‘I have decided to change how I govern. The imperial court is not as I would wish it.’
Humayun’s counsellors, sitting cross-legged in a semicircle before his gilded throne, stared in surprise. He saw Baisanghar and Kasim exchange puzzled glances before returning their attention to him. No matter. Soon they would understand the wonderful ideas that had come to him in his opium-induced dreams when, released from the everyday obligations of ruling, his thoughts seemed to flow with a crystal clarity. Everything that had been revealed to him had a purpose. Everything he had dreamed was indeed written in the stars. .
Humayun raised his right hand and his astrologer Sharaf, a thin, elderly, beak-nosed man dressed in sweeping brown robes, stepped forward holding a heavy leather-bound volume in his thickly veined hands. With a grunt of relief, he laid it on the white marble table inlaid with images of the planets that Humayun had had placed before his golden throne.
Humayun rose and leafed through until he found the page he was seeking. There in the hand of his ancestor, the great astronomer Ulugh Beg — Timur’s grandson — was a chart depicting the celestial movements of the planets and the stars. As he stared at the delicate drawing, the heavenly bodies seemed to start moving in stately progress, slowly at first but then gathering momentum so that they appeared to be chasing one another. He blinked and looked again and the page was still. . It must be the effect of the opium he had taken last night.The now familiar concoction mixed for him by Gulrukh and carried to his apartments by Mehmed must have been especially potent. He’d not woken until the sun was a spear’s length above the horizon and had chided Jauhar for not rousing him earlier on a day when he would reveal his insights.
Suddenly Humayun became conscious of the eyes of his counsellors watching him intently. He’d almost forgotten they were there. He drew himself up. ‘You know I have studied the never-ending motion of the planets and stars as did my ancestor Ulugh Beg. After much thought I have concluded that we can go beyond his researches and that the star charts and tables and the records of events long past, when interpreted with the aid of learned astrologers and one’s own power of pure thought, can provide a framework for living and even for ruling.’
By his counsellors’ expressions, Humayun saw they still had no idea what he was talking about. But then how could they? They had not seen what he had seen when — set free by Gulrukh’s potions — his mind had travelled through realms they could not begin to imagine. But they were about to learn of the great improvements he planned to make to his government.
‘I have come to realise that we can learn from the planets and the stars. Under God Almighty they govern us, but like a good master they can also teach us. Henceforward, I will only deal with certain matters on the days the stars designate as auspicious for them. . and I will dress appropriately. The stars tell us that today, Sunday, is governed by the sun whose golden rays regulate sovereignty. Therefore on Sundays, clad in bright yellow, I will deal with affairs of state. On Mondays — the day of the Moon and of tranquillity — I will be at leisure and wear green, the colour of quiet reflection. On Tuesdays — the day of the planet Mars, patron of soldiers — I will devote myself to matters of war and of justice. I will wear the red raiment of Mars, the colour of wrath and vengeance, and dispense both punishment and reward with lightning speed. Treasurers with purses will stand ready to reward any I deem worthy while guards in coats of mail and blood-red turbans will stand, axe in hand, before my throne to punish culprits instantly. .
‘Saturdays — the day of the planet Saturn — and Thursdays — the day of the planet Jupiter — will be devoted to religion and learning, and Wednesday — the day of the planet Mercury — will be a day of joy when we will make merry and wear purple. And on Fridays, dressed in blue like the all-embracing sky, I will deal with any matter. Any man or woman — no matter how humble or poor — may approach me. . All they need do is beat the Drum of Justice that I have ordered be set up outside my audience chamber.’
Humayun paused again. Kasim, who had been recording his pronouncements in his ledger, seemed to have halted in mid-sentence while Baisanghar was pulling with the fingers of his left hand at the metal hook that many years ago had replaced his severed right hand. The rest of his counsellors looked stunned by his pronouncement but they would come to accept his insights. In the mechanical movements of the stars and planets everything was in its properly ordained place. And that was exactly how the government of a great empire should be. Everything must be done in the appropriate way and at the appropriate time. .
After a minute or two Humayun continued slowly, his tone flat and formal. ‘I have also decided to reorganise my offices of government according to which of the four main elements — fire, air, water or earth — dominate them. The Office of Fire will be responsible for my armies. The Office of Air will deal with matters of the imperial kitchen, stables and wardrobe. The Office of Water will be responsible for everything to do with the rivers and canals of my empire, for irrigation and for the imperial wine cellars. And the Office of Earth will deal with agriculture and grants of land. And all actions, all decisions, must be taken in accordance with the guidance written in the stars to ensure everything is done in the most auspicious way. .
