The Age of Wrath: A History of the Delhi Sultanate

by Abraham Eraly

  The peace with the Mongols did not however last long. Occasional Mongol forays into the Sultanate continued, and by around 1279 major Mongol incursions resumed. But Balban had by then, during the period of relative peace with the Mongols, reorganised his western frontier defences under the command of his eldest son Muhammad, who was appointed as the supreme commander of the frontier forces. Mongols were not therefore allowed to operate beyond Satluj, and their raids were mostly confined to the region west of Indus.

  BALBAN WAS AS much concerned with internal security as with external security. The countryside, even the neighbourhood of Delhi, was at this time periodically marauded by predatory tribes and bands of brigands. Of particular menace were Meos of Mewat, the heavily forested region on the southern and western flanks of Delhi. ‘At night they used to come prowling into the city, giving all kinds of trouble, depriving the people of their rest; and they plundered the country houses in the neighbourhood of the city,’ states Barani. ‘In the neighbourhood of Delhi there were large and dense jungles, through which many roads passed. The disaffected … and the outlaws … [of this region] grew bold and took to robbery on the highway, and they so beset the roads that caravans and merchants were unable to pass through them … [Because of their ravages] the western gates of the city were shut at afternoon prayer, and no one dared to go out of the city in that direction after that hour … [The Mewatis would assault] the water-carriers and the girls who were fetching water, and would strip them and carry off their clothes. These daring acts … caused a great ferment in Delhi.’

  This was an affront that Balban could not tolerate, and he personally set out on a campaign to exterminate the Mewatis. For twenty days he had his soldiers ravage the Mewati habitats with deliberate and ruthless savagery, slaughtering the people there wholesale, the frenzy of the soldiers being roused by Balban’s offer of a tanka for every severed head, and two tankas for every living prisoner. Several Mewati leaders were captured and taken to Delhi, and were executed there in various gruesome ways—some were thrown under elephants to be trampled to death, while others were cut to pieces or flayed alive. Despite all this, the Mewatis became active again a few months later, so Balban once again marched out against them, and this time massacred some 12,000 people there. Then, to prevent the recurrence of the problem, he cleared the forests around Delhi, set up military outposts there, and settled Afghan soldier-farmers in vulnerable areas, giving them tax-free lands.

  Elsewhere in the Sultanate too Balban was ruthless in dealing with any kind of turmoil. Thus when lawlessness broke out in Katehr in north-western Uttar Pradesh, Balban, according to Barani, personally led a contingent of soldiers into the region, and ordered them to ‘burn down Katehr and destroy it, to slay every man, and to spare none but women and children … He remained for some days in Katehr and directed the slaughter. The blood of the rioters ran in streams, heaps of the slain were to be seen near every village and jungle, and the stench of the dead reached as far as Ganga.’ And, as in Mewat, in Katehr too, to secure the region, Balban cleared the jungles, laid new roads, and constructed several forts in vulnerable areas. These measures led to a general improvement of law and order in the Sultanate, which in turn led to greater material prosperity, as commercial transport became secure, and farmers were freed from the harassment of brigands.

  EVEN MORE SERIOUS than the problems of brigandage was the problem of the insubordination of provincial governors that perennially bedevilled the Sultanate. Bengal was particularly vulnerable to this hazard, so that its capital, Lakhnawati, earned the sobriquet Bulghakpur, City of Rebellion. ‘The people of this country had for many long years evinced a disposition to revolt,’ observes Barani. ‘And the disaffected and evil disposed among them generally succeeded in alienating the loyalty of the governors.’ Balban therefore appointed Tughril, one of his most ‘cherished slaves,’ as the governor of Bengal. Tughril was, according to Barani, ‘a very active, bold, courageous and generous man,’ and Balban believed that Bengal would be safe under his governorship. But soon after Tughril settled in Bengal, ‘ambition laid its egg in his head,’ and he broke out in rebellion. Balban then directed Amin Khan, the governor of Oudh, to suppress the rebellion, but he was easily routed by Tughril. Balban probably suspected treachery in Amin Khan’s tame retreat from Bengal, and it so roused his wrath that he had him executed forthwith. But the two other contingents that he thereafter sent against Tughril also suffered defeat. These reverses were humiliating to Balban, and a threat to his authority, so he himself then proceeded to Bengal, with the awful resolve never to return except with the rebel’s head.

