun could just distinguish by the lightning flashes Bairam Khan’s horsemen forming up in battle order. Now combat was imminent, Humayun realised that he felt no fear but a general heightening of his senses which made a moment last a minute and a minute an hour and even seemed to sharpen his vision, enabling him to see Bairam Khan beckoning him through the murk before Jauhar appeared to tell him he was ready.
Humayun tugged on his leather gauntlets and instinctively touched his father’s sword Alamgir in its jewelled scabbard at his side. Then he repositioned his feet in his stirrups to ensure they would not slip and finally kicked his black horse into motion and rode over to where Bairam Khan was waiting with Ahmed Khan.The latter would lead the advance with his six scouts who had made the reconnaissance. They had each draped white linen sheets around their shoulders to make themselves easier to follow in the gloom.
‘May God go with us,’ Humayun said. ‘Lead off, Ahmed Khan.’
Ahmed Khan simply nodded and rode forward. He was quickly followed by the other six scouts and then by Bairam Khan and his young qorchi, now looking fully composed with a stern, concentrated expression on his young face. Humayun turned his horse and headed with them into the murk and falling rain towards Sekunder Shah’s camp.
The conditions meant that they could not advance at much more than a canter. Even then, the horses’ hooves threw up large amounts of mud and water which splattered those following. After they had ridden for no more than two or three minutes, Ahmed Khan reined in his horse by a small cluster of boulders on a low rise and Humayun rode up to him.
‘Majesty,’ Ahmed Khan spoke softly, ‘these rocks are the last important marker. From here, the walls of Sekunder Shah’s camp are about six hundred yards directly in front of us.’
‘Summon up the pairs of men with ladders.’
As they rode up, the rough ladders slung between their horses by leather thongs, the rain slackened and almost as if by a miracle the moon appeared, pale and watery, through a gap in the scudding clouds. In the few moments before it disappeared again, Humayun glimpsed the walls of Sekunder Shah’s camp.They were as Ahmed Khan had described, about eight feet high and made of earth, some of which appeared to have slipped down in places, making those sections more like steep hillocks.
There was no sign of sentries as moments later the men rode up to the walls and, dismounting quickly, positioned the ladders and scrambled up them on to the walls. There they began pushing the mud down, some kicking at it with their feet, others using spades they had carried strapped across their backs. Soon, about thirty feet of the wall had been reduced to no more than a low mound and Bairam Khan, followed by his qorchi, was leading his horsemen quietly into the camp. The rain was falling more heavily again and still there were no signs of alarm as Humayun himself and his bodyguard crossed the remains of the wall.
Suddenly, however, a startled cry rang out from somewhere in front of Humayun. ‘The enemy!’ Another fainter shout came from along the mud walls, then the much louder blare of a trumpet from the same direction. Perhaps the dozing personnel of a guardhouse had woken to the peril that was flowing all around them and were giving the alarm. There were answering trumpet blasts from towards the centre of the camp.
Now that surprise had been lost, Humayun realised that he and his men needed to advance as quickly as possible to destroy their enemy before they had time to arm and to form up. As he rode over towards Bairam Khan to give him the order to ride for the centre of the camp, a straggling volley of arrows fell, slanting down among the raindrops from the direction of the guard post. One implanted itself in Humayun’s saddle. Another struck Bairam Khan’s breastplate and bounced harmlessly off but a third caught Bairam Khan’s qorchi in the thigh. The youth clutched at his leg and as the blood began to run through his fingers stifled a cry.
‘Bind his wound tightly,’ shouted Humayun. ‘Get him back to our camp to the hakims. He’s young and has been brave. He deserves to live.’ One of Humayun’s own bodyguards rushed to comply.
Another volley of arrows fell but they were few in number and the only casualty was a cavalryman’s bay horse which slipped to the ground, two black-flighted arrows protruding from its neck. Its rider, a squat Tajik, jumped clear as it fell but slipped as he landed heavily in the mud, lying winded for a moment before scrambling to his feet.
‘Bairam Khan, send forty men to locate the position those arrows came from and destroy the enemy archers. The rest of you, charge with me to victory.’
As Bairam Khan quickly detached the men to deal with the guard post, Humayun drew Alamgir. Holding the sword straight out in front of him, and with his bodyguard around him and Mustapha Ergun and his Turkish mercenaries close behind, he kicked his black stallion into as near a gallop as it could come to in the mud, riding deeper into the camp. By now there was a slight lightening of the sky on the eastern horizon, the precursor of dawn, but Humayun could still see little through the rain as he rode, head low over his horse’s neck. Then, after a minute or so, he managed to distinguish the dark shapes of close-packed lines of tents ahead and at the same time heard the cries of Sekunder Shah’s men as they emerged from them, pulling their weapons from their scabbards.
