Brothers at War

Chapter 2

The morning sun was glinting gold on the breastplates of the two tall, white-turbaned bodyguards who preceded Humayun across the courtyard of the red sandstone Agra fort, past the bubbling fountains into the high-ceilinged durbar hall. Making his way across the pillared hall which was open to the cooling breezes on three sides, and moving through the assembled ranks of his counsellors who prostrated themselves in formal salutation at his approach, Humayun ascended the marble dais in the centre of the room. Here, gathering his green silk robes around him, he seated himself on his gilded, high-backed throne. The two guards, hands on their swords, positioned themselves just behind the throne, one at either side.

Humayun signalled his advisers to rise. ‘You know why I have called you together today — to discuss the presumptuous posturings of Sultan Bahadur Shah. Not content with his rich lands of Gujarat to our southwest, he gave refuge to the sons of Ibrahim Lodi, Sultan of Delhi, whom my father and I with your magnificent help deposed. Proclaiming his family ties to them, he began assembling allies around him. His ambassadors insinuated to the Rajputs and the Afghan clans that our empire is more illusion than reality. He derided it for being only two hundred miles wide even though it extends a thousand miles from the Khyber. They dismiss us as mere barbarian raiders whose rule will be as easily blown away as the morning mist.

‘All this we knew and held as beneath our contempt but this morning a messenger — exhausted by riding through the night — brought news that one of Bahadur Shah’s armies, led by the Lodi pretender Tartar Khan, has raided across our borders. Scarcely eighty miles west of Agra, they captured a caravan bearing tribute from one of our Rajput vassals. Of this much I am certain. We will not tolerate such disrespect. We must and will punish the sultan severely. What I have summoned you here to discuss is not whether we should crush him, but how best to do it.’ Humayun paused and looked around at his counsellors before continuing.

Suleiman Mirza, a cousin of Humayun and general of his cavalry, was the first to speak. ‘Bahadur Shah will not be easy to defeat. To do so we must look to our strengths. Unlike when your father conquered Delhi, we have more men, horses and elephants than our enemy. The animals are well trained and the soldiers loyal.The prospect of the booty from Bahadur Shah’s overflowing vaults will reinforce their appetite for battle. But there is another difference from when the Moghuls came to Hindustan. This time, both sides will have cannon and matchlock muskets — not just us. The sultan has used the taxes he imposes on the pilgrims setting out across the high sea on the haj to Mecca and on the traders from distant lands who throng his ports of Cambay and Surat to buy many cannon and matchlocks and to entice experienced Ottoman armourers to work in his foundries. We can no longer rely on the very presence of our artillerymen to turn every battle for us. They will still be important, but we need to change our tactics once more.’

‘Yes, easily enough said, but what does it mean in practice?’ asked Baba Yasaval, tugging at his tassel of hair.

‘Combine the tactics of His Majesty’s father Babur in his youth with those of his last battles,’ answered Suleiman Mirza. ‘Send fast raiding parties of cavalry and mounted archers into Gujarat to hit Bahadur Shah’s forces wherever they find them and then disappear again long before he can concentrate his armies against them. Leave him guessing where our main attack will come but all the time advance our main column with the artillery and elephants steadily into his territory.’

Though most of Humayun’s counsellors nodded, Baba Yasaval asked, ‘But what should our main army’s specific objective be?’

‘Why not the fortress of Champnir, deep in the forests of Gujarat?’ said Humayun. ‘It contains Bahadur’s greatest royal treasury. He will not feel able to yield it to us. He will be forced to attack to relieve it from our besiegers.’

‘Yes, but how will we combat his threat to the rear of our besieging force?’ said Suleiman Mirza.

This time it was Baba Yasaval who answered, eyes now gleaming at the thought of action. ‘We have the advantage of time. We can dig in our guns so they can fire at both the fortress and the relieving columns, and we can position our armies to fight a battle on two sides. If Bahadur Shah tries to lift the siege he’ll get a nasty surprise.’

‘You speak soundly,’ said Humayun. ‘I will myself lead the first of the raiding parties to cross into Gujarat. If Bahadur Shah hears — as he will — that I am in the field myself, it may confuse him further as to our real objectives. Suleiman Mirza, I look to you and Baba Yasaval to make the preparations. The council is now dismissed.’

