After several months of dangerous trekking through the uninhabitable mountains of the Khyber Pass, the Mughal army finally arrived at the doorstep of the provinces they wished to conquer. First was Balkh. Balkh and Badakshan were both protected by the Bukhara people. Their army was aware of the terrain they lived in, and they used it to their every advantage. The army of the enemy mounted guerilla warfare daily against the Mughal army. The Mughals unknowingly settled in the valley and were caught by surprise by the enemy. Murad apparently tried to lead his men to fight against the enemy, but our losses continued to be very heavy. The Bukhara soldiers occupied the higher ground and fired down at the Mughal soldiers. Fearing near complete annihilation, Murad ordered his men to retreat, prompting jubilant roars by the enemy, who erroneously believed they’d defeated the invaders.
Murad’s army eventually set up the imperial camp along the mountainside. His helmet off, his dark hair spreading to his shoulders, he sat hanging his head.
Murad is said to have begun feeling for the first time that this victory wouldn’t be easy and might come at a costly price. The men in the tent brainstormed strategy for the next day. Outside the tent, the picture was even more bleak; men were running out of rations. Murad hadn’t accounted for the long journey and the less-than-simple victory that would await him in this ill-fated military excursion. With no space to cook, the soldiers began cooking on the backs of elephants, and every soldier was given smaller rations to allow the supplies to last longer.
Murad listened to his generals, but also got both nervous and angry with them. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he began to think. He’d thought this would be a simple victory; all he had to do was wear armour and lead the army; the generals would do all the planning; the soldiers would fight; and victory would be his. Now, at age 21, how was he supposed to know how to win a victory in a difficult terrain he’d never even visited ever before?
“I want answers!” he yelled, lunging up from his chair. “Answers! You’re my generals; you’re supposed to know about this!” Murad ranted on, pulling his long dark hair out of his head, his voice squeaking out his emotional temper tantrum.
The generals weren’t intimidated by this skinny, foolish brother of mine. Rather, they feared for their own lives and their soldiers’ if the foolish prince continued to lead them to battle without a winning strategy in the following days.
That night they calmly discussed their options again, this time without adolescent interference from Murad. Their battlefield, they remarked, was also inhabited by lawless tribes – Turks, Uzbeks, Mongols.
Mongols were our cousins, descendants of a common ancestor who hadn’t been fortunate enough to cross the mountain pass with Babur in 1526 and live like royalty in India. As if running to the other extreme, they now lived in modest dwellings on snow-covered mountain peaks, trying to preserve what little they had. For our part, we Mughals didn’t consider them allies, partly because we were arrogant and partly because we had no use for our ‘cavemen cousins.’
But at this time the generals believed that if we could get them on our side, we’d get a better idea of the terrain and also some more fighters.
They also felt these tribes must have an arrangement with the Bukhara army that allowed them to live in peace in the Bukhara dominion in return for loyalty in times of war. If we could get them on our side, we’d be able to take the Bukhara army by surprise.
The Mughal generals now formed a strategy they believed would give their conventional army the advantage – bribery – and persuaded Murad that it might be effective. So in the dark of night, Murad sent emissaries to the neighbouring tribes, promising them estates in the Mughal mainland of India in return for their loyalty during the fight. The Bukhara army, which governed both provinces, relied heavily on local tribes for defence. By bribing the local tribes, Murad could cut one limb from the body. Yet in another stroke of military genius, he opted to keep the alliance a secret. No one but the army commanders would know that the tribes were on our side.
The savage tribes agreed and gave the Mughal army much-needed inside information about the layout of Badakshan. Murad devised a strategy to incite the Bukhara army to fight on open ground. When they enter the field, the tribes would fire arrows and guns at them from the hilltops. After the tribes had cleared the army, the Mughal army would go in for the final kill and raise the flag.
Executing the plan, thousands of Mughal soldiers gathered on the edge of the open field and raised the lion flag of the empire. The Bukhara army coalesced on the opposite side. The Mughal commander led the army onto the open ground.
