by Harold Lamb
Shah Abbas signed for his men to draw closer to the Rajputs around the elephants. True, the Mogul's followers were but one in ten, yet—Shah Abbas was wary.
He reined his Arab near the royal elephant. “Give the word, sire,” he cried, gnawing hard at a lip that quivered in spite of his self-mastery.
“Give the word, sire,” repeated blue-robed Persian councilors, their eyes hard with greed and cruelty, bred of what was to come. Jahangir cast a look around, seeking for Raja Man Singh, who was not to be seen. Then he raised his hand. This was the signal. The Mogul's jeweled hand trembled, for a great fear had touched his placid heart.
The royal nacars—kettledrums—sounded a long roll. From the midst of a group of Rajputs the imperial yak-tail standard was raised high for all to see. A roar burst from a battery of brass camel-guns beside the red tent.
From the entrance to the saps the figures of miners scrambled. They joined the ranks of the Persians and waited. Throughout the watching host the warriors shifted their swords and pikes in their hands, tightened their girdles, and breathed prayers in many tongues and faiths. The leaders, on horseback, watched the walls of Khanjut.
A dull, gigantic thud, a quiver of earth underfoot, and a black cloud rose and swelled about the walls. A second roar, and both mines had exploded. Stones, earth, and beams tossed skyward in the murk. Dust rose in a dense cloud.
The engineers of Shah Abbas had done their work well. The celebrated Persian smiled and recited a verse in poetic gratula-tion. He missed the sight of bodies of the garrison hurled into the air, but—the storm was launched.
As a man the Rajputs sprang forward afoot.
“Ho—nila ghora ki aswarV'
Their battle-cry answered the tumult of trumpet and cymbals that echoed in the Persian camp. Shah Abbas saw the lines of saffron-robed warriors climb up the debris-strewn slope to where, under the dust cloud, a wide breach had been blown in the wall.
They scrambled upward at a swift trot, scimitars swinging free. The first ranks vanished in the dust cloud.
“To their fate they go like driven dogs, exalted Majesty,” fawned a Persian master of horse at his side.
“'Tis well to have them out of the way,” he responded softly.
The excitement had affected the elephants. The black beasts, brilliant in their paint and armor, stirred under the spears of their mahouts. They moved forward at first slowly, then with gathering momentum.
On either side of the royal elephants, the squadrons of Muslim archers and Rajputs moved upward with drawn weapons. On their flank the waiting ranks of Uzbeks stared and mocked.
The gold howdah of Jahangir glittered in the sun as it went forward.
“He goes to gain better sight of the storm,” meditated Shah Abbas aloud, paying little heed to the elephants, so intent was he in watching the walls.
But the elephants did not stop. Nor did the mahouts cease to urge them onward. The beasts, trained to war, trumpeted, feeling the nearness of strife. Shah Abbas dispatched his master of horse to bring up his waiting ranks.
“Close in after the Mogul,” he whispered shrilly. “But slowly, slowly. Jahangir was unwise to venture into the battle. Under the walls we will swarm against him and his thin following, and he will be beset from two sides—”
So he watched complacently while the royal howdah bobbed upward along the slope leading to the breach. In the midst of his followers the Mogul neared the Khanjut wall.
A rider came from Jani Beg.
“Sire,” he cried to Shah Abbas, “the Mogul must seek to force the breach with his elephants.”
“The gods favor us,” muttered the Persian. “Jahangir will die in the breach by an Uzbek sword.”
There was something strange in the silence of the assault. While Persian and Uzbek watched, the Rajputs leaped within the walls. Still no defenders were to be seen. Silence reigned along the Khanjut wall.
“Death of the gods!” swore Shah Abbas.
He reasoned that the garrison must have erected a barrier farther within the citadel. Assuredly, he thought, they had known the position of the mines, or someone had given them this knowledge. For none of the hillmen were caught in the explosion.
The Uzbek banners stirred uneasily. Shah Abbas could see the breach plainly, now that the dust had subsided.
And what he saw amazed him. The ranks of the Rajputs were filing through the gap unopposed. No arrows were shot from the walls at the oncoming elephants.
