‘Of course I am going to be back!’ Muhammad said in exasperation. ‘For certain strategic reasons, which I have explained thousands of times, this is merely a temporary move. I don’t know why everyone is behaving as though I forcibly pulled a babe off its mother’s teat and hurled it southward!’
Barani was unconvinced and had decided he was better off having like-minded company in Daulatabad. At his instigation, the poet Amir Hasan, a student of Amir Khusrau, decided to make the journey south. Every other eminent poet, scholar, historian, painter, artist and musician immediately felt it would be entirely worthwhile to make the move so that they could find themselves patrons with large purses and taste enough to recognize their genius. Those who depended on the largesse of the Sultan and his mother also felt it would be best to make a fresh start in Daulatabad.
However, many were still dead set against what they thought of as the shifting of the capital from Dilli to Daulatabad. Among the mashaikhs, Shaikh Siraj and Mubarak were less than accommodating. The former decided to escape to Lakhnauti but met with a tragic end, while the latter decided that the time was ripe to perform the Haj, but had an unfortunate accident on the high seas. Muhammad then had to order Najib to use his especial powers of persuasion to convince others among the clergy and noblemen not to take similarly foolish decisions. Why did people have to vex him so?
Matters became complicated when an old man by the name of Aziz Isami, who was nearly ninety, hobbled along the path to Daulatabad, then proceeded to douse himself in oil and publicly immolate himself, proclaiming that he was protesting the Sultan’s barbaric insistence on killing holy men. ‘Down with the zalim Sultan!’ had been his last words.8
His grandson had wept over his charred remains. ‘The Sultan must answer for the death of my grandfather! His hands are tainted with the blood of the innocent and he must pay! I swear on all I hold dear to bring the Sultan’s sins to light. Future generations will curse him and spit upon his name.’
Najib wanted to have the eloquent little chap strung up by the neck but Muhammad felt otherwise. ‘He is just a child now. And a clever one with a gift for words. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a murderer of children and women. But keep an eye on him. If he grows up into a seditious young man, let him feel the wrath of his Sultan.’
After all the unwarranted agitations, upheavals and uproars, the great exodus had begun. The Sultan, his household, nobles and other distinguished heads had departed in a glittering procession. The Sultan sometimes rode on his elegant, wondrously ornamented chariot pulled by four pairs of the finest, milk-white Arabian steeds, or in his plush howdah, atop his own elephant. His menagerie of falcons, cheetahs and tigers accompanied him, tame as dogs.
The rest of the company followed, behind the emperor. The lords and ladies of his court were only slightly less magnificently arrayed. Whenever they passed one or more of the villages, his subjects would be waiting to greet their emperor. Muhammad made it a point to stop briefly to address them and present them with bags of coins. Makhduma Jahan would send her attendants into their midst to distribute sweets among the children, while the elders would receive cloth and utensils. Their joyful cheers would resound to the very heavens, and Muhammad was always surprised at how gratified he was to hear them.
The ladies of his household had been excited about the prospect of travelling and seeing new places. They were all in high spirits. Even Saira seemed to have brightened and her eyes were unusually animated even though she had been against the move initially. His mother told him that she was feeling like a young girl again.
‘Then perhaps you should find a husband for her as well . . .’ Khuda had whispered in his ear. ‘People keep forgetting that old people have needs too. What is the point of having so much power if you won’t address these pressing issues?’
‘Thank you for the suggestion, Khuda! From now on, I shall prioritize the sexual needs of my subjects.’
‘Power has gone to your head!’ she sighed. ‘You didn’t even consult me about making Daulatabad your temporary new capital. I could have advised you on how best to convince your stupid subjects. As for me, I have conflicting feelings. We ladies spend so much time in the harem, it is exciting to travel on horseback, see the countryside and make our home in a new place. I am partly relieved you have deferred my second wedding, but unfortunately my bed will remain cold a little longer.’
Muhammad rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t let Mother hear you!’ he whispered.
‘Hear what?’ Haniya glared at them both.
