Tapping the camel on its legs so that it collapsed grunting on to its knees, Humayun lifted Hamida out of the pannier and carried her over to a clump of low, spiny-leaved bushes where he gently laid her down. By now Gulbadan had climbed out of her pannier and was squatting down on the other side of Hamida, stroking her hot face and smoothing back her hair.
‘Stay with her, Gulbadan. I will send Zainab and the other women to you. I must try to get help from Umarkot.’
As he ran towards where his men had halted, Humayun’s heart was pounding. Never had he known fear quite like this — not even during the worst, most bloody battle. The baby should not be coming now. Hamida had been certain there was at least another month to go. . what if something went wrong, if she should die out here in this hostile wilderness which had already claimed Khanzada?
‘Jauhar,’ he shouted as soon as he was within earshot. ‘The empress is in labour. Take the best of the horses we have left and ride for Umarkot as hard as you can. Tell the people there who I am and that I ask for shelter for my wife. Under the customs of hospitality they cannot refuse. Even if the people fear me and my soldiers they will surely help Hamida — there will be
Jauhar rode off into the gathering gloom on a small roan mare which still had a little life in its wasted legs. Hurrying back to Hamida, Humayun found her surrounded by a small huddle of women who parted as he approached. She was lying on her back, eyes closed and breathing heavily. Her face was slippery with sweat.
‘Her waters have broken, Majesty,’ said Zainab. ‘I know — I watched my sisters give birth many times. And her pains are becoming more frequent. . it won’t be long. . ’ As if to bear out Zainab’s words, Hamida moaned and tears welled from beneath her eyelids, mingling with the sweat that was pouring off her now. As another spasm racked her, she arched her back then drew her knees up and rolled over on to her side.
Humayun could hardly bear to watch. As the hours passed and Hamida’s groans grew louder and more frequent, he paced helplessly about, returning to Hamida’s side every few minutes or so only to go off again. The sounds of the night — the occasional rasping shriek of a peacock, the bark of a jackal — increased his sense of powerlessness. Where was Jauhar? Perhaps he should have gone himself — or sent Timur’s ring with Jauhar as proof of who he was. .
Another half-smothered cry from Hamida made him wince as if he was feeling the pain as well. That she should be giving birth in this desperate, desolate place beneath a bush. .
‘Majesty.’ Humayun had been so lost in his private agony that he had not seen or heard Jauhar approaching out of the darkness at the head of a small group of riders who were leading some spare horses, between two of which was suspended a litter.
‘Majesty,’ Jauhar said again.‘The ruler of Umarkot welcomes you. He has sent a
Humayun bowed his head in relief.
Pale moonlight silvered the crude mud walls of Umarkot as Humayun and his small party, including half a dozen of his bodyguards, rode in, leaving the rest of the column to make its way under Zahid Beg. The midwife had already given Hamida a potion of herbs which seemed to have eased her pains.
In the torchlight it was hard for Humayun to take in his surroundings and his eyes were anyway on Hamida as the soldiers gently detached her litter from the horses and bore it through the doorway of a large building lit on either side by torches burning in sconces. He followed the litter down a corridor at the end of which he saw a pair of carved wooden doors with attendants stationed by them. As the party drew near, the attendants swung the doors open. Hamida, with the
‘Majesty, I am the Rana of Umarkot’s vizier, whom he has sent to welcome you. This is the way to the women’s apartments.The only man apart from the rana who is allowed to enter is the
What could he could do but agree, Humayun thought, and nodded. The hours passed very slowly that night, or so it seemed to him. Just as dawn was breaking — he had been watching the slow lightening to the east through the casement — he must have drifted into a light sleep. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he immediately leaped up, feeling instinctively for his dagger, then saw that it was full daylight and that it was Gulbadan who had roused him. She was smiling in a way he had not seen for many days.
‘Humayun, you have a son, lusty and sturdy and already bawling his head off. The midwife will bring him to you in a few minutes, as soon as she has cleaned him.’
‘And Hamida?’
‘The labour was very hard for her. She needed all the midwife’s skill. But she is well and is sleeping now.’
For a moment Humayun bowed his head, as joy and relief flooded through him in equal measure. Then from his pocket he drew a pod of precious musk that he had been saving for this moment and handed it to Gulbadan. ‘Take it to the birth chamber. Break it open in celebration and let the fragrance fill the room — let it be one of the first things my son smells on this earth. Tell Hamida that though it is all I can give her just now it carries not only my love but the scent of our family’s greatness to come.’
Chapter 14
‘I name you Akbar — it means “great” and great you will Ibe.’ As he spoke Humayun picked up a cream-coloured jade dish — a gift from the Rana of Umarkot — and gently showered Akbar’s head with the contents,
Now it was time for Hamida’s part in the ceremony. Propped on a divan she still looked exhausted — skin pale as ivory and deep shadows under her dark, luminous eyes. Though Humayun had suggested waiting until she felt stronger, she had said no. ‘Your men have been through so much for you. You owe it to them to show them your heir as soon as possible. It will bind them to you even more strongly.’ Carrying the squirming Akbar over to her, Humayun placed him in her arms. Simulating putting the child to her breast, she recited the words that had come down to the Moghuls from before even Timur, from the days of the Oceanic Ruler himself, Genghis Khan: ‘Drink, my son. Put your honeyed lips to my benign breasts and sweeten your mouth with the life-giving fluid.’
Discovering that he was not, after all, about to be fed, Akbar began to yell.As Hamida tried to quiet him, Humayun addressed his men once more. ‘With my astrologer Sharaf, I have cast my son’s horoscope. The date of his birth — 15 October 1542, with the moon in Leo — could not be more auspicious. A child so born will be fortunate and long-lived. We have suffered hardship and reverses. There are perhaps more dark times to come before we can reclaim what is ours but a glorious future beckons to Akbar and to us. Tonight we will feast and celebrate the victories to come.’ Again his men clashed their weapons. This time their chant was ‘Mirza Humayun’ but he turned away, heart too full for any more words.
Later, when they were alone again, Humayun watched Hamida pull down the neck of her robe and give Akbar her breast, looking tenderly down on his head with its soft fuzz of black hair as he sucked vigorously. The knowledge that he had a son filled him with unspeakable pride. In the days before Hamida, none of his concubines had, as far as he knew, borne him a child. Now, at thirty-four years old, he realised how much a son would satisfy his craving for some deeper purpose to his life.
‘Hamida. . ’ He paused, searching for words to express his feelings. ‘For the first time I feel I truly understand the depth of a father’s love. . how far it exceeds even that of a child for its parent. I have tried to be true to my own