With that Humayun rose and with his two bodyguards once more in front of him slowly made his way back across the courtyard to his quarters. Once there he asked Jauhar, his cup-bearer and most trusted attendant — a tall, fine-featured youth whose father had been one of the commanders of Babur’s bodyguard — to summon his astrologers to join him in an hour or so to calculate the most auspicious time to begin his campaign. His battle plan had been decided quickly. The reassurance that he had the support of the astrologers’ star charts and tabulations in the timing of his invasion would be valuable to his own confidence as he began his first campaign as emperor as well as to the morale of his army.

In the meantime he would visit his aunt Khanzada to seek her wise advice on his choice of officers for his expedition and, even more important, to discuss with her his views on another question. Was it safe while he was away on campaign to leave his half-brothers in their various provinces — Kamran to the northwest in the Punjab, Askari in Jaunpur to the east and Hindal to the west in Alwar? Might they use the opportunity to rise against him? Should he give them commands in his army and take them with him so he could keep an eye on them?

The reports reaching him from their provinces gave no outward reason for concern, particularly in the case of Hindal and Askari who regularly wrote back in punctilious detail on their administration and remitted their taxes in full, sometimes even ahead of time. Kamran too sent in the due proportion of his province’s revenues, even if his reports were infrequent and brief. Occasionally an official, dissatisfied with his progress at Humayun’s court, had gone to Kamran’s province to try his luck there. Sometimes there had been rumours that Kamran had been assembling a larger army than he strictly needed for his province, but these had usually proved groundless or justified by the need to put down some petty rebel or other.

Yet Humayun couldn’t quite rid himself of the feeling that Kamran would not abandon his ambitions so easily and might only be biding his time, ready to exploit for his own benefit any misfortune of Humayun’s. So be it. He would ensure he suffered none to allow Kamran such an opportunity. In any case, perhaps he had misjudged Kamran and, together with Hindal and Askari, he had learned his lesson and was grateful as he should be for Humayun’s mercy. He hoped it was so. Just in case it was not, he needn’t move against Bahadur Shah until his grandfather Baisanghar was back in Agra. He and Humayun’s vizier Kasim had after their return from Kabul set off on a tour of inspection of the imperial treasury in Delhi from which they would return in a few days. Then Humayun would appoint Baisanghar regent in his absence. He could safely trust his grandfather — and Khanzada and Kasim too — to keep an eye on his troublesome half-brothers.

They would also watch over his mother. Since Babur’s death Maham seemed to have lost the little interest she’d ever had in the affairs of the world. Though proud her son was emperor, she never questioned him about his plans or offered him advice as Khanzada did. When he was with her, all she did was speak longingly of the past. But perhaps, in time, she would see that it was the future that must occupy him now.

Humayun looked down from a sandstone escarpment on to a long column of Bahadur Shah’s men who, oblivious of his presence, were throwing up clouds of dust as they snaked along the riverbank four hundred feet below. At this time of year — early March, two months after he had left Agra — the river was mostly dry with only a few pools of water remaining in the deepest parts of its bed. Along the banks an occasional palm tree provided a touch of green. Humayun could see squadrons of cavalry to the front and rear of the column with divisions of infantry and a large baggage train in its middle.

Unable to suppress a smile of triumph, Humayun turned in his saddle to speak to Jauhar, who was accompanying him on the campaign as one of his qorchis — his squires. ‘We have them, Jauhar. Our scouts have done well in gathering information and leading us here. The Gujaratis have no suspicion of our presence. Now gallop back the mile to where we left the rest of our men. Order them to ride along the top of the escarpment, keeping far enough from the rim to avoid being seen from below, until they reach that point a mile or so ahead where the slope becomes gentle enough for us to swoop down to attack our enemies. I and my bodyguard will meet them there.’

Jauhar nodded and moved off. As Humayun turned with his bodyguard back from the lip to make his own way to the rendezvous point, he felt the same mixture of apprehension and excitement as he always had before battles, but also a greater weight of responsibility than ever before. Previously his father, even if not present on the immediate battlefield, had approved the overall plan of campaign and it had been his father’s throne — not his own — that had been at stake. The thought caused a cold shiver to run through Humayun and he halted his men for a moment. Was he sure — as sure as he could be — that his plan was a good one — that he had spent enough time checking and re-checking each detail to leave as little as possible to chance? As he pondered this, he saw two large brown hawks soar seemingly effortlessly from beneath the escarpment high into the cloudless blue sky as the hot air bore them upward on outstretched wings. Suddenly he remembered the eagles he had seen at the battle of Panipat which had proved such a favourable omen. Surely these birds would prove so too as he struck the first blow in his conquest of Gujarat.

