Muhammad Bin Tughlaq

by Anuja Chandramouli

  ‘How very unreasonable of him! As I recall, the grieving widow was cared for by my mother. And she made sure that satisfactory arrangements were made for her children’s future because Kishlu Khan was a loyal ally of my father’s, though clearly he does not feel the same way about his son.’

  ‘Well, sire, Kishlu Khan is furious and blames you for his son-in-law’s death. He proclaimed that you made a promise to uphold justice but have become a tyrant instead. The unfortunate demise of Gurshasp is also being cited as an example of the zalim Sultan’s excesses.’

  ‘The nerve of that man!’ Muhammad growled. ‘This is the last thing I need, especially after the trouble in Lakhnauti. And my plans for the Khorasan expedition have suffered one setback after the other, now that Tarmashirin has gotten himself killed. If that weren’t bad enough, Abu Said has allied himself with the Caliphate at Egypt and is virtually untouchable. Which means I have to extend the hand of friendship to him and forget all about my plans for conquest. After all the expenses incurred for the training and upkeep of a massive force! I suppose from this point, their only purpose will be to deal with rebels and fools. It is like sending a pride of lions to swat a few flies. In the middle of all this, must I deal with Kishlu Khan as well?’

  ‘You don’t have to deal with him personally, sire,’ Ahmad said crisply.

  ‘Whatever do you mean? Of course I could send you but I prefer to handle him on my own.’

  ‘That is not what I meant, your majesty. If you recall, a few days ago we discussed Shaikh Imamuddin’s vile insinuations against you and his repeated calls for your abdication. The people are stunned not only by his words but by his striking resemblance to you.’

  Muhammad smiled slowly. ‘Why, you have quite the devious mind, Ahmad! They say that even my mother might have trouble telling us apart. Imamuddin would be the perfect ambassador to represent the throne in the negotiations for peace with Kishlu Khan. After all, he wouldn’t want Mussulmen killing each other senselessly now, would he?’

  ‘Of course, “ambassador for peace” does have a better ring to it than “decoy who will lead our forces with the royal parasol placed over his head”.’ Ahmad allowed himself a rare chuckle.

  Barani was admitted into their presence just then, and Muhammad nodded to Ahmad.

  ‘We were just talking about Shaikh Imamuddin and his extraordinary resemblance to me, Barani,’ Muhammad told him.

  Barani looked a little nervous. ‘Your highness must not judge him too harshly. He seeks only to disseminate the teachings of the holy book and convince people of the importance of the Sharia code. If he occasionally uses a strident tone, it is because he is so passionately committed to his chosen vocation. Ultimately, he is a good man and we need more like him, who are committed to protecting Islam against the encroachment of the infidel.’

  The Sultan sighed. ‘But that is precisely the problem. If all the holy men would choose to give up their proselytizing ways and actually take up gainful employment, this land would be a much better place.’

  Ahmad nodded in agreement.

  ‘Well, sire, we all serve the purpose that God in his infinite wisdom intended us to. But that is not the reason I sought an audience with you.’ Barani paused to collect his thoughts and was heartened when the Sultan nodded encouragingly at him.

  ‘If I may, sire, I did wish to beg a favour from you,’ Barani began, ‘on behalf of Shaikh Imamuddin’s brother, the saintly Rukhnuddin, who desperately needs funds for his khanqah. Unlike the others, he has no wish to question the authority of the Sultan. Shaikh Rukhnuddin cares only to spread the message of peace and love. If you would be kind enough to oblige him with your famed generosity, I am sure the Shaikh and his brother would be grateful and proud to name themselves as your majesty’s most loyal servants.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that the loyal service the Sultan is entitled to from his subjects had terms and conditions,’ Muhammad said. Barani blanched. ‘But you know I cannot refuse you, Barani,’ the Sultan continued warmly. ‘Of course Shaikh Rukhnuddin shall have his funds and his khanqah need never worry about any lack in the future. I am an admirer of his. As for his brother, Imamuddin, I have nothing but respect for his honesty and eloquence.’