‘Push the tents over to trap the enemy beneath. Ride down any who are already outside.’ Following his own orders, Humayun leaned down from the saddle and slashed hard at the guy ropes of a large tent, which crumpled to the ground. Then he cut at a shadowy figure who, after emerging from a second tent, was raising his double bow. Humayun felt Alamgir slice deep into the unprotected flesh of the man’s chest before biting into his ribs. The archer twisted and fell beneath the hooves of one of Humayun’s advancing cavalrymen, who was in turn thrown.
All around other of Humayun’s soldiers were jumping from the saddle the better to collapse the tents and to come to close quarters with their enemy. Soon Humayun could make out men rolling in the mud, fighting and stabbing at each other. He recognised one of his warriors, a curly-bearded, muscular Badakhshani who was sitting, smiling broadly, on an opponent’s shoulders pulling his head back by the hair. As Humayun watched, he thrust the man’s head forward again down into a quagmire of mud and water. He held it there for a couple of minutes before throwing the lifeless body aside.
Another of his men had run to a line of tethered cavalry horses and was slashing at their leg ropes. As he cut their tethers, he whacked each horse on the rump to send it galloping away into the gloom. Good, thought Humayun, it could only add to the panic and confusion among his awakening enemies. Yet another of his soldiers had grabbed a lance from a rack outside one collapsed tent and was stabbing at two figures struggling beneath its folds. Soon the squirming bodies were still and dark stains were spreading into the tent’s material.
‘Come,’ Humayun shouted to Mustapha Ergun, ‘it’s getting lighter. Now we can see more, let us try to find Sekunder Shah’s personal quarters. You too, Bairam Khan, follow me with your men.’
Soon, by the swiftly rising light, Humayun distinguished on a low rise about half a mile away a collection of large tents erected in a hollow rectangle with a big flag hanging wet and limp from a pole outside a single vast tent — surely Sekunder Shah’s own — at its centre. As Humayun rode closer, he saw a number of men milling around the tents. Some already had their breastplates and helmets on, others were throwing saddles on their horses, clambering unprotected into them and forming up ready to defend themselves.
Moments later, Humayun heard a crackle of musket fire from beneath the awning of one of the tents — at least some of Sekunder Shah’s men had kept their powder dry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of Mustapha Ergun’s Turks slide silently from his saddle with a bullet wound in his temple. His frightened horse swerved into the path of Humayun’s own mount. Humayun hastily pulled on the reins of his horse but the frightened animal reared up. It took all Humayun’s skill to retain his seat as his mount, dropping back on to its four legs, skittered sideways, further disrupting the progress of his other cavalry. They in turn, seeing Humayun’s difficulty, almost instinctively began to rein in, presenting an attractive target to Sekunder Shah’s men. A flight of arrows rose from another of the tents, which were now becoming veiled in white smoke from the muskets. Several more of Humayun’s men were hit. One dropped his sword and, falling headlong into the mud, lay still. Others remained in the saddle but slowly dropped back from their comrades to tend their wounds.
Almost simultaneously, from Humayun’s flank came two louder explosions. Turning his head towards the sound, Humayun realised that Sekunder Shah’s artillerymen had got two of his larger cannon into action from where they had been dug in, protected from the wet by a rough, timber-planked roof. Each cannon ball found a mark. One hit a black horse in the belly, causing it to collapse. It tried to stagger to its feet, its intestines protruding from the gaping wound, before subsiding back into the mud neighing piteously. The second cannon ball carried away the front leg of another horse which buckled and fell, pitching its rider — another of Mustapha Ergun’s men — over its head.
It had all happened very quickly and as Humayun regained full control of his dancing horse a sudden thought chilled him. He might be being drawn into a carefully prepared trap. Sekunder Shah’s men might even now be circling round to block the route behind them. Surely the prize of the throne of Hindustan would not be ripped from his grasp once more? No, it could not be. . He must not falter in his moment of destiny, not let doubt stand in the way of overcoming this momentary disorder.
‘Come on, regroup! We mustn’t lose impetus,’ he yelled. Waving Alamgir he turned directly towards the tents from which the musket men had fired and kicked his horse forward as fast as it would go in the glossy deep mud. He was immediately followed by his bodyguard. Another few musket shots rang out and another rider fell but then Humayun was among the enemy musketeers who were now trying to flee, throwing aside their long weapons and supporting tripods. Humayun cut one down with a slash from Alamgir but then he and his men were in turn charged by some of the riders he had seen mounting up previously. A stout officer on a brown horse with a diamond blaze on its face made directly for Humayun, his lance held in his left hand aimed at Humayun’s chest.