Throwing off his doubts and uncertainties, Humayun reached the appointed meeting place for the rest of his forces. As soon as they were all assembled, Humayun quickly gave orders for the attack to be conducted in two waves.The first, after galloping down the steep slope, would envelop the rear of the enemy column.The second would encircle the vanguard, exploiting its confusion as it halted and tried to turn round — as it would be bound to do — to assist the rear. Drawing his father’s sword Alamgir, Humayun kissed its jewelled hilt and shouted to his men, ‘Fill your minds with warrior spirit and your lungs with heroes’ breath. We fight to defend our newly won lands. Let us prove to these presumptuous upstarts that we have not lost our ancient reputation for courage.’ Then, waving his sword above his head, Humayun signalled the charge and with his bodyguard about him kicked his black stallion down the slope to the attack.

As they raced down the hill, stones and red dust flying around them, he could see in front of him the Gujarati column halt as the men turned in his direction to see what the noise was.Taken completely by surprise the Gujaratis hesitated and then began to react only slowly as if for them time was almost standing still, fumbling for their weapons and looking around in panic for their officers to see what their orders were. One black-bearded man was quicker than the others, dismounting and trying to pull his musket from its thick cloth bag tied to his saddle.

Humayun turned his horse towards the musketeer and, gripping his sword in his right hand, ducked low to his horse’s neck as he urged his mount on, all thoughts of command and destiny banished from his mind by the visceral instinct to survive, to kill or be killed. Within moments he was on the man, who was still struggling to prime his musket. Humayun slashed at his bearded face and down he went, blood pouring from his wound, beneath the hooves of the attacking cavalry. Humayun was well into the enemy column now, cutting and slashing as he rode. Suddenly he was through, pulling up his snorting, panting horse as his men rallied around him.

Immediately he had enough men, Humayun charged back into the column a second time. A tall Gujarati cut at him with his curved sword, striking his breastplate and knocking Humayun back in the saddle.As Humayun struggled to control his rearing horse, the Gujarati rode at him again and, overeager to finish his victim off, aimed a swinging sword cut at Humayun’s head. Humayun reacted instinctively, ducking under the blade which hissed through the air just above his helmet. Before the Gujarati could recover, Humayun quickly thrust Alamgir deep into his abdomen. As the man dropped his sword and clutched the wound, Humayun coolly and deliberately struck at the back of his opponent’s neck, almost severing his head from his shoulders.

Glancing about him, Humayun saw through the billowing red dust that the Gujarati column was disintegrating. Some of the horsemen were galloping away in panic. Others in the middle of the column were, however, offering stouter resistance, defending the wagons which presumably contained the baggage and the cannon. Humayun knew that even if he captured them, he would not be able to carry off any cannon because they would slow down his force whose entire purpose was fast raiding. However, he could disable them. With the blood of battle thumping in his veins and yelling to his trumpeter to sound the order to follow him, Humayun immediately charged towards the baggage wagons.

Suddenly he heard the crack of a musket — then of another. Some of the Gujarati musketeers had got their weapons into operation and were firing from the cover of the baggage carts. One of the horses galloping ten yards from Humayun was hit, falling headfirst into the dust and catapulting its rider to the ground where he lay twitching a moment before the horses of his comrades following behind kicked and tossed him beneath their hooves, extinguishing any life lingering in his body.

Humayun knew that he must reach the wagons before the musketeers could reload. Waving Alamgir once more, he kicked his horse on and almost immediately was among the carts. He cut at one musketeer who was endeavouring with shaking hands to ram the metal ball down into the long barrel of his musket with a steel rod. Struck across his face, the man collapsed, dropping his weapon. The enemy had had no time to pull the wagons into any defensive formations and so Humayun’s men, who had quickly joined him, found it easy to surround and subdue the defenders of individual wagons. More of the Gujarati cavalry galloped away and the infantry and camp followers were also fleeing as fast as they could.

