Muhammad Bin Tughlaq

by Anuja Chandramouli

  However, another part of him refused to relinquish the things he had never sought but had been placed within his reach. He had no wish to murder his father or brother for it, though. He hoped it would never come to that.

  ~

  Jauna wished he had not learnt what he did when he visited his mother, Haniya Begum. He had snuck past her guards the way he had as a boy, when challenged by his friends that he couldn’t enter the harem unseen. Pleased that he could still do it, and ruing the inefficiency of the guards, he was walking towards her chambers when he heard the voices from within. It stopped him in his tracks. The Sultan had chosen to visit her too, for she was the great love of his life.

  ‘The only thing worse than a fool is an intellectual who is too clever for his own good,’ his father was saying. ‘The entire crisis in Telangana could have been averted if only Jauna had applied himself. Surely he sensed that the army chiefs were upset with his refusal to accept the Raja’s profligate bribes to lift the siege?’

  ‘You know Jauna hates to explain himself to his inferiors,’ his mother interjected. ‘He usually thinks things through and is thorough. What more can you ask of him?’

  ‘As a commander, he need not justify his actions, but a good one would have assessed the situation and dealt with it before it escalated out of control. Somebody of his intelligence ought to have known that the troops were disgruntled and worked hard to prevent the rebellion that was brewing.’

  ‘Those cowards who withdrew their troops and fled at the first sign of trouble deserved to die,’ she said stoutly. ‘You wouldn’t have let them get away with it either. It is not his fault Ubaid and Shaikhzadah stirred up so much trouble.’

  ‘Somebody in his position cannot afford to make these mistakes and palm the blame on to somebody else.’ His father sounded disgruntled. ‘There is a cruel side to him that is most disturbing. His troops will hold it against him and so will the families of the victims. For a commander or Sultan to be successful, the love and goodwill of his subjects is paramount. But he doesn’t seem to know the value of these things and is keen to fritter it all away.’

  ‘Are you done grousing about your heir apparent? With time and proper guidance, Jauna will ease into the role he was born to play.’ Haniya always took her son’s side, especially when his father was on the warpath, but Jauna suspected it was overcompensation on her part to make up for the fact that she worshipped her husband and felt that no man would ever measure up to Ghiasuddin Tughlaq. She was probably right too.

  The Sultan’s response made the knife turn in his heart. ‘There is no denying his cleverness, but mostly his education seems to be getting in the way of his common sense. The boy has good ideas but he seems inept at executing them. I am worried about him. When he becomes the Sultan, his subjects will find it in their hearts to forgive him for his cruelty but they will never forgive him for his failures.’

  ‘What is the point of dwelling on his shortcomings?’ Haniya pointed out. ‘Your time could be more gainfully employed if you were to spend a portion of it training him to be a good leader. Your late benefactor made the mistake of failing to prepare his offspring for rule. Thanks to his negligence, they were not well-educated, driven or disciplined. They got used to doing as they pleased, which is why they came to such a lamentable end.

  ‘Jauna is nothing like them,’ she continued loyally. ‘He has always been most fastidious. You are too hard on him. All you do is complain about his mistakes while ignoring his many excellent qualities. You pointed out his cruel treatment of those cowardly amirs but conveniently ignored the fact that he treated Pratapa Rudra and the women of his household with far more respect and clemency than they deserved.’

  ‘It was good of him to follow my orders precisely.’ There was an edge to the Sultan’s tone. Pratapa Rudra had committed suicide en route to Dilli. That was the official version, though Jauna suspected that his father knew that sometimes a man could be persuaded to take his own life, especially when the alternative was pointed out to him.

  Haniya persisted, ‘My son did not tear down temples and allow his men to violate those women. It is customary to do as much and curry favour with the more fanatical of our God’s followers. And he showed a lot of political acumen by raising a splendid mosque to appease the Ulama. In addition to all this, he is generous to a fault, a thoughtful and dutiful son. Vice holds no allure for him.’

  ‘Neither does virtue,’ his father pointed out drily. ‘Now Bahram and Mahmud on the other hand . . .’