As 20,000 Mughal soldiers poured into the field, 30,000 Bukhara soldiers countered on their side. Fierce battling ensued with muskets, clubs and cannon. The Bukhara army poured onto the open ground, confident that the tribes would offer aerial attacks against the Mughals. But the opposite happened; the tribes attacked Bukhara soldiers.
Once the Bukhara army was too far on the field to effect an easy retreat, a barrage of arrows and guns showered them from the sky. Those who survived the rain of bullets and arrows now faced the Mughal army, who stared gleefully from half kos away, ready to march in as soon as the shower of arrows ceased. Finally, the remaining 20,000 Mughal soldiers poured onto the field to overwhelm the already weakened Bukhara army and sliced and chopped the Bukhara soldiers like a flock of helpless lambs. No soldier survived the battle, as the Mughal soldiers dismembered even already dead soldiers. The battle lasted only a few hours. At last the soldiers stopped mutilating corpses and cheered victoriously. Both provinces were won.
The following day, the tribal leaders came to Murad for a final meeting to discuss how the tribes would be led back into India and given the titles they were assured. Murad asked that all the deserving men – commanders, soldiers, elders – meet him in a tent for a private meeting with him and his generals.
The tribesman all went, eager to learn about the reversal of fortune they’d now experience. From roaming the mountains aimlessly hunting for food, they would now live like royalty, basking in the glory of the legendary Mughal Empire.
But moment after moment passed in silence, making the tribesmen feel uneasy about their unholy alliance. Unaware of what awaited them, they continued to be patient. Finally, a voice shouted from outside: “All tribesmen in the tent are hereby ordered to come out with their hands raised!”
The tribesman grabbed hold of their weapons and walked out, ready for any eventuality. The 45,000-strong Mughal army completely encircled them, on a war footing. Even the tribesmen’s weapons were worthless; they faced far too many Mughal soldiers.
One tribesman shouted, “We don’t understand. We were promised estates and titles!”
A Mughal general snarled, “Ask Allah for estates and titles in heaven, you savages!” Then he ordered, “Fire!” and every tribesman was summarily slaughtered.
A sudden shiver ran down my back as I heard this account. Acts of deception like this were common in our kingdom, and I felt sad and disgusted every time I heard of another. Aba, on hearing this part, seemed elated, not surprisingly. In fact this seemed to be the part of the story he enjoyed most. I couldn’t help but feel at that moment that we were almost of different bloods.
Murad, ecstatic at these dramatic events, wished to celebrate instantly. The generals wished to teach him what ought to occur next in the process of winning over a territory. But Murad wasn’t at all interested; instead he insisted that the generals handle the formality of receiving the kings’ surrender and accepting royal gifts from them. The generals were astonished to see that Murad had been sent to oversee the army without even being versed in the basic etiquette of how a victory – and one in which many lives had been lost – should be properly handled.
Furthermore, Murad left that night, complaining that the weather and lack of women were distressing him. The generals pleaded with the young Prince not to leave, promising him the wrap-up wouldn’t take much longer and that leaving by himself would be bot
h dangerous and irresponsible. But Murad had made up his mind; he would leave by nightfall and go back to mainland India, and when he reached Lahore send a runner with news of his victory to Agra.
Afzal now said, “I decided to come in place of any runner, Jahanpanah. I can only imagine how much worse you would have felt had a lowly runner brought you this news.”
We all stared down dumbfounded, soaking in this whole episode. “’Maruwwajuddin’ the idiot calls himself!” said Afzal bitterly. No one spoke further.
I said, “Her Majesty needs to be made aware of this at once!” Bahadur had learned from her spies that Gabriel’s order to move to Bengal had actually been influenced by someone from Agra, and she’d come to my chambers to tell me.
I was puzzled by the news. I said, “But who would want Gabriel to leave? He was the official court physician, and the King was indebted to him for saving my life. Do you think anyone knew about us?”
Bahadur said softly, “I can’t answer Your Majesty’s question, except to tell you that the origin of this account was within the zenana.”
