The Age of Wrath: A History of the Delhi Sultanate

by Abraham Eraly

  Elsewhere in India too the relationship between the Hindu and Muslim ruling classes was quite fluid. Hindu chieftains and zamindars in Muslim kingdoms generally held virtually independent sway over extensive territories, and they were not usually interfered with by the sultans as long as they regularly paid to the sultans the tributes and taxes due to them. This was not, however, a relationship of mutual trust and compliance, for payments from the local chieftains often had to be exacted from them by force by the sultans, and payments were usually withheld by the chieftains whenever the power of the overlord weakened. But this was the normal conduct of local chieftains everywhere in India, irrespective of whether the king was a Hindu or a Muslim.

  MEDIEVAL ISLAMIC SOCIETY was basically egalitarian. It had no caste-like divisions, so any person of any social or racial background could aspire to any position in it, including that of the sultan. In principle no one could ascend the throne by birthright, but could do so only by virtue of his merit or power, and on being acknowledged as sultan by the leaders of the Muslim community.

  This political fluidity was the main reason for the many violent succession conflicts in the history of the Delhi Sultanate. Indeed, such conflicts were considered as the legitimate means for proving the capabilities of the contenders. And proving one’s merit for the throne often meant exterminating one’s rivals. Peaceful succession to the throne was rare in the Sultanate—or, for that matter, in Hindu kingdoms, in Vijayanagar, for instance. Though there were a few instances of the courtiers choosing the sultan by consensus from among the rival contenders, normally they had no choice but to acknowledge as sultan the man who gained the throne, by inheritance or by force. The courtiers then affirmed their allegiance to the new sultan by taking a formal oath of fealty to him.

  Initially, till the reign of Balban, there was no great status difference between the sultan and his nobles; the sultan was then a primus inter pares, a first among equals, more a leader than a ruler. Later however the sultans generally claimed that the occupation of the throne endowed them with farr, divine effulgence, which distinguished them from all other people. Balban further claimed that he was ruling as the vicegerent of god on earth, thereby implying that the sultan had the divine right or sanction to be the ruler, and that to disobey him would be to disobey god. But this quasi-divine attribute of the sultan, in Balban’s view, was as much a responsibility as a privilege, and he maintained that one gains the effulgence of the sultan not by just sitting on the throne, but by the manner in which he rules, serving the interests of the people and ensuring their welfare. In his view only those rulers in whose kingdom there was not a single naked or hungry man deserved to be called a sultan.

  Ala-ud-din Khalji also claimed absolute royal power, but he based that claim on realpolitik, not on any theological principle. As he once candidly told a qazi, he did not know, and did not care for, theological prescriptions, but did what was essential ‘for the good of the state and the benefit of the people.’ Ala-ud-din in fact, despite his dictatorial nature, was one of the few Delhi sultans who showed a genuine concern for the welfare of his subjects, and did what he could for the betterment of the conditions of their life.

  Ala-ud-din was a political realist. He held that whatever be the Islamic theory of monarchy, and whatever be the pretence of sultans, in reality the basis of royal authority was the sultan’s military might, his ability to coerce others to submit to his will. Though there were in Islam various socio-religious prescriptions about the scope of the sultan’s power, and about what he should and should not do, most sultans in practice treated their kingdom as their private possession, which they could rule without any constraints whatever. The powers that an individual sultan exercised were limited only by what he was capable of exercising. In theory, the primary duty of the sultan was to protect his subjects and to provide for their welfare, but in practice his primary concern—often his sole concern—was to preserve and expand his power. According to Barani, haughtiness and egomania characterised the conduct of most sultans.