He had thought to see stones and fire hurled upon the van of the attack, and bales of lighted pitch rolled against the dangerous elephants. But not one of the garrison was to be seen. Not an arrow glinted in the sunlight.
Now, as had been planned, the ranks of Uzbeks moved forward, on the heels of the Mogul's following.
“Something's amiss,” snarled Shah Abbas to those near him.
He could not take his gaze from the royal elephant. That great beast was urging forward, diagonally up the slope, as fast as the mahout could force him to go. The gold howdah rocked perilously. But it was now in the breach.
And still not a shot had been fired or a spear lifted against the Rajputs.
“Forward,” cried Shah Abbas. “Gain the Mogul! May the gods destroy—”
The Persians closed in behind the Uzbeks.
Then the mellow eyes of Shah Abbas widened, and he and his men halted in astonishment. The howdah of Jahangir bearing its precious load had passed within the breach, like a ship entering the sheltering wings of a harbor. It turned to one side, and was lost to view.
Simultaneously the aroused ranks of Uzbeks plunged after it. At once the rear ranks of the Mogul's men turned in their tracks. Rajput horsemen spurred down upon the Uzbeks, casting them back. Jani Beg spurred forward furiously.
A line of Mogul spearmen formed athwart the breach. Through their dressed spears the horsemen of the rear guard trotted safely after their sally. The Uzbeks, who had sought to fall upon an unguarded rear, were faced by a ring of steel.”
And now the hillmen appeared on the walls. Arrow flights sped into the confused ranks of Uzbeks. Muskets barked, and fireballs were flung from the half-demolished battlements.
Then Shah Abbas and Jani Beg saw the yak-tail standard of Jahangir raised on the walls.
They heard the battle shout of triumphant Rajputs. And they knew that, while they had watched passively, Jahangir had passed safely into Khanjut and now held the citadel against them.
Those who were first of the Rajputs into Khanjut saw a strange sight. Passing warily through the smoke, scimitar in hand, and climbing over the debris upheaved by the mine, they beheld safely removed from the area of the explosion groups of tattered men. These hillmen were like to remnants of warriors, for their armor was broken and oddly pieced out, with helmets and targets taken from the dead. They were hollow-eyed and scarred. They leaned wearily upon spear and pike, with bows dangling in their hands.
Beside these silent watchers were ranged piles of brush and sacks of earth, ready to form a barrier within the breach. Yet the barrier had not been put in place.
The Rajputs had their orders not to lift weapon against the defenders of Khanjut. Even so, with the care of veterans they advanced distrustfully. Perhaps they would have been loath to enter the silent breach save for the presence of Raja Man Singh in the first ranks.
Intrigue and rumors in the camp they had left had bewildered them. But the word and the face of the Rajput general was a beacon to their loyalty, and they followed him steadily, peering at the battle-worn groups that loomed out of the murk.
In the foremost group three men waited. There was bent Iskander Khan, leader of the hill Kirghiz, and tall, battle-stained Abdul Dost, worn to a lean semblance of a warrior; and there was a steady-eyed man with tawny hair who rested on a long, bare blade and smiled at the raja.
Seeing this, the Rajputs advanced more readily.
“Sir Ralph,” they whispered among themselves. “The Ferang has come before us as the raja said. Even
as he promised, the way has been cleared. And he has said there will be good sword strokes presently. He told us that we who were of the besiegers should be besieged. And his lips give forth the truth.”
Whereupon, obeying a sign from their leader, they spread to either side along the ramparts, making way for those who pressed after them.
“The royal standard follows,” they whispered, eyeing the assembled rocks and bundles of arrows with the keen appraisal of veterans. “This is a strange thing—and the fortress is but a ruin— yet Jahangir will join us.”
With the acute curiosity of alert soldiers they watched Raja Man Singh advance alone to Abdul Dost, who stopped to meet him. For that instant Rajput and hillman fingered weapons distrustfully, uncertain of the outcome of the meeting. But they saw the raja and mansabdar salute each other and join Sir Ralph.
“It is said the Ferang swam down the river, through the water-main into the well of Khanjut,” they informed one another. “Raja Man Singh trusted to his good faith that we should not be molested. Even so has it come to pass.”