The zenana! How could I doubt that something so malicious and deceitful would have its origins in the zenana, the single most political and belligerent society in our dominion? “Do you have any guesses about who was responsible?”
“Your Majesty, I truly don’t know. But it was reputedly one of the King’s wives.”
Wives! I thought intently. Of my father’s wives, Manu would never do a thing so malicious, so it had to have been Kandari. I spoke sharply: “Do we know where Begum Kandari has been for the past several months.”
“I thought the same thing, Your Majesty, but Begum Kandari has been severely ill for the last year.”
“Ill? Bahadur, that woman never lacks energy to engage in vengeful attacks!”
Bahadur and I went to Kandari’s apartment to see what her health was truly like. Ever since I’d been anointed Empress, her health had progressively declined, and at her own request she’d received an apartment far from everyone else. I’d always assumed that was so she’d very seldom have to address me as Empress.
We asked to be announced in her chambers. Upon entering, I beheld an image I hadn’t seen since the days of the Gujarat famine: a dark, emaciated individual with bulging eyes stared at us. “Mother Kandari?” I managed.
She smiled, looking almost content, but her voice was weak and rough. “You finally decided to visit your mother?”
“Mother Kandari, I thought you never wanted to see me.” Tears welled in my eyes, and I felt almost ashamed for having thought someone so feeble and ill could’ve plotted against me.
“I couldn’t compete with you, Jahanara.” She coughed several times. “First your mother and then you; there was never any place for me in the palace, so I just moved myself out of the way.”
I began to weep. I knew everything she was saying was true, but how could I tell her that? This woman came to us as a beautiful 16-year-old bride, and in another time or place she could have wielded extraordinary power and riches; but because of my father’s intense love for Ami, Kandari had never experienced a husband’s love. She was forced to wrongfully embrace the lie that she was barren and thus never had the pleasure to be anyone’s mother or love. For some reason, I felt as guilty as if I had been responsible.
I said, “Please forgive me, Mother Kandari. I should have told Aba you should be the next Empress, as was your right. Instead, I wrongfully accepted the muhr uzak. Please forgive me.”
Kandari smiled on, as if unmoved by my words. “Silly child. Don’t you know that, whoever holds the muhr uzak has the worst luck? First Nur Jahan, whose daughter was widowed and she exiled, then your mother, who died suddenly, and now you.”
I was confused. Yes, I thought my life had been filled with misfortune, but how did Kandari know that.
Then she said, “I know about you and Gabriel.”
“How?”
“When you were sick. I watched how he cared for you. Then I watched from the curtains when you first awoke and stared into one another’s eyes. I knew then.”
Profoundly embarrassed, I softly asked, “Is this why you moved to have him sent away?”
“Sent away? No, my child.” Kandari reached out to touch my face. “As someone who was never touched, I felt your pain and couldn’t bear the thought of you ending up like this. I was happy for you.”
I paused and then said, “Mother Kandari, I need to know who else knew about me and Gabriel.”
Kandari began coughing forcefully and for a moment I thought she was about to die. “The ladies that your Aba put in charge of nursing you during your illness, only they knew.”
I had heard from Gabriel that Aba didn’t want all of the zenana women hovering over me because the hakims had warned him about how susceptible I would be to infections, so Aba had appointed a select few of the zenana women to coordinate my care. I never really delved into who was in this small circle, but now I needed to know.
I looked away from Kandari and at Bahadur. “Who else besides Mother Kandari was nursing me?”
Bahadur looked up as if trying to jolt her memory to remember something so esoteric. “Queen Kandari, Queen Manu, Princess Nadira and…”
“And?”
“And that was all, Your Majesty. Just three women were required.”