‘And you — my counsellors and courtiers — you will also have your place in this new structure. The stars tell us there are three classes of men. All of you, my nobles and officials and commanders, are Officers of State. But there are two other classes essential to the well-being and health of the empire — Good Men, which includes our religious leaders, philosophers and astrologers, and Officers of Pleasure who are the poets, singers, musicians, dancers and artists who beautify and embellish our lives, just as the stars decorate the sky. Each of these three classes will be divided into twelve ranks and each rank will have three grades — high, middle and low. In due course I will inform you to which rank and grade I have assigned you. . Now, leave me. I have much to think upon.’
Alone in his audience chamber except for Sharaf, Humayun again examined the star charts of Ulugh Beg, losing all sense of time as one hour flowed into the next. Not till the sun was beginning to sink, sending purple shadows creeping over the Agra fort, did Humayun lift his eyes from the pages. As he returned to his apartments a yearning for the dark opium-infused wine that unleashed his soul again welled up inside him and he walked more quickly.
‘Kasim, I did not realise how many hours had passed.’ Humayun rubbed his eyes and pushed himself upright from where he had been slumped on a purple-silk-covered divan. It was embroidered in gold thread with a network of stars and Humayun believed that, lying on it, he thought more deeply. ‘Are the council still assembled? What about the envoy from my governor in Bengal?’
‘The council broke up a long time ago. As for the envoy, you had already postponed your meeting with him several times because you did not consider the days well suited to such discussion and once — forgive me for mentioning it, Majesty — when you banished him from your presence for entering the audience chamber by the wrong door, thus rendering a discussion that day too inauspicious. The season for travel down the Jumna and the Ganges to Bengal is coming to an end and he could wait no longer. Therefore Baisanghar and I took the great liberty of offering guidance on your behalf on the level of taxes to be imposed and the number of troops to be raised. He went aboard his boat and the anchor was weighed two hours ago.’
For a moment Humayun felt anger that the two old men had usurped his authority.
‘Majesty, we can of course send another boat after him if you disagree with what we said.’
Kasim must have sensed his annoyance, thought Humayun. He’d been unjust.The envoy was both garrulous and tedious. He had delayed his audience with him deliberately, sometimes using excuses which seemed trifling even to himself. Humayun spoke softly. ‘I’m sure that when I hear in the morning what you and Baisanghar suggested I will agree, Kasim. Now leave me to rest and relax once more.’
Kasim seemed reluctant to do so, shifting from foot to foot and fiddling with a golden tassel on his robe. Then he made his mind up and spoke. ‘Majesty, you know for how long I have loyally served you and your father.’
‘Yes, and I appreciate it.’
‘Therefore may I take advantage of my years of experience to proffer you some advice? Majesty, you indulge in opium. Your father enjoyed it too, as well as wine and bhang — marijuana.’
‘So?’
‘Some of us have more tolerance of such things than others. Even when I was young, bhang could prevent me from working for days so I abstained from all such potions despite your father’s urgings. Perhaps they have more effect on Your Majesty than you realise.’
‘No, Kasim. They help me to think and to relax. Is that all you’ve got to say?’
‘Yes, but please remember even your father did not indulge every day, particularly when he had important business to transact.’As Kasim bowed and turned to leave, Humayun saw an expression of deep anxiety on his lined face. His concern was genuine. It had cost the self-effacing, reticent old man much to make his little speech. Humayun could not be angry with him.
‘I will give thought to your words, I assure you.’
Humayun looked with satisfaction at the huge circular carpet woven in silk blue as the sky that attendants were unrolling before his throne. The series of circles — outlined on the carpet in red, yellow, purple and green chain stitch and representing the planets — were placed exactly as he had ordered. He would reward the weavers well for their skill and the speed with which they had brought his ‘Carpet of Council’ to life.
The idea had come to him only a month ago during a particularly vivid dream — indeed his drugged sleep after drinking Gulrukh’s opium and wine seemed to be growing ever more marvellous and revelatory. One of the stars had actually seemed to speak to him, telling him to make such a carpet so that — when advising him — his counsellors could stand on the planet most appropriate to the business in hand. He had had the weavers work on the carpet in secret, taking it in turns so that the looms were moving every hour of the day. He had not spoken of the carpet to anyone except Sharaf — not Baisanghar, nor Kasim nor even Khanzada. Let it be a surprise to them as it would be to the rest of his council, whom he’d summoned to join him here.
Before long his counsellors were assembled. As it was a Wednesday, their robes, like Humayun’s, were a bright purple and their sashes orange. Humayun smiled to see their curious glances fall on the shimmering circle of pale blue spread out before him. Baba Yasaval was scrutinising it in frank puzzlement.
‘I have summoned you here to see this wondrous carpet. It represents the sky above us. These circles are the planets — see, here is Mars and Venus and Jupiter — and, over here, we have the moon. When you have something you wish to say to me, you must stand on the appropriate circle. For example, if you wish to speak to me of army matters, you must stand on Mars. That will help the planets to guide you. .’
