The Arabs just could not supply enough horses to the subcontinent. The most logical route would have been to ride the horses over land, but every state between Arabia and Gujarat was in turmoil. Horses obtained from Yemen were loaded onto ships, but one could only guess how many would arrive safely. Twenty or more horses would be coaxed onto the heaving deck of a frail ship and then kept confined in a stockade, all four legs tethered tightly to the woodwork to prevent the animals from kicking out and breaking themselves loose. It was a great wonder that these animals were prevented from going berserk in stormy weather.
Arabs were hard-nosed businessmen and had made the horse trade their monopoly. Arab shipwrights used no nails but sewed their boats together using rope out of coir made from the husk of the coconut. To protect the boats from the ravages of seawater, they smeared the dhows with the fat of fish. However, the ship’s double-ended unreinforced hulls, with their lateen-rigged sails, were difficult to control in rough weather and their stitched planks made them leaky. The customary procedure for surviving vicious weather in such boats was to jettison the cargo – and pray. Carcasses of horses would often wash down the coast, mere skeletons after sharks had had their fill.
Unloading the horses was another arduous task. When he first saw how the horses were unloaded, Malik was aghast. Horses were lifted in the air much against their protest, neighing and flailing their legs. A canvas cloth was placed beneath their bellies and four corners of a cloth were attached to coir ropes, which were then tied in a knot. This was attached to a cord, which went over a pulley attached to a swinging rod. When the horse was lifted off the ship deck, the swinging rod turned the pulley over the waters. More rope was left and the horse landed on a catamaran or flat ground. This killed quite a few horses, maimed many and shocked the wits out of all of them.
A crowd of eager onlookers hooted to see such handsome creatures suspended in the air, perhaps because they could never own such stately animals. People seemed to be very disappointed if the horses landed safely.
As Malik looked on, a horse dangled awkwardly as the rope held it tenaciously. The rope snapped under strain and the horse fell with a thud on the ground. It neighed and the sound of its cracking bones sickened him. The crowd cheered the immobile horse. Malik was disgusted, not only at the pain and terror the horses experienced but also at the profits that were being washed into the gulf.
‘So you lost one more,’ said a rival dealer with a smirk. Malik boiled with ire.
The maimed horses disturbed him. He shared something common with them. Malik watched their pleading eyes as they lay, unable to move, and knew there must be a solution to this ungainly way of unloading horses. That particular day he had observed six horses breaking their legs. Six out of twenty. They would still make a profit on the remaining fourteen, but the thought disturbed him. Every dying horse was a dent in their income.
*
That night, the moon was full and the tide rushed in forcefully on the estuary. Malik walked along its banks aimlessly. After a mile or so, he came across a boat tied to a solitary tree, which had courageously managed to grow on the salty banks. The tide had retreated to the sea by now, and it looked as if the boat hung from the tree in the low tide. But come high tide, Malik knew, the boat would be on the same level as the sea. Lucky that the boat does not have a hull like our ships or it would be stranded, he mused, and then, as a thought struck him, he froze. He sat down and regained his thoughts – and it came to him. He had figured out how to unload the horses.
Early next day, he walked further inland along the estuary. He found the land encrusted with salt. With a branch that he broke off from a tree, he gauged the depth of the water at high tide and patiently waited for the water to retreat. He made some measurements at low tide and walked back with a parched throat and a gleam in his eye.
When he had not turned up at the mansion for a whole night and a day, Hassan was worried. A sleepy Malik staggered into his residence in the evening. Hassan joked, ‘I thought you had run away.’ Malik laughed weakly. But when he outlined his idea to his master, Hassan understood the simplicity of the innovation which had eluded three generations of horse importers and killed thousands of horses.
The first step was to buy up land along the banks of the estuary. When their next ship was asked to move up the estuary, the captain almost mutinied.