I began to think. I knew Manu would never harm me, and Kandari’s words seemed sincere. That left Nadira, but as Dara’s wife she was especially close to me, so what was her reason? Was she also jealous of me because of my closeness with Dara or did she fear me the way Ami feared Nur Jahan when she first married Aba? After all, Nadira would be Empress one day. But she and Dara always showed me intense love. They even named their daughter after me, Jani. Why would she name her first child after me if she had ill feelings towards me? Could it be that she was two-faced? Could she have committed those good will gestures so no one would suspect her of trying to harm me? Was she afraid Dara would keep me as Empress after he became King while she would be discarded the way Kandari once was? I would go to Dara to learn the truth.
Much to Murad’s surprise, no jubilant signs of celebration awaited him in Agra’s streets. No crowds gathered, no drums beat, no jubilant sign appeared anywhere. I could see from my balcony Murad slowly ride his lone horse into the main street of Agra, people barely noticing him, as if he was just another royal casually going about his business. At one point he had to stop so a cart drawn by two overworked, sweaty bulls on their way to the Taz Mahal could carry stones across the street.
Murad’s face looked discouraged. Here he was, dressed up in a jewel-studded turban, wearing royal silk garments with pearl necklaces and gold bracelets, coming victorious from battle – and being treated this way? While his horse stood still, he moved his head side to side, looking for any signs of celebration. In the deep distance I heard some loud music, but I soon realised it came from a wedding party, and the music slowly faded away as the party moved closer to its destination.
Now visibly upset, Murad stormed through the streets, even running over a limping beggar who was unfortunate enough to cross the street just as Murad reached it. He ordered that gates to the fort be opened, rode his horse to the outskirts of the Diwan-i-khas, dismounted and slowly walked to the hall to be presented to Aba. I went over to the marble window and prepared to see my brother’s and father’s encounter. Aba eventually entered, and the zenana women waited in the corner while Dara and Afzal Khan stood in their respective places.
“You idiot!” Aba raged. “I sent you on the most important conquest of my reign, and you deserted your army and ran back here!”
Murad hung his head, unable to offer an explanation for what he had done. He looked utterly pathetic there, wearing more jewels than even the emperor, seeming dressed as if for some reward banquet. Yet he was being scolded like a child in front of all of the nobles.
He stammered, “Aba, I-I…”
“Did you know that in your absence the king of the regio
n refused to surrender?” Aba roared. “And in your absence no reigning general can command all of the imperial forces! Now the generals are quarreling with each other. Don’t you see this is why we send princes with our armies – to prevent such quarrels and maintain a united front? Get out of my sight!”
Murad left the hall, remounted his horse and rode back towards Lahore to resume his governorship of the region. At least the King hadn’t robbed him of his title, he must have thought. I saw him pause in the distance near the crowd that gathered around the lifeless body of the beggar he’d run over. But as if unaffected by the incident, he merely threw off his expensive pearl necklace and threw it in the body’s direction. Then, with a haughty look after giving the poor man’s life the value of that necklace, he rode away.
Aba was clearly devastated by this turn of events. What should have been the crowning military glory of his reign was now the biggest military debacle of all times. He moaned aloud about the Mughal men now dying of frostbite and pneumonia in the unforgiving snowy mountains of the Hindu Kush.
I’d always found the geography of this area fascinating. Sati once taught me the origins of the rugged northwest. These mountains were created ages untold ago when the continents were first split from the earthquake that gave the globe its current geography. The land mass that would one day become India broke off of present day Africa and floated in the Indian Ocean for several hundred years, gradually floating north to collide with Asia. As the land mass collided with the southern region of Asia, the sheer force of the collision created the Himalayan mountains. Thus, India developed borders along its northern frontier in the shape of the world’s tallest mountain range, which included the highest peak in the world, Mt Everest.
Nowhere were the effects of this collision greater than in the northwest region of India, where several layers of mountain ranges continued to form, making the area almost uninhabitable. As a result, the people who lived there were a coarse group, used to a rugged lifestyle and unafraid to die. Their lives were a far cry from the opulent Agra, where parties and celebrations occurred every day while cool water chilled the arid climate in the summer months. Yet here were tens of thousands of Mughal soldiers from all over India, freezing to death, their remains not even receiving proper burials in the process.
Mistress of the Throne (The Mughal intrigues) Page 18