  Barani looked relieved but the Sultan wasn’t finished. ‘It gives me pleasure to do this for the Shaikhsahib. In these dark times, it is always comforting to know there is still some goodness left in this evil world. Kishlu Khan was like a brother to me but he has forgotten my kindness and generosity. He has declared the independence of Multan, Uch and Sind from my empire. How aggrieved my father would have been! Now I have no choice but to march with the imperial army. It is going to be a bloodbath. Muslim brothers will slaughter each other and the sin will darken the days ahead. Just thinking about it makes my heart break.’

  There were real tears in the Sultan’s eyes and Barani was moved. ‘Perhaps we could work towards a peaceful resolution of this conflict, your highness. I am sure this is all just a dreadful misunderstanding.’

  ‘Don’t think I haven’t tried, Barani.’ Muhammad was mournful. ‘People think of me as a bloodthirsty tyrant. But the last thing I want is a war that could prove disastrous for us, Muslims who are brothers of the same faith. But Kishlu Khan will not see reason, and he refuses to meet with any of my envoys. Apparently, I have lost his trust. If only there was somebody eloquent who enjoys the love and respect of all the Muslims in this land . . . someone who is as committed to preserving the peace as I am.’

  Barani’s eyes lit up at once. ‘I know just the person for the job, your majesty. Shaikh Imamuddin could reason with Kishlu Khan and persuade him to set aside his arms in the interests of upholding the tenets of Islam. This state of disunity among us simply cannot be allowed to prevail. The ungodly infidels will laugh themselves silly while we massacre each other. Sheikh Imamuddin has always stressed the importance of joining hands and forgetting our differences. I know he will be happy to help.’

  Ahmad sighed. ‘That is all well and good, but Shaikh Imamuddin has made his disdain for the Sultan painfully obvious and has been trying to incite your subjects against you. How can he be trusted with such a delicate mission?’

  Barani frowned. ‘The Shaikh Imamuddin’s character is beyond reproach. I can assure you of that. He is merely a little overzealous on occasion. He can be counted on to do the right thing. You will see! Your majesty, with your permission, I will go to Shaikh Rukhnuddin and tell him about your generosity towards him and the khanqah. He shall also be apprised of the present crisis, and the saint will prevail upon his brother to act as your ambassador for peace.’

  ‘What would I do without you, Barani?’ Muhammad said effusively. ‘You must go this instant to Shaikh Rukhnuddin and tell him that the Sultan humbly solicits his help to avert a grave crisis. Take with you a robe of honour to be presented to Shaikh Rukhnuddin as a token of my goodwill. If Shaikh Imamuddin consents to act as my peace envoy, he shall be presented with one too. He must do his utmost to convince Kishlu Khan that I merely wish to clear this misunderstanding and seek to reunite on cordial terms. Everything depends on you, Barani!’

  ‘I will not let you down, your majesty!’

  Barani bowed and departed at once, eager to do the Sultan’s bidding. Muhammad glanced at Ahmad and was amused to note that for once his Khwaja Jahan approved wholeheartedly of his actions.

  8

  Shaikh Imamuddin was nobody’s fool. He wasn’t as trusting as his brother and was convinced the Sultan was up to no good. His unease mounted as they marched towards Abrogha, where Kishlu Khan waited with his own troops. The hot, muggy air was thick with tension and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It didn’t help that the emperor had taken considerable pains to set his mind at ease.

  ‘I really appreciate that you have agreed to be my peace envoy,’ the Sultan said warmly during the course of the forced march, acting for all the world as though they were comfortably seated from across each other doing little more
than sipping on sherbet. ‘It is kind of you, especially since I know you disapprove of some of my policies and personal conduct. You will find me most grateful once we conclude this business.’

  ‘Your majesty is kind and magnanimous! However, I am sure he is aware that I am not one to mince words and will forgive me for voicing aloud my suspicions, especially since he has been known to put men of faith behind bars when he is not having them tortured or killed by his dog.’

  ‘Men of faith, if wise, would limit themselves to the kingdom of God and work towards spreading it on Earth without the use of force, which alone would be in keeping with the tenets of Islam. Instead, they dabble in politics, spread hatred and manipulate their followers into committing atrocities against those who belong to other faiths.’

