Despite his brutal reprisals, they had grown in strength by pretending to be martyrs while establishing themselves as formidable foes. Infuriated with his refusal to kowtow to their religious dogma or seek their approval and endorsement, they denounced him as a blasphemer, harped about his alleged crimes of parricide and incest, calling all the while for his abdication.13
Things had taken a dangerous turn now that the holy hyenas had gone one step further, urging every true Muslim to rebel against him and issuing a fatwa declaring that the Sharia decreed that he be killed for his crimes against the faith and the faithful. It was a massive blow and an insidious one, for the poison had spread to every part of the empire.
Clearly, it was the reason he had lost Madurai to Ahsan Shah. Qutlugh Khan had been unequal to the task of winning it back. Warangal, Bidar, Kampila and Dwarasamudra had fallen as well, but to the Hindus who had seen a resurgence of power. Ironically, by undermining his efforts at every turn, it was the Ulama who had paved the way for the rise of the Hindu kings, and what they were calling the Vijayanagar kingdom in Telangana.
The only silver lining in this cloud was that the Hindus had sworn to take Madurai back from the false Sultan and carve an independent southern realm for the Hindus. Harihara, the upstart founder of this kingdom, and his brother, Bukka, had been survivors of his own Warangal expedition during his father’s reign.
They had converted to Islam but soon renounced it, appalled at how those in power were using religious sentiments for their own gain. Muhammad had to admit that his own impetuosity and reckless rage hadn’t exactly smoothed things over between the warring factions in his empire. But that was hardly reason to abdicate his throne, as some were suggesting.
His informers had also found Battuta consorting with a charlatan Shaikh. On the Sultan’s command, they had forced human excrement down his throat, plucked out the hair on his head and beard, placed hot coals on his newly bare scalp and finally beheaded him in full view of the public. Battuta had been placed under house arrest ever since and had spent the time fasting and praying.
They brought Battuta before him then. Anxiety had taken its toll on the Moroccan. He looked thinner but strangely serene in the face of the grave accusations levelled against him.
‘I see that confinement has done you a world of good, Battuta,’ Muhammad remarked genially. ‘You seem to radiate peace and calm, just like the holy men whose company you like to seek out. Those despicable creatures who endorse violence.’
But Battuta’s boldness had not deserted him. ‘The Sultan may disapprove of the company I keep, but allow me to clarify that it is the higher mysteries of Sufism and spirituality which I sought rather than the thankless politics and conniving I am accused of. For what it is worth, his majesty has my assurance that I have never acted against his interests.’
‘Not even when the interests of your religion decreed otherwise?’ Muhammad’s voice was soft. He didn’t really expect a reply, though. ‘If I weren’t so religious, I would have been fully convinced that religion is the only true evil in the world that kills even more people than faith heals. But moving on, I believe congratulations are in order! Your father-in-law is now the proud founder of the Madurai Sultanate.’
‘Your highness, you couldn’t possibly think that I had anything at all to do with his rebellion?’ Battuta pleaded. ‘As you know, my wife does not approve of my wandering ways, and preferred to move to Ma’bar with her father when you appointed him as governor.’
‘It makes no matter,’ Muhammad said airily. ‘Especially since I was going to offer my condolences to your poor wife, who has been deprived of her usurper of a father.’ Battuta blanched and his face froze with disbelief and fear. He was no coward, but he did have a care for the safety of his own person.
‘I have just received the sad tidings,’ he continued, ‘that the brief but glorious reign of Ahsan Shah ended with his murder at the hands of one Alauddin Uddauji. May Allah have mercy on his soul, though he is guilty of base treachery.’
Battuta lowered himself on to his trembling knees. ‘I beg the Sultan’s permission to renounce this world and leave on a pilgrimage. It is all I seek.’