Humayun looked around but suddenly found the faces of his counsellors hard to distinguish — was that Kasim, forehead wrinkled in thought, over there?. . He couldn’t be sure. . everything around him seemed a little blurred. Maybe his eyes were weary from studying the star charts or straining into the heavens when, at night, he climbed to the battlements of the Agra fort to contemplate the stars.
But after a moment everything slid back into focus. Yes, that was Kasim watching him thoughtfully and there was Baba Yasaval looking nonplussed, perhaps unable to comprehend the power of the carpet’s symbolism. But what about Asaf Beg? He seemed to be laughing — a disdainful curl to his lip — as he surveyed Humayun’s carpet. His expression as he raised his face to look full into Humayun’s seemed more than a little mocking. Anger ran like a flame through Humayun. How dare this ignorant petty chieftain from Kabul make fun of his emperor?
‘You there!’ Humayun rose and pointed a trembling finger towards Asaf Beg. ‘You are impudent and you will pay for your disrespect. Guards — take him into the courtyard outside and give him fifty lashes. Think yourself lucky, Asaf Beg, that you are losing only the skin off your back and not your head.’
There was a collective gasp followed by shocked silence. Then a voice spoke. ‘Majesty. .’
Humayun swung round, determined to tolerate neither contradiction nor criticism, but saw that it was Kasim who had spoken. At the real concern showing again on the face of the man whom he trusted and who had served both his father and himself well, Humayun’s rage began to ebb. At the same time he realised his breathing was ragged, his pulse was racing and his forehead was beaded with sweat.
‘What is it, Kasim?’
‘I’m sure that Asaf Beg meant you no disrespect, Majesty. . I beg you to reconsider.’
Asaf Beg, pale and with no trace of a smile now on his wide mouth and usually cheerful face, was gazing pleadingly at Humayun. To be publicly flogged would bring terrible shame on him and all his clan, Humayun knew. He also recalled Asaf Beg’s bravery in battle. He was already regretting his action.
‘Kasim — you speak well, as always. Asaf Beg, I pardon you. But do not test my patience again or you will not find me so merciful.’ Humayun rose — the signal for his council to disperse, which they seemed to do more quickly than usual. As he sat down again Humayun found himself shaking. The carpet had lost its lustrous charm. It was growing late. Perhaps he should return to his apartments to rest. But as he entered them, he was surprised to find Khanzada waiting for him.
‘What is it, Aunt?’
‘Dismiss your attendants. I must speak with you alone.’
Humayun gestured to his servants and to Jauhar to leave. The double doors had barely closed behind them before she began. ‘I witnessed what happened at the council meeting from behind the jali screen. Humayun. . I had not thought it possible. . first you behaved like a man in a trance and then like a lunatic. .’
‘My council do not always understand that what I am doing is for the best, but you should. It was you who first taught me the value of display to a ruler — you who suggested the weighing ceremony and encouraged me to use ritual as an aid to governing. .’
‘But not to the exclusion of humanity or reason. .’
‘Under the tutelage of the stars I have devised new patterns and new procedures. Government will become simpler. If my counsellors and advisers follow my guidance the tedium of time spent in the audience chamber will be reduced, leaving me free for the further exploration of the unplumbed depths of the heavens.’
‘Forget the stars.You’re obsessed with them and are losing your hold on reality. I’ve tried to warn you before but you wouldn’t hear. Now you must or you risk losing everything you’ve striven for — everything your father achieved. . Humayun, are you even listening to me?’
‘Yes, I am.’ But Khanzada was wrong, he was thinking. . only in the patterns of the stars and the planets could he find the answers to other questions that had long fascinated and tormented him. Whether everything was somehow predestined by the heavens? Whether his father’s early death had been part of some greater plan? How much of a man’s destiny rested in his own hands? How much was preordained, like the position and the family into which he had been born and the responsibilities and privileges that flowed from it? And how could he know. .? An old Buddhist monk whom he had visited in his youth in the monk’s solitary retreat by one of the great statues of the Buddha — cut into the cliffs of the Bamian Valley a hundred miles west of Kabul — had told him that, given the precise date, time and place of his birth, he could foretell not only the course of his life but as what animal he would be reincarnated in the next. The idea of reincarnation was nonsense to him, but what of the rest? Of one thing he was already sure — that with the star charts and tables and records of events long past that he spent so much time studying and that in his opium-fuelled dreams came alive for him, he could create a framework for living and ruling and was already well along the way to doing so.
‘Humayun! Won’t you even answer me?’
Khanzada’s voice seemed to be coming from far off and as he stared at her she seemed to diminish in stature, becoming a little doll animatedly waving her arms and waggling her head. It was almost comic.
‘You smile when I speak of the danger you are in. .’ Khanzada’s firm grip on his arm, the sharpness of her nails digging into his flesh, brought him back to reality. ‘You will hear me out. There are things that must be said. . that perhaps only I can say. . but remember I speak only from love.’