Satisfied that all was well, they fell to repairing the defenses. Trumpeting announced the coming of the elephants through the breach. Abdul Dost watched, grim eyed.
“Welcome to Khanjut, raja,” he growled “Jahangir was long in seeing the truth—that we of Khanjut are faithful to the Mogul, while Jani Beg is the traitor.”
The Rajput scowled; then his brow cleared.
“The Mogul makes amends for his mistake, Abdul Dost.” “Too late.”
“Nay, my men are fresh. We have food for two days, and in two days the van of the Dekkan army will strike through the passes.” “Too late, I said. And it is the truth. God has laid a heavy hand upon Khanjut. When you seek my master, Shirzad Mir, you will know whereof I speak.”
With that he turned away, giving orders to his men, who staggered as they trundled the trees of the barrier into place.
Through the breach passed the elephants with the Mogul and his ameers. Tumult and trampling of horses echoed without as the Rajputs turned against the oncoming Uzbeks. Raja Man Singh seized the royal standard and hurried to the wall.
Sir Ralph accompanied him as the last of the elephants passed the fresh-forming barrier.
Without, they saw the Rajput pike-wall, and beyond this the climbing masses of their enemies. The horse of Jani Beg was close to the spear-wall.
“Yield Jahangir, raja,” cried the Uzbek angrily. “What means this treachery? Ho—the Mogul is betrayed!”
“No lie, that, Jani Beg,” retorted the Rajput scornfully. “You are the traitor, not I, nor Shirzad Mir. The Mogul holds Khanjut. If you seek peace, even now, go hence to your northern steppe.” The Uzbek flushed darkly, then took heart from sight of his numerous followers. “Yield Jahangir and tie the sword of surrender about your neck, raja. This is my last word.”
“When has a Rajput yielded? We guard Jahangir.”
“Then it is war—and the fate of war for those in Khanjut.” “Nay—” the Rajput laughed grimly—“would you harm the Mogul?”
Jani Beg hesitated. But behind him were many thousand disciplined Uzbeks, Persians and plainsmen. His was still the upper hand, and he was not the man to let bloodshed stand in the way of his ambition.
“Let Jahangir look to himself, for his name will soon be as dust on gravel!” he cried, drawing his scimitar. “The star of Jani Beg rises over Hindustan. War!”
He shouted at his men. A score of arrows flew past the raja and Sir Ralph. With a cry the Uzbeks pressed forward. Muskets flashed from wall and trenches. The ominous thunder of battle rolled around Khanjut.
Almost Jani Beg held the prize he sought in his grasp. His mail-clad ranks clashed against the Rajput spear-wall. Raja Man Singh sprang down among his men, leaving the defense of the battlements to Abdul Dost and Sir Ralph.
The breach was filled in a moment with a mass of struggling men. Rajput faced Uzbek; scimitar grated against pike. The few horsemen who attempted to stem the wave of attackers were pulled down and slain.
But now arrows and rocks made gaps in the Uzbeks. Abdul Dost posted his men where the scaling ladders rose against the damaged ramparts.
For a space the storm swept against Khanjut, mingling assailant and defender in a swaying mass. Meanwhile the old men and boys of Khanjut labored at the barrier within the breach.
Raja Man Singh glanced behind him and waved his hard-pressed men to either side of the opening in the wall. He had seen the elephants of the Mogul form in a monstrous line and advance to the breach.
Not alone was Jahangir now in the howdah. A group of darkfaced Muslim archers knelt beside him and plied their small bows swiftly. In the other howdahs the ameers were likewise reinforced.
“The Mogul!” cried the hard-breathing Rajputs. “Jahangir comes. Way for the imperial elephants.”
No coward was Jahangir when it came to an issue. Sight of the battered garrison that fought for him had stirred his placid heart. And his father Jalal-Ud-Din Akbar had sat upon the back of a chained elephant in the pitched battle that had won him mastery of India.
“The Mogul!” cried his men as the gold-plated head of a swaying elephant with armored shoulders and sword-tipped tusks forged into view.
The trained beasts lined the breach, trumpeting with the fury of battle, and the Uzbeks gave ground down the slope. Persian horsemen pressed up to aid them. But from the backs of the elephants flooded a steady stream of arrows from chosen archers. And from the walls above them came the missiles of the heartened garrison.
