towards him he continued, ‘I want you to know that I and I alone am responsible for your blinding. No blame should attach to those who committed the deed. I acted as I did because I had lost faith that any clemency I showed would cause you to repent and I needed to protect my throne and the future of Akbar and of our dynasty.’ Humayun stopped and waited, half expecting a stream of invective from Kamran or even an attempt, despite his blindness, to attack him.
But after a short silence Kamran spoke in a subdued voice. ‘You have left me with my life but at the same time taken everything I cared about from me — my plans, my ambitions. I congratulate you. You can appear the great and merciful
Humayun said nothing and after a moment Kamran continued. ‘I don’t blame you. I have often scorned your mercy and know I deserved punishment. As I lay awake last night, praying for the pain in these now useless eyes to ease and reflecting that my life as I have always known it was over, another thought came into my mind. It was strange, but I felt almost a sense of relief. . the feeling that finally, after all these years, I could shake off the burden of earthly ambitions. I have one thing and one thing only to ask of you and I ask it sincerely.’
‘What is that?’
‘I do not wish to remain here, an object of contempt or of pity or even of any generosity you may wish to extend to me. Let me, like Askari, make the
‘Go,’ said Humayun, ‘go with my blessing.’ As he spoke he felt tears wet his cheeks. He was, he realised, crying partly from sadness at the loss of the innocent times he and his half-brother had so briefly enjoyed, partly for the years they had wasted in conflict when together they could have been recovering their father’s empire, and partly for the pain he had inflicted on Kamran the night before.
However, above all, his tears reflected a profound and transcending relief. He was now free to concentrate on achieving his ambition once more to be
Chapter 24
While the masseur kneaded the muscles of his upper back and rubbed sweet-smelling coconut oil into them, Humayun smiled as he remembered the first time — six weeks ago — that he had heard these words from an excited Ahmed Khan. Over the subsequent days the rumours had grown stronger, brought by travellers making the journey up through the Khyber Pass from Hindustan. Some had said that Islam Shah had died unexpectedly several months ago and that his supporters had been successful for a time in concealing the fact while they tried to agree on a successor. With each passing day and with each piece of news, renewed energy had pulsed through Humayun. He could feel a great opportunity to recover his throne opening up. Free of anxiety about threats to Kabul from his half-brothers if he left the city, he would grasp it and put an end to his long years of disappointment and exile.
Immediately, he had taken measures to prepare his army for action.At this very minute outside the walls of the citadel, his officers were drilling his musketeers to increase the speed and discipline with which they primed, loaded and fired their weapons. His recruiting agents were busy in the remotest valleys of his kingdom and beyond gathering additional recruits. The masseur now pummelling Humayun’s thighs and buttocks was also part of Humayun’s mental and physical preparation. To help plan his campaign he had begun to reread his father’s memoirs of his attack on Hindustan and to compare them with his own recollections of the invasion.
He had tried in conversation with his commanders, particularly Ahmed Khan, to understand where he had made mistakes in his own campaigns against Sher Shah and why he had succeeded elsewhere such as in Gujarat. Sitting alone in his apartments late one evening he had summed it up to himself. ‘Prepare well, think and act fast and decisively. Make your opponent respond to you and not the other way round.’
Over the years he had allowed himself to indulge once more in the wines of Ghazni and, since he had regained Kabul, just occasionally in the care-numbing relief of the opium pipe. Now, to sharpen his mind and toughen his body for the rigours of warfare, he was, after a great internal struggle and an enormous effort of will, abstaining entirely from both alcohol and opium. He had also taken up wrestling again and the masseur was readying him for his daily training contest. With a quick gesture to the man to cease his work, Humayun rolled over on to his back and stood up. He pulled on a pair of long cotton trousers, his only clothing for the fight, and made his way through some fine yellow muslin curtains into the next room. Here his opponent, a tall, heavily muscled Badakhshani, awaited him, similarly clothed and oiled.
‘Don’t hold back, Bayzid Khan.’ Humayun smiled. ‘You have taught me well. There’s a bag of coin in it for you if you can overcome me within ten minutes. Now let’s get on with it.’
The two men circled each other, waiting to see who made the first move. It was Humayun who darted forward to seize Bayzid Khan’s arm and try to throw him. However, Bayzid Khan twisted himself from Humayun’s grip and in turn grabbed Humayun’s shoulders to pull him off balance. Humayun resisted and the two men struggled, arms on each other’s shoulders, testing their strength. Then Bayzid Khan tripped Humayun with a swift kick of his foot to the back of Humayun’s knee. Humayun fell and Bayzid Khan launched himself to pinion him against the mat on the floor and end the contest.
But Humayun was too quick and rolled away. As Bayzid Khan landed on the mat, Humayun leaped on him and putting his knee in his back pulled both his arms out behind him. Hard as Bayzid Khan struggled he could not free himself. ‘Enough, Majesty. You have got the better of me for the second time.’
‘The first, I think. I strongly suspected that previously you let me win, but not on this occasion.’
‘Perhaps, Majesty.’
Humayun returned to his robing room and washed himself clean of the mixture of sweat and oil coating his body in the large copper bath of warm, camphor-scented water that his servants had prepared during the contest. As he dried himself with a rough cotton towel and dusted himself with sandalwood-scented chalk powder, he looked at his naked body in a nearby burnished mirror. His muscles were more toned and prominent than a month ago. His looks belied his forty-six years, he thought, and smiled with satisfaction. The exercise seemed to be helping him focus his mind and think more clearly. Certainly too he was making love more frequently.
With the help of his attendants, Humayun quickly dressed, ready to meet his counsellors. Minutes later, wearing a gold-belted navy tunic and a cream turban with a long peacock’s feather at its peak, he entered the council chamber.
‘What is the latest news from Hindustan, Ahmed Khan? Didn’t another caravan come in this morning?’
‘Yes, Majesty. It brought confirmation of what is for us good news. There can be no doubt that Islam Shah is dead. What is more, a rich merchant in today’s caravan says that fighting has broken out among three contenders for the throne in and around Delhi.With no proper authority dacoits have been robbing with impunity, invading the homes of the wealthy by night, stealing, raping and killing. The merchant concealed some of his treasure and packed the rest and brought his family on the arduous journey north to your realm to be safe until he sees what happens in Hindustan. Other members of the caravan substantiated his news with many circumstantial details of the chaos. One reported that when robbers could not remove valuable rings from the arthritic fingers of a rich old woman, they simply hacked off her fingers and left her to bleed to death.’
‘The fighting and lawlessness will give us the opportunity we have looked for to regain the throne and to bring back justice and order to the citizens of our rightful kingdom. What do we know about these three other contenders?’
‘One is Adil Shah, the brother of Islam Shah’s favourite wife — the mother of his only son, a boy of five years of age. Adil Shah is said to have been so drunk with ambition that oblivious of the ties of blood he entered the
Humayun blanched. Not even Kamran had stooped so low. ‘And the other two?’
‘The most powerful is a cousin of Islam Shah who has had himself proclaimed emperor as Sekunder Shar.