Muhammad helped the distraught Battuta to his feet. ‘Get a hold of yourself, Battuta! Otherwise people will have difficulty believing you are the intrepid traveller they have heard so much about. I have one task for you, which you are certain to enjoy. You shall go as my ambassador to China to discuss trade and other matters, bearing rich gifts for the emperor. I want to know what happened to the delegation I had sent earlier, as well as learn more about flying money and flaming powder. It may delight you to ascertain for yourself if what they say of the Ming women being exquisitely beautiful and skilled in the art of love is true.’
Battuta stared at him with a mixture of wariness and relief, before bowing repeatedly, kissing the rings on his proffered fingers a dozen times, and taking his leave.
‘There was enough evidence to condemn him!’ Ahmad pointed out drily. He had been watching the proceedings in silence. ‘Your majesty’s actions are going to do little to refute the claim that he is soft on ferenghis.’
‘On the contrary, my dear Ahmad, the evidence clearly established his innocence. Battuta may be a little too pious and steeped in the sterile dogma of the Muslim clergy for his own good, but as a hardened wanderer, he’d rather observe than get involved.’
‘Be that as it may, sire, the fact remains that he was well and truly present when the Shaikh spouted his seditious sermons against you and failed to report the matter or take action, as his office dictates.’
‘He was a Kazi merely in name,’ Muhammad pointed out. ‘Besides, despite the aversion most Muslims claim to feel towards yogis, have you noticed that the very same are drawn to the Sufi mystics who have appropriated many aspects of the yogic way of life?’
‘I don’t quite see what you mean, sire . . .’ Ahmad glanced at Barani, who looked affronted.
‘Isn’t it obvious? The pirs as well as the yogis preach against an obsession with worldly goods and power struggles, while endorsing direct communion with God. They sing with abandon, dance wildly in the case of the former and contort their bodies into impossible positions in the case of the latter, and have a shared belief in magic and mysticism. Both have been known to use drugs to intensify their communion with God . . .’
Understanding had finally dawned on his slow-witted audience, Muhammad noted with satisfaction. ‘Battuta has a restless disposition, which explains why his bursts of energized activity are interspersed with bouts of depression. Which is why he sought out the company of those Shaikhs and ended up with a certain vile habit that left him bouncing endlessly between the highs of pleasure and the lows of distress.
‘The guards told me that during the period of his confinement, they were alarmed to hear the strangest sounds emanating from his chambers, as he lay tossing and turning, moaning and groaning in a delirium. Giggling and wild laughter would give way to sobbing and lamenting. And the gibberish he spoke! Levitating yogis and floating sandals that attacked him, men with the mouths of dogs, tigers in human form and humans inhabiting the bodies of tigers, enchantresses who could extricate the heart of a man through his orifices, and monkeys that lay with maidens . . .’
Ahmad found it most amusing but Barani’s expression was one of distaste. ‘He may not have been in any condition to betray the Sultan but men like him are nevertheless dangerous to themselves and others because of the reckless abandon with which they conduct their lives.’
‘That is a little harsh, don’t you think?’ he replied to Barani. ‘What stories he will have to say about his time with us! The best stories are the ones stitched with the needle of truth threaded with the finest lies a deluded imagination can conjure up, wouldn’t you say?’
‘As a serious historian, I’d rather not answer that, sire!’
‘As you wish, Barani. But I still think we will all get along better if we learn to enjoy the stories without tak
ing them too seriously.’
8
Muhammad was seething. His legion of detractors, on the other hand, were wild with mirth over the losses the Sultan had sustained. Sonargaon, Lakhnauti and almost the entire Bengal Province was lost to him. It was the latest in a series of crushing blows that had shaken the very foundations of his power and prestige, leaving the empire crumbling. The triumphant conquest of Bengal had been the crowning glory of his father’s myriad achievements, and it was hard to believe that he had lost it. Possibly for good.
He wept when he heard the news, glad that his mother had not lived to see him brought so low. It had happened in the blink of an eye. After Bahram’s death, Malik Tatar had been named the governor of Sonargaon, while Khader Khan took charge of Lakhnauti. The lowborn Fakhruddin, the silahdar, a mere armour-bearer of Malik Tatar Khan, had assassinated both the governors in a fell swoop and taken power for himself, declaring Bengal’s independence.
