Jauna sensed his lack of approval, and it stung, but he did not hesitate to answer. ‘Victory will lead you straight to the throne. There is none wiser or worthier, and yet I can’t help but think you deserve better. Remember what happened to the Alai family? When they started out, they weren’t the monsters they eventually became. But it was as if they were all infected with the same disease that doesn’t really have a cure.’
‘Power does corrupt. There is no arguing with that.’ Ghiasuddin was thoughtful.
‘I am not saying that you will become like the others who sat on the throne, for you are destined to be the greatest of them all. But I am worried that it will corrupt those around you who are supposed to serve, but instead seek to wrest for themselves the power they are unfit to wield . . .’
His voice trailed off as he remembered the things he had seen in the palace. While his father fought the Mongol hordes and carried out duties assigned by the emperor, he had been stationed at the palace and present during Alauddin’s last days. With his own eyes, he had seen the Shah reduced from a mighty monarch to a drooling imbecile who was too weak to get up from his bed to use the privy and had to be cleaned like a child. Kafur had made sure visiting dignitaries saw him in this state, chipping away at his self-esteem even as his master clung to him with desperate trust.
Jauna was still haunted by the image of the headless trunk that was all that remained of Mubarak Shah, whose reign had started with so much promise, the beautiful girl who had prayed by his side, and the friend who had sacrificed himself for his sake. He had known Mubarak as a bright young man who had been cheerful and kind. Who knew he would turn out to be an addict and a killer of king, kith and kin?
Would the Tughlaqs, like the Khaljis, devolve into killers who murdered their own fathers and brothers with impunity? It did not bear thinking about.
‘I have given the matter a lot of thought, Jauna,’ Ghiasuddin said in his measured yet authoritative voice, ‘and my mind is made up. Too many are content to complain about those in power while being too lazy or caught up in the minutiae of their mundane lives to do something about it. If given the chance, it behoves all of us to do what we can to benefit the great majority instead of shirking such an onerous responsibility. But that said, something tells me I haven’t the time left to clean up this mess. I have decided not to accept the throne should it be offered to me. We will place a surviving member of the Alai family on the throne and serve him to the best of our ability.’
He lapsed into silence after that. Jauna wondered at the equal amounts of disappointment and relief he was experiencing. Of course his father meant every word, but would he really have the strength to walk away from a throne? Would they let him? Besides, to the best of his knowledge, the choice was not really his father’s to make. From what he had heard, Khusrau had hunted and killed everyone who boasted a drop of Alai blood in their veins.
With prophetic vision, he knew his father was fooling himself if he thought he could just walk away. The time had come for a new order. Ghiasuddin Tughlaq would be their Sultan, and his firstborn son would inherit the throne in good time. For better or for worse. That was the way of it.
‘Let us not get ahead of ourselves, son.’ Ghiasuddin glanced at him with a strange smile. ‘Not when there are battles to be fought and a tyrant to be relegated to the trash heap of history. As for the rest of it, we’ll cross the bridge when we come to it.’
With that, father and son rode into the future with steady resolve, not entirely sure if they were ready to have greatness thrust upon them.
4
The battle at Sarsuti—if it could be called that—seemed to end before it even began. Jauna had been ordered to head the charge, with his father bringing up the reserves in the rear. The old warrior hadn’t been entirely certain about the unconventional battle formation drawn up by his son, but Jauna had been validated when he crushed Khanan Khan and Sufi Khan in a matter of hours.
Seeing young Jauna lead a seemingly isolated division, with Ghazi Malik nowhere in the vicinity, his opponents had been drawn into the attack. Carried away by the headlong rush, they had allowed themselves to be trapped when Jauna pulled back and signalled for two fresh divisions, which materialized at the flanks of the enemy, cutting off their retreat, and soundly defeated them.
By the time Ghiasuddin arrived, Jauna had restored order. He had rounded up the fleeing fugitives and presented them to his father, along with the rich booty and priceless valuables left behind by the fallen. Ghazi Malik had been pleased. As for the cheering troops, they were beside themselves when their commander announced that they would be richly compensated for their own contribution.