  IN THEORY, SULTANS everywhere in the Muslim world were the proconsuls of the Caliph, who was the head of all Muslims throughout the world, in temporal as well as in spiritual matters. The practice in the Muslim world indeed matched this principle in the early period of Muslim history, when Muslim political power was largely confined to Arabia and its adjacent lands, and there was only one Caliph. Later however, as the Muslim empire expanded into the lands of several other races and cultures, and the religion itself split into different sects and factions, there also came to be several Caliphs, and their status declined to that of mere figureheads. Still, Muslim kings everywhere generally continued to acknowledge, at least nominally, the Caliph as their overlord, and they continued to receive honours from him with a show of deep respect. It was useful to do so, for it legitimised their rule and validated their policies and actions, particularly in the eyes of orthodox Muslims. The sultans therefore usually included the Caliph’s name in the khutba recited in their kingdoms, and had his name inscribed on the coins they issued. Several Delhi sultans in fact expressly sought investiture by the Caliph, and some, notably Muhammad Tughluq, were ostentatiously demonstrative in displaying their subservience to him, though in reality they ruled as totally independent autocrats.

  Rajas had no such pretence of grand, transnational affiliations. But in other respects Hindu kingdoms were also marked by the dichotomy between the professions and the practices of their rulers. The political ambiance of Hindu kingdoms therefore was not very different from that of Muslim kingdoms, in broad terms though not in detail. The primary concern of rajas, as of sultans, was for the preservation and expansion of their power, rather than for the welfare of their subjects, as they generally professed. As a medieval Indian saying had it,

  What matters it to us

  whether Rama reigns

  or Ravana reigns?

  That was the reality. But kings, particularly rajas, generally professed commendably high ideals, which are fascinating in themselves, though they had little connection with political reality. Thus in a story told by Muhammad Ulfi, a fourteenth century chronicler, a Hindu raja asserts: ‘It is the paramount duty of all those in whose hands authority and power are placed, to walk in the path of justice and benevolence, in order that those who are weak should be strengthened and protected by the law, and that those who are wealthy should enjoy their riches in peace and security.’

  Similar professions were made by king Krishnadeva of Vijayanagar in his poetic opus Amukta-malyada. Pay particular attention to the welfare of your subjects, he counsels rajas; keep the company of sages and scholars; cultivate piety; avoid vices like womanising and gambling; ensure administrative efficiency and strictly supervise the work of officers; and maintain a strong army as well as an efficient spy network. Krishnadeva further directs kings to promote the prosperity of their kingdom by constructing irrigation networks to facilitate the expansion of agriculture, and by encouraging trade, particularly foreign trade. They are also advised to try to reform criminals, rather than punish them summarily, and that in any case their punishments should not be too harsh. Above all, kings should tend their kingdoms with devoted care, like a farmer tending his field with care, the raja advises.

  ONE OF THE major reasons for the upheavals and instabilities in medieval Indian kingdoms, of Hindus as well as of Muslims, was that there were no well-defined and generally accepted rules of royal succession. The throne belonged to whoever could seize it. Contested royal succession was therefore the norm in India. And these contests were invariably marked by much brutality and bloodshed, even though the rivals were often brothers or other close relatives. Killing a father, brother, cousin or uncle for the throne was not considered a crime or a sin, but as a normal and legitimate action in royal politics. Kings were often murderers.

  The career path of men in royal families was often from prison to throne or death, or from throne to prison or death. Those who ascended the throne by murdering i
ts occupant, or their succession rivals, were themselves in turn often murdered by other aspirants for the throne. And nobles played an equally ignominious role in this vicious game; they usually had no enduring loyalty to anyone, and the usurper invariably won their support by scattering gold among them. Those who were obsequious towards a sultan one day, were equally obsequious towards his assassin-successor the next day. In India, as Mughal emperor Babur would later remark in his memoirs, ‘there is … this peculiarity … that any person who kills the ruler and occupies the throne becomes the ruler himself. The amirs, viziers, soldiers and peasants submit to him at once and obey him.’

  One reads with dismay about the pervasive political violence and criminality of the age. But these were not considered as deviant and condemnable conduct in that age; rather, they were widely accepted as the norm, and it is seldom that we hear any voice raised against such acts in the chronicles of the age.

