Brothers at War

‘You’re lying. It’s written on your face. If you do so again, I’ll have you put to the torture. Kamran, as the eldest, answer my question. Why did you seek to betray me?’

Kamran’s eyes — green as their father Babur’s had been — were slits as he looked up at Humayun on his glittering throne. ‘The plot was my idea — punish me, not them. It was the only way to redress the wrong done to us. As you yourself said, we are all Babur’s sons. Doesn’t the blood of Timur flow through all our veins? And through our grandmother Kutlugh Nigar the blood of Genghis Khan as well? Yet we have been left with nothing except to be your lackeys, to be sent hither and thither according to your whims. You treat us as slaves, not princes.’

‘And you behave — all of you, not just you, Kamran — like common criminals, not brothers. Where is your sense of loyalty to our dynasty, if not to me?’ Glancing up at an intricately carved wooden grille set high in the wall to the right of his throne, Humayun caught the flash of a dark eye. Doubtless Khanzada and probably his mother Maham were observing him from the little gallery behind it where the royal women, unseen themselves, could watch and listen to the business of the court. Perhaps Gulrukh and Dildar were also there, waiting in trembling anticipation for the sentence he was about to pronounce on their sons.

But now that the moment had come, Humayun felt strangely reluctant. Even half an hour ago he had been so certain what he would do — ruthless as Timur, he would order Kamran’s and Askari’s immediate execution and send Hindal to perpetual imprisonment in some far-off fortress. Yet looking down at the three of them — Kamran so arrogant and defiant, Askari and young Hindal plainly terrified — Humayun felt his anger ebbing. Their father had been dead only a few months, and how could he ignore Babur’s dying words? Do nothing against your brothers, however much you think they might deserve it. Just as in love-making, there was a time to be rigorous and a time to be gentle.

Stepping down from his throne, Humayun walked slowly over to his brothers and, starting with Kamran, embraced them.The trio stood before him, swaying slightly, expressions confused as they searched his face for the meaning of his actions. ‘It is not fitting that we brothers should quarrel. I do not wish to spill the blood of our house into the earth of this new land of ours — it would be a bad omen for our dynasty. Swear your loyalty to me and you shall live. I will also give you provinces to govern which, though part of the empire, you shall rule as your own, subject only to me.’

Around him, Humayun caught sounds first of astonishment and then of approval rising from his courtiers and commanders, and pride flooded through him. This was real greatness. This was truly how an emperor should act — crushing dissent but then showing magnanimity. As he embraced his brothers a second time, grateful tears shimmered in Askari’s and Hindal’s eyes. But Kamran’s green ones remained dry, and his expression was bleak and unfathomable.

Chapter 2

An Impudent Enemy

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,