durable as the stone of which it would be built. Not only would it be a fitting tribute to Shaikh Salim Chishti but a memorial to Moghul greatness.
The number of labourers working on the construction of Sikri was, according to Tuhin Das whom Akbar had appointed as superintendent of construction, already over thirty thousand and still growing. Every day beneath the burning sun, a long line of men and some women toiled up and down the specially constructed road of packed earth leading to the plateau, carrying equipment up to the summit and bearing away rubble and debris in baskets balanced on their heads. From a distance they resembled lines of ants, moving with ceaseless patience and industry from the first pale light of dawn to the crimsoning sunset. They were scantily clad — the men in grimy
It was an army of quite a different sort from any he had ever commanded, Akbar thought as he rode on one of his frequent tours of inspection with Tuhin Das, who was looking around him with satisfaction. ‘See, Majesty, how much progress has already been made with levelling the land ready for the building to start. Soon we will be able to dig the first foundations.’
‘And the quarrying of the sandstone?’
‘Two thousand rough slabs have already been cut and next week we will begin transporting them here by bullock cart so that the carvers may begin their work.’
‘I’ve an idea that might make the work proceed even faster. We have detailed designs for everything, so why not have the main pieces carved at the quarry, building by building, and then, when they are ready, brought to Sikri to be fitted into place?’
‘An excellent thought, Majesty. That should indeed make the buildings quicker to assemble and lessen the clamour and congestion on the construction site itself.’
‘I want every worker well paid for their labour. Announce that I am doubling the daily wage and that, if progress continues at a good pace, once a week there will be a free distribution of corn from the imperial granaries. I wish them to go at their work with unflagging vigour, and I also intend to set an example.’
‘How so, Majesty?’
‘Take me to the quarries. I intend to cut stone alongside my subjects to show them their emperor does not flinch from hard manual labour. .’
Two hours later, sweat running down his naked torso and a frown of concentration on his face, Akbar swung his pickaxe. Just as when he flung a battleaxe or a spear, his aim was good. The sharp tip found its mark again and again, biting into the line drawn with charcoal across the slab and creating a furrow into which the skilled stonemasons would then be able to hammer their chisels to cut a clean edge. It was exhausting work — tomorrow his muscles would be as tight and stiff as after a hard-fought battle — but he had seldom felt happier. Destiny intended great things for him, but for once it was good just to be an ordinary man, glorying in his youth and strength and with no worry for the future.
Chapter 11
‘Majesty, by the time you return from your campaign in Gujarat the city walls will be nearing completion,’ Tuhin Das told Akbar as, together with Abul Fazl, they rode around the walls of Sikri — which currently stood only six feet high — to inspect the progress of construction.
‘Take care what you promise,’ Akbar responded. ‘I intend my campaign to be a short one. I have learned much from Ahmed Khan and others who accompanied my father on his conquest of Gujarat nearly forty years ago. It was only because of Sher Shah that we were forced to relinquish the territory. This time I intend that Gujarat will remain Moghul for ever.’
‘The holy pilgrims who cross from Cambay and Surat to Arabia will shower great praise on Your Majesty if they can travel in safety. The lawlessness that attends the rivalries in the Gujarati royal family has made life difficult for travellers, whether their purpose be spiritual or worldly,’ Abul Fazl’s mellifluous voice broke in. ‘Once Gujarat rests in Moghul hands again, I am sure that port taxes will provide a bountiful source of revenue.’
‘You are right, Abul Fazl. Gujarat is still a rich state. I intend to bring back much wealth and booty to assist in your ornamentation of Sikri, Tuhin Das.’
‘Thank you, Majesty, and may good fortune accompany you on your campaign,’ Tuhin Das replied.
‘I trust so too, but I hope I have left little to providence in my preparations.’
With that Akbar turned, leaving Tuhin Das and Abul Fazl to decide what to record in the chronicle, and rode down towards the wide plain where his army was encamped beneath the ridge on which his new city was rising. As he approached, he could see puffs of smoke emerging from the long weapons of his musketmen as their officers drilled them to fire in mass volleys for maximum effect. Off to one side his artillerymen were toiling in the hot sun under the watchful eye of the Tajik officer Ali Gul, training to speed up their firing and reloading of the large new bronze cannon and siege mortars Akbar had ordered to be produced in his foundries. Always eager for any advantage from new innovations, he had experimented with a mortar so large and heavy that Ahmed Khan had told him it would require a team of a thousand oxen to move it. Even though Akbar knew that to be an exaggeration, he had decided not to take the monster weapon with him to Gujarat. If all went well — and he must make sure it did — any siege would be over long before it arrived and could be brought into action.
Directly in front of him Akbar saw Ahmed Khan and the bulkier figure of Muhammad Beg deep in conversation beside one of their command tents. As the two men talked, Ahmed Khan was as usual twisting the hair of his thin beard, now mostly silver, while the equally grizzled Muhammad Beg was waving his hand excitedly. Seeing Akbar ride up, the two veterans bowed.
‘What are you two arguing about?’
‘When we will have enough supplies to begin the campaign,’ said Ahmed Khan.
‘I was proposing a month’s delay, Majesty,’ said Muhammad Beg, ‘until we can be sure we have enough grain.’
‘In turn, Majesty, I was arguing that if we ride fast and light, as you intend, our requirements will be less. In any case, since we’ve already had promises of help from dissatisfied members of the divided Gujarati royal family, like Mirza Muqim, surely they can be counted on for some supplies. Besides, if the worst came to the worst we could live off the land.’
‘I’m with you, Ahmed Khan,’ said Akbar. ‘Prince Muqim’s call for me to intervene has already added legitimacy to our invasion — even if my father’s previous conquest of Gujarat wasn’t sufficient reason in itself — and I’m prepared to plan on his providing provisions and indeed troops. On that assumption when is the earliest we can move out?’
‘In a week’s time, Majesty,’ Muhammad Beg admitted.
‘So be it, then.’
‘Majesty, do you see that cloud of dust on the horizon? It must be a large body of men on the move,’ Ahmed Khan called as he rode with Akbar at the head of an advance detachment of his army through the ripening cornfields not far from the Gujarati city of Ahmedabad.
Akbar shaded his eyes with his gauntleted hand and stared at the billowing dust. It could only be the forces of Itimad Khan, self-styled Shah of Gujarat. It seemed Mirza Muqim had been right when at their rendezvous he had suggested that if Akbar rode hard he could intercept the shah near Ahmedabad as he set out to confront the Moghul forces. ‘It’s Itimad Khan’s men, I’m sure of it. If so, just as Mirza Muqim said, we have the advantage of surprise. .’
‘We’ll soon find out, Majesty. Shall I give the order to draw weapons and deploy into battle formation?’
‘Of course.’