  In ancient Indian kingdoms there was a custom of kings in their old age handing over their power to a successor and leading a retired life, and this sometimes happened even in medieval times also. And in some dynasties—among the Pandyas, for instance—the king shared his power with his brothers. But there were hardly any instances of such practices in Muslim kingdoms. In the entire history of the Delhi Sultanate there is only one case of a sultan voluntarily, by his own will, giving up his throne—that was Alam Shah of the Sayyid dynasty, who relinquished his throne and moved to a small town well away from Delhi, where he lived for three full decades in contentment and tranquillity.

  THE THRONE WAS no bed of roses. The sultan, for all his great power, led an ever-harried, perilous life. The sword of an enemy, or of a rebel or usurper, ever hung over his head. There were of course compensating rewards for taking these risks: the enjoyment of power itself—the highest of the highs that any political animal could aspire for—as well as the enjoyment of matchless luxuries, the very best that the contemporary world could provide. The sultans also found some diversion from the pressures of their life in various pastimes, particularly in hunting, which was the favourite means of relaxation for most sultans, as it had the excitement of a battle without its peril. The other common pastimes of the sultans were playing polo and horse-racing. Some sultans also enjoyed the pastimes of the common people. The favourite summer pastime of Sikandar Lodi, for instance, was fishing. According to Ni’matullah, an early seventeenth century chronicler, in summer the sultan often pitched his tents on the banks of the Yamuna, ‘whither he retired in order to avoid the heat, and amuse himself with fishing … He [also] enjoyed himself in field sports.’ And once when he was in Mathura, he travelled by boat on the Yamuna, ‘amusing himself on the way with various kinds of sport.’

  Several of the sultans were vain enough to build new cities and palaces of their own, named after themselves. Even Firuz Tughluq, a relatively modest sultan, built, according to Afif, a fourteenth-century chronicler, as many as ‘thirty-six royal establishments, for which enormous supplies of articles were collected … [Some of these palaces were very large, with] elephant, horse, and camel stables, the kitchen, the butlery, the candle department, the dog-kennels, the water cooling department, and other similar establishments.’

  The Delhi sultans normally, with rare exceptions, lived in a grand style in huge fortified palaces, and had vast domestic establishments to take care of their every need. In addition, the royal palaces were served by various ancillary establishments that met the diverse requirements of the sultan and his court. Muhammad Tughluq, for instance, employed 4000 silk weavers, who supplied the materials for making the great number of the robes of honour that the sultan needed for distributing to his favourites. In a related activity, he had 500 craftsmen working on gold embroidery. ‘In the winter season six lakh tankas were expended on the [royal] wardrobe, besides the outlay for spring and summer,’ notes Afif about Firuz Tughluq. There were similar expenditures in other departments also. The royal workshops also served the needs of the army.

  The royal kitchen, like everything else associated with royalty, was a large and tightly organised establishment. ‘The king has ten cooks for his personal service, and has others kept for times when he gives banquets; and these ten prepare the food for no one save for the king,’ reports Fernao Nuniz, a sixteenth century Portuguese traveller, about the practice in Vijayanagar. ‘He has a eunuch for guard at the gate of the kitchen, who never allows anyone to enter for fear of poison. When the king wishes to eat every person withdraws, and then come some of the women whose duty it is, and they prepare the table for him. They place for him a three-footed stool, round, made of gold, and on it put the messes. These are brought in large vessels of gold, and the smaller messes in basins of gold, some of which are adorned with precious stones.’

  And all these palace-related services were supervised by a high-ranking official, Wakil-i-dar, through whom ‘all orders were issued to the respective establishments’, and salaries and allowances paid to the personal staff of the sultan.

  A PRODIGAL AND EXTRAVAGANT lifestyle was considered indispensable for kings, to demonstrate their unique status in society. As Barani would comment, overweening pride, haughtiness and self-glorification were normal and essential qualities in monarchs. In the view of the eleventh-century Ghaznavid chronicler Baihaqi, it was essential for the sultan to have ‘pomp, servants, officers of the state, lords of the sword and pen, countless armies, elephants and camels in abundance, [and] an overflowing treasury.’ Similarly, according to Barani, nobles in Delhi held that ‘two things were required in kings: firstly, princely expenditure and boundless liberality … and, secondly, dignity, awe and severity, by which enemies are repulsed and rebels put down …’ The lifestyle of most of the Delhi sultans matched these prescriptions, and was indeed often extravagantly flamboyant.