  That unnerved Tughril, and on Balban’s approach he fled eastward from Lakhnawati, hoping that the sultan would not pursue him there. But Balban was relentless in his pursuit. So, as the royal army closed in on him, Tughril retreated further eastward, towards Tripura. But he was pursued there too, and was soon overtaken and captured by a small band of royal soldiers, who immediately beheaded him. Balban then returned to Lakhnawati with a large number of captured rebel soldiers. There, to serve as a warning to other potential rebels, Balban ‘ordered gibbets to be erected along both sides of the great bazaar, which was more than a kos (two miles) in length,’ reports Barani. ‘He ordered all the sons and sons-in-law of Tughril, and all the men who had served him or borne arms for him, to be slain and placed upon the gibbets … This so horrified the beholders that they themselves nearly died of fear.’

  Balban then appointed his son Bughra Khan as the governor of Bengal, after taking from him an oath ‘that he would recover and secure the country of Bengal and that he would not hold convivial parties, nor indulge in wine and dissipation.’ The sultan also warned him about the awful fate that awaited anyone rebelling against royal authority.

  Balban then set out for Delhi, herding a large number of captured deserters from the royal army who had joined Tughril. He intended to gibbet them all in Delhi, but was dissuaded from that dreadful reprisal by the qazi, who, according to Barani, threw himself at the feet of the sultan and interceded for the prisoners. The appeal moved the sultan, and he pardoned most of the deserters, and even the others he banished or imprisoned only for short periods. Balban’s Bengal campaign altogether took three years.

  ‘FROM BEING A MALIK he became a khan, and from being a khan he became a king,’ writes Barani, describing the career of Balban. ‘When he attained the throne he imparted to it new lustre; he brought the administration into order, and restored to efficiency institutions whose power had been shaken or destroyed. The dignity and authority of government was restored, and his stringent rules and resolute determination caused all men, high and low, throughout his dominions, to submit to his authority … [He ruled the empire] with dignity, honour and vigour.’

  On the whole Balban had very substantial achievements to his credit. And, though he was utterly ruthless in enforcing his will, he was never rash or capricious, but deliberate in all that he said and did, and always in perfect self-control. By the end of his reign security and order by and large prevailed in the sultanate, in so far as they could prevail anywhere in India in the thirteenth century.

  Then tragedy struck.

  In 1285, Balban’s eldest and favourite son, Muhammad, the heir apparent—whom ‘his father loved … dearer than his own life,’ according to Barani—was killed in Multan in a battle against Mongols. Balban was devastated by the tragedy, although he maintained a façade of imperturbable composure in public. ‘The sultan was now more than eighty years old, and though he struggled hard against the effects of his bereavement, day by day they became more apparent,’ notes Barani. ‘By day he held his court, and entered into public business as if to show that his loss had not affected him; but at night he poured forth his cries of grief, tore his garments, and threw dust upon his head … The reign of Balban now drew to a close, and he gradually sank under his sorrow.’

  The death of Muhammad was not just a personal loss for the sultan, but an irreparable loss for the dyn
asty, for Muhammad was a highly cultured, earnest and able prince. ‘The court of the young prince,’ reports Barani, ‘was frequented by the most learned, excellent and accomplished men of the time … [Poets] Amir Khusrav and Amir Hasan served at his court … [They were richly rewarded by the prince, and they used to say that] they had very rarely seen a prince so excellent and virtuous … [as Muhammad]. At his entertainments they never heard him indulge in foolish or dirty talk, whether wine was drunk or not; if he drank wine, he did so in moderation, so as not to become intoxicated and senseless.’