  ‘There is only one true faith, and we have sworn to uphold it. It always saddens me when a scholar of your eminence chooses to misinterpret the Quran in keeping with his personal biases or petty political conveniences. Encouraging and supporting infidels is an act of treason against God and a far worse crime than even parricide or incest.’

  He wondered if he had gone too far but the Sultan seemed amused. ‘If I truly were the tyrant everyone claims I am, I would have ripped out your tongue and fed it to the crows for uttering such spurious claims. But I have always appreciated honesty. Know then that I wouldn’t ever betray the essential principles of Islam. You believe I should use the power of the throne to impose my faith on my subjects, who feel every bit as strongly about their gods as we do about ours.

  ‘Would you have me destroy them if they won’t embrace my religion? Would you have me enforce the fanatical views of the Ulama and preach religious dogma at them when there are too many who cannot make ends meet? Will prayer fill the bellies of the poverty-stricken? Will God rescue the diseased and infirm when the hakim turns them away because they cannot afford to pay? They look to their Sultan for solutions to their problems, and I cannot in good conscience respond by forcing religion down their throats the way you would have me do.’

  ‘What can you do to alleviate the problems of your people, your highness?’ the shaikh ventured boldly. ‘Have you provided your subjects with a surcease to their suffering or have you contributed to them? By forcing your careless whims and reckless impulses on them you have made their lives utterly miserable, well-intentioned though you may be. Can you really believe that a solution to all their troubles lies with you? Are you presumptuous enough to think that their salvation is in your hands, not God’s?’ His chest was heaving and he felt the fingers of the angel of death cold upon his spine.

  ‘There may not be much I can do to lift people out of the morass of suffering, Shaikh Imamuddin,’ the Sultan said courteously, clearly enjoying their little debate, ‘but I owe it to them to at least try, instead of giving up and leaving their welfare to the care of the Almighty.’

  Imamuddin found himself thawing slightly. The Sultan was the most misguided man he had met, in addition to being a murderer and tyrant, but who could deny his generosity or sincerity? And it was commendable that he would cheerfully work with his biggest detractor towards ensuring peace. Perhaps there was hope for their monarch after all.

  They had been riding like the very devil on the Sultan’s insistence. He told the Shaikh, ‘We must make haste before fraying tempers on either side lead to irreparable damages. Once our mission is successful, we can carry on our discussion.’

  As they neared Abrogha, the Sultan ordered his men to make camp. ‘If Kishlu Khan is to see me at the head of a large force, he will be convinced that I am here to crush the insurrection, although I have merely brought them as a safety measure. It would be best if I remained behind while you begin negotiating for peace, accompanied by a select contingent of my personal guard.’

  The Sultan’s attendants helped him get ready for the meeting. They dressed him in a magnificent robe of honour and adorned him with the emperor’s own jewels. His headdress was adjusted by the Sultan himself. The shaikh had never looked so resplendent. Muhammad enveloped him in a warm embrace. ‘Go with God and may the Almighty grant you every success!’

  ‘Those who place their faith in God will never have cause to regret it,’ he assured the Emperor. ‘I urge you to surrender to the Almighty and devote the rest of your life towards using your position to contribute to his glory.’

  At Muhammad’s insistence, he was helped atop the Sultan’s own royal elephant, and they held the parasol over his head.

  The emperor watched him leave with a heavy heart. For once, his plan was being executed to perfection, but he could derive little satisfaction from it. He watched dully as the Shaikh drew within shooting range of the enemy ranks. His men sounded the charge and the snare closed around the saint.

  Kishlu Khan’s front ranks watched in disbelief as the Sultan lumbered into their midst. Without waiting for a command, they loosed volley after volley in a desperate bid to destroy the tyrant. Muhammad flinched as arrow after arrow thudded into Shaikh Imamuddin and he was toppled from the howdah, his mouth gaping open comically in utter disbelief.

  While the fools dropped their weapons and celebrated the Sultan’s demise, the rest of the imperial army entered the fray on the command of the real emperor. The battle didn’t last long in the ensuing confusion.

  Muhammad had been in many wars, and he hated the messiness of it all. He couldn’t get used to the stink of sweat, blood and excrement, and it would assault his nostrils for days afterwards.