‘Say what you wish.’
‘Humayun, you spend your days fuddled with opium.You used to be a ruler, a warrior.What are you now but a dreamer, a fantasist? I never thought I’d have to say these words to you. . but a leader must be strong, he must be decisive. His people must know that they can look to him at all times. You know that. How many times in the past have you and I not discussed such things? Now you seldom visit me. . And when I look around the court, I see expressions of fear and uncertainty and hear uneasy laughter behind your back. Even to those who’ve known and served you long and loyally — like Kasim and Baba Yasaval — you’ve become like a stranger. They no longer have confidence in your judgement. They never know how you will react — whether you will approve their actions or whether you will be angry. Sometimes they can get no coherent guidance or direction from you for hours. . even days. .’
Never before had Khanzada spoken to him in this way and he felt resentment stir. ‘If you or my courtiers disapprove of my decisions and of how I choose to govern my empire, it is because you do not understand. But in time you will come to see that everything I’m doing is for the best.’
‘Time is not on your side. If you do not rule as you should, the eyes of your nobles and commanders will turn to your half-brothers — to Kamran in particular. Think, Humayun. He’s only a few months younger than you and has already proved himself an able warrior and a strong governor of his province. Babur’s blood and Timur’s too flows through his veins just as it does through yours.You know he is ambitious — ambitious enough to have already plotted against you.You have no reason to think he won’t do so again. Hasn’t it occurred to you to wonder why Gulrukh has insinuated herself into your favour, why she plies you with that brew of hers? Instead of gazing into the infinite mysteries of the stars it better befits an emperor to peer deep into the minds of those around him. Remember what I once told you. . always to look for the motive. Gulrukh could never encourage open revolt against you in favour of Kamran and Askari. . how much cleverer and more subtle of her to undermine you gradually with opium. And as your powers weaken and fade and your subjects begin to despise the ruler they once admired, what would be more natural than for them to turn to one of her sons? Remember also the fate of Ulugh Beg. When he — like you — became obsessed with the stars and what they could tell him about the purpose of life, one of his sons had him murdered and took his throne.’
‘You speak out of anger and jealousy. You resent the fact that I have taken your thoughts on ceremony and, with the stars’ aid, improved them beyond your narrow comprehension. You resent my not needing you as I once did, that I am a grown man who takes his own decisions and has no need of the advice of women — not yours, nor Gulrukh’s nor any of you. . You should know your place — all of you.’
Khanzada’s gasp told him how much he had hurt her, but she needed to be reminded of certain things. Much as he loved and respected her, he, not she, was emperor and he would decide how he would rule.
‘I have done my best to warn you. If you choose not to listen there is no more I can do. .’ Khanzada’s voice was low and measured but he could see a vein throbbing in her temple and that her body was trembling.
‘Aunt. .’ He reached out to touch her arm but she turned away and making for the doors flung them open herself. Calling to her two women who were waiting for her, she hurried away down the torch-lit corridor. Humayun stood for a moment in silence. He’d never quarrelled with Khanzada before, but what he’d said had been necessary, hadn’t it? The stars and their messages could not be ignored. A man — even one as powerful as an emperor — was as nothing compared to the seemingly never-ending cycles of movement of the stars within the fathomless universe. If he followed their signs his reign would surely prosper.
And what his aunt had said about Gulrukh. . that was also wrong. Of course, like all those at court she wanted the emperor’s good will. Maybe she hoped that by pleasing him she’d secure favours and privileges for her sons, his half-brothers Kamran and Askari. . but that was all. The mind-expanding journeys on which Gulrukh’s dark, opium-laced wine took him were her gift to him and he would not, could not give them up. .not when they were bringing him ever closer to unravelling the mysteries of existence.
‘Let whoever is striking the drum approach. Today is Friday — the day when I am ready to dispense justice to even the most humble of my subjects.’ Humayun smiled as he sat on his high-backed throne. This was the first time in the six months that it had been sitting outside his audience chamber that anyone had struck the great ox-hide drum to demand justice of the emperor. At the beginning the sound had been faint and uneven and for a moment had seemed to stop entirely. Then Humayun had heard it again. Whoever was beating the Drum of Justice seemed to have taken courage. The booms had grown louder and more frequent. He’d known this moment would come just as — in time — his ministers would accept the reforms he was making. Even old Kasim, standing so solemn-faced by the side of his throne, would acknowledge he’d been right.
The footsteps of six of his blue-turbaned bodyguards rang on the stone floor as they marched out to the courtyard. When they returned, a young Hindu woman in a red silk sari with a red tilak mark on her forehead was with them. Her long dark hair was streaming unbound over her shoulders and her expression was both nervous and determined. The guards brought her to within ten feet of the throne and she knelt before him.
‘Rise. The emperor is ready to hear your request,’ said Kasim. ‘You may be assured that you will receive justice.’
