Ruler of the World

bowls of marigold petals that stood on the balcony — anything with liquid in it. Just when he thought he was about to black out he felt the cold metal of the ewer. In his haste to grab it, he knocked it over. Bending forward he greedily lapped the water from the floor and at last managed to swallow the pellets down. He could hear a harsh, ragged rasping and it was some moments before he realised it was his own breathing.

Crawling slowly back towards the mattress, he lay down again, arms folded across his chest, hands tucked beneath his armpits, anything to try to get warm. But it was no good, he couldn’t stop shivering. Then he realised what it was — it wasn’t cold but fear. The darkness was filled with strange and terrible creatures. He could see them whirling around him trying to get close, to stupefy him with their fetid breath and steal him away to the dank, earthy graves they inhabited. He must get away before it was too late. . Somehow he managed to drag himself to his knees but then everything went black. .

‘Salim. . Salim. .’ Someone was wiping his face with a cool damp cloth but he twisted away. Suppose it was one of those creatures? ‘Stop fighting. It’s me, Suleiman Beg. .’ Salim felt a strong hand holding him down as the wiping resumed. Forcing his eyes open, he groaned as agonisingly bright sunlight hit them and clenched the lids shut again.

‘Drink this, now!’ Someone was none too gently forcing his mouth open and he felt the rim of something metal against his lower lip. Then his head was being tipped back and water was gushing down his throat. He felt he was drowning, but there was no mercy till at last he heard the clang of the metal cup as it was flung to the floor and rolled away.

Opening his eyes again, this time Salim managed to keep them open and found himself staring up into Suleiman Beg’s face. He had never seen his milk-brother so concerned or so strained. Salim sat up and tried to speak but couldn’t harness his body to do what he wanted. His lips wouldn’t move. He tried again and this time managed a little better, getting as far as ‘I feel’ before, suddenly and violently, a bitter, viscous fluid shot from his mouth. Ashamed, he turned aside from his friend and continued to retch on the floor until at last there was nothing left and his ribs felt as if he’d cracked them. ‘I’m sorry. .’

‘What are you apologising for? Being sick or the fact that you nearly killed yourself?’

‘What. . what. . do you mean? All I did was take opium. .’

‘How much?’

‘I don’t know. .’

‘And wine as well?’

Salim nodded. Putting a hand to his right temple, he found it sticky with congealed blood.

‘You struck your head on the stone balustrade. Look, there’s blood on it where you must have fallen against it,’ said Suleiman Beg, pointing at the red-brown smears.

Salim slowly shook his throbbing head. ‘I don’t remember anything about that. . All I recall is wanting more opium and not being able to find it. . then I was choking. .’

‘Your qorchi heard a crash. You’d forbidden him to enter your apartments so he came to find me. I found you sprawled on the balcony, shivering and shaking and bleeding. . I covered you with blankets and staunched your wound. Salim, you were lucky. .’

He stared at Suleiman Beg, trying to take in what he was saying, but he was starting to feel sick again.

‘I’ve been trying to warn you for weeks. Isn’t it enough to see the state your half-brothers are in? But you’ve descended faster, lower and more determinedly than even they’ve managed. You act irrationally. You lose your temper suddenly and violently. I heard you shouting at Khusrau a few days ago for no reason at all and saw how he looked at you. You’re alienating everyone around you.’ Suleiman Beg sounded really angry.

Salim remained silent, still fighting down the bile that was threatening to rise in his throat.

‘Why, Salim? Why do you do it?’

‘Isn’t the question why not?’ Salim replied at last. ‘At least opium and wine make me happy. I made a mistake about the quantity last night, that’s all. In future I’ll be more careful.’

‘You haven’t answered my question. Why are you setting out to ruin yourself?’

‘My father has no regard for me. My life has no purpose. Murad and Daniyal have the right idea. Why not enjoy myself and forget the rest?’

‘What do you mean by “the rest”? Your health, your sons, the future of your dynasty that used to matter so much to you? It’s the wine and the opium speaking, not you. Have the strength and courage to give them up and then see how you feel.’

Salim scrutinised Suleiman Beg’s flushed, earnest face. ‘I disappoint you, I know. Just as I disappoint my father. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry — do something about it. It’s a good thing your father’s been away on an inspection of Delhi and Agra and hasn’t seen you in this state. . You’ve got four weeks before he returns to Lahore. Use that time to cure yourself. You say your father despises you — well, don’t give him reason to.’

‘You’re a good friend, Suleiman Beg. . I know you mean well but you don’t understand how hard it is. My youth’s passing — my energies and talents are being wasted. .’

‘Don’t lose faith. You’ve told me so often what Shaikh Salim Chishti said to you. . that you wouldn’t have an easy life. . that he didn’t envy you. . but that one day everything you wanted would be yours. You should remember that. The Sufi was a wise man and your behaviour shames his memory.’

Salim could find no answer to what his milk-brother had said. ‘And you shame me, Suleiman Beg,’ he replied at last. ‘You are right. I mustn’t let self-pity destroy me. I will try to give up opium and drink, at least for a while, but I will need your help. .’

‘Of course. The first thing is to consult a hakim. I have already summoned one — a discreet man who is waiting outside.’

‘You were very sure you could convince me. .’

‘No, but I hoped I could.’

Half an hour later the hakim had finished pulling back Salim’s eyelids, checking the colour of his tongue and scraping it with a thin metal spatula, taking his pulse and running his hands over his body and back. During the examination he had said little but had looked increasingly concerned.

‘Highness,’ he said, closing up the leather bag in which he carried his instruments, ‘I won’t hide the truth from you. You tell me that last night you took a very large amount of opium. I can see that from your dilated eyes. But I can also tell that you drink to excess. You must give up both strong drink and opium, Highness, or you will become very ill. You might even die. Even now your hands are shaking.’

‘No!’ Salim held them out in front of him. He would show the hakim. But the doctor was right. They were trembling, his right hand worse than the left. However hard he tried, he couldn’t control the tremors.

‘Don’t despair, Highness. We are in time and you are young and strong. But you must do exactly as I say. Will you put yourself in my hands?’

‘How long will it take?’

‘That depends on you, Highness.’

Salim and Suleiman Beg were galloping along the banks of the Ravi beneath a pale November sun. Behind rode Salim’s huntsmen, every man looking cheerful at the prospect of a good day’s sport ahead. Suddenly a snipe flew out of the tall brown rushes. Salim rose in his stirrups and almost in a single movement reached for an arrow, fitted it to his double bow and fired. His hands were steady now and the snipe fell from the sky, wings fluttering futilely. It was six months since the night he had collapsed — six difficult months, particularly at first when his resolution had often faltered and he had returned to the twin consolations of opium and wine. However, he had struggled hard. Even now he occasionally lapsed, usually when his father had been particularly arrogant or dismissive. . But as he replaced his bow Salim vowed he would be strong, whatever the future held, whatever disappointments and setbacks he might suffer.

Part VI

Seizer of the World