Malik was waiting at the spot, where they had hastily constructed a platform about ten feet out into the estuary. He moored the ship onto it and fastened it with an ample supply of coir ropes to stakes anchored on solid ground. As the estuary emptied itself into the sea, the tide tried to pull back the ship. The restraints worked, and when the water retreated, the hull of the ship was left high and dry on the ground, surrounded by only four feet of water. The horses simply walked onto the platform that linked the ship with the quay.
The idea was so successful that within a year it was copied by every merchant in town. The prices of horses dropped marginally due to higher supplies, but then most of the land along the estuary had been bought up by the Arab earlier, and he sold it at a premium.
Malik had earned back a thousand times more than what had been his price. The Arab no longer joked about the thousand dinars he had paid for him.
*
Some people have the capacity to rise from the insignificant sphere in which fate had placed them to loftier stations. Malik was one of them. However, Khambayat’s more noble citizens seemed unimpressed with the confidence Hassan placed in him. It was the most ridiculous thing they had ever heard: Hassan, the Arab, treating his slave almost like an equal. While other slaves walked two steps behind their masters in deference, Hassan ensured Malik walked almost hand in hand. Malik often wondered why Hassan would ignore the taunts of the other traders.
The town soon came to realize that the Arab’s profits had left them sweating. Coupled with the knowledge that the price of the slave had been more than the entire commerce of the slave market on that day, it made them aware that Malik was not just any other slave.
Malik still took up harem duties occasionally. It irritated him to overhear the nonsensical niceties his master exchanged with girls half his age. How much energy do men waste in sex, he wondered. Perhaps he was lucky his desire for women had vanished.
Salim Baba had passed away after a brief illness. The Arab shed tears for his trusted servant, but the most shaken was Malik. Before his death, Salim had pleaded with him, ‘I don’t have my genitals. An incomplete body will not be accepted in heaven so please do some ceremonies to ensure I can go through.’
A eunuch, since he was incapable of siring sons, had no one to perform the obligatory sacrificial rites for his soul after death and therefore could not gain entry to paradise. The humiliation of castration would last a lifetime and beyond. A eunuch’s severed parts were usually preserved in a sealed vessel, and it was also vital that the organs be placed in his coffin at his death in hope of hoodwinking the gods of the underworld into believing he was a complete man. Malik organized a prayer for Salim’s memory and completed all the rituals that were required of a son.
Malik began accompanying the master on his travels abroad. The first time he was on a boat, he was constantly seasick, retching over the deck. ‘It takes more than a thobe to be an Arab,’ remarked Hassan, happy that he could get back at his slave occasionally.
The Arabs who ventured into the sea had much to be grateful for to the dhow. The lateen-sail would ensure it was propelled forward by the force of the wind and the long bow would cut its way across the waters. This was a boon even though getting the sail up was a very lengthy operation. The yard and the sail were heavy, and it would take the whole crew of twenty men to hoist them; shortening the sail was an equally lengthy process, and in squally weather, it was very dangerous.
One trip to the Arab peninsula from Khambayat took them ten nights at sea, and after a day of unloading and two of loading, the traders returned. Most ships travelled in convoys, for rival traders bribed pi
rates to loot and scuttle ships, but Hassan had two or three of his ships travelling together along with a mercenary cohort. The sighting of land was always followed by a wild scene of excitement and confusion, accompanied by screaming and shouting from every man on board.
Malik countered his seasickness with the comforting thought that he was returning home. He now thought of Khambayat as home. He began travelling to the Arab peninsula at least four times a year. His duties at the harem had been taken over by two young eunuchs he had chosen for his master, one an African and another from Gujarat. Under Malik’s training, both had risen to excellence.
The crew on Hassan’s ships mostly comprised Arab youngsters. They were very respectful to Malik, as he had by now adopted the Arab dress and with his complexion could have passed off as a full-blooded Arab. Between them, Hassan and Malik succeeded so well that that they began controlling the trade with Arabia almost exclusively. Malik no longer had to receive instructions from the Sheikh and controlled the business independently. Hassan never felt left out or jealous; after all, Malik was his protégé.