Humayun twisted his horse’s head and the lance struck a glancing blow against his breastplate, knocking him slightly off balance so that his own sword slash also missed. Both men wheeled their horses round tightly and the officer drew his sword and came at Humayun again. Humayun ducked under his arcing sword cut, hearing a whooshing sound as it parted the air above his head.Then he lunged with Alamgir at his opponent’s midriff, which was unprotected by chain mail. The sharp sword cut deep into soft, fatty flesh and, bleeding profusely, the officer collapsed over the neck of the brown horse, which bore him away into the melee.
Humayun next attacked an imposing red-turbaned figure he saw directing the fighting a little way off. As he rode closer, he saw the man pull a double-headed battleaxe from its sheath, which was attached to his saddle. He drew back his arm and sent the battleaxe spinning through the air towards Humayun. Humayun got his mail-clad arm up to protect his head but the sharp axe blade caught his arm a glancing blow. It was heavy enough to damage Humayun’s chain mail and to reopen the scar tissue of the wound he had suffered all those years ago at the battle of Chausa. Bright scarlet-orange blood started to run down his arm and into the gauntlet on his hand. Humayun ignored it and, still gripping Alamgir tightly, slashed at the man as he rode past him so close that their legs bumped together. Humayun’s stroke caught the officer full on his throat, just above his Adam’s apple, severing his neck and sending pulses of blood into the air from his torso for the few moments it remained erect before collapsing from the saddle.
Breathing hard, Humayun reined in his horse and looked around. He and his men had won the battle around the command tents. To his left he could see Mustapha Ergun and some of his white-turbaned warriors pursuing a fleeing band of Sekunder Shah’s cavalry while to his right Bairam Khan’s men, among whom Humayun could identify Akbar’s milk-brother Adham Khan, had encircled another large group who, as Humayun watched, flung down their arms.
Bairam Khan rode up to Humayun. ‘Majesty, my junior commanders report that twenty of our divisions have entered Sekunder Shah’s camp and more and more are doing so by the minute. We have killed many of our opponents before they could arm and captured many others, while yet more have fled in small groups in panic. We have already secured more than three-quarters of the camp. However, our enemies are still resisting strongly and in numbers in the southwest corner. Some of my men claim they saw an important officer, perhaps Sekunder Shah himself, riding in that direction with a bodyguard from the command tents when we first made our attack on them.’
‘Let’s get ourselves over there to organise the assault and attempt to capture Sekunder Shah if that is where he is. But first, bind this wound of mine with my neck cloth,’ said Humayun, pulling off his gauntlet and stretching out his bloody arm to Bairam Khan. Within a few minutes, Bairam Khan had bound Humayun’s forearm tightly and the wound, which was not deep, had more or less stopped bleeding.
Humayun and Bairam Khan headed through the rain across the slightly undulating ground towards the southwest corner of the camp, past collapsed tents, overturned cooking pots and the bodies of dead and wounded men and animals lying slumped amid the puddles, some of which were now stained red. As they drew closer, the cries and sounds of battle grew louder, including the occasional crack of muskets when soldiers from one side or the other managed to open their powder horns and prime their muskets sufficiently quickly or under sufficient cover for the powder to remain dry enough to ignite.
By the sombre leaden light of the new day, Humayun could see that Sekunder Shah’s men were fighting determinedly. They had managed to overturn a number of baggage wagons around some small hillocks, and archers and musketeers were firing from behind the protection they provided. Several squadrons of cavalry were grouped in the middle of the barricades, whose perimeter stretched for perhaps twelve hundred yards. There appeared to be several thousand of the enemy in total. However, they were completely encircled by his own troops.
‘Bairam Khan, order our men to pull back just a little but to keep Sekunder Shah’s troops securely surrounded. We will offer them a chance to live if they will lay down their arms and tell us the whereabouts of Sekunder Shah.’
A quarter of an hour later, a gap was opened in Sekunder Shah’s barricades and Humayun’s emissary, a young officer named Bahadur Khan, re-emerged and galloped over to where Humayun was waiting, seated on his black horse.
‘Majesty, they are willing to surrender. They are adamant that Sekunder Shah is not among them and that although it was indeed he who left the command tents with his bodyguard just after we attacked, he did so in flight. They accuse him of deserting them to save himself and it is for that reason that they have agreed to surrender. Several commanders actually volunteered to join our armies.’