Jauna looked at the rows of rambunctious troops celebrating their victory and good fortune, feeling deflated. His father had needed them to fulfil his plans for the future and make his vision a reality. These were mean soldiers who gave their compliance and support to the highest bidder. Yet, Ghazi Malik had found a way to convince them to give their loyalty and very lives so that they may be wedded to his personal purpose. It was a tricky business and it made Jauna uneasy, knowing that he lacked his father’s natural gifts. He hated the thought that some day his life and legacy would be inextricably linked to the competence of his underlings.
After the battle, Ghiasuddin allowed them a few days to rest and attend to the injured before they resumed the march to Dilli. He used the time to gather all the intelligence he could about his enemy’s movements. Their informers brought news that the false Shah was disheartened but determined to make a fight of it. It had been his plan to bribe the high-ranking officials into supporting him. They had pretended to acquiesce, milked him for all he was worth, and promptly abandoned him.
Even the common soldiers who had been paid with gold from the imperial treasury had taken his money before turning their backs on him. The morale in his camp was at an all-time low. Heartsick and weary (in the words of the more eloquent spies) Khusrau Khan nonetheless marched from Siri with the imperial army.
Victory seemed certain. But Ghiasuddin was not one to take anything for granted and formulated his plans with care. The two forces met on the plains of Indarpat. This time, Ghazi Malik himself led the charge with 300 of his veteran troops. They were heavily outnumbered, Jauna noted (though he had been given embellished figures), and were certain to have a rough time of it.
He was right. Initially, they suffered heavy losses, and a lesser man would have quailed. Jauna watched with admiration as his father did not flinch in the face of overwhelming odds. Instead, he gathered his veterans around him and led the charge. ‘Remember what is at stake here!’ his bull voice roared. ‘The tyrant will show you no mercy. He will grind you into the dust before going after your women and children. You are all that stands between him and your loved ones! Fight for honour! Fight for justice! Fight for the motherland!’
Galvanized, his troops rallied behind Ghiasuddin Tughlaq and struck back with almighty vengeance. Jauna fought his way to his father’s side. Khusrau Khan’s forces broke under the weight of that fresh onslaught while their Shah fled for his life. Within the hour, their ranks were decimated, forcing them to flee pell-mell from the battlefield.
While the men celebrated their triumph, Ghazi Malik sent for him. It wasn’t over. Jauna was assigned the task of pursuing the coward and bringing him to his knees.
They found him in the garden of an empty house. His guards had abandoned him and made a run for it. But not before tying him up and looting him of all his remaining worldly possessions, as well as his fine steed. Nobody felt anything was owed to a former monarch who had succeeded only in losing everything. It was a pathetic sight.
Jauna called out to a detachment of his troops, ‘Find the louts who have betrayed their overlord! Chase them to the ends of the earth if you have to but be sure to relieve them of their ill-gotten gains before hanging the miscreants by their sorry necks till they die. Report to me once you have carried out my instructions!’
As the
soldiers clattered away, their companions hauled Nasiruddin Khusrau Khan to his feet and presented him to Jauna. To his credit, the man did not deign to plead for his life.
Instead, the deposed Shah looked him in the eye with typical audacity. ‘You have seen fit to betray me, though I have treated you with benevolence. But I don’t blame you. Having grown up a slave in filth and poverty, I clawed my way to the top, and for a moment there, I was the richest and most powerful man in the land. Even now, I am uncertain that this is all nothing more than a mad dream. And do you know the strangest thing about all this?’
He tried to laugh but wound up hacking and coughing violently. Flecks of drool and blood bespattered his armour. Jauna stepped back in revulsion.
‘I genuinely am not sure whether it is better to be a slave or a king . . .’
