Ruler of the World

Hamida listened intently as he poured out his pent-up grievances and his frustrations. When he had finished she sat for a moment in silence, a frown puckering her still beautiful forehead beneath a thin gold circlet set with emeralds and pearls — one of his father’s last gifts to her. When at last she looked at him, her expression was sombre.

‘Even if some of your complaints are justified, how can you forget what Bairam Khan has done for our family? Perhaps I need to remind you. After your father saved his life in battle, Bairam Khan pledged himself to fighting for the Moghuls. Even when our fortunes were bleakest he kept faith with us, though he could easily have returned to Persia, to the shah’s service. After your father’s death, as you very well know, his determination and courage saved you and our dynasty.’

‘I know, but. .’

Hamida held up her hand to silence him. ‘It is natural, now that you are becoming a man, that his guidance irks you, and it is true that he can sometimes seem overbearing. But it’s far better to have an adviser who does not scruple to speak the truth than one who drips honeyed agreement with your every whim. You must learn patience. When you are eighteen will be the time to think of taking power fully into your own hands and ruling without a regent. Until then, wait, watch and learn. It is only since the victory over Hemu that you have shown any interest in government. Before that, however hard I and Bairam Khan tried, you weren’t interested. When there were council meetings you knew you should attend, you played truant, going off to race camels or hawking with Adham Khan. Even now you spend more time with your women than studying the real needs of your empire. I don’t blame you. The pleasures of the haram are sweet. A young man needs to satisfy his desires and it must be flattering to have so many women competing to fulfil your every wish. But ask yourself whether you are truly ready to take full control or whether it is just the arrogance and impetuosity of youth speaking.’

‘I am ready. .’

‘No, don’t interrupt. Listen. That is exactly what I meant about too much haste. And perhaps your impatience — your lack of concentration — is why you still cannot read. Every tutor we appointed to teach you gave up in despair. Bairam Khan himself tried to instruct you but you wouldn’t attend. Your father and his father before him were scholars as well as warriors. A good ruler should be in command of everything, including himself.’

‘That’s unfair.’ Why had she changed the subject? How many times had he tried to explain to her that, whenever he looked at a page, the words seemed to move about, becoming such a jumble he couldn’t make sense of them? But this was something his mother, a great reader herself, couldn’t seem to grasp. He rose to his feet. His conversation with Hamida had not gone as he had intended. The sooner it was ended the better. He had expected her unquestioning support and instead she had first attacked, then side-tracked him. ‘Thank you for your advice,’ he said stiffly.

‘Akbar, don’t be offended. I spoke only for your own good. You will be a great emperor and I am so proud of you. You excel with every weapon. There is no better archer, rider, wrestler or swordsman than you. You are fearless, open-hearted and generous in spirit. You have the ability to make your people love you. But you must learn to be patient and tread carefully with those closer to you who do not immediately bow to your will. And above all, remember whom you have to thank for so much of the good that has come to you.’

Akbar stood silent and straight-backed as she got up and kissed his forehead. Dismay that she thought him heedless and ungrateful mingled with anger that, like Bairam Khan, she too should treat him like a thoughtless, pleasure-loving youth, grabbing for power he didn’t yet fully comprehend, never mind merit. Flinging open the doors himself, he strode quickly back to his own apartments. He shouldn’t resent his mother’s words but he couldn’t help it. Why didn’t she understand? She had let him down.

He was still brooding when, a little later, his qorchi entered. ‘What is it?’

‘Maham Anga asks that you visit her.’

What did his milk-mother want? a surly-faced Akbar wondered as he approached the silverleaf-covered doors leading to her apartments. Perhaps Hamida had asked Maham Anga to join her in urging patience and moderation on him. If so, their meeting would be short — he didn’t need another lecture. But Maham Anga’s face as she greeted him showed only affection and concern.

‘These past weeks I’ve noticed you’ve looked troubled, and my attendants tell me that earlier this evening you left your mother’s apartments abruptly, as if in anger. Akbar, what is wrong?’ Her clear, hazel eyes looked into his and her voice was as softly coaxing as when he’d been a child. She had always listened to him, always understood. . He found himself pouring out his grievances anew. She listened attentively and without interrupting, just occasionally nodding her head. When at last he fell silent, Maham Anga’s first question was, ‘What did your mother say when you told her this?’

‘Just to be patient.’

‘She is right, of course. It isn’t wise to act precipitately and you still have much to learn.’ His milk-mother was going to agree with his mother, thought Akbar. But then Mahan Anga continued, ‘That is why I wished to talk to you. I too have been growing anxious. I see that you are becoming ready to rule and that Bairam Khan — great man though he is — does not wish to acknowledge it.’

‘He doesn’t wish to give up his power. Since my father’s death he’s been emperor in all but name. .’ The words came rushing out. ‘Now he feels his power slipping from him. He resents it when I assert myself, like when I decided to move my capital here, to Agra.’

‘Perhaps he does think of himself as emperor. I know he makes appointments to imperial posts from among his followers without securing your permission. What is more, I hear,’ she said, dropping her voice as she went on, ‘he has recently been exercising even more of an emperor’s privileges. Akbar, there is something you should know, but first you must promise to tell no one that this information came from me.’

‘Of course. What did you mean about Bairam Khan and an emperor’s privileges?’

‘I am told he has been enriching himself from the imperial treasuries. In particular that he took a valuable diamond necklace with a jewelled peacock for its clasp from booty found in Hemu’s camp after your great victory at Panipat. Hemu’s vizier had listed it in his ledgers as among his master’s greatest treasures but none of your officials could find it. As a result, some soldiers who were supposed to have been guarding the chests of booty were flogged for their negligence.’

‘And you are certain that Bairam Khan took it?’

‘Yes. At first I didn’t believe the stories — unfounded rumours always abound at court, and in particular in the haram where sometimes there is little to do but gossip. But several weeks ago your milk-brother said he had a story that would amuse me. He told me of a concubine who until recently had been in Bairam Khan’s haram and had seen this necklace with her own eyes — indeed she had worn it. It seems that Bairam Khan likes his favourite of the moment to wear it when naked in his presence. My son didn’t realise the significance of his story — he just thought I’d laugh to hear about Bairam Khan’s habits. I said nothing and he has no idea I recognised the necklace from his description.’

‘I can’t believe Bairam Khan would do such a thing.’

‘Perhaps he doesn’t see it as theft. Perhaps he thought it was his right. After all, he has been regent for four years, and power does strange things to people, Akbar.’

‘But why take the necklace in secret? Why let others suffer?’

‘A good question.’

Akbar thought for a moment. Maham Anga had no reason to lie. She had only mentioned the story after hearing of his concern. Bairam Khan was clearly becoming addicted to his power and the perquisites it brought. His mind was made up. ‘Maham Anga, what you have said convinces me even more that I must break his hold over me.’

‘In the time of your grandfather and father, a man would have paid with his life for deceiving the emperor.’

‘What?’ Akbar stared at her aghast. ‘No. There is no question of that. I owe Bairam Khan everything and I would still trust him with my life. I do not even begrudge him the diamond necklace, however splendid. But I must be rid of his power over me. I must rule myself.’

Maham Anga seemed to reflect for a moment. ‘Well then. . When your father wished to be rid of your traitorous uncles he sent them on the pilgrimage to Mecca. Bairam Khan is in Delhi at the moment inspecting the defences, isn’t he? Send a letter to him there. Tell him how much you value his devotion to your interests but say that you fear he has been exhausting himself in the service of the empire. Say that you wish him to make the haj so that his mind and body may be refreshed and he may pray for the security and