One day, as they were poring over their accounts, Hassan told Malik, ‘There are moments, Malik, when I feel I should let you go free. Your destiny is much larger than just being in my service. You have earned me a thousand times more than what I have paid for you.’
After a moment of silence, Hassan added quietly, ‘I fear that one day you will prove to be too much for me.’
*
When he woke up to the call of the muezzin a few days later, Malik was disturbed. Like a solitary cloud on a clear sky, the disturbance continued to nag him at the back of his mind. Was it a dream, forgotten in the recesses of his mind, or was it an intuition that a disaster was about to occur? By the time he had fully woken up, he knew with certainty something momentous was going to happen. His life was going to change drastically. He wanted to run to Hassan and warn him. But how could he warn his master of a danger he himself could not fathom?
A week later, Malik came dashing in breathlessly into the room where the Arab was seated, poring over his accounts. ‘It has happened,’ he said.
Hassan looked up. ‘What has happened?’
‘The first refugees have come,’ Malik blurted out.
The Delhi Sultanate’s armies had attacked the outskirts of the Gujarat kingdom. The men in the palace had continued sleeping unperturbed, insulated by the walls of their estates. Hopelessly unprepared for such an onslaught, the army had fled like rabble, and the people did not rise in defence of their homeland. Perhaps the king had been so cruel that it was not worth the effort. Gujarat surrendered gladly, leaving the way open for the Sultanate’s army to devour the whole countryside in a gulp. The end of Hindu rule in the region was swift.
Meanwhile, people were fleeing for life with whatever they could carry. On either side of the highway possessions were discarded. Everywhere along the escape route, the dead were stranded like flotsam in the swirling waters of a storm. Terror spread through the community as fast as word of mouth could carry news of the terrible destruction. The population of Gujarat rushed towards the port like a river spilling over its banks.
‘Gujarat cannot fall,’ the Arab said, not believing Malik’s words. ‘The Rai Karan will fight back. The kingdoms in the south will offer succour.’
‘The Gujarat kingdom will yield,’ Malik predicted.
The merchant looked at the slave with shock and indignation. ‘What do you know about warfare?’ he said, ‘You’re a merchant, at the most.’
‘Of course I’m a merchant, but master, even war is a trade. The same strategies will be used. In trade, the loser goes bankrupt; in war, he will be killed.’
‘And what of Khambayat?’ A crease of worry appeared on the Arab’s forehead.
‘Will honey not tempt the ravenous bear? Khambayat will not escape attention.’
‘But we are not infidels, we are Muslims. I for one can claim a lineage from the Prophet’s cousin.’ Hassan’s words sounded hollow. The hostility between the Bohras and the Turks, both Muslims, was well known.
‘Money has no religion,’ Malik retorted.
‘They will not touch my home or its contents. If you are afraid, I grant you freedom to go anywhere and take whatever you want.’ The Arab was sure that nothing would happen to him, but Malik was not.
Malik did not hesitate. His words were, ‘I shall opt for my freedom, master.’
The Arab studied the eunuch’s face. He was surprised. ‘What else do you want?’
‘Do I get whatever I wish for?’ asked Malik. Hassan nodded.
Malik did not think a moment. ‘I want your entire wealth. You may keep the houses and property, but anything that can be moved comes with me.’
The Arab was amused. Malik could not be serious. How would he hoard so much wealth? But he decided to play on. ‘Where do you want to move it to?’
‘Arabia.’
‘Okay,’ said the Arab, knowing precisely where the conversation was heading. ‘But what makes you sure I may not change my mind halfway and denounce you as a thief?’
‘When I visit Arabia to deposit my riches, I want to take your mistresses and your children with me as hostages.’
‘You never give up, do you?’ said the Arab and laughed.
The Arab had amassed a fortune and the thought of giving up his most treasured possessions was akin to relinquishing his life. The Arab was not convinced, but by now he had come to trust all of Malik’s decisions. After all, the eunuch was the source of his prosperity.
