Muhammad Bin Tughlaq

by Anuja Chandramouli

  The Sultan grunted by way of reply but Abu was relentless. ‘And with a stunning capacity for foolhardiness, you made enemies out of the hardliners among the Hindus even while championing the spirit of tolerance by handing out the death penalty to all who came forward with false claims about their Muslim brothers. Sometimes, I am convinced that you are more fool than genius.’

  ‘That will be enough!’ Muhammad bit out but Abu ignored him with his usual blithe indifference.

  ‘You know very well that Sheikh Imamuddin has been openly accusing you of parricide and rallying his followers against you. They are convinced that your dalliance with your stepmother is further proof of your guilt. Of course, you could set the rumours to rest by taking a wife and trotting out sons by the dozen! But you refuse to do the sensible thing and insist on carrying on with blatant disregard for a volatile situation.’

  Muhammad did not bother with a response, and his oldest friend sighed. ‘It is the reason Bahauddin rose up in rebellion. He is outraged that you could do this to his beloved uncle, and who can blame him? At the very least, you could surround yourself with nautch girls and conduct orgies all through the long nights. It would be considered more respectable than this strange obsession with your father’s wife.’

  ‘You of all people know better than to suggest that.’ His eyes grew stormy as he harkened back to Mubarak Shah’s reign of terror. There had been hundreds of nautch girls as well as boys, and so much food, liquor and intoxicants it had made the senses swim. Forced into a state of inebriation, they were ordered to sport with these men and women, all for the viewing pleasure of the sadistic, debauched reprobate who had the power of life and death over them. Ever since, Muhammad had not touched a drop of alcohol, disliked rich food and had next to no interest in pleasures of the flesh. He saw no reason to take a string of wives either. After all, what was the point of being the Sultan if he was going to allow himself to be reduced to a prize stallion put to stud?

  Besides, there were other things to deal with. Like rebellion and betrayal. Finally, after a lengthy song and dance, Baha had been brought to his knees. Najib had been busy and the fallen rebel had been relieved of every one of his fingernails, and that wasn’t even the half of it. But his cousin was still defiant.

  ‘You are a murderer!’ Baha had spat out. ‘And you will get your comeuppance for your foul deed. When I first heard the news, I couldn’t believe it. What possible motive could you have had, especially since you were already the heir apparent? But you did it all to indulge a taboo passion. I will not answer to the likes of you!’

  Muhammad nodded, and Najib plucked out Baha’s tongue with a pair of heated tongs. It was all very messy and unpleasant, and the Sultan looked away. Barani was right. Najib was definitely more of a butcher than an artist.

  ‘You know, cousin, I was prepared to issue a royal pardon on account of the fact that my father held you in high regard. Mistakenly, as it turns out. Even now, it is not your infamous words that will be the death of you but your despicable cowardice.’

  Baha glared at him as he choked on the blood spilling from his mouth. ‘You should have accepted the terms of surrender, but you chose to run and sacrificed the lives of thousands. You didn’t even spare the Raja of Kampila and his family, who died to save a traitor like you. Were you not aware that little girls, pregnant wives and frail, elderly women were made to commit jauhar while their men sacrificed themselves on our swords? What madness possessed you to become the instrument of such evil?’

  His chest heaved as the rage coursed through his being again. The almighty conflagration had been a terrible sight that would be seared into his brain till the day he died. The Rai was beyond all reason, and Muhammad had been convinced that he was in the grip of madness. He hadn’t been far wrong. Later, they told him that the Rajputs dosed themselves as well as their women with kushumba, a drink laced with opiates, before they rode or burnt to death. Never had he seen such a senseless and utterly useless sacrifice.

  Even now, those flames and the screams of the dying women tormented him night after night. And his damnable cousin had nearly brought about a similar finale for Rai Bilal Deo, the Hoysala king of Dwarasamudra. However, this Rai was a sensible man who actually cared about his subjects and his family. He had refused to subject them to such a fate over the wretched creature who sought refuge. Baha had been trussed up and handed over to the Sultan. Bilal Deo had also sworn fealty to Muhammad, and, having made and accepted rich presents, he had returned to his people. Now the traitor awaited judgement.