The woman glanced uncertainly at the glittering, bejewelled figure of Humayun on his throne as if she could not quite believe she was in his presence. ‘Majesty, my name is Sita. I am the wife of a merchant in Agra. My husband deals in spices like cinnamon, saffron and cloves. A week ago he was returning to Agra with a small mule train carrying goods he had purchased in the markets in Delhi. Two days’ ride from here — near our holy Hindu city of Mathura — he and his men were attacked by dacoits who robbed them of everything they were carrying — even stripping the clothes off their backs. The dacoits were about to ride away with the mules when a party of your soldiers came riding by. The soldiers killed the dacoits but instead of restoring his goods to my husband they jeered at him. They said that he was bleating like a sheep and that was how he deserved to be treated. Cutting the ropes with which the dacoits had bound him, they made him run naked and barefoot over the hot sand, chasing him on horseback and mocking and pricking him with the tips of their spears. When finally they had tired of their sport, they rode off leaving him lying exhausted and bleeding in the dust.And with them they took all my husband’s mules with their precious cargo of spices. .’
Sita’s voice was trembling with anger and indignation but she raised her chin and looked Humayun squarely in the face. ‘I seek justice for my husband. He is a loyal subject of Your Majesty and no longer young.Your soldiers should have protected not abused him. Now he is lying at home covered in festering wounds inflicted by them. .’
Kasim stepped forward, ready to question the woman, but Humayun waved him back. The soldiers’ behaviour reflected on his dignity. He must be like the sun to his subjects. His light and warmth must fall on them all but this poor merchant had been cast into the darkness. .
‘What more can you tell me of these soldiers? Do you know their names?’
‘My husband said that one of them called their leader Mirak Beg and that he was a tall, broad man with a broken nose and a white scar disfiguring his lip.’
Humayun knew Mirak Beg — a rowdy, hard-living chieftain from Badakhshan who had marched with Humayun and his father to invade Hindustan. He had distinguished himself at Panipat, leaping from his horse on to the back leg of a war elephant and hauling himself up the beast to kill enemy archers who’d been firing arrows at Humayun’s men from the howdah on its back. But past bravery was no excuse for present crimes. Mirak Beg must answer for his lawlessness.
‘If what you have told me is the truth, I will give you justice. Go home now and await my summons. Kasim — find Mirak Beg and bring him before me as soon as possible.’
Rising, Humayun rushed from the audience chamber. He felt sick. His head was aching again — these sharp stabbing pains behind his eyes were becoming more and more frequent and so too were the tricks his eyes were playing, making it hard for him to focus. He needed more wine and opium to soothe away the pain, relax his mind again and free him from the mundane obligations of the court.
Dressed in blood-red robes as befitted Tuesday, the day governed by the planet Mars, Humayun looked down at Mirak Beg’s defiant face. Though hauled into the audience chamber in chains, he was somehow managing to maintain his usual swaggering air. His dark eyes were fixed on Humayun’s face and he seemed not to have noticed the executioners standing ready with their freshly oiled axes or the dark red blood staining the Stone of Execution — the giant slab of black marble that had been placed to the right of the throne and on which four of Mirak Beg’s wildly struggling men had just had their right hands chopped off and the stumps cauterised with red-hot irons. The smell of their burning flesh still filled the air, even though they had been led out.
‘I have left you till last, Mirak Beg, so that you could witness the punishment meted out to your soldiers. Though they did wrong and have paid the price, you, as their leader, bear the responsibility for their shameful acts.You have freely admitted your guilt but that will not save you. . Your acts have put a stain on my honour that only your death will cleanse.What is more, you will not die by the axe. The means of your execution will fit your crime. Woman — come closer.’
Humayun gestured to Sita, the spice merchant’s wife, who wrapped in a dark blue sari was standing to one side. She had not flinched from watching the amputations and now she would see true imperial justice, Humayun thought. The punishment he was about to pronounce on Mirak Beg had come to him in his dreams and its appropriateness pleased him. It would come as a surprise to all — he had not even told Kasim or Baisanghar, both standing by the throne and, like the rest of his courtiers, dressed in red as he had commanded.
‘On your knees, Mirak Beg.’ The chieftain looked almost surprised as if until now he’d not believed Humayun would kill him. The white scar on his upper lip almost disappeared as the blood seemed to drain from his face, which now had a waxy sheen. He licked his lips, then, finding his courage again, spoke out firmly for all to hear.
‘Majesty. . I fought for you at Panipat and later in Gujarat. . I have always been loyal to you. All I did was seek some sport with a fat, cowardly merchant. That does not merit death. I and my men are warriors, yet since Gujarat you’ve given us no fighting. . no conquests. . you spend your time eating opium and gazing at the stars when you should be leading your armies. That’s what we came from our homeland for. . that’s what you promised us. . the sound of our horses’ hooves pounding on the earth as we rode from victory to victory. .’