‘He has promised that once I am married again and blessed with a son, my boy will be named his heir apparent since he has been so lax about propagating the Tughlaq bloodline. I keep telling him I will be the better choice but the grand Sultan is not particularly enthused,’ Khuda lied through her teeth with her customary cheek.
‘By that logic, I am the best choice,’ Haniya had huffed. ‘There is little a mother can do when her son won’t heed her counsel to produce heirs immediately and prefers to make a fool of himself.’
Muhammad did not respond but wished his mother would actually give up on him instead of merely saying so. And she wasn’t even the worst of his detractors.
Saira had been dutiful and obedient as ever, though he knew that Dilli was the great love of her life. She had been born and brought up there, which explained the haughty arrogance that she, like the other denizens of the place, had clearly inherited, which convinced them that they were truly superior to all else in the empire. The prevalent belief was that Sultans would come and go, empires would crumble, but Dilli itself would remain at the very epicentre of power.
That was just like Saira. She wore even her natural hauteur with elegance and the quiet confidence that nothing could outshine or mar her radiant beauty. There was not much left of the girl she had once been, but the lines on her face and the haunted look in her eyes gave her a quiet strength and dignity. There was a stillness in her being that merely hinted at the hidden depths of the sorrow she had survived.
It was Saira who had convinced him to commence building the Begumpuri mosque. ‘A sanctuary of prayer and peace,’ she told him in a rare moment of eloquence, ‘for those who need it to bolster their spirit and find the will to go on. This mosque is needed now more than ever when blood and pain are the price exacted for survival and the scant prospect of pleasure.’
He had gladly acceded to her request and she had thanked him most prettily. But even now, after all this time and all the kindness he had showered upon her, she still had the same haunted expression in her eyes, from that fell night when her brother, the Shah, had been murdered. As if she was certain it was only a matter of time before bad things would happen not just to her but to them all.
He wished he could tell her that she need never fear being hurt by him. Surely she knew that he just wanted her to be happy? With him? Perhaps their time in Daulatabad would bring them closer together. The Sultan was hopeful that the move would do him and his subjects a world of good.
Muhammad had provided free accommodation for all who had been chosen to move to Daulatabad. They had also received generous stipends to make a fresh start. Although it was to be wondered if they had received the fair share that was allotted to them. It was the job of the enforcers of the law to quell corruption, but no matter how much he cracked down, double-dealing, deceit and unscrupulous conduct refused to be weeded out. In fact, they had seeped into every aspect of their lives. It wasn’t the smooth transition he had hoped for but Muhammad felt his spirits lift when they all managed to settle down to a semblance of routine in Daulatabad. He was sure everyone would eventually benefit from the move. Even the idiots who were pining away for their beloved Dilli. ‘Dearest Dilli!’ they wept over and over again. ‘We would have been content to live and die within your warm embrace, and if it hadn’t been for the Sultan, no force on earth could have induced us to abandon you!’
Muhammad was incensed. One would think he had ravaged the city, set fire to it, sowe
d salt into its fields, and driven its denizens away. It was ridiculous! Idiots! He took a deep breath. ‘They will get used to the change. Besides, it is not as if I have sworn never to set foot in Dilli ever again.’
‘I’ll have to disagree with you, your most royal highness,’ Abu piped up. ‘Have you not seen the many graves that have sprung up along the entire length of the passage from Dilli to Daulatabad? Your people aren’t going to forget this in a hurry.’
‘So there were a few deaths. It has been hard on the old, sickly and the very young. But the great majority have made it here safe and sound. And I did not force anybody to move.’
‘Tell that to those mourning the loss of their loved ones. And those who tried to stay behind but were not allowed to because you insisted that their services were needed.’ Abu could be relentless when he so chose. ‘Your careful arrangements served the purpose for you and your royal household. The poor had a rougher time of it. Many died from heat, fatigue and hunger. Of course, you gave orders for relief camps to be set up where travellers would be provided with free food, water and medicine. But there have been stories of hundreds being turned away.