  In 1287, two years after Muhammad’s death, Balban himself died. The major concern of Balban in his last days was to decide on who should succeed him. His initial choice was Bughra Khan, his second son. Balban summoned him from Lakhnawati, and said to him: ‘Grief for your bother has brought me to my deathbed, and who knows how soon my end may come? This is no time for you be absent, for I have no other son to take my place. [My grandsons] Kaikhusrav (son of Muhammad) and Kaiqubad (son of Bughra Khan) … are young, and have not experienced the heat and cold of fortune. Youthful passions and indulgence would make them unfit to govern my kingdom, if it should descend to them. The realm of Delhi would again become a child’s toy, as it was under the successors of Iltutmish … Think over this. Do not leave my side. Cast away all desire of going to Lakhnawati.’

  Bughra Khan did not heed the advice. He was, comments Barani, ‘a heedless prince,’ who did not care for the throne of Delhi with all its onerous responsibilities and endless problems, and yearned for a life of ease in Lakhnawati. So after a couple of months in Delhi, when Balban’s health improved a little, he returned to Lakhnawati ‘without leave from his father.’ Balban then summoned some of his intimate nobles and told them to raise Kaikhusrav to the throne. ‘He is young and incapable of ruling as yet, but what can I do?’ Balban lamented. Three days later the sultan died.

  On his death the nobles wilfully set aside Balban’s choice and raised Kaiqubad to the throne, and there followed several years of chaos in the Sultanate. ‘From the day that Balban, the father of his people, died, all security of life and property was lost, and no one had any confidence in the stability of the kingdom,’ comments Barani.

  Kaiqubad was seventeen or eighteen years old at this time. According to Barani, the prince ‘was a young man of many excellent qualities. He was of an equable temper, kind in disposition and very handsome. But he was fond of pleasure and sensual gratifications. From his childhood till the day he came to the throne, he had been brought up under the eye of the sultan, his grandfather. Such strict tutors had been placed over him that he never had the idea of indulging in any pleasure, or the opportunity for gratifying any lust. His tutors … watched him so carefully that he never cast his eyes on any fair damsel, and never tasted a cup of wine. Night and day his austere guardians watched over him. Teachers instructed him in the polite arts and manly exercises, and he was never allowed to do any unseemly act, or to utter any improper speech. When, all at once, and without previous expectation, he was elevated to such a mighty throne … all that he had read, heard and learned, he immediately forgot; his lessons of wisdom and self-restraint were thrown aside, and he plunged at once into pleasure and dissipation of every kind … His ministers likewise, and the young nobles of his court, his companions and friends, all gave themselves up to pleasure. The example spread, and all ranks, high and low, learned and unlearned, acquired a taste for wine drinking and amusements … Night and day the sultan gave himself entirely to dissipation and enjoyment.’ Vice and immorality became widespread. Mosques were empty of worshippers, but wine shops flourished. Adds Ferishta: ‘There were ladies of pleasure everywhere, and every street rang with music and mirth.’

  IN THAT CHAOTIC environment, Nizam-ud-din, the able, crafty and ambitious nephew and son-in-law of the kotwal of Delhi, assumed the supreme power in the empire as Naib-i-mulk, deputy ruler of the sultanate. ‘The government of the country was in his hands,’ observes Barani. Nizam-ud-din filled all the key positions in the government with his own men, eliminated many of the rival nobles, executing or imprisoning them, and even had the prince Kaikhusrav murdered. And he encouraged Kaiqubad to sink ever deeper into debauchery, presumably hoping that this would eventually enable him to seize the throne.

  These developments in Delhi troubled even the easygoing Bughra Khan, who now ruled as the sultan of Bengal. He wrote to Kaiqubad to mend his ways, and, getting no satisfactory response, set out with his army to confront his son. And Kaiqubad too set out with his army to meet his father. In a while both armies, advancing from opposite directions, came face to face with each other, and camped on the opposite banks of Gogra (Sarayu), a tributary of Ganga at the frontier of the two kingdoms. Fortunately there was no clash between the two armies, quite probably because of the indulgent nature of Bughra Khan, whose objective in any case was not to subjugate or overthrow his son, but to induce him to be assertive and strong as a ruler. It was then decided that father and son should meet to resolve matters. There was however some squabble between the two camps about protocol, whether the sultan of Delhi should go to meet the sultan of Bengal, or whether the sultan of Bengal should go to meet the sultan of Delhi. But eventually Bughra Khan, affable as ever, crossed the river (at a time fixed by astrologers as auspicious) and went to Kaiqubad’s camp