  The Sultan did not keep him waiting. He turned to Najib. ‘You can carve up Bahauddin Gurshasp while he still lives and cook his flesh with fragrant spices and rice. Then serve it to the male members of his family as their last meal, before they too are executed. Stuff the remains with straw and parade them across the length and breadth of my empire! As for the female members of his family, they will not be made to suffer for the stupidity of their men, and will be placed under the care of the Makhduma Jahan. Take him away from my sight!’6

  Ignoring the gasps of shock and horror that greeted his sentence, Sultan Muhammad bin Tughlaq leaned back on his throne, reeling from the heat of his own implacable rage.

  4

  Muhammad was with Saira when his mother thundered into his private chambers. She was almost completely blind now but none suspected as much because of how sure-footed she was and the strenuous activities she packed into a given day. In the eyes of the public, the fault lay with the Sultan, who had seen fit to have those fiery marvels displayed on the day of his coronation. Their harsh brightness had blinded the poor queen, it was said.

  It didn’t seem to slow Haniya down in the least. She had a number of projects that demanded almost all her attention. The veterans of Ghazi Malik’s armies and wars who had been crippled or incapacitated had been reduced to wandering the streets with begging bowls. She had ordered the guards to round up these poor souls and house them at establishments she had personally erected, where they were fed from the royal kitchen and treated by imperial physicians who would have protested had it not been Makhduma Jahan herself who had issued the orders.

  Besides, who could complain when the Sultan’s own mother worked by their side, feeding bowls of nourishing soup with her own fair hands to wretched creatures who had lost the will to live, talking to them endlessly of God and hope, unwilling to give up on them.

  ‘Any man who doesn’t bother to save himself is usually not worth saving,’ Muhammad pointed out to his mother, worried that she would catch some terrible infection. ‘The world will be a better place if people dealt with their problems manfully instead of giving up and becoming a burden to themselves and others.’

  ‘The Sultan knows best,’ she had retorted sarcastically, ‘but while he bestows favours upon the already privileged and the ferenghi, some of us seek to make sure that all of Allah’s children get a fair share of his merciful bounty.’

  Muhammad refrained from pointing out that she was being philanthropic with his money, which had been bestowed on her as a favour. But he couldn’t stop himself from arguing further, ‘Whenever people are struck down by misfortune, be it disease, loss of limbs, property or loved ones, war and its attendant horrors, it is only the fittest and worthwhile among us who survive. It is nature’s way of rooting out the disposable on whom the limited resources of the land are wasted.’

  She rounded on him, her eyes flashing in sudden fury. ‘How dare you say that? Sultan or not, I will slap you senseless if you talk like that again. Nature is an arbitrary mistress who acts on her whims and destroys without discrimination. Never forget that Sultan Ghiasuddin Tughlaq was the best, fittest and most worthwhile among us. He certainly wasn’t dispensable, and I still weep that while his inferiors have lived and prospered, he is gone, never to come back.’

  That was the last time he had argued with her about her charities, and, to make up for his lack of delicacy, personally allocated abundant sums from the treasury to finance he
r large-hearted schemes.

  Makhduma Jahan extended her kindness and compassion to orphans and ragamuffins as well. These were plucked from the streets on the her orders, where they had been roaming like feral dogs, fighting for scraps and stealing from honest shopkeepers and citizens. His mother had conscripted those among the clergy whom she favoured or who owed her favours and tasked them with making civilized human beings out of the ruffians and making them learn the Quran.

  To nobody’s surprise, the majority disappeared back into the uncivilized wastelands from which they had emerged and grew up to be petty thieves, rapists or bar-room brawlers who wound up in prison or the executioner’s block. But a few did grow up to be halfway-decent citizens of a great empire. On his mother’s recommendation, some were given high posts in administrative offices. Muhammad never denied his mother. In fact, the rise of these creatures pleased him almost as much as her.