‘I think you are making a mistake. But tell me what you really want,’ he conceded.
‘From today, sire, your wealth should be loaded onto our dhows along with your family members. I want them in the safety of Arabia. I want a company of men to accompany them,’ Malik said.
‘And what about the goods in the godowns?’ the Arab asked. Over the last two years Malik had been handling the entire business and the Arab had only counted the gold.
‘I have halted all purchases for the last ten days and have been selling most of our goods at a reasonable price or slightly lower than that. You won’t be making a profit this month but neither will you lose your entire wealth. Most of our warehouses have goods that will last only for a month. I did not want to offload much as it would arouse suspicion.’
‘Malik, you have earned a lot for me over the years, and most of your judgements have turned out right. So let us treat this as a holiday for you in my native land. You may take me along as a hostage too,’ his master laughed.
The groundwork went on for a week. In the waning daylight, the Arab’s choicest treasures were packed onto a ship. Almost all the women were sent on the ships too. They left for the harbour in the wee hours of the night so as to not create any panic. A fortnight later, the first batch of ships returned empty from Arabia, perhaps for the first time.
The ships had just moored in the port of Khambayat when Malik heard the news. The Mohammedans were laying a siege to the fort of the capital city of Nahrwala. Most of the countryside had already fallen. After a siege of fifteen days, the walls of the city had been broken. The Turks rushed inside, only to find that the Rai Karan had escaped with his two daughters in a matter of minutes before the Turks had entered, and that was perhaps why his wife Kamala Devi had been left behind.
It was widely rumoured that the queen had refused to go with him. The queen was angry with the king for molesting her best friend. Rai Karan’s prime minister Madhava, whose wife had been molested by Rai Karan, had gone to Delhi several months back to request the Sultanate to avenge the crime, which was probably the reason for the attack.
The invasion of Gujarat ended in an unspectacular way. Its armies did not even pause to negotiate. They had captured the horses, the jewels, a thousand prisoners and ten thousand women, including the queen, which caused ripples of shock in the kingdom. Never before had the Muslims captured a Hindu queen.
Malik heard the stories from those who had fled to Khambay
at. His home town had been run over too and Rana Rajasekar had fled. So I did not lose anything by coming here. I would have lost it in a few years anyway, he consoled himself.
Malik was wondering when the army would get around to Khambayat. Gujarat was a wealthy state, but its riches were dispersed. Khambayat, on the other hand, offered tremendous wealth in a single city, which meant that the Turkish army could gather more wealth in a hundred houses of Khambayat than in a hundred thousand all over Gujarat. The war did not concern the men of Khambayat, which, despite being a part of the empire, was so distant from the centre. Their only concern was to not let the refugees mingle with the main population.
When Ulugh Khan, the leader of the Sultan’s armies and a fearsome warrior, arrived at the gates of Khambayat one morning with fourteen thousand cavalry men and twenty thousand infantry, its citizens were taken by surprise. The army moved to encircle the land around Khambayat and the citizens realized that they had no defences at all. The Sultanate’s armies started looting right from the first house on the rim of Khambayat. It was easy work, for there were no walls to scale and no frontier forces to fight with.
The invaders came in shouting as loud as their lungs would allow, intending to scare the defenders from offering any resistance since their forces seemed larger than they actually were. When Hassan heard the news, he took a deep, hissing breath and swore loudly. ‘By Allah, they are here!’ Malik could only nod.
The residents of Khambayat did not know where to go. Many rushed to the mosque, but when it became full, the authorities locked the doors. Members of separated families banged on the doors and begged them to open it. Their pleas were in vain, and many started running towards the port, their only hope for safety. But there weren’t enough ships to take them all. Some who had ships managed to leave the port, but most ended up facing the Arabian Sea with distress on their faces. Most captains had already left and had moored a few hundred yards away.
Gods, Kings & Slaves: The Siege of Madurai Page 15