He had sent forces under his amirs—Malik Hisamuddin and Azam—to deal with Fakhruddin while he himself had been busy with the rebellions that flared up in Sunam and Samana. He had crushed the rebels and beheaded them in the thousands, leaving their heads spiked on spears and planted all around the town. Thousands more were taken captive and led in chains ahead of them on the route they would take on the way back. As night fell, they were tied to wooden crosses in neat rows, doused in oil and set on fire to light their path.
Muhammad would have liked to turn his attention to Bengal then but Ain-ul-Mulk chose to betray him at this precise and crucial juncture. The governor of Oudh, he had been a dear friend of Muhammad’s. He had provided him with invaluable assistance during the famine at the Doab and helped him crush the rebellion at Kara. Thanks to a steady influx of the Ulama to Oudh, who had fled to escape the Sultan’s ‘persecution and tyranny’, events had come to this dire pass.
Muhammad heard the muezzin then, calling the faithful to prayer.
Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!
Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!
God is great!
Ashhadu an la ilaha illa Allah
Ashhadu an la ilaha illa Allah
I bear witness there is no God except the One God
Ashadu anna Muhammadan Rasool Allah
Ashadu anna Muhammadan Rasool Allah
I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of God
Hayya ‘ala-s-salah
Hurry to the prayer
Hayya ‘ala-l-falah
Hurry to success
Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!
God is great!
La ilaha illa Allah
There is no God except the one God.
The blood throbbed in his temples as his nobles—having washed their hands, feet, heads and faces from jars of water—knelt on their prayer mats facing the west, waiting for the Sultan, who always led them in prayer. But today he was standing, his sword belted firmly by his side, glowering at them from the throne.
‘Enough!’ his voice boomed across the hall, with all the strength of his angst. ‘What has prayer ever done for any of us? It is merely the opiate offered to the sheep-brained so that their faith may be better manipulated towards destruction by the evil-minded.
‘To kill or endorse killing in the name of God, the merciful and compassionate, is the greatest sin. The crimes against humanity in the name of religion have gone on long enough, and I for one am sick unto death of it! Not a day goes by when my empire is free of violent deeds motivated by religious fanaticism. The Hindus bewail the killing of their sacred cows for meat, the destruction of their temples, the burning of their homes and people. They are roused to throw off the yoke of Muslim tyranny and they respond in kind. On and on it goes . . . For shame!
‘Can’t you see that this land will never flourish if the present is blighted with the malaise of communal hatred? Religious persecution and barbarism must end. Compassion is supposed to be the cornerstone of religion but terrorism has taken its place!
‘From this moment, none shall utter a prayer aloud in my empire or mount a podium to blather on about religious doctrine. They are welcome to do all their praying in silence in the privacy of their homes, as long as their toxic faith does not extend to public spaces. From now on, my subjects no longer need concern themselves with being good Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, Jains or tree worshippers, but rather on being good human beings. This is the decree of Sultan Muhammad bin Tughlaq. Those who flout this decree are guilty of a capital offence and will be punished accordingly. Pay heed to my will or face my wrath!’
~
Muhammad could feel the gaze of Ahmad and Barani, who were standing apart, secure in their mutual disdain for each other. Both were watching their Sultan as he shared a meal with Ain-ul-Mulk, laughing and talking as if they hadn’t been bent on each other’s destruction mere days ago.
‘I can’t tell you how happy it makes me that this misunderstanding has been cleared up, old friend!’ the rebel governor of Oudh who had been roundly defeated in battle and taken captive remarked happily.
‘It just serves as a reminder that even the soundest of friendships cannot be taken for granted,’ Muhammad replied. ‘It is fortunate that I remembered the many times you came through for me when all others let me down.’
‘Your magnanimity is unmatched and the mercy . . .’
