The burden would have been far too great for any man, young or old, hungover or not, and a smiling Baba Yasaval bowed his head, his hand on his heart, and motioned to his men to assist. As together they bore their treasure off, Humayun signalled to the next officer, a tall pale Afghani, to mount the stage and the process was repeated. All the time the cries of ‘Glory to Humayun, our emperor, our padishah’ increased. As he acknowledged the acclaim, both hands held high above his head, Humayun smiled. He had been successful in his first campaign as emperor. Like his father before him, he had brought himself and his men glory and booty. Life was good — long might it continue so.
Chapter 4
The monsoon rains were falling so hard that the courtyards of the Agra fort were awash. The heavy drops bounced off the paving stones and drowned the fountains that should have been bubbling up. Clothes were beginning to mildew and in the imperial library anxious scholars were at their annual task of trying to protect from the damp the manuscripts brought to Hindustan by Babur. Among them were Babur’s own diaries, which Humayun had ordered his librarians to store in a specially made metal box with a tight-fitting lid to protect against the moist air and the ceaseless swarms of insects. In the room where the box was kept, a fire of camphor wood was kept constantly burning during the monsoon to dry the air.
Late last night, oblivious of the pouring rain, Humayun had returned to Agra in triumph from his conquest of Gujarat. The gold, silver and jewels that remained, even after rewarding his men, had already been piled in the imperial treasure houses. Except, that was, for a few items that Humayun had kept back — a silver belt set with pearls that he would enjoy fastening around Salima’s supple waist, a carved jade cup for his mother Maham, and for Khanzada a double-stranded necklace of rubies and uncut emeralds set in gold that had reputedly adorned the throats of generations of royal women of Gujarat. Unlocking an enamelled casket he drew it out, admiring once more the fiery brilliance of the rubies counterpointed by the dark green emeralds.
Still holding the necklace, Humayun made for his aunt’s apartments. He knew the details of the campaign would interest her but he also wanted her advice. As he entered, he saw that Khanzada was reading and that sitting by her side, head also deep in a book, was his eleven-year-old half-sister Gulbadan. The child’s eyes — a dark tawny like her mother Dildar’s and her brother Hindal’s — gazed up at him, bright and curious.
Khanzada rose at once and taking him by the shoulders kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Welcome back, Humayun. You conquered as I knew you would. . Every report of your progress filled me with pride.’
‘I have a gift for you.’ Humayun opened his hand and let the ruby and emerald necklace trickle through his fingers. Gulbadan edged closer for a better look, but Khanzada seemed to hesitate before taking the jewels and holding them up to the light. ‘They’re beautiful, but they’re too fine for me. . I am no longer young. Keep them for your wife when you take one.’ She returned the necklace to Humayun, closing his fingers over it before he could argue and gestured him to sit by her. ‘Gulbadan — leave us. But come to me again tomorrow — there is a Persian poem I want to show you.’
As the girl closed her book and walked slowly away, Khanzada looked after her. ‘I’ve grown fond of her since her mother’s death last year — she’s a clever child and notices everything.’
‘As you did at her age? My father often told me nothing escaped you.’
‘He flattered me.’
‘I don’t think so, and it’s for that reason that once again I come to you for advice. I learned many things during my campaign against Bahadur Shah. My victory proved to me that I can inspire men to follow me in battle and confirmed to me that I am a good warrior. . Many more fights lie ahead of me and I don’t fear them — indeed I’m eager for them if they help me make our empire more secure. .’
‘You’re right.You’ve proved you are a leader of men. That you are fearless. So what is worrying you?’
‘As I travelled back to Agra, I often thought to myself, when the tensions and excitement of battle are over, what then? I know how to be a warrior, but do I really understand how to govern and keep an empire? How to behave when sitting on my gilded throne, surrounded by counsellors, sycophants and suppliants, all eager for my attention to their requests or problems? Sometimes I just wish to banish them all and be with Salima or one of my other concubines, or go out hunting.’
‘That is only natural for a young man, but you must resist such temptations. A ruler must be alive to what is going on around him and sensitive enough to sniff out discontent before it ferments into rebellion. You will learn just as your father learned. It wasn’t easy for him either. He was much younger than you when God gave him a throne but he became a great ruler. Read his diaries — you will find what you seek in their pages, born of hard experience and blood. .’ Khanzada paused, then smiled a little sadly. ‘If Babur were here with us now he would tell you to be vigilant about those you allow close to you at court. . Take care to whom you give power, trust few. Always ask yourself the question why — Why is this man advising me to do this? What will he gain if I agree? What will he lose if I don’t? Will he be grateful for what he is given or think it is due to him as of right?’
‘I think I understand much of this. It’s almost as if a ruler’s watchword must be suspicion. It grieves me it must be so, but my half-brothers’ rebellion has taught me to be less trusting and more on guard, even with members of my close family who I thought would be my natural allies. But what about my subjects, the ordinary people I see only as suppliants or on a royal progress but whose loyalty I must have?’
‘You will always be remote to them. What matters is not how you really are but how they perceive you. You must appear to them whenever you can and when you do you must be like the sun to them, too bright to gaze upon. They must believe in your power to protect them. . and in your power to punish any who defy you. Remember how our ancestor Timur dazzled his people not only by his conquests but by his magnificence. The palaces and mosques he built in Samarkand, the fabulous wealth he displayed and distributed, were as important as his victories in stamping his footprint for ever upon the earth.’
Humayun rose and walked slowly over to the casement. The rain was easing and a few pale shafts of sunlight were penetrating the sullen grey sky. His aunt was right — he must not begrudge the time and effort he expended on court politics. He must give his people not only victories but also pageants and spectacles. . They must see him not as a man but as an image of perfection and power.
‘Humayun — look at this. .’
Turning, he saw Khanzada undoing two silver clasps on the carved ivory covers of a large book that one of her attendants had brought her. Resting it on a sandalwood stand, she began to turn the pages, frowning as she scanned the lines until, finding what she wanted, she gave a nod of satisfaction.
‘While you were away, I ordered some of Sultan Ibrahim’s household documents to be translated into our tongue. To our eyes the court customs of the rulers of Hindustan seem strange — bizarre even — but they deserve careful study. For example, it’s written here that every year, on the anniversary of his accession, Sultan Ibrahim was weighed at a public ceremony and an equivalent weight of silver, food and fine cloth was distributed to his courtiers and the people according to their rank and merit. Why shouldn’t you do something similar? Bind your subjects high and low to you by showing them your wealth and power — and your generosity. See — the ceremony is described in precise detail. .’
Coming close to Khanzada, Humayun read over her shoulder. At first, the description of the elaborate ritual of the weighing ceremony made him smile. No wonder the Moghuls had smashed through Sultan Ibrahim’s armies at Panipat if the sultan had indulged in such things. It seemed soft, unmanly, to dish out wealth that had not been earned through hard combat and blood. How much better in the immediate aftermath of victory to pile his warriors’ shields with booty. .