‘Enough!’ Raising his hand, Humayun signalled to the two executioners. They put down their axes and one of them picked up a small sack that had been placed against a nearby pillar. Then, as Humayun’s guards held Mirak Beg by the shoulders, one of the executioners went behind him, wrenched back his head and forced his mouth open. The other man dug his hand into the sack. Humayun could smell the sharp tang of the coarse-ground turmeric and pepper as he took a fistful of the bright yellow powder and crammed it into Mirak Beg’s gaping mouth.
Mirak Beg at once began to choke. His streaming eyes bulged from his head as a second, then a third fistful was rammed through his open jaws down into his throat. His face was purpling now and strings of yellow saliva were dribbling from his tortured mouth while mucus streamed from his nostrils. Desperately he fought to get free of the strong arms holding him down and to struggle to his feet, kicking out with his legs like a man being hanged.
From all around Humayun heard gasps. Kasim had turned away and Baisanghar too was averting his gaze. Even Sita was looking shocked, one tightly curled hand raised to her mouth and her eyes round. A few more seconds and it would be over. For one last time, Mirak Beg forced his streaming eyes to open and for a moment they looked directly into Humayun’s, and then his body went still.
Humayun rose. ‘The punishment has fitted the crime. And so will all who transgress my laws suffer.’ Stepping down from the dais on which his golden throne, his gaddi — draped in red velvet to mark the day of Mars — stood and flanked by his guards, Humayun made his way out of the room. For a few seconds there was silence, then behind him he heard a babble of voices as his courtiers once more found their tongues.
It was early evening now. Above the darkening Jumna, a sliver of moon was already rising, casting its silver light upon the riverbank where oxen and camels were drinking their fill. He would visit Salima. He had done so less often recently, absorbed in his opium dreams. At the thought of her soft, golden-hued body, he smiled.
Salima was lying on a silver brocade divan while one of her waiting women traced intricate designs on her slim feet with henna paste. All she was wearing was the jewelled belt Humayun had chosen for her from the plunder he had captured in Gujarat.
That campaign seemed so long ago now — like something from another life. Into his mind came Mirak Beg’s accusing words ‘You’ve given us no conquests. . You spend your time eating opium and gazing at the stars.’ Mirak Beg had deserved to die, but perhaps there had been some truth in his accusations. What would his father have said about the way he was governing, even about the amount of opium he was consuming? Perhaps, as Kasim and Khanzada had urged, he should use less of the drug to enable him to devote more time to those around him. But things had changed, hadn’t they? The Moghuls’ wild, nomadic days were over. He was the ruler of an empire and it was no one’s business but his own that he was finding new ways of ruling, new sources of comfort and inspiration. The stars whose radiance was brighter even than the Koh-i-Nur would not let him down.
Nor would Salima. As her women hurried from the room, she rose from her couch. Slowly, caressingly she began to loosen his red robes, running her fingers over the hard muscle of his arms and shoulders beneath the soft silk. ‘My emperor,’ she was whispering. He wound his hands in the long black hair spilling over her bare breasts and pulled her to him, hungry for the pleasures they would enjoy until — at last — with salty sweat running down their bodies they would collapse exhausted against one another.
A few hours later, Humayun was lying by Salima’s side. A soft breeze was blowing through the open casement and a pale light was already rising in the eastern sky. Salima murmured something and then, turning her silken hip to his, returned to her dreams. But for some reason, sleep had eluded Humayun. Each time he’d closed his eyes, he saw Mirak Beg’s distorted, choking mouth foaming with yellow spittle and his panic-stricken eyes half bursting from his head. He should have taken some of Gulrukh’s wine to banish these disturbing images but that was in his own apartment. Nevertheless, he could still ease his restless mind. Reaching for the gold locket studded with amethysts hanging from a chain around his neck, he extracted some opium pellets and, pouring water into a cup, swallowed them down. The familiar bitter taste caught at the back of his throat but then the drowsy, languorous warmth began to steal through him. With his eyelids at last growing heavy, Humayun stretched out. The soothing sweetness of the sandalwood oil with which Salima loved to anoint her body filled his nostrils and he began to drift into sleep. But only moments later — or so it felt to Humayun — he heard a female voice urgently calling his name.
‘Majesty. . Majesty. . a messenger has come.’
Dazed, Humayun sat up. Where was he? Looking around he saw Salima, sitting up now beside him and pulling on a pink silk robe to conceal her nakedness. But it wasn’t her who’d woken him. It was one of the haram attendants, Barlas — a squat woman with a face wrinkled as a walnut.
‘Forgive me, Majesty.’ Barlas was averting her gaze from his naked body. ‘A messenger has come from the east, from your brother Askari, with news he says is urgent. Even though it is early, he requests an immediate audience and Kasim ordered me to wake and tell you.’