Relief and joy swept through Humayun in equal measure. Victory was his. He had surmounted the last obstacle to his regaining Hindustan. Even if, as it seemed, he had failed to capture Sekunder Shah, his victory was complete. Sekunder Shah’s vast army had been smashed in less than two hours of combat. Those who remained unwounded had surrendered or fled. Voice shaking with emotion, Humayun spoke.
‘I thank you, my commanders. We have won a great victory. Hindustan is firmly within our grasp, but there is still no time to waste. First we must care for our wounded and bury our dead, but then we move on to Delhi to secure that great city.’
Humayun woke to the sound of birdsong in his scarlet tent at the centre of his camp, just outside the great sandstone walls of Delhi. Later that morning he was due to make his ceremonial entry through the high gateway in them to hear the khutba read once more in his name at the service in the Friday Mosque, proclaiming him Padishah of Hindustan.The days since his victory at the battle of Sirhind had been crowded as he and his army had marched as quickly as the monsoon would allow towards Delhi. Local rulers had hastened to offer their obeisance and groups of soldiers formerly loyal to other of the pretenders to the throne had ridden in to surrender and to volunteer their services to Humayun.
Four days ago Humayun had passed the site of the battle of Panipat where he and his father had first won Hindustan. Even now, twenty-nine years later, the white bones of some of Sultan Ibrahim’s great war elephants killed by Babur’s artillerymen still lay scattered across the plain.
The previous evening, lying in his tent, Humayun had pondered the parallels and paradoxes within his own life and the comparisons with that of his father. He had lost his first great battle with Sher Shah when his enemy had made a surprise night attack during the monsoon and won his last great battle against Sekunder Shah by using those same tactics. On both occasions he had been wounded in his right forearm. His forces had melted away after his defeat by Sher Shah just as they had grown by desertion from Sekunder Shah and the other claimants to Hindustan during his recent campaign. His half-brothers had rebelled against him and threatened his family but Sher Shah’s relations had exceeded even this. Not content with fighting his family, Adil Shah had killed his young nephew, the legitimate heir, in front of his mother, his own sister, something at which even Kamran had baulked.
Humayun had gained the Koh-i-Nur for the Moghuls following the great victory at Panipat and sacrificed it at his and the dynasty’s nadir to help bring about its renaissance. Like his father, he had known youthful triumph but then suffered great reverses which had tested his resolve. Persian support and the religious compromises it had demanded had proved of less assistance to both than they had hoped. Like Babur, he had spent far more time in Kabul than he’d intended before seizing Hindustan.
Were these real patterns, just as in the movements of the stars? And if they were, how did they come about? Were events inevitable, predestined and laid down by a superior power, ready to be read within the stars by anyone with insight, as he had once believed? Or, on the contrary, were the patterns in men’s lives he thought he saw figments of his imagination and its search for structure in a shifting world, and the events themselves caused by coincidence or understandable similarities in circumstances? Weren’t family rivalries inherent threats to ruling dynasties? Hadn’t Babur’s own half-brother rebelled against him and hadn’t Timur’s sons disputed and dissipated their father’s legacy? Weren’t defeats always followed by desertions, great victories by swathes of fawning new adherents? Hadn’t learning from his father’s experience and using it to strengthen his resolve created the similarities between their lives?
In his youth, he had liked to believe in patterns and in predestination. Such beliefs had seemed to absolve him from full responsibility for his actions and their consequences. They had fed his indolence and justified his naive trust that his supreme position was his by right and inviolable. But his experiences had changed him and now, in his maturity, he usually rejected such external explanations — excuses for failure even. Although it was God’s will into which station a man was born, it was up to an individual and his use of his abilities to shape his life from there on. He had not regained his empire because it was predestined but because he had striven to do so, mastering his weaknesses and spurning indulgences to focus all his efforts on that single goal. Proud of this thought, Humayun had fallen asleep as he wondered how his renewed reign would evolve in comparison with the few short years Babur had had on the throne after conquering Hindustan.
As he stood up and prepared to call Jauhar, Humayun recollected his thoughts of the previous evening. As he did so, his eyes happened to fall on one of his volumes of star charts. He smiled. Even if he no longer believed that the stars held all the secrets of life, the study of them, their movements and the reasons underlying them, still stimulated his intellect. Stargazing would never lose its fascination for him.
Two hours later, after he had finished dressing him, Jauhar held up a long, burnished mirror for Humayun to inspect himself in his imperial finery. He saw a tall figure as erect and muscular at forty-seven years of age as he had been when he first had come to the throne, even if the hair at his temples was now flecked with grey and there were lines around his eyes and at the corner of his mouth when he smiled.