  The Sultan’s mother was also the champion of whores, widows, abandoned women or those of ill-repute. She even set her religious scruples aside to argue the case of Hindu women who were being made to commit sati and had forced the Khwaja Jahan’s hand in preventing the death of child widows, quickly taking these cast-offs into her fold.

  Being a practical woman, she refused to allow them to wallow in their misery but put them to work. They were taught to cook, clean, embroider or stitch clothes and uniforms for the troops as well as the inhabitants of her homes for the wretched. She also allotted funds for the families of soldiers who had been killed while fighting for their Sultan, in addition to bearing the funeral costs. His subjects loved her dearly.

  Now that she was getting on in years, she found an unlikely ally in Saira, who had quietly taken over the running of her mother-in-law’s projects while giving her the impression that she was still in charge.

  The two women went about their business amicably enough, even though Haniya felt morally obliged to point out that women who were guilty of incest deserved to be stoned to death. ‘You are probably right, your highness!’ Saira agreed quietly as she handed her a bag of coins to be given to a young girl’s family. The victim had been killed by her husband. Later, Saira knew she would have a word with Najib, who in exchange for a sum would cheerfully have the perpetrator executed on a trumped-up charge.

  Saira also knew that it pleased her mother-in-law when rank beggars refused the bowl of food she held out to them. ‘It is better to die of starvation than to accept help from a sinful wretch guilty of incest.’ They would hawk and spit in her direction but it would take more than that to break her. Haniya never defended her but would usually step in with a malicious cackle.

  Later, though, Haniya would invite her for a meal which they would both consume in silence. Then Saira would receive an item of jewellery or some costly work of art from her mother-in-law. And people wonder why the Sultan is such a study in contradiction! she would muse to herself.

  Makhduma Jahan faced her son in his chambers, more furious than he had ever seen her. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ she launched into her tirade. She became angrier still when he failed to respond and she registered Saira’s presence. ‘Did you put him up to this?’ she asked her unnecessarily.

  ‘If you are asking whether I am the reason he ordered the cruel execution of his rebellious cousin, then I think you already know the answer to that,’ Saira informed his mother coolly. ‘In fact, if I believed it would make a difference, I would have told the Sultan that it is barbaric to make the surviving members of his cousin’s family, and by extension his own, pay the price for Bahauddin Gurshasp’s perfidy.’

  Her unapologetic demeanour took the wind right out of Haniya’s sails. But she recovered swiftly when her son rolled his eyes in exasperation over the delicate sensibilities of the women in his life.

  ‘You must learn to control your temper,’ Haniya told him firmly. ‘You have lost the goodwill of so many thanks to your rashness and intemperate mood swings. Besides, this level of brutality does not make much strategic sense either.’

  ‘Why don’t you leave him alone, mother?’ Khuda had also barged in, and Muhammad decided that he must do something about the lax security. ‘My dear brother usually knows what he is doing even when it looks like he hasn’t a clue. Cousin Baha should have known better than to pick up arms against the family, and he refused to listen to reason even when the Sultan offered him terms of clemency he certainly did not deserve.’

  Only Khuda would have dared talk to their mother that way. But then again, she was his fiercest and most loyal supporter. ‘And what do you mean, his actions don’t make strategic sense?’ she demanded. ‘Every time people gorge on biriyani with succulent pieces of meat, they are reminded of the fate of traitors and the importance of good behaviour approved by the Sultan.

  ‘Why, there is not one single person in the land who would dare disobey their sovereign. Taxes and tributes are paid promptly. Every single high and mighty Khan, Malik, Amir, Isfahla, Raja, soldier and slave knows better than to harbour treacherous thoughts. It seems to me that he did the right thing, and if you didn’t insist on comparing him with Father, you would agree.’

  Muhammad sighed. As always, Khuda had come out charging, lost control and gone too far. His mother turned her blind gaze unerringly towards her garrulous daughter, who quailed under the matriarch’s withering scorn.

