at the end of the inner breakwater protecting the port of Cambay. The green Moghul banner flew above the chief buildings of the port, whose inhabitants had opened the wooden gates as soon as news of Ibrahim Hussain’s defeat had been brought back by fugitives from the battle down the coast. Ibrahim Hussain, wounded in the shoulder by a battleaxe, had surrendered and was now in a dungeon awaiting his fate.
How beautiful the sea was, rippling pewter-coloured beneath a sky in which the late afternoon sun was becoming obscured by purple clouds gathering on the western horizon. Suddenly Akbar decided he must experience the ocean himself, something he had never done before.
An hour later, he was standing in the prow of a fifty-foot-long dhow which was bucking up and down in waves which were increasing in height all the time. The dhow’s captain had warned Akbar that the dark clouds he had seen piling the horizon from the watchtower presaged a storm but Akbar had insisted on his putting to sea. Now the captain, a short, bandy-legged man, was shouting orders for sails to be furled and for men to lean on the tiller to keep the bows into the wind to allow the ship to ride out the squall. Beside Akbar, one of his young
Suddenly a particularly large wave shattered over the bows, soaking Akbar and Ahmed Khan at his side, with warm foaming water. Ahmed Khan himself was looking distinctly nervous as he turned to Akbar. ‘Majesty, let us move to a less exposed position. It would only be wise.’
Akbar, wet black hair blowing out behind him and legs slightly apart, braced against the unfamiliar motion, shook his head. ‘The pulsing ocean fills me with awe. Besides, the captain tells me the storm will soon abate. Ignorant of the ocean’s full strength I wanted to test myself on its waters and now, despite the dangers and discomforts, I am learning. . The crashing waves and seemingly limitless power of the ocean are a salutary reminder to me not to become vainglorious and over-confident. Although I have led great armies, won great victories, filled my treasuries and come to reign over vast millions — many more than any other ruler — I am still just a man, insignificant and transitory in the face of eternal nature.’
Chapter 12
‘That is fine carving. The tiger looks as if it could be about to spring upon me,’ Akbar said to the beaming craftsman who was standing by his side with a sharp chisel in one hand and a wooden mallet in the other. The two men were not looking at some of the excellent sandstone carving Akbar had seen on the buildings of Sikri on his return from his conquest of Gujarat. Instead, they were standing on a wooden quay on the bank of the River Jumna at Agra, gazing up at the intricately carved new figurehead of a river boat. ‘With the tiger at the prow, this vessel will make an excellent flagship in my campaign in Bengal.’
Almost as soon as Akbar had reached Sikri, messages had begun to arrive from his chief general in Bengal, Munim Khan. The first said that the young Shah Daud, who now ruled the area as a vassal of Akbar after the recent death of his father, had rebelled and seized the imperial treasuries and one of the main Moghul armouries, but that the general would punish him for his presumption. The second had been short on detail, merely stating that the campaign was proving more difficult than anticipated and asking for more troops. Before these could be despatched, a third message had arrived pleading for Akbar to come himself because there was a stalemate. Daud was occupying the fortress of Patna which the general was besieging but with insufficient forces to make his blockade secure.
Fresh from extending his empire to the western ocean, the idea of securing Bengal and its eastern shores as a full imperial possession had instantly attracted Akbar and without even pausing to consult his advisers he had despatched an immediate response to Munim Khan’s third letter. It had told him to maintain the siege as best he could without unduly hazarding his men while conserving his equipment and supplies until Akbar came. However, he had retained sufficient prudence to tell Munim Khan he would not set out until he had accumulated a sufficient force to make the outcome inevitable, as well as enough river transport to carry his army down the Jumna to Allahabad and then along the Ganges past Varanasi to Patna. This meant that he would not leave for at least three months and possibly more.
He had decided straight away that to impress those of his subjects who lived alongside the two great waterways of his empire, his fleet would be the most magnificent the rivers had ever seen. The very day he had despatched his message to Munim Khan he had called his engineers and shipbuilders to him. He had commanded the engineers to begin designing and building pontoons large enough and stable enough to transport his war elephants downriver, as well as ones strong enough to carry his largest cannon and their ammunition. He had ordered his shipbuilders to acquire as many river boats as possible for conversion into troop transports, and to build further vessels as fast as they could recruit the men and acquire the materials to do so.
Knowing his treasuries were filled not only with booty from Gujarat but also with the increased revenues from his reforms to the methods of tax collection, he had determined to fill his subjects with pleasure as well as awe and had ordered enough vessels to allow one to carry his orchestra of musicians on its deck, ready to play whenever called upon. Two others would be fitted out as floating gardens, full of bright flowers with sweet scents which the river breezes could waft to the shore. A fourth would be equipped as a platform for displays of fireworks by his magicians from Kashgar. For his own pleasure, one boat was to be modified to carry his favourite hunting dogs and leopards as well as his falcons and horses so he could go ashore to hunt whenever he pleased, and the very best craftsmen were to construct a large ship from teak to carry the favourite members of his
Finally, he had commissioned two kitchen boats. To allow his
‘Majesty, we cannot sail today,’ said Ahmed Khan. ‘The monsoon is at its height and the ships’ captains are worried that the force of the flood waters flowing so fiercely downstream will make it hazardous for us to cast off, to manoeuvre our vessels into formation and even to anchor with safety at the end of the day’s journey. Also, the deep mud and swamps on the riverbank will make it difficult for the squadrons of horsemen designated to accompany our passage to keep up with us.’
Akbar thought for a moment. Ahmed Khan was growing cautious with age. ‘No, I am determined that we will start today, even if we make slow progress. We will take as many precautions as we can, for example by only manoeuvring a single vessel at a time, but we will go. To set out and head down the river when others would not will only strengthen the impression of invincible power I intend to impart to all who witness our journey and to all those who come to hear of it, especially Shah Daud. Unless he is even more of a fool than I think him, he will have his spies monitoring our progress.’
An hour later, the rain had temporarily ceased and a watery sun was shining through piles of puffy white clouds. Akbar stood in the bow of his flagship, just above the ornately carved tiger’s head. As he watched, rowers naked except for cotton loincloths were sweating profusely as they bent their backs over the oars, rowing against the current to hold the large vessel as still as they could in midstream while, one by one, his riverboats were rowed and pulled by small boats into the current. There had been no incidents beyond a couple of small barges bumping, and he prayed that his whole campaign would go so well. He must make sure of it. It must not falter because he failed to take sufficient care in his planning, or in his oversight of how his commanders put his plans into practice.
The sheet lightning was flickering along the dark clouds piling the horizon as the line of servants carried up