  Jauna could hear no more. He turned away abruptly and found himself staring into an arresting pair of eyes. Their owner was not unfamiliar to him. He spent the nights and most of his waking hours consumed by thoughts of her. It had been that way since he first saw her. He had been haunted by the fanatical conviction that in failing to save her, he had failed to save himself.

  Saira smiled her sad little smile and whispered, ‘The Sultan is merely concerned about your future. All parents want their children to have the best life has to offer and be spared its difficulties.’

  Jauna would have given her an earful about his father but her proximity had made him forget his irritation. ‘He is the Sultan and it is his prerogative to do whatever he thinks is best. If he wants Mahmud to be the next in line, I will respect his decision and wish them both the joy of the throne.’

  Her gaze was steady and wise. ‘It is not in his hands. Nor yours. It never was. None of us control the things that happen to us.’

  Was he supposed to feel comforted, Jauna wondered. What exactly was she trying to tell him? ‘Is that why you married him?’ he asked her. His tone sounded a lot more accusatory than he intended.

  ‘You are making it sound like the decision was mine to make.’ She shook her head. ‘Which is not to say I am not grateful to the Sultan for the kindness he has shown me.’

  He supposed she was right. The Sultan had encouraged his higher-ranking courtiers to marry the few Alai women who had survived. As always, he had led by example and chosen the youngest, most beautiful one for himself. And of course she was grateful. The Sultan’s ‘kindness’ had allowed her to retain the privileges of her old life rather than be dismissed as damaged goods who had formerly been the plaything of rough soldiers.

  ‘I am glad you are happy,’ he told her, and to his surprise, he actually meant it.

  ‘I am glad you have made the acquaintance of your father’s new wife,’ Haniya’s voice cut in, ‘though you seem to have forgotten all about your poor old mother in the process.’

  Jauna went to embrace his mother, noting that Saira bowed low and disappeared as quietly as she had materialized.

  8

  The Sultan had sent for his three eldest sons. Apparently, he wanted a word with them on matters of grave import. They stood outside his private quarters and waited for his summons to enter. Jauna glanced at his brothers, wondering if they knew what this was all about. Bahram’s face gave nothing away. He had always been taciturn and a bit of a slogger, which led to people mistakenly underestimating his competence. Mahmud, on the other hand, was a talker with charm to spare. It was hard to say if he was really brilliant or merely pretending to be brilliant.

  The brothers weren’t particularly close, but neither had they ever felt it necessary to draw daggers on each other. Under the circumstances, they got along as well as could be expected from brothers born to different mothers, and who were in line for the throne.

  It was Mahmud who spoke first, ‘There has been trouble in Gujarat and the news is not good.’

  Of course Jauna knew that, and he suspected Bahram did too. In fact, nearly everybody knew but nobody was certain how the Sultan intended to handle it. If the past was any indication, they could all expect a torrential outpouring of blood and gore.

  Following the death of Khusrau Khan and his panwari associates, their clansmen had had a rough time of it. They had made their bid for glory and failed spectacularly. It did not help that during the brief reign of Khusrau Khan they
had got drunk on power. Many openly claimed that they would restore Hindu raj in ‘Hindustan’ and drive away the Mussulmen from their land. They had even gone as far as to demolish prominent mosques while the faithful were at prayer, claiming that they were built on sacred sites that had formerly been temples. Of course, they had justified this injustice by hearkening back to the times of Ghazni and Ghori, the slave kings and the Khaljis, who they insisted had made it their life’s business to smash and loot temples while slaughtering thousands of Hindus.4 So naturally a debt of blood and large-scale destruction had been incurred and must be paid back in kind. The argument sickened Jauna.

  Most of the extremists had joined Khusrau Khan on the other side of the grave, which meant that the panwaris who remained were considered fair targets by those who had lost loved ones during the reign of terror and wanted vengeance. Of course, the Sultan had dealt with the communal clashes with an iron hand, but even he wasn’t entirely up to the task of making people of different faiths live together peacefully. The casualties kept piling up and the bad blood between the faithful persisted.