Wiping away the tears of his mirth, he continued, ‘You and your father aren’t as different from me as you think. When it is your turn to be seduced by power, you too will do whatever it takes to hold on for as long as you can, your so-called fine principles and scruples notwithstanding.’
Jauna’s eyes were cold. ‘Don’t you dare talk about my father! And I will never stoop to your level. You betrayed your benefactor, fed his addiction and had him killed as he lay in your arms on the very bed where you seduced him.’
Khusrau Khan coughed again and spat out a bloody blob. ‘You think he was my benefactor? Perhaps, but it was I who stayed my hand when ordered by Malik Kafur to blind him. Having rescued him from a fate worse than death and won him a throne, I stood by his side and single-handedly administered an empire, expanded as well as enriched it, managed successful conquests and suppressed every rebellion that flared up. I did all that while playing at being his woman because he wouldn’t have it any other way.2 Do you know what it is like to be the whore of a madman dominated by his drug habit? To pander to his perverse whims knowing full well that you are his better in every way but your birth robbed you of everything?’
He was breathing heavily. ‘Like your father, my intentions were merely to save us all from the tyrant. The throne was offered to me by an assembly of the noblemen who had suffered under the mad monarch, and you know it to be the truth, though you choose not to see it. And contrary to what you have been feeding the masses, the majority were Muslims. There is a reason they supported the claim of a Hindu convert when your father marched against the throne! In my position, Ghiasuddin Tughlaq and Fakhiruddin Jauna Khan would have done exactly the same thing. If you were to stop making excuses for Mubarak, you would agree that my deed was necessary, even laudable.’
‘And if you stopped making excuses for yourself, you would agree that your actions were execrable and death is too good for you!’ Jauna’s voice was hard as flint and entirely devoid of pity. How dare this vulgar creature compare himself to Ghazi Malik and justify his vile deeds? Jauna had seen him comporting himself as the Shah’s woman with his own eyes and he had not seemed put out in the least while displaying his silken garments and precious ornaments. Fancy him playing the victim now!
‘I seek neither your pity nor your understanding, emperor-to-be!’ There was resignation and even a certain dignity to his mien. ‘All I offer are my wishes to you and your father in the foolish hope that the Tughlaqs will have a better time of it than I did, even though you too turned on a benefactor and paved the way to the throne with my blood. For that and more, you have my forgiveness!’
Jauna had had enough by then and gave the order for the wretched man’s head to be struck off at once. He stayed only long enough to make sure the deed was done before turning his back on the remains of the false Shah. Dirt belonged in the trash, after all.
Riders arrived bearing urgent summons from Ghazi Malik. The nobles had assembled before him to commemorate his victory and to present to him the keys to the palace, treasury and the city gates in recognition of his victory. Jauna was to join him immediately.
On the ride back, there was a sickness in his heart and an overpowering dread that refused to be quelled. Jauna watched the joyful revellers who were celebrating the triumph of the Tughlaqs and resisted their blandishments to join in. Deep in his heart, he supposed, the false Shah was right. They had all risen from the dirt and it was only a matter of time before they were ground into the dust. What was there to celebrate but the supreme folly of mankind?
5
The next day, a triumphant procession with Ghiasuddin Tughlaq at the head wound its way to Siri and the palace with due pomp and ceremony. The citizens thronged the streets and showered them with marigold petals. Ever humble and devout, he prostrated himself and thanked the Almighty before making his way into the palace.
The courtiers had assembled to greet the victor and swear allegiance to him. Ghiasuddin was overcome with sadness and lamented over the fates of his patron’s blood relatives and the inglorious end to his line. With an almighty effort, he controlled himself. Refusing the pride of place that was the right of the victor, he gathered the amirs around him in comradely fashion to say his piece.
‘With the death of the false Shah, my duties to my patron and emperor have been discharged.’ His eyes shone with tears. Jauna, who was watching from a discreet distance, decided it was a nice touch. ‘Alauddin Shah was a good man and a great ruler. This land and her people will always remain indebted to him. I urge the eminent personages present here to bring forward one of his blood to restore the glory of his reign. But if none have survived the calamity that befell them, it is my suggestion that the amirs name one who is worthy to rule. I will abide by the decision and serve the chosen one to the end of my days.’