‘The corrupt elements in your court have wrongfully evicted landowners just so they can snatch their property. They even paid off guards to force people to leave their homes with little more than the clothes on their back. Even here in Daulatabad, greedy officials have pocketed most of the funds allotted for free housing and stipends. So your optimism is ill-founded. Your people are not going to forgive you for your sorry implementation of a hastily conceived scheme.’
Muhammad frowned. ‘Why are you so determined to focus on the things that went wrong, as opposed to the things that did go right? Dilli does not deserve the monopoly of the Sultan’s fortune it feels so entitled to. The rest of the empire needs to have access to the same amenities that Dilli takes for granted. The other towns and cities also deserve to have canals, bridges, inns, gardens, orchards, and magnificently constructed citadels, mosques, temples, libraries, bathhouses and centres for learning.
‘By shifting the locus of urban activity, I wish to welcome more into the welcome shade of civilization. The great divide between the south and the north, Hindus, Muslims and the other faiths will be bridged. Daulatabad will be a place where people from diverse backgrounds will live together in peace, and it will be a model state for the rest of the empire.
‘It is my intention to irrigate and cultivate vast tracts of arable land so that the problem of starvation may be entirely eradicated. I am going to build dams, dykes and canals so that the flow of the big rivers is controlled, and water scarcity becomes a thing of the past.
‘I want more cities to become centres of learning and culture, so that in the next generation those with the aptitude can go on to become poets, mathematicians, astrologists, physicians, chemists, musicians and physicists. How long are we going to allow those whose birth and circumstances deprive them of opportunities for self-improvement? We need more thinkers, planners and artists. And none of this will be possible if I were to hole myself up in Dilli with its smug self-satisfaction, superiority complex and unwillingness to throw open its coffers for the betterment of outsiders.’
‘That is quite the moving speech.’ Abu sounded bored. ‘But you are a brilliant thinker and an ambitious dreamer whose skills frankly aren’t up to scratch when it comes to execution. Your sincerity is touching, which makes it all the more painful when you set yourself up for failure repeatedly. Perhaps it won’t be the worst thing in the world if you pared down the sheer scale and grandeur of your visions.’
Muhammad shook his head stubbornly. ‘It is only when we reach for the stars that we can touch the sky.’
Abu nodded sagely. ‘You have the soul of a poet. It probably explains why you are such a lousy Sultan. I am not surprised. In this land, it is the least qualified who end up with positions of great power. But you know that, don’t you? Just look at those politicians you have to hobnob with on a daily basis! Not a brain or an original idea between the lot of them, though they are all natural-born thieves and killers. I don’t envy you one bit. Only a fool thinks the Sultan has it all.’
Muhammad wished he could send Abu off to Najib. If only it was possible to silence a dead man. But he was starting to agree with everything his outspoken friend said. Being a Sultan took the combined skills of a cutthroat, thief, saint, scholar and fiend. He still couldn’t make up his mind as to whether he was all or none of those things. It made him shudder and wonder morosely about how much worse things were going to get.
7
Bahram Aiba Kishlu Khan was a thrice-damned fool. Didn’t he know that Sultan Muhammad had neither the time nor the inclination to deal with a rebellion? Especially not now, since he had declared a period of official mourning to mark the death of his poor brother, Bahram Khan? He had returned to Dilli with his mother, Khuda, Saira and a contingent of nobles to bury him.
Khuda was irrepressible as ever. ‘Now that Bahram is gone and I am yet to marry again and bear a son, who are you going to name as your heir apparent? Mubarak or Firoz? You better not be considering Masud, though he does carry the blood of the Khaljis and Tughlaqs in his veins.’
‘Not now, Khuda. Show some respect for Bahram,’ he bit out.
‘You know, I liked him, but he is gone now, like my husband and father. Mourning does not agree with me, and it is pointless because none of them are going to come back. You will have to name an heir sooner rather than later!’ she grumbled and flounced away, not bothering to hide her delight that they were back in Dilli.