“God's love!” swore Sir Ralph. “Here is a worthy onset!”
With that he leaped down among the Rajputs and called together a group that followed his long sword into the battle around the elephants.
The foot soldiers under the Englishman arrived in good time, for they diverted the attention of the Persian horsemen from the elephants after one or two of the giant beasts had become infuriated with wounds and dashed down the slope, trampling their assailants underfoot and plunging the men on their backs headlong to death.
On difficult footing, and harassed by the arrows from above, the Persians were forced to give ground. They drew back to allow Jani Beg to form a fresh assault, driving his savage Uzbeks into the breach.
Raja Man Singh, who had watched coolly all that passed, urged back the mahouts of the royal elephants and the remaining men under Sir Ralph.
“Form behind the barrier,” he cried. “It is near completed and will be closed when you are through!”
So when Jani Beg's second storm swept into the breach it was met by a flaming wall of cotton bales coated with pitch, behind which stood an orderly array of the Mogul's men, fresh because they had not yet been in the fight.
It was near evening when Jani Beg, twice unhorsed by arrows from the walls, called off his baffled men and left the breach still in the hands of its defenders. Not until then did Jahangir cause his mahout to make his elephant kneel.
The Mogul dismounted stiffly and advanced to where Abdul Dost and Sir Ralph waited. The mansabdar bent his head, and the Englishman swept off his helmet in a bow.
“Take me, Abdul Dost,” said Jahangir quietly, “to your master, Shirzad Mir. I would tell him with my own lips that he has been a faithful servant of the Mogul.”
“You wronged my master,” said the mansabdar fiercely.
“How was I to know?” Jahangir's handsome face was troubled, for his vanity had suffered in the past hours. “Treasure and honors will atone for my mistake. I pardon freely the pride that gave him the semblance of a—of one who defied me.”
“Come, then, and pardon if you will.”
So saying, Abdul Dost turned and led the two into the tower that formed the abode of Shirzad Mir.
It was empty of attendants, and dark save for a candle that winked in the wind from open embrasures. The couch that had formed the bed of Shirzad Mir had been removed. His scimitar and armor lay on a long table.
Jahangir paused and looked around expec
tantly.
“Summon the mir,” he said impatiently.
Abdul Dost smiled.
“That I cannot do,” he responded. “I buried my master under the floor of this chamber two moons ago.”
Jahangir stared down at the stone flags under the table, and at the guttering candle. He looked at Abdul Dost, and at Sir Ralph.
“So Shirzad Mir was slain?” he asked curiously.
“Aye—by a sword stroke of Raja Man Singh, who warred against him, by your order.”
This time Jahangir did not speak. He stirred uneasily, for the level gaze of the wearied soldier oppressed him and he liked not to be uneasy.
“Shirzad Mir—” Sir Ralph broke the silence—“was faithful to you, as to your father, Akbar the Great.”
At length Jahangir threw off the spell of discomfort that had gripped him. He spoke impulsively, with his customary generosity.
“You have been a faithful man, Abdul Dost,” he said kindly, “and you shall have due reward as such. I shall grant you rank of a lesser ameer, with a jagir in Guzurat, and two hundred good horses. Come, this is a sad place. You shall dine at my side this night.”
“Nay,” said the mansabdar. “My place is here.”
So that night while Sir Ralph and Raja Man Singh in turn took command of the guard, and Jahangir feasted late in a pavilion that had been erected for him and listened to a Muslim poet extol his bravery of that afternoon, Abdul Dost squatted on the stone floor of the tower repeating prayers at the appointed hour, and facing toward Mecca.
For the next day and night and part of the following day, the storm swept against Khanjut.
The powder of the defenders was exhausted and the greater number of the elephants rendered useless. But Raja Man Singh was skilled in fortress warfare, and his Rajputs, aided by the survivors of Abdul Dost's force, fought desperately.
The Persian cannon had resumed their play against the battered ramparts. Fresh levies were formed for each assault. Trenches and ramparts were half-obliterated in the mass fighting that cast Uzbek against Afghan, Persian against Muslim, and Hazara against Rajput.