  One could not be a sultan and be self-effacing. This was the general view. But there were a few sultans in medieval India who were quite modest in their lifestyle. For instance, Jalal-ud-din, the late-thirteenth-century founder of the Khalji dynasty, was so unostentatious that his nobles scorned his conduct as unbecoming for a sultan. Even more modest was the lifestyle of the early fifteenth century Bahmani sultan Firuz Shah, even though he was one of the most adventurous and successful of the Bahmani sultans—he met his personal expenses by copying the Koran, and required the ladies of his harem to support themselves ‘by embroidering garments and selling them.’ There were a couple of other kings like them in medieval India. But these were truly exceptional cases.

  In contrast to the generally ostentatious lifestyle of sultans, the traditional lifestyle of rajas was relatively simple. But in time many of the rajas adopted some of the Turko-Afghan royal practices. While most Hindu kings customarily held court sitting on a mat or carpet, or on a low stool or chair, during the medieval period many of them gradually took to sitting on opulent and elaborately bejewelled thrones in the style of the sultans. According to Abdur Razzak—who visited India in mid-fifteenth century as an envoy of Timur’s son Shah Rukh—the throne of king Devaraya II of Vijayanagar ‘was of an extraordinary size; it was made of gold, and was enriched with precious stones of extreme value … The king was seated in great state in the forty-pillared hall, and a great crowd of Brahmins and others stood on the right and left of him. He was clothed in a robe of green satin, and he had around his neck a collar composed of pure pearls of regal excellence, the value of which a jeweller would find difficult to calculate.’ And when the raja travels ‘not less than a hundred thousand warriors go with him,’ states Barbosa, an early sixteenth century Portuguese traveller, rather exaggeratedly.

  Unlike the opulence of the North Indian and Deccani kings, the lifestyle of the Dravidian kings of South India, particularly of the Chera kings of Kerala, was quite simple. Battuta, a fourteenth century Moorish traveller in India, saw the king of Kozhikode on the beach ‘wearing a large white cloth round his waist and a small turban, barefooted, with a parasol carried by a slave over his head and a fir
e lit in front of him.’ According to Barbosa, when the king of Kerala travels, he ‘comes forth in his litter borne by two men, which is lined with silken cushions … [The litter] is hung on a bamboo pole covered with precious stones.’ The bearers of the litter run at a jog-trot pace, all the while humming and grunting ‘in a curious antiphonic manner.’ Barbosa also notes the curious Kerala custom in which, when a raja dies and has been cremated, all the members of the royal family ‘shave themselves from the crown of the head to the soles of the feet, saving only their eyelashes and eyebrows. This they do from the prince to the least heir of the kingdom.’

  A commendable attribute of the early medieval Indian rulers, of sultans as well as rajas, in Delhi as well as elsewhere, is that many of them were keen and knowledgeable patrons of art, literature and learning, and some of them were distinguished scholars and writers themselves. But erudition in itself made little difference in the performance of a ruler; it was only his pragmatism, as well as his administrative and military capabilities, that really mattered. Muhammad Tughluq was probably the most erudite of the Delhi sultans, but he was a pathetic failure as a ruler; on the other hand, Ala-ud-din Khalji was illiterate, but was the most successful of the Delhi sultans.

  MOST OF THE medieval Indian sultans and rajas were polygamous; they had several wives, and in addition maintained huge harems, as befitting their Olympian stature and lifestyle. This was mainly for pomp, but partly also for pleasure. Yet another reason for a king to have a large number of wives was for him to beget many children, to ensure that he would have enough sons to survive him in the perilous political environment of the age, so that his dynasty may endure.