Ruler of the World

‘To my great sorrow you have been brought up as a Moghul prince. Your tutors have stuffed your ears with tales of the valour of your great-grandfather Babur and of your grandfather Humayun — how they crossed the Indus river and conquered an empire.’

‘But my father is the Moghul Emperor of Hindustan. Surely I need to know the history of his people?’

‘Of course. But you also need to be told the truth. Your tutors praise the bravery and daring of the Moghul clans but never say that they stole from the Rajputs what was rightfully theirs.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You have been brought up by your father to believe this land is yours — but he is deceiving you just as through blind pride and arrogance he deceives himself. The truth is that Moghuls are no more than cattle thieves who sneak among the herds at night to steal the property of others. They took advantage of a moment of weakness in Hindustan to invade. They claimed that Timur’s conquest of Hindustan gave them the right to rule, but who was he but another uncouth barbarian raider from the north?

‘It is my people, the Rajputs — your people too, Salim — who are the true, indeed the sacred rulers of Hindustan. Just before Babur and his hordes poured down into our land from their mountainous wildernesses, the Rajput kings under Rana Sanga of Chittorgarh were forming an alliance to depose the weak, luxury-loving Lodi rulers and take Hindustan back for our people. Perhaps we had angered the gods and the Moghul invaders were our punishment, but we have paid in blood for any offence we gave.

‘Even after the Moghuls defeated the Lodi dynasty at Panipat, our people did not flinch from their warrior destiny. Babur derided them as infidels but they showed him how the Hindu warrior caste could fight. They attacked him at Khanua and nearly defeated him.’ Hirabai’s eyes glittered as if she too were a Rajput warrior bent on spilling blood.

‘You asked me whether you are a Moghul. You are — but only in part. Never forget that you are my son as well as Akbar’s and that royal Rajput blood — a thousand times more noble than Moghul blood — beats in your veins. The destiny that awaits you may not be the one you think. . Just as your father can choose which son he names as his heir, you have a choice too. .’

Salim stood in silence, too confused to know what he thought. Where did the truth lie between his mother’s bewailing of the fate of her people and his tutors’ glorious tales of the Moghuls? And where did it leave him? Was his mother hinting that his father might not choose his eldest son as his heir at the same time as suggesting that Salim might have to choose between his Moghul ancestry and his Rajput inheritance? But the latter made no sense, especially when he thought about his father’s pronouncements that all were equal within the empire and about the many Rajputs who served Akbar.

‘But Mother, members of your own family, the royal house of Amber, are in the service of the Moghuls — like your brother Bhagwan Das and your nephew Man Singh. They wouldn’t join my father if they thought it dishonourable.’

‘People can always be bought. . even Rajput nobility. I am ashamed of my brother and my nephew.’ Hirabai’s voice was cold and he could see that unwittingly he had offended her. ‘Leave me now, but think on my words.’

She turned away from him, back to her shrine, and kneeling down again within the halo of light from a circle of wicks burning in diyas began once more to pray. Salim hesitated a moment, then made his way slowly to the stone staircase and down to the courtyard below, Hirabai’s contempt for his father and the Moghuls still ringing in his ears. He had hoped for some answers from her but instead his head only echoed with fresh questions about who he was and who he would become.

Part IV

Allah Akbar

Chapter 15

‘You Will Be Emperor’

‘Where did you get those?’

Salim glared at Murad. Two pigeons, purple throats crimson with blood, were hanging from his half-brother’s silver belt, but Salim’s eyes were fixed on the double bow he was holding in one hand and the gilded quiver of arrows in the other.

Murad grinned. ‘I found them lying in the courtyard. I thought you didn’t want them. .’

‘You mean you stole them.’

Murad’s smile faded and he drew himself up. Though eleven months younger he was nearly two inches taller than Salim. ‘I’m not a thief. How was I supposed to know you still wanted them? You never come to the courtyard to join us in our exercises and trials of strength as you used to. You’re always skulking away somewhere. Daniyal and I hardly ever see you any more. Father says. .’

Salim took a step closer. ‘What does he say?’ His voice was low and his narrowed eyes were fixed on his brother’s face.

Murad looked a little taken aback. ‘Nothing really. . except that you spend too much time on your own. He was here just a while ago, watching me practise my archery. When I shot down the pigeons with this bow he said I was as skilful as he was at my age.’ He beamed with pride.

‘Give me back my bow and arrows.’

‘Why should I? You only want them now because I like them and can use them so well.’

‘I want them because they’re mine.’

‘Take them, then — if you can.’ Murad thrust out his square jaw.

Salim felt a surge of anger, and needing no further encouragement launched himself at his half-brother. Though Murad was heavier, he was the quicker. Using his momentum he pushed Murad to the ground, then leaping on top straddled him, locking his thighs hard against Murad’s ribs. Murad tried to poke his fingers into his eyes but he jerked back just in time and then got a hand on either side of his brother’s face. Grabbing hold of Murad’s long black hair he yanked his head up then thumped it hard against the paving stones. There was a satisfying crack and as he pulled Murad’s head up again to repeat the process he saw a thin smear of dark red blood on the stones.

‘Highnesses, stop!’ Hearing agitated voices and feet running swiftly towards them, Salim crashed his brother’s head once more against the stones. Then he felt strong arms pulling him off his brother. Glancing up, he saw it was Murad’s tutor. The man carried him a few steps away then released him. Panting hard and wiping the sweat from his face, Salim had the satisfaction of seeing Murad still lying groaning on the ground. That would teach him to challenge his older brother.

Daniyal had come running into the courtyard. His eyes in his round face looked startled but it seemed to Salim that his younger half-brother was looking at him with some admiration. At least he knew how to fight. . But as he looked round at Murad, who was sitting up now and holding his bleeding head in his hands, some of his elation began to ebb to be replaced by shame that he had lost his temper so completely. If he was honest, it wasn’t the fact that Murad had taken his bow and arrows that had so enraged him, even though they had been a gift from Akbar. It was hurt that his father should criticise him to Murad — and jealousy that they could even have such a conversation.

‘What has been going on?’ Hearing his father’s deep voice, Salim looked round and his heart began to pound.

‘He called me a thief!’ Then he attacked me as if he wanted to kill me,’ said Murad, who was now on his feet. ‘All because I borrowed his bow and arrows.’

‘You stole them. Then you said if I wanted them back I must take them. But keep them if they are so important to you.’

‘You are brothers. Salim, you in particular as the eldest should know better. Such scuffling isn’t seemly.’ Akbar’s tone was severe. ‘You both deserve to be punished for brawling like urchins from the bazaar. This time I