  ‘It is thanks to sycophants like you that even good Sultans nurse delusions of infallibility and come to a bad end.’ Haniya was well and truly furious now. ‘If my counsel was good enough for my husband then it ought to be good enough for my son, and I’ll thank you not to contradict older and wiser heads than you. If you wish to remain, I suggest you hold your tongue.’

  Khuda seemed suitably chastened as she retreated and sat next to Saira, who offered her a plate of sweetmeats, but she winked conspiratorially at her brother. It may have been to spite their mother, but Khuda and Saira got along reasonably well.

  ‘Indiscriminate cruelty may get you short-term gains, but if things aren’t going well and your people are convinced that you are a mad tyrant who would have them unjustly killed without rhyme or reason, they might just decide it will be worth the effort to kill you first,’ Makhduma Jahan said.

  As always, Muhammad listened dutifully to her words but refused to respond or explain his actions. What was the point? She wouldn’t understand anyway. His spies had told him that Bahauddin had saddened her with his actions and she had spent the long nights on her knees beseeching Allah to show him the right path. Her heartbreak had been complete when she heard about the fate of the Raja of Kampila’s entire family, and yet she expected him to treat his cousin with compassion. But of course, that was not what was bothering her.

  Haniya, as always, lacked confidence in her son’s ability to rule and seemed convinced that he would lose everything his father had won before coming to a gory end himself. And she wasn’t finished with him. Haniya may have been beside herself over Baha’s fate, but she was even angrier about the fact that he had humiliated himself, thanks to his recent actions which had seen a Kazi rule against him in two separate cases. He had been accused of wrongfully appropriating someone else’s land and physically assaulting a noble’s son. That hadn’t been all. He had even submitted to a beating after the Kazi gave his sentence.

  The way Muhammad saw it, he had handled an embarrassing situation with grace, giving the impression that justice was not an inaccessible commodity in his land and proving that the Sultan’s word was gold. How would it have looked if the plaintiffs who had filed cases against him had been arrested on his orders and beheaded in public? A little finesse often went a long way.

  ‘Forget nipping a problem in the bud, you would do well not to plant seeds that will yield nothing but bitter humiliation.’ Mother spent the next hour berating him in a similar vein. But Muhammad was in no mood to listen. He had other things on his mind, such as his plans for the future. They would all be risky, but surely at least one would be an unqualified success?
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  5

  Makhduma Jahan was entertaining a distinguished guest at her son’s request. Muhammad knew she had been inclined to turn him down, especially after what happened during their last meeting, but he had known she wouldn’t be able to resist.

  Who would have thought she would be talking to a Mongol prince and serving him delicacies from her own kitchen? She who had accompanied Ghazi Malik when he fought the Mongol hordes swarming over the land and prayed to Allah to destroy them?

  Tarmashirin had come as a friend to the court of Muhammad bin Tughlaq. As a recent convert to Islam, he was a fervent believer. In fact, it was his fanaticism and commitment to promoting his own Sunni beliefs over other faiths that had landed him in hot water with his brother Kabek Khan and his people, who were famously tolerant or infamously indifferent when it came to religion in the Mongol tradition—exemplified by the great Kubilai Khan.

  Unfortunately, more than willing though his spirit was, his flesh was weak. On his becoming the king of Transoxiana (a bastion of the Chagatai Khans), after Kabek Khan’s death he had moved against Abu Said, the Ilkhan of Persia, who had accepted the Shia faith. The sectarian rivalry surged back and forth, with Kabul, Ghazna and Qandhar coming into the hands of the Chagatais, with Tarmashirin determined to invade Khorasan. Eventually, though, a force led by Hasan, a general of Abu Said, took Tarmashirin unawares near Ghazna, forcing him to flee and seek the aid of Sultan Muhammad bin Tughlaq.

  Tarmashirin and Muhammad had discussed many matters and come to an understanding. The former’s son-in-law was now Amir Nauroz and a member of the Sultan’s court. The visit had created quite a ripple and initially the assumption had been that they were facing another Mongol invasion.