Resistance was at an end — at least for the present. However, Humayun knew that his force was considerably outnumbered and that when the Gujarati officers realised this, they would try to regroup and attack him. Therefore there was no time to waste. Humayun ordered a detachment of his cavalry to pursue the fugitives, cutting down as many as they could but riding no more than a couple of miles before returning to form a loose defensive perimeter. He gestured to other men to investigate the contents of the wagons. They went at it with a will, throwing off the heavy jute covers to reveal six medium-sized cannon and their powder and shot as well as bundles of new spears and five boxes of muskets.

‘We’ll take all the muskets. Empty the boxes. Strap bundles of the muskets to the saddles of some of the spare horses. Fill the cannon barrels with as many linen bags of powder as they will take and then run a trail of powder along the ground to those rocks over there. We’ll ignite the powder from behind them,’ Humayun said.

A quarter of an hour later the work was complete. Humayun despatched most of his men to a safe distance but remained with a few of his bodyguards to oversee the destruction. He gave the honour of firing the powder to a tall young Badakshani who, taking the flint box, struggled nervously to get a spark.When eventually he succeeded, the powder flame went sputtering across the ground. For a moment it seemed that it was going to die as it skirted a small rock but then it was away again. Almost immediately there was a massive bang followed closely by five others.The charges had exploded in each of the cannon barrels.

When the debris and dust had settled Humayun, still half deafened by the blast, could see that four of the barrels were split and peeled back, much like the skin of a banana. Another had disintegrated completely. The barrel of the sixth was cracked — just enough, Humayun thought, to render it useless. His men had soon returned and were searching the remaining baggage wagons for booty. One had found some silks, another was jamming his dagger into the lock of a casket, trying to force it in search of jewels.

Then Humayun saw one of the cavalrymen he had detached to form the perimeter defence galloping towards him. ‘The Gujaratis have regrouped, Majesty. They are forming up to attack, now they have seen how few we are.’

‘We must be away. Trumpeter, sound the retreat. We’ll go back up the escarpment. They won’t follow. They’ll know it would be death to give us the opportunity to attack them as they struggle up.’

Twenty minutes later, Humayun looked down from the sandstone escarpment on to the wreckage of the column around which the Gujaratis were now milling. His men had got away safely except for a foolish few who, mesmerised by the prospect of loot, had lingered too long investigating the contents of the baggage wagons. Among them, Humayun reflected sadly, had been the young Badakshani who had been brought down by an arrow in the back as he galloped too late for the escarpment. The bolt of embroidered pink silk tied to his saddle had unravelled, streaming out behind his riderless horse.

There it was — beyond the tall palm trees and the pale tangerine sand the glinting ocean reflecting the light of the midday sun with such an intensity that Humayun was forced to shield his eyes with his hand. After his successful raid on the enemy column he had despatched half his force of three thousand men back to the main body of his army, which was beginning its slow advance from Moghul territories towards the jungle fortress of Champnir with all the equipment and provisions required for a siege.

Humayun himself, together with a picked body of fifteen hundred horsemen, had penetrated even further into Gujarat, disrupting and defeating enemies wherever he found them. He had succeeded, he was sure, in leaving them uncertain and confused as to the main thrust of his army, just as he had planned. His quest for a caravan reported by captured Gujaratis to be carrying military supplies and trade goods towards the port of Cambay had brought him to the sea. Humayun was glad that it had. He called Jauhar to his side. ‘Pass the order that we will rest and refresh ourselves beneath the shade of the palms during the midday heat while our scouts search for the caravan. It cannot be far off now. Indeed, from what we learn Cambay itself should be no more than ten miles or so northwest up the coast. Give orders for pickets and sentries to be posted so that we cannot be taken by surprise.’

As Jauhar turned with the message, Humayun nudged his black horse forward through the palms, whose long, pointed, dark green leaves were rustling in the breeze coming off the sea, and on into the soft sand. Here, Humayun jumped down. Stopping only to discard his boots, he walked out into the sea, conscious that he was the first of his family ever to do so.The water slapping against his lower calves was refreshingly cool. Again shielding his eyes, he gazed out to the glittering, sparkling horizon. There he thought he could make out the shape of a ship — presumably one of those trading with Cambay.What kinds of goods were they carrying? What kind of people? What else lay beyond the horizon, beyond even Arabia and the holy cities? Was there new knowledge to be gleaned there? Were there new enemies or were there simply barren lands or an infinity of ocean?