It was a masterly stroke, Jauna mused to himself. Alauddin may have been great for a brief period, when his four capable Khans rode in all directions to subdue all who had failed to bow before the Shah’s authority. They had captured vast tracts of land and brought back more treasures than could be imagined, but that had been before the lot of them had been overcome by stupidity.
For the four, it had been wine, women, gambling and hubris that had derailed their careers. For the Shah, it was his need to love and be loved in return that had got the better of him. Why his father sought to glorify him and reinstate his unimpressive progeny on the throne, he would never know. Surely it was a bluff? But Ghiasuddin seemed sincere.
The amirs reacted with shock to this surprise announcement and whispered to each other while Ghiasuddin moved back, steady and resolute as ever. Jauna studied the faces of the amirs and he saw the longing on their faces for a chance to sit on the throne, knowing that it mirrored his own. Again, he wondered at himself. How was it possible to want something so desperately and yet not want it at all?
They wavered for long moments until one among them spoke up, ‘I speak here on behalf of my fellow luminaries! Not a single man here can deny that there is none more suited than our beloved and most heroic Ghazi Malik to assume the mantle of rule. We beg you to restore order and put to rights the evils that have been perpetrated ever since the last days of Alauddin Khalji.’
Another voice spoke up, rightly gauging the mood prevailing in this august assembly, ‘We have not forgotten our debt to you for ridding us of the Mongol menace.’
‘You have been chosen by the Almighty to lead us to a new era of peace, prosperity and plenty. Don’t turn your back on us at this crucial juncture!’
Others in the gathering shouted out their assent and a sea of voices roared in support of Sultan Ghiasuddin Tughlaq. It was the prudent thing to do, after all. None of them had been particularly forthcoming when it came to showing support when he rose up in rebellion, and now, with his victorious army at the gates of Dilli, they couldn’t have been more enthusiastic. Jauna nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all.
When Ghiasuddin started to shake his head in refusal, they persisted. One of the amirs leaned in and whispered in his ear, ‘There is no turning back for you. By defeating the false Shah, you have emerged as the strongest contender for the throne and even if we
were to choose someone else, the new ruler would never rest easy till he has wiped you out along with your family.’
Bahram Aiba Kishlu Khan called out, ‘If you persist in refusing, we will have no choice but to install your heroic son upon the throne. He has also acquitted himself very well on the battlefield. In fact, it was he who finally rid us of the tyrant by striking his unworthy head off!’ Jauna tamped down hard on the heady rush of eagerness and keen anticipation those words induced. His father’s features were inscrutable.
A babel of voices rang out, and Ghazi Malik rose to his feet, his arms raised as if in surrender. Taking it at as a sign of assent, the gathered nobles tripped over themselves in their eagerness to bow down before him. That was when the cheering began in earnest. Jauna looked at his father, who was graciously accepting the wishes of the nobles. He continued to watch as the snakes, leeches and a few good men gathered around the new Sultan.
‘So it begins . . .’ he murmured. His words were swallowed up by the hullaballoo, but his father turned in his direction then. Almost as if he had heard.
6
Jauna was in Devagiri and in a foul mood. He confided in Abu, the way he usually did when he was upset, ‘Unlike father, I am surrounded by none but the colossally foolish and the insupportably stupid.’
He had been thrilled when his father had given him his first command and sent him to Warangal, the Telangana province, to quell the unrest there and retrieve the territories. These had been lost by those who had come to power after the death of Alauddin Khalji. But he had been forced to lift the siege and return with his tail tucked between his legs. The only silver lining was that Qutlugh Khan, his former tutor and the vazir of Devagiri, had been fiercely loyal and had followed Jauna’s instructions to the letter.
Muhammad Bin Tughlaq Page 3