  He couldn’t help but wish that his overture for peace hadn’t been false. But it had been a risk he couldn’t afford to take. Mercifully, this time it was over soon. The victorious troops put the surviving men to the sword and brought the whole thing to its inevitable bloody conclusion.

  But Muhammad would not allow them to go on rampage—harm the civilians, raze Multan to the ground and engage in rape or looting. He was determined that such savagery would not be allowed to happen on his watch. Sultan Muhammad bin Tughlaq was his father’s son, after all.

  Those troops who would not be denied their share of looting, burning and raping were relieved of their limbs and male organs, and left impaled on stakes sharpened for the purpose so that they could inspire their comrades towards decent, God-fearing behaviour.

  As for the citizens of Multan, Sind and Uch, the mood was sullen, though they were fortunate to be the recipients of the Sultan’s mercy. But it was understandable. They had endured a crushing defeat and Muhammad had declared that they would be bearing the costs of the war effort. Muhammad was less compassionate when it came to the leading mullahs, sayyids and Sufis, who his informants told him had been responsible for the large-scale disaffection that had culminated in rebellion. These he rounded up mercilessly and had their beards ripped off, scourged till their flesh hung in tatters and fed them the contents of their stinking bowels. He hoped it would serve as a deterrent to those who sought to spread dissent.10

  The stupendous victory ought to have enhanced his prestige considerably, but as always, he somehow managed to incur the enmity of his own troops as well as the vanquished, on account of what they viewed as his heavy-handed actions.

  As for Kishlu Khan, who had single-handedly been responsible for such large-scale destruction, Muhammad had wondered if he should listen to his mother for once and spare him, but the decision was taken out of his hands. The rebel governor had fallen on his sword and ordered his guards to burn the remains so they wouldn’t be desecrated and paraded across the realm. Muhammad supposed it was better this way.

  The Sultan named Kannu Brahmin as Kishlu Khan’s successor. He had been sold into slavery, but he was a resourceful man who had risen up the ranks. His ascent became even more rapid when he converted to Islam, started calling himself Maqbul, and proved he was a dab hand at administration and taxes. Naturally, the Sultan’s decision infuriated the nobles. They considered Maqbul a lowborn who couldn’t even speak Persian, which was the language of the aristocrats, and despite his conversion, he wo
uldn’t touch meat. But the way Muhammad saw it, if Kannu did not get himself killed in office, he would be more than adept at handling the demands of the job.

  On the Sultan’s instructions, Shaikh Imamuddin’s remains were attended to by the physicians who had to stitch him together before embalming and preparing for his burial in a beautiful mausoleum of marble the Sultan had commissioned in honour of the great man. He commiserated with Rukhnuddin, who seemed a broken man and blamed himself for his brother’s demise.

  Barani was devastated, too, and wracked with guilt over his own role in the affair. However, he was a prudent man who was a little too attached to his own skin. He buried his anger and resentment over the Sultan’s conduct, along with his own culpability, deep in the innermost recesses of his memory. All that remained was a lingering trace of resentment that would explode out of him one day and poison the words he would some day put down.

  Muhammad supposed he would be long gone by then, and in a place where words and memories couldn’t harm him. Even so, he was sorry and remained particularly solicitous towards Barani, though he knew the historian would hold on to the hurt and hate for dear life.

  ‘Congratulations on your magnificent triumph, your highness!’ Ahmad had beamed at him. ‘How would you like to celebrate this glorious occasion?’

  ‘Declare a thirty-day mourning period for Shaikh Imamuddin and have a memorial built to honour him,’ Muhammad replied.

  ‘As you wish, sire!’ As the Khwaja Jahan departed, Muhammad could practically hear the words he left unsaid: Not that it is going to make any of this better . . .

  9

  Khuda’s wedding was a happy occasion. There were so few of these that Muhammad was grateful for it. For someone who had been singled out to wield limitless power, he couldn’t help thinking that his life had whittled down to a succession of gloomy episodes. Which was why he had a fresh appreciation for the little things that pleased him: a ripe mango, a glass of cool sherbet, a job well done, an act of simple goodness, anything at all that made him smile, and yes, his sister’s wedding.