A shout from Jauhar interrupted Humayun’s solitary contemplation. ‘Majesty, your officers wish to consult with you. Will you take food with them? You’ve been watching the sea for some time and the waters are rising around you.’ It was true. The little waves were now splashing Humayun’s knees before retreating. Reluctantly he turned his mind away from the metaphysical speculations he found so beguiling to present-day practicalities and made his way to where the officers waited, sitting cross-legged under a scarlet awning beneath the palms.

Ten minutes later, his chief scout Ahmed Khan, a wiry turbaned man of about thirty from the mountains of Ghazni, south of Kabul, was standing before him, sweat running from his brow down his cheeks into his thin, brown beard. ‘The caravan is no more than five miles off, travelling along a road about a quarter of a mile inland on the other side of that thick belt of palms fringing the coast. It is about four miles from the town of Cambay, which is hidden from our view by that low promontory over there.’

‘We will ride along the beach itself on the other side of the palms and ambush them as they reach Cambay. God willing, we may even be able to force our way into the port if the gates are opened ready for the caravan’s entry.’

Only five minutes later, Humayun was galloping along the edge of the sand with his bodyguard grouped close around him. In less than an hour they had crossed the rocky promontory and from the continuing cover of the palms Humayun could see the masts and sails of the ships lying in the port of Cambay or at anchor outside it. The caravan, including loaded, swaying camels and pack elephants as well as mules and donkeys, was trudging slowly towards the open main gate in the mud wall surrounding the settlement. The wall itself did not look too high — perhaps only double a man’s height. The caravan’s escort, about four hundred men in total, were riding on either side of it but appeared indolent, heads bowed in the midday heat with their swords in their scabbards and their shields on their backs.

Riding back to the main body of his men, Humayun yelled, ‘Charge now. Take them by surprise. Try to panic the camels and elephants.That should disrupt the Gujarati escort.’ Even as he spoke, Humayun kicked on his black horse, which was already flecked with creamy sweat, and soon he was galloping full tilt with his men out through the palms, over the half a mile of stony, sandy ground separating him from the caravan and the port’s gate. At his command, some of his most expert archers took their reins in their teeth and standing in their stirrups loosed off a volley of arrows towards the caravan just as its escort realised that they were under attack. Some of the arrows wounded one of the elephants which with several shafts embedded in its leathery skin turned, trumpeting in pain, across the path of some of its fellows, scattering them.

A camel fell with a low snort of pain, shedding its load as it subsided to the sand, its large, padded feet flailing futilely in the air. Another, with a black-feathered arrow piercing its long neck, galloped off towards the sea. Almost immediately, Humayun and his men were riding through the thin line of the escort, slashing at them as they went. Some Gujaratis fell under the first weight of the charge. A few were cut down as they tried to rein in their horses and turn to face the unexpected onslaught. Most simply bent low to their horses’ necks and urged the beasts towards the shelter of the still open gates of Cambay.

Humayun and his bodyguard followed. Humayun galloped as hard as he could after what looked like an officer who was fleeing with two of his men. Hearing Humayun close behind, the officer turned and seeing his danger tried to grab his shield to protect himself. Before he could do so, Humayun’s sharp sword cut deep into his thick, muscular neck just above his chain mail coat and he fell, rolled over several times and was still.

In moments, Humayun was in the gateway to Cambay. Hauling his horse round to avoid an overturned table from which some frightened tax or customs officials must have fled only moments earlier, he was soon out into the small square behind the gatehouse. Here it seemed a market had been in full swing. The stalls had been quickly abandoned, bags of bright-coloured spices pushed to the dust in panic, corn spilled to the ground where it mingled with orange lentils and rivers of milk from an overturned barrel. There was no sign of soldiers. Like the caravan’s escort, Cambay’s defenders seemed to have no appetite for a fight. The few stallholders that were left — mostly white-bearded old men or dark-clad women — were prostrating themselves faces to the sand before their attackers.

‘Find the barracks. Imprison any soldiers you find there. Take what you can from the warehouses and ships. Burn the rest. Don’t overburden yourselves. We must depart before sundown. When they learn of our attack on Cambay, the Gujaratis will be alarmed enough and uncertain enough of our whereabouts to feel unable to concentrate their forces when they hear of the threat to Champnir. We ourselves must hasten to rejoin our main column attacking that fort. It is there we will win the decisive victory that will make Gujarat ours.’