Humayun lowered his sword and wiped away the spittle. ‘I am pleased you recognise you deserve death but I’ll consult with my counsellors as to your fate. If you die it will be an act of cool justice and not hot vengeance.’ As he turned to leave, Humayun thought he saw a brief half-smile cross Kamran’s lips. Was he laughing at him for what he saw as his weakness or, after all, was he simply relieved that for the moment he would live?
When he turned back to look at Kamran again, his half-brother’s eyes were downcast once more, his face expressionless.
Humayun scrutinised his counsellors, gathered in his sunlit audience chamber. His own mood was dark. He needed to decide the fate of Kamran.To delay would be to appear weak. His counsellors too seemed grave as he began.
‘It is for me to take the decision whether my half-brother Kamran should live or die but I wish to seek your views. Undoubtedly he has been responsible for the death of many men in the rebellions he has raised against me. His opposition has weakened my power, delayed my plans to reconquer Hindustan, as well as exposed my son Akbar to danger. Yet he is my half-brother, my father’s son and of the blood of Timur. If I am to spill that blood I must do so only if I am convinced that there is no other course I can take and that his death is for the sake of justice and the benefit of my realm and its people. Give me your views.’
‘Majesty,’ Bairam Khan stepped forward, his voice firm and clear, ‘I think I speak for all of us here. There can be no doubt.Your half-brother should die for the sake of you, your son, your dynasty and us all. Kamran is not your brother, he is your enemy. Put aside any brotherly feelings you have for him. They have no place in a ruler’s decisions. If you wish to remain king and to achieve the ambition we all share of regaining the throne of Hindustan for yourself and your son there is only one course to take. Execute him. Am I not right, my fellow commanders?’
Without hesitation and as with one voice they answered, ‘Yes!’
‘Does none of you advocate any other solution?’ Humayun asked.
‘No, Majesty.’
‘Thank you. I will ponder your advice.’ Humayun walked straight from the room, his brow furrowed. The decision was not as easy as his counsellors suggested. They did not share Kamran’s blood as he did. Without thinking consciously of what he was doing, Humayun headed for the women’s apartments and when he got there went straight to Gulbadan’s room. His half-sister was sitting on a low gilt chair wearing a loose purple silk robe as her attendant pulled an ivory comb through her dark hair. As soon as she saw the expression on Humayun’s face, Gulbadan dismissed the woman. ‘What is the matter?’
‘You know they have captured Kamran once more and he is imprisoned in the dungeons?’
‘Of course.’
‘I am desperately searching my conscience as to what his fate must be. I realise that by all the normal conventions he deserves death for his many misdeeds and my advisers tell me unanimously that this time he must die. Often, when I’ve anticipated the moment he’d be in my power again, anger at him for his ill-treatment of Akbar alone has made me want to kill him myself, and Hamida — as Akbar’s mother — urges this upon me. However, when I become calmer I know I must not act in anger but for what is best for our empire. I remember our father’s injunction to do nothing against my brothers and I hesitate.’
‘I understand your dilemma,’ Gulbadan said, taking Humayun’s hand. ‘You have always been a man of your word. Remember how you honoured your promise to Nizam the water-seller that he could sit on your throne for an hour or two, despite the mutterings of your courtiers? Because you always keep your word, you sometimes fail to realise that others like Sher Shah who deceived you before the battle of Chausa — or indeed our half-brothers — will not.You have given Kamran so many chances and he has exploited your mercy so often that even I believe that his persistent wickedness negates any promise you ever made to our father. . ’ She paused. ‘If I am honest I think he should die. It would be best for the dynasty that our father fought so hard to establish. With Kamran gone you will be free to concentrate on the recapture of Hindustan.’
Humayun said nothing for a long time. At last he spoke very deliberately. ‘I know that in logic you are right. I know also our father always said I loved solitude too much. . but I must go to consider alone for a time before taking my final decision.’
‘Why not take our father’s memoirs with you to see if they offer you any solace or guidance? After all, he wrote them, as he put it, “to give guidance for living and ruling”.’
A few minutes later, Humayun climbed the stone stairs to the top of the highest watchtower on the walls of the citadel in Kabul. In his hand were his father’s memoirs which, in their ivory binding, he had preserved so carefully throughout all his vicissitudes. He had left Jauhar at the entrance to the watchtower with strict orders that no one should be allowed to enter. As he reached the top of the stairs and emerged on to the flat roof, Humayun felt that the day’s heat was dying. It would be dark in an hour. Perhaps he should wait until the stars came out to see what guidance they might offer him, but then he dismissed the idea. He had learned from the many trials and disappointments he had endured during his life that he could not abdicate responsibility for his decisions to the stars any more than he could to his advisers, his wife or his blood relations.
Babur had told him that he had discovered early that a ruler had to rule. This gave the ruler an unparalleled freedom and opportunity to fulfil his ambitions, but it also made his role an intensely lonely one. He had not only to take the decisions but to live with the consequences both in this life and when called to judgement in the life beyond.
As the light began to fade, Humayun opened his father’s memoirs at random. His eyes first fell on a paragraph which described how, during one of his campaigns, Timur had in a rare moment of mercy followed an older tradition among the dwellers on the steppes and had a powerful member of his own family who had been caught plotting an uprising blinded rather than killed to avoid creating a blood feud. Babur had commended this as a way of disarming a rebel and noted that such punishments still continued among many of the tribes and were considered just and proper.
Immediately, Humayun knew that this must be Kamran’s fate. His threat would be extinguished with his sight. No rebellious chief could ever again consider Kamran a rival to Humayun.Yet his half-brother would have time to consider and perhaps to repent before he was called to eternal judgement. Such a punishment would be harsh, but Humayun knew that in inflicting it he would be respecting his instinct to show some mercy and also be taking some account of his father’s injunction not to be provoked into unthinking violence against his half-brothers.
Closing the ivory covers of Babur’s memoirs, Humayun descended the stairs. ‘Call my advisers to me straightaway,’ he told Jauhar. Within five minutes they were standing around him. ‘I have decided that my half- brother Kamran must be blinded, both as a punishment for his consistent misdeeds and to obviate any threat he might continue to pose to my rule here and to our recovery of our possessions in Hindustan. The punishment will be carried out tonight an hour after sunset. I ask you, Zahid Beg, to take charge. I wish the method to be the quickest known to the
‘Majesty,’ reported Jauhar an hour and a half later, ‘it is done. The whole thing was over within five minutes or less of Zahid Beg’s six men entering the cell. Four of them each seized one of your half-brother’s limbs and held him to the ground. As he struggled and kicked, the fifth — a bear of a man — took hold of Kamran’s head in his great hands and held it still. The sixth took needles he had previously heated red hot in the flame and quickly pierced each of your brother’s eyeballs in turn several times. As Kamran screamed like a wild beast in his agony, the man rubbed lemon juice and salt into his eyeballs to ensure all vision was lost. Then he bound your half- brother’s eyes with clean, soft cotton bandages and told him that he had no more to endure. Then they left him to contemplate both his punishment and that he was to live — albeit an impaired life. . ’
The next evening, just before prayers, Kamran was led into Humayun’s presence. His eyes were no longer bandaged and on Humayun’s orders he had been washed and clothed in garments befitting a Moghul prince of the blood. Humayun dismissed the guards and spoke softly to Kamran.
‘It is I, Humayun, your half-brother. I give you my word we are alone.’ As Kamran turned his sightless eyes