He was wearing a white surcoat embroidered with suns and stars in gold thread and hemmed with a border of lustrous pearls over a long cream silk tunic and pantaloons of the same colour. His belt was made from fine gold mesh and from it hung Alamgir in its jewelled scabbard. On his feet were short tawny leather boots with curled, pointed toes and a massive gold star embroidered on each side of the ankles. On his head he wore a turban of gold cloth with a peacock plume set at its peak and a circlet of rubies around its middle which matched his heavy ruby and gold necklace. On the index finger of his right hand he wore Timur’s tiger ring and his other fingers sparkled emeralds and sapphires.
‘Thank you, Jauhar; you have helped me to dress as befits an emperor. I’ve learned that as well as being powerful and possessing authority it is well to appear so to the people. It adds to their confidence and loyalty. . but enough of that. Where is my son?’
‘Waiting outside.’
‘Ask him to come in.’
Moments later, Akbar appeared through the curtains at the entrance to the tent, which were held open by two bodyguards dressed entirely in green. Even though not yet thirteen, Akbar was almost as tall and broad-shouldered as his father. He too was dressed in royal finery, in purple and lilac, colours which only seemed to accentuate his burgeoning, youthful masculinity.
‘Father,’ said Akbar, for once speaking first and smiling broadly, ‘one of the messengers who relays post from Kabul to Hindustan arrived a quarter of an hour ago. He brought a letter to us both from my mother. By now she will already have set out from Kabul to join us as you suggested after the battle of Sirhind. She should reach Delhi in six to eight weeks if the monsoon does not delay her too much.’
Humayun felt a lightness in his heart. Hamida’s presence would complete his happiness. The sooner he could keep his promise made on their marriage fourteen years ago to offer her the life of an empress in Delhi and Agra the better. ‘This is great news, Akbar. We must send orders immediately for a detachment of troops to meet her and to speed her on her way to us.’
Then Humayun walked slowly with Akbar from the tent towards where two imperial elephants were kneeling about two hundred and fifty yards away. Jauhar and Adham Khan, who were to ride with them, followed a few respectful paces behind. As they walked, attendants held silk canopies over their heads to protect them from the sun since there had been a break in the monsoon. Others waved large peacock-feather fans to cool them and to repel the buzzing mosquitoes which proliferated around the stagnant puddles which still covered the camp.
Once they reached the elephants, Humayun climbed up a small, gilded ladder on to the back of the larger of the two. He was followed by Jauhar and one of the tall green-clad bodyguards, who took their places behind him. The jewels — mostly garnets and amethysts — which encrusted the howdah shone in the sunlight as the first elephant rose to its feet, followed by the second only slightly smaller one which held Akbar, Adham Khan and another bodyguard. Akbar was chatting to his milk-brother as if they were merely going hunting.
Together, the stately elephants plodded slowly over towards a line of their companions. Humayun could see Bairam Khan in one of their howdahs, accoutred in Persian court fashion. Beside him was his qorchi who had recovered from his thigh wound, although it had required painful cauterising and he would never walk without a limp again. Zahid Beg was to ride on the elephant immediately following Bairam Khan and Ahmed Khan would ride on the leading elephant on Humayun’s orders. ‘You have deserved this honour — you always led the way when there was no prestige but much danger,’ he had told him.
Mustapha Ergun and his men would be among the leading squadrons of cavalry which would precede the elephants. For a moment Humayun reflected on some of the other humbler people who had played a part in his story. He would have liked one-armed Wazim Pathan and even Nizam the water-carrier to be present but Wazim Pathan had preferred to stay in his village as headman after Kamran’s defeat and there had been no time to search for Nizam. Then, pulling himself back to the present, Humayun spoke. ‘Let’s get going.’
The order was relayed down the line of elephants through the ranks of cavalry to the riders at the very front of the procession who carried the great fluttering banners of Humayun and the Moghul dynasty as well as that of Timur. As they got underway towards the tall sandstone gateway half a mile ahead of them, the phalanxes of drummers and trumpeters immediately behind the banner bearers began to play, quietly at first and then with increasing vigour as they approached the thronging crowds whom ranks of soldiers had kept back from the camp but who now lined the ceremonial pathway to the gate, which they had strewn with palm branches and even flower petals.
As Humayun’s elephant moved forward, he watched the sunlight glinting off the breastplates and harnesses of the cavalry ahead and the gilded howdah in front of him and listened to the sound of the music and the jangling of harnesses and neighing of animals being all but drowned out by the cheering of the crowds. Then, heart bursting with emotion, he looked upwards into the hot, blue sky and saw — or thought he saw — in the shimmering glare two circling eagles, harbingers of Moghul greatness. Hindustan was his. He had recovered the Moghul throne. From now on their dynasty would only go from strength to strength. He — and Akbar — would ensure it was so.