Muhammad shook his head to clear it. This time, even he wasn’t convinced that he was exempt from blame. After all, it had been his decision to release Bahadur, formerly the king of Lakhnauti, who had been defeated by Ghiasuddin Tughlaq and taken captive. On the day of his coronation, he had appointed him as the joint governor of Bengal with his brother, Bahram. At the time, people had questioned his decision, but he had reasoned that Bahram and Bahadur would have their hands full with each other and be less likely to give him a headache.
Of course, Bahram had taken with him a detachment of the imperial troops to help maintain order. But it was always going to be a challenge, given that Bahadur was on his home turf and Bahram had been the interloper, surrounded by hostile locals who had forgotten the kindness with which they had been treated by Sultan Ghiasuddin Tughlaq.
Muhammad had stipulated that Ghiasuddin Bahadur send his son to Dilli to be the emperor’s ward, but he had failed to comply. He should have acted then, but he had been preoccupied and assumed that Bahram had everything under control.
According to the reports, simmering tensions between Bahadur and Bahram soon escalated into open conflict. Muhammad had sent an army headed by Tatar Malik. In the ensuing clash, Bahadur’s forces had been defeated. The rebels had all been rounded up and made to watch while Bahadur was force-fed ordure till he choked on the stuff and breathed his last. His body was then stuffed with straw and paraded around the provinces. All surviving male members of his family were also executed.9
Unfortunately for Bahram, it had been too late and he had been treacherously slain by the time Tatar Malik arrived with reinforcements. Muhammad found himself apologizing profusely, even though he felt his brother had carelessly allowed himself to be killed. But death had clearly made a philosopher out of Bahram.
‘Why are you apologizing?’ Bahram asked him, sounding mildly querulous. ‘You don’t mean it, and it wasn’t your hand that killed me. It was Ghiasuddin Bahadur who did it.’
‘That is true,’ Abu pitched in helpfully, ‘but your father, the great Ghiasuddin Tughlaq, knew a treacherous snake when he saw one and decreed that he be imprisoned for life. He should have executed him and been done with it. Unfortunately, when one is a ruler, acts of kindness are regretted more often than cruelty.
‘Our Sultan Muhammad, however, compounded his father’s mistake and saw fit to not only release him on the day of his coronation but also
send him straight back to his former kingdom with you in tow so that he could make all kinds of trouble before assassinating the Sultan’s brother.’
Bahram thought it was funny. Muhammad didn’t. ‘There is no need to look so gloomy!’ his brother patted him on the shoulder. ‘To tell the truth, it is good to get away from the strife and madness of rule and politics. Power is a cruel taskmaster and certainly not worth the trouble or effort.’
‘I wish I could get away too.’ Muhammad meant it. At that moment, he would have gladly traded places with his brother. Or Abu.
Muhammad shook his head in frustration. Kishlu Khan had also raised the standard of rebellion. The man had been his Warden of the Marches and the governor of Multan, Uch and Sind. Like Gurshasp, he had fought by his father’s side and was one of the most respected figures in the realm. What cause could the man possibly have to rebel? He wasn’t even particularly ambitious.
With a start, Muhammad realized that Ahmad was staring at him with a look of acute worry on his face. As usual, the Khwaja Jahan seemed convinced that the Sultan was dangerously close to full-blown madness.
‘Why exactly has Kishlu Khan chosen this time to rebel?’ he snapped at him.
‘His son-in-law was killed during an altercation with a fellow noble during the move to Daulatabad. It was a property issue. The noble in question may have bribed a few officers of the law and managed to get away with his crime as well as the property.’
‘But in the interest of upholding the law, I hope someone was punished, Ahmad.’
‘Of course, your highness! As per your command, the Kazi must find and punish the guilty party, or he will himself be subject to the punishment prescribed by law for the crime. So, naturally, somebody was found and punished. It just wasn’t the noble who actually committed the crime. Kishlu Khan is convinced justice wasn’t upheld.’
Muhammad Bin Tughlaq Page 11