Humayun’s unfocused eyes stared at Barlas as he tried to take in what she was saying, but the opium had made him slow. ‘Very well. I will return to my apartments. Tell Kasim to bring this messenger to me there.’
Half an hour later, back in his own quarters, dressed in a simple purple tunic and having splashed his face with cold water, Humayun looked at the man whose arrival had caused him to be roused from his rest. The messenger was a tall, slight man still with the dust of the road on his sweat-stained clothes. In his eagerness to speak to Humayun he almost forgot the ritual obeisance until reminded sharply by Kasim. As soon as he was back on his feet, he began. ‘Majesty, I am Kamal. I serve your brother Askari in Jaunpur. Reports reached us there of a great rebellion led by Sher Shah.Your brother waited until he was certain they were true then sent me to warn you.’
Humayun stared. Though Sher Shah controlled large lands in Bengal, this grandson of a horse trader would surely never dare to threaten him. He had pledged himself to Babur as a vassal of the Moghuls. Yet ambition often pushed men to rash acts. It might be ominous that he had assumed the name ‘Sher’, which meant ‘tiger’. Perhaps by doing so he intended to throw down a direct challenge to the true dynasty of the tiger — the Moghuls. Humayun glanced down at Timur’s ring, but with eyes still dilated by opium he could not focus on the snarling image of the tiger etched into its surface. After a moment Humayun returned his attention to the messenger. ‘Tell me more.’
‘Sher Shah is claiming large Moghul territories for himself. He has also declared himself leader of all Hindustani resistance to the Moghuls and has vowed to free Hindustan of every prince of the house of Timur. Even the proudest chieftains have become his retainers. Here — I bring you a letter from your brother which tells you everything that has happened — how far Sher Shah has advanced, how many chieftains have declared their support for him. .’ The man held out a camel-skin pouch.
‘Give it to my vizier. I will read it later, when I have rested.’
The man looked startled but at once handed the pouch to Kasim.
‘Kasim — see that this man is given food and water and lodgings in the fort.’ But Kasim too seemed to be looking at him strangely. He didn’t understand that there was no point in rushing to take action. Later — when his mind had cleared — Humayun would think what to do. ‘Go now. Leave me in peace.’
As the doors closed behind Kasim and the messenger, Humayun glanced out through the casement. The perfect orange disc of the sun was rising into a cloudless sky. The red sandstone of the fort glowed as if it were about to burst into flame. Humayun rubbed his eyes and signalled to his attendants to lower the woven grass tatti screens to block out the relentless brightness that was making his head throb. The news of Sher Shah was bad and he must respond, but first he must sleep and to do that needed something to soothe his mind. He went over to a carved rosewood cabinet, unlocked it and took out a bottle of Gulrukh’s wine. This would help, wouldn’t it? He pulled out the stopper but then remembered that he would need a clear head later in the morning to decide what to do about Sher Shah. But perhaps it wouldn’t really matter if the decision waited until the afternoon. He poured some of Gulrukh’s mixture into an agate cup. A few minutes later he was drifting softly away but almost at once some sort of commotion again intruded into his dreams.
‘Raise the tattis and leave me alone with the emperor,’ came an angry female voice. ‘Humayun.’ Now it was shouting his name and seemed to be drawing closer. ‘Humayun!’ He sat up with a gasp as a deluging mass of cold water brought him back to consciousness. Forcing his eyes open he saw Khanzada standing by the side of his bed, an empty brass ewer in her hand and eyes full of anger.
‘What d’you want?’ Humayun gazed at her stupidly, uncertain whether she was real or some sort of hallucination.
‘Get up.You are a warrior — an emperor — but I find you lounging here in the dark in a drugged stupor like a haram eunuch at a time when your empire is in danger. . I have just learned of the arrival of Askari’s messenger and of the news he brought. Why haven’t you summoned your council immediately?’
‘I will when I am ready. .’
‘Look at you!’ Khanzada seized a mirror set with rubies and thrust it before him. Reflected in the burnished surface he saw a pallid face and dark, distant eyes with dilated pupils and deep, almost purple bags beneath them. He continued to stare, fascinated by the features that seemed so familiar, but Khanzada ripped the mirror from his hand and flung it against the wall, causing the metal to buckle and several of the rubies to fall from their mounts. They lay on the floor like drops of blood.
Kneeling before him, Khanzada took Humayun by the shoulders. ‘Opium is destroying your mind. . You do not even recognise yourself in the mirror, do you? Do I have to remind you who you are. . do I have to tell you of your bravery and the battles you won on your father’s behalf and of your destiny and duty to the Moghul dynasty? Have you forgotten everything that made you — us — the descendants of Timur — who we are? I’ve tried to warn you before that you are losing your grip on reality but you would not listen. Now I must force you to. The same blood that runs through your veins flows through mine also. I fear nothing except the loss of everything your father — my brother — fought and suffered for.’