  The politicos of Gujarat taking advantage of the unrest were using fickle public sentiment to fan the flames of rebellion. The Sultan had sent Malik Shadi Dawar, his son-in-law, at the head of a mighty force to deal with it. Having distinguished himself in two successive battles against the Mongols fought around the time Jauna had been preoccupied with Telangana, Malik Shadi had earned himself the regard of the emperor.

  ‘Do we know for certain that he is dead?’ Jauna inquired. He knew the answer, but when it came to games played for power, he had found it was best to play things close to the chest. He was sorry to hear about the loss of his brother-in-law, though. Malik Shadi Dawar had been a good man who was loyal and capable. His sister, Khuda, was inconsolable. He had held her hand and commiserated with her, knowing that it was what his father would want him to do.

  Mahmud rolled his eyes at that. ‘Of course he is dead, as you very well know. There was treachery at play, but the precise details that led to his demise seem unclear. It usually happens when there is massacre on a large scale and there are no witnesses who have survived to tell tales. I daresay you have a better grasp on the situation than I do. In fact, my spies tell me that your spies are better than even the Sultan’s. As for Bahram’s spies, like him they will reveal nothing. Not even on pain of death.’

  Jauna grinned but was noncommittal. Bahram might have allowed himself a tiny smile but it was more likely that it was a trick of the light.

  ‘It was most unfortunate,’ Mahmud continued, shrugging his shoulders in resignation. ‘Fresh from his success against the Mongols at Samana, where he fought under the command of Gurshasp, our revered cousin, now governor of Samana, Malik Shadi acquitted himself well. His initial successes were laudable, I am told. He won every skirmish and prevailed in open battle, only to lose the war. After forcing the rebels to retreat, he failed to chase them down and make an end to it.

  ‘They say that the rebels disguised themselves as musicians or bribed a travelling troupe of minstrels who were to perform for the Amir to kill them all. It was a bloodbath, and the Sultan is furious. I daresay his retribution will be fitting!’

  Bahram caught his eye then. Jauna was not surprised to note that he knew. What about Mahmud, he wondered. Was he aware of his father’s deadliest arsenal? For all his genial ways and affable manner, his younger brother might be a lot smarter than he let on.

  Of course, Sultan Ghiasuddin Tughlaq would not allow the foul murder of his son-in-law to go unavenged. Mahmud was still prattling on about it. ‘It is likely that we will be called upon to march towards Gujarat immediately and teach the insurgents a lesson they will not forget in a hurry. You will probably be asked to command the imperial forces, Jauna, especially now that you have redeemed yourself after the fiasco at Telangana.’

  Jauna bristled ever so slightly, but he refused to rise to the bait. Mahmud was just a puppy yapping away to glory and pretending he was a blooded, battle-hardened veteran. However, his conquests were limited to the boudoir, and they could hardly be called that, since they had mostly been bought and paid for.

  Bahram frowned. ‘We will know father’s wishes in this matter soon enough.’ They lapsed into silence after that.

  Jauna’s thoughts turned to the hashashin who had recently offered themselves for hire to his father. Formerly an elite troop of assassins, they had been the scourge of the world during their glory days. They were on the run now that their ranks had been decimated and their impregnable fortress Alamuth had been razed to the ground by the Mongol Hulagu, in whom they had finally met their match. Despite his best efforts, though, Jauna had been unable to ascertain their exact numbers or pinpoint their leader, who made himself known only to the Sultan and would answer to no one else.

  Jauna had been fascinated by their history as a student, much to the distress of his instructors, who felt their charge was hero-worshipping a bunch of sinful misfits and glorifying their heinous deeds of murder and mayhem. Their founder, he recalled, had been Hassan-al-Sabbah, who belonged to the Shia sect of the Ismailia and had started the order of the hashashin sometime in the tenth century. Erudite and charismatic, his extremist views nevertheless got him into trouble with the law, which prompted him to lock himself away within Alamuth. If legend was to be believed, Hassan ventured out only twice in his lifetime and devoted himself almost entirely to the upholding of Sharia law. Apparently, he was so fanatical about his chosen vocation that he even executed his two sons when they were found guilty of minor infractions.

