Brothers at War

back to your army. Then I must swim back across the river — I need to find my father. He is one of the cooks in your field kitchens and I haven’t seen him since Sher Shah’s first attack.’

‘But you did not mention him till now?’

‘I knew it was my duty to help you.’

‘You must return to me so I can reward your bravery and your loyalty.’

‘No, Majesty — I must find my father,’ Nizam replied, his small face set.

A strange thought came into Humayun’s head. Impulsively he blurted it out. ‘You have been a prince among water-carriers. When I am back in my capital, come to me and you shall sit on my throne and be a true king, giving orders for an hour or two. Whatever you command shall be done.’

Nizam looked puzzled then smiled hesitantly and stammered, ‘Yes, Majesty,’ before turning and running swiftly over the undulating muddy banks of the Ganges in the direction of Humayun’s remaining forces.

Chapter 7

A Promise Kept

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