What was she saying? Suddenly she let go of him and, leaning back, hit his face with the full force of her right hand. Again and again she struck — first the right and then the left side of his face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
‘Be as you once were. Be the man your father made his heir,’ she was shouting. ‘Abandon this cocoon of ritual and opium that is alienating your nobles and compromising your ability to rule.You are a warrior like your father. Stop worrying about what the stars say and whether you can live up to Babur, just do it!’
She had stopped striking him but the stinging pain was clearing the fog in his mind. The words that — when she had first begun speaking — had seemed to have no meaning were beginning to make some sense. Round and round in his mind they went and with them images of the past that they conjured — the visceral excitement he had always felt in the heat of battle or wrestling with his nobles or galloping out to the hunt with Babur. That whole, vibrant, physical world to which he had once belonged. .
‘Give up the opium, Humayun. . it is destroying you. Where are you keeping it?’
Kasim’s gentle words of warning began to come back to him from many months ago when Kasim and Baisanghar had given advice in his stead to the envoy of his governor in Bengal. If he had talked to the man himself might he have caught some nuance or given some guidance that might have prevented Sher Shah’s rebellion? Or perhaps Sher Shah had somehow come to learn of his lack of interest in what happened in Bengal. Humayun’s hand went slowly to the locket around his neck. Unclasping it, he handed it to Khanzada. Then, equally slowly, he walked over to the still open cabinet where he kept Gulrukh’s opium-infused wine. As he reached inside for the bottle, the dark, almost purple liquid inside glinted. It had brought him so much pleasure, so much knowledge. . revealed so much to marvel at. Could it really be the destructive force that Kasim and Khanzada claimed?
‘My father took opium. .’ he said slowly, turning the flask.
‘Yes, but not like you. . Babur never let it control him or dictate his actions. He never neglected his trusted band of comrades, his commanders and his courtiers in its favour. But in you it has enslaved an emperor. You have become addicted. . just like the man who cannot taste a cup of wine without wanting to empty the entire wineskin. You must give it up, Humayun, or it will destroy you. You will lose the empire your father gained. Renounce opium now before it is too late.’
Still he gazed at the liquid in the bottle with all its hidden secrets and delights. But then he looked up at Khanzada’s face, still wet with tears, and saw how strained she looked and how afraid. And he knew that that fear was for him and for the dynasty of which she was a part and for which she had suffered. Slowly the realisation that she was right, that Kasim was right, that all the others who had expressed concern were right, penetrated the opium fumes in his mind. He must be strong — strong within himself. He had no need of outside props. Suddenly more than anything he wanted to regain Khanzada’s respect, her approval. The thought of how he had treated her and his closest advisers in recent months made him ashamed.
‘Give me the bottle, Humayun.’
‘No, Aunt.’ Going to the casement, he poured the liquid away to splash on the ground below; then, flinging the bottle after it, he heard the faint, fragile tinkle as it shattered. ‘I will tell Gulrukh that I will accept no more of her drugged wine. I swear to you, on this ring of Timur, that however hard it may be I will take no more opium or wine. I will send her to live with one of her sons. And I will prove anew to myself and to you that I am worthy of my father’s trust.’
Khanzada took his face between her hands and kissed him. ‘I will help you conquer this addiction. Opium has such a grip that it will not be easy. You are a great man, Humayun, a great leader — I have always known that — and you will become a greater one.’
‘And I have always known that you are my most trusted confidante.’
‘And now?’
‘Stay with me while I send for the messenger and question him again. I want you to hear what he says. If it is true, I must prepare immediately for war.’
Later that day, Humayun sat on his throne. Before him were his courtiers and commanders. As he had ordered they were no longer dressed in clothing matching the planet governing the day — neither was he. Khanzada was right. The rituals he had imposed had brought neither harmony nor strength to his court. He must win the respect and allegiance of his nobles in other ways. And one of those would be by victory in the field.
‘You have all heard the news brought by the messenger Kamal. Sher Shah’s invasion of Moghul territories is an affront to our honour that I will not tolerate. As soon as the army is ready, we will ride against this upstart. And when I have finished with Sher Shah I will trade him into slavery, just as Sher Shah’s ancestors used to trade a worn-out horse to the knacker’s men.’
As Humayun finished speaking, a great roar went up around the audience chamber that in recent months had fallen so silent. Humayun’s commanders were clashing their swords on their shields in the age-old tradition of their people and their deep voices were taking up the chant, ‘Mirza Humayun, Mirza Humayun’, that proclaimed him of Timur’s blood. Humayun glanced up at the grille in the wall to one side of his throne behind which he knew Khanzada would be watching and listening, and smiled. All would be well. The Moghul emperor was leading his armies to war once more. However lacking in the arts of peace he might have proved, he had demonstrated his skills as a general, hadn’t he?