  Kaiqubad received his father with regal pomp, in court, sitting on the throne and attended by arrayed nobles. Approaching the throne, Bughra Khan, as Barani describes the scene, ‘bowed his head to the earth, and three times kissed the ground, as required by the ceremonial of the Delhi court.’ But the sight of his father prostrating before him so overwhelmed Kaiqubad with emotion that he flung aside all formalities, and, ‘descending from the throne, cast himself at his father’s feet … Father and son then burst into tears and embraced each other … and the sultan rubbed his eyes upon his father’s feet. This sight drew tears also from the eyes of the beholders too. The father then took his son’s hand and led him to the throne, intending himself to stand before it for a while; but the sultan got down, and conducting his father to the throne, seated him there on his right side. Then, getting down, he bent his knees, and sat respectfully before him … Afterwards they had some conversation together in private. And then Bughra Khan retired across the river to his own camp.’

  Would the father’s advice be heeded by the son? Bughra Khan was sceptical. Returning to his camp he commented: ‘I have said farewell to my son and to the kingdom of Delhi, for I know full well that neither my son nor the throne of Delhi will long exist.’

  That presentiment came true. The gist of Bughra Khan’s advice to his son was to mend his easy-going ways, get rid of Nizam-ud-din, and take charge of the government. Returning to Delhi, Kaiqubad did indeed for a while heed his father’s advice; he transferred Nizam-ud-din to Multan, and, when he hesitated to leave, had him poisoned. But the change of his ways did not last long. In an engaging story told by Barani, one day ‘a lovely girl met him on the road, and addressed some lines of poetry to him … The sultan was overpowered by her charms … [He] called for wine, and, drinking it in her presence, himself recited some verses, to which she in turn replied in verse.’

  The incident signalled Kaiqubad’s reversion to his old self-indulgent ways; indeed, he now immersed himself deeper in debauchery, to make up for the lost days of pleasure. He thereafter paid no attention at all to the affairs of the state. That created a power vacuum in Delhi, and presently the empire swirled into total chaos. ‘What little order had been maintained in the government was now entirely lost,’ comments Barani. ‘The affairs of the court now fell into the greatest confusion.’

  Kaiqubad himself came to a wretched end. He was now struck by paralysis, and was confined to bed, barely alive. The nobles then placed his three-year-old son, Kayumars, on the throne, and set up a regency council to administer the empire. But there were divisions and deadly rivalries among the nobles, and the contending cabals plotted against each other, and
drew up black lists, planning to eliminate their opponents.

  Out of this churning chaos, a new leader rose to the top, Malik Jalal-ud-din Khalji, the commander of the army. As the political chaos in Delhi became worse confounded, Khalji, who was stationed in a suburb of Delhi, sent his sons in a daring foray into the city, and had the infant sultan seized and brought to his camp. ‘The sons of Jalal-ud-din, who were all audacious fellows, went publicly at the head of 500 horse to the royal palace, seized the infant sultan, and carried him off to their father,’ writes Barani. ‘This created great excitement in the city; the high and low, small and great, poured out of the twelve gates of the city, and took the road … to rescue the young prince.’ But the kotwal (whose sons were held as hostages by Jalal-ud-din) appeased them and persuaded them to return to the city.

  Jalal-ud-din then assumed the office of Naib, and ruled the kingdom in the name of Kaiqubad. This charade went on for three months. Then one day Jalal-ud-din sent one of his officers and had Kaiqubad murdered. ‘This man … found the sultan lying at his last gasp in the room of mirrors,’ records Barani. ‘He despatched him with two or three kicks, and threw his body into Yamuna.’

  It was a sordid end to a sordid life. Nothing is known about what happened to the infant sultan. Jalal-ud-din then formally ascended the throne. And with that began a new epoch in the history of the Delhi Sultanate.

  Part IV

  KHALJIS

  I issue such orders as I consider to be for the good of the state, and the benefit of the people … I do not know whether this is lawful or unlawful. Whatever I think to be for the good of the state, or suitable for the emergency, that I decree.