  Even after the passing of their founder, the hashashin had been actively involved in the great power struggles of the age and made themselves some powerful enemies among both Christians and Muslims, having offered their services to both sides during the Crusades for a price.

  Their sphere of influence had radiated from Persia to Syria and the rest of the known world. The executions were carried out in public as well as in private, and the sheer audacity of their crimes struck fear in the hearts of all. Now that their reign of terror had ended and most were cast out into the world, some among them saw no reason not to set their religious scruples aside and offer their skills to the highest bidder. They were dangerous men but their especial skills were invaluable when wielded by the right hands.

  Jauna knew that the Sultan had set them on the trail of the cowardly killers of his son-in-law, who had already melted away. The hashashin were known to be relentless. They would devote themselves to the task and execute them even if it took them the rest of their lives.

  It was typically efficient of Ghiasuddin Tughlaq. He would have avenged his son-in-law without exacerbating the situation with the Hindus, which would be inevitable were he to order a series of public executions. Eventually, a force would be sent to subdue the mess in Gujarat, but any action now would only be counterproductive, with only the innocent dying, when his attention and resources could be more gainfully employed elsewhere. Some day, Jauna hoped to cultivate a touch that was half as deft as his father’s.

  Therefore, Jauna knew that they would not be ordered to march towards Gujarat. The Sultan clearly had something else on his mind. Jauna supposed he could hazard a guess, and excitement stirred at the prospect of war, conquest and riches. His expedition to Telangana had been a nightmare, and yet he had felt more alive then and less lonely.

  They were finally asked to enter. Jauna thought he saw Saira’s retreating figure and his heart skipped a beat. If the gossips were to be believed, his father was quite taken with his new wife, who had already rewarded him with a son. Jauna could hardly blame him for being so enamoured of her, but did anyway.

  The Sultan nodded to them, beckoning for them to take their seats around him. He looked frail, Jauna thought. Age was catching up with him fast. It made him sad. He wished his father would live forever. But he also wished sometimes that he would succumb to natural causes and leave every one of his possessions to him. Initially, he had bee
n horrified by his thoughts, but now they were around so much that they were starting to feel like co-conspirators.

  Jauna saw no reason to flagellate himself for it. After all, thoughts seldom translated into action. He forced himself to concentrate as he felt his father’s piercing gaze on him.

  ‘I assume all the preparations have been made and the imperial army is ready to march within a few days.’ The query was directed to Bahram. Jauna and Mahmud stared at him in surprise. This was the first they were hearing about this. The Sultan had clearly confided in their brother. Why did their father make it a point to favour them in turns? Did he want them to kill each other?

  ‘It has, your majesty, and your troops need but a moment’s notice to carry out your orders,’ Bahram replied, and the Sultan nodded with satisfaction.

  ‘Well done, Bahram!’ He smiled at his son, and Jauna felt even more ill-disposed towards him. Judging from Mahmud’s smile, which had suddenly become snake-like, he felt the same way. ‘Now the time has come for me to reveal my plans.’

  ‘Within a fortnight, I will lead the forces and we will set out to Lakhnauti.’ He noticed the looks of surprise mirrored on the faces of his three sons with satisfaction. ‘As you know, I have coveted the prosperous Bengal province and hoped to absorb it into the empire ever since fortune smiled on me and placed me on the throne. Recently, I received an overture from a prince of the realm and am determined to respond, since I am convinced that the entire province is ripe for the picking.’

  Jauna’s mind was whirring. ‘It has been an independent kingdom since the time of Balban’s son, Bughra Khan, who removed himself from the power corridors of Dilli and was content to rule from Lakhnauti. They said he refused to involve himself in the internecine struggle following Balban’s passing, not even when the Khaljis took the throne for themselves after deposing the last of Balban’s line, which included Bughra Khan’s own son.’