‘Enough of that now. Let us talk of other things.’ Muhammad’s tone was affectionate. He had practically forgotten what it was like to have a laugh with a dear friend. He had remembered that his mother would never have forgiven him if he had executed Ain-ul-Mulk, of whom she had been exceedingly fond. He was the only one among his childhood companions who would always help himself liberally to the platters of rich food she liked to feed them.
‘We shall talk of other things then,’ the rotund Ain-ul-Mulk agreed, belching softly ‘but it will not be to your liking.’
‘That should be interesting,’ Muhammad lied.
‘You know better than to intrude in matters of a person’s faith,’ Ain-ul-Mulk said, emboldened now that he had escaped the executioner. ‘It is even worse than attempting to legislate the sexual activities of your subjects.’
Muhammad glanced at Ahmad, who looked worried that Ain-ul-Mulk was putting wrong-headed notions in the Sultan’s head. But wouldn’t it be funny if he tried to frame laws pertaining to sexual congress?
‘We used to talk about it even back in the day,’ Ain-ul-Mulk was saying. ‘Don’t you remember? As I recall, you insisted that faith is a private interaction between man and God. In your own words, things took a turn for the worse when third parties interfered. You have cause to be angered with the clergy, who have been dogged in their disapproval and criticism, but I must point out that in this particular situation, you are the third party who has put himself between man and God. It behoves you to step aside immediately.’
Muhammad sighed. ‘I may have overstepped even the supreme temporal powers of a Sultan,’ he admitted grudgingly, ‘and I have already been working on reversing the effects of my latest decree.’
Barani and Ahmad were straining to listen, so he lowered his voice. ‘I have decided to approach the Abbasid Caliphate in Egypt and secure a confirmation decree recognizing my sovereignty. Once the investiture from Caliph Al-Hakim II is received, every Muslim shall pray five times a day as per the dictates of the Quran, and celebrate Eid and Ramzan as before.’
‘That is wonderful news!’ Ain-ul-Mulk paused, looking at him with a hint of suspicion. ‘But these things take time, years even, which you can ill afford to spare if you truly seek to appease your subjects.’
‘As you know, patience is not one of my many virtues,’ Muhammad said with a wink. ‘I am expecting Hajji S’aid Sarsari, the envoy of Caliph Al-Hakim II, this very Friday. He will bring with him the confirmation decree and a truly magnificent robe of honour, sent by the Caliph himself. It is going to be a grand spectacle, you will see! I shall abase myself while welcoming the Kalifa’s representative and prove that
I am little more than a servant of Allah, who shall dedicate what remains of his life towards upholding the word of the Prophet. Coins—not copper ones, mind you—have already been struck in the name of the Caliph and his faithful friend, Muhammad bin Tughlaq. Then the muezzin shall sound the call for prayer, and it will be the most beautiful, poignant and powerful moment in the entire history of my reign.’
Ain-ul-Mulk seemed torn between laughter and frustration. ‘You are overdoing it just a bit, as usual. I am merely going to impress upon you the importance of the only rule we swore as children never to break.’
‘Thou shalt not get caught!’ they said together, and burst out laughing, embracing each other in the manner of rambunctious boys.
Ahmad had raised his eyes heavenward, almost as if he were beseeching God to grant better sense to the emperor. As for Barani, his relief had given way to barely concealed irritation. How very like him! If the fraudulent envoy is exposed, the Sultan would be subject to more ridicule and hatred, and he would have only himself to blame. Serve him right too!
Muhammad ignored the perennial scepticism of Ahmad and Barani, confident that his latest scheme would succeed. But that was hardly unusual for him.
9
‘I request your permission to return to Baran, your highness. It is something I have been meaning to ask you for a while now.’
‘Baran is your native place, Barani? After my treatment of the rebels thereabouts, I am going to assume there is a scarcity of goodwill for me in those parts . . .’
Barani lowered his eyes to the floor in his customary manner.
‘The recent changes made among the administration officials are not entirely to your liking, I suppose.’
Muhammad Bin Tughlaq Page 19