As the doors closed behind Kasim and the messenger, Humayun glanced out through the casement. The perfect orange disc of the sun was rising into a cloudless sky. The red sandstone of the fort glowed as if it were about to burst into flame. Humayun rubbed his eyes and signalled to his attendants to lower the woven grass tatti screens to block out the relentless brightness that was making his head throb. The news of Sher Shah was bad and he must respond, but first he must sleep and to do that needed something to soothe his mind. He went over to a carved rosewood cabinet, unlocked it and took out a bottle of Gulrukh’s wine. This would help, wouldn’t it? He pulled out the stopper but then remembered that he would need a clear head later in the morning to decide what to do about Sher Shah. But perhaps it wouldn’t really matter if the decision waited until the afternoon. He poured some of Gulrukh’s mixture into an agate cup. A few minutes later he was drifting softly away but almost at once some sort of commotion again intruded into his dreams.
‘Raise the tattis and leave me alone with the emperor,’ came an angry female voice. ‘Humayun.’ Now it was shouting his name and seemed to be drawing closer. ‘Humayun!’ He sat up with a gasp as a deluging mass of cold water brought him back to consciousness. Forcing his eyes open he saw Khanzada standing by the side of his bed, an empty brass ewer in her hand and eyes full of anger.
‘What d’you want?’ Humayun gazed at her stupidly, uncertain whether she was real or some sort of hallucination.
‘Get up.You are a warrior — an emperor — but I find you lounging here in the dark in a drugged stupor like a haram eunuch at a time when your empire is in danger. . I have just learned of the arrival of Askari’s messenger and of the news he brought. Why haven’t you summoned your council immediately?’
‘I will when I am ready. .’
‘Look at you!’ Khanzada seized a mirror set with rubies and thrust it before him. Reflected in the burnished surface he saw a pallid face and dark, distant eyes with dilated pupils and deep, almost purple bags beneath them. He continued to stare, fascinated by the features that seemed so familiar, but Khanzada ripped the mirror from his hand and flung it against the wall, causing the metal to buckle and several of the rubies to fall from their mounts. They lay on the floor like drops of blood.
Kneeling before him, Khanzada took Humayun by the shoulders. ‘Opium is destroying your mind. . You do not even recognise yourself in the mirror, do you? Do I have to remind you who you are. . do I have to tell you of your bravery and the battles you won on your father’s behalf and of your destiny and duty to the Moghul dynasty? Have you forgotten everything that made you — us — the descendants of Timur — who we are? I’ve tried to warn you before that you are losing your grip on reality but you would not listen. Now I must force you to. The same blood that runs through your veins flows through mine also. I fear nothing except the loss of everything your father — my brother — fought and suffered for.’
What was she saying? Suddenly she let go of him and, leaning back, hit his face with the full force of her right hand. Again and again she struck — first the right and then the left side of his face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
‘Be as you once were. Be the man your father made his heir,’ she was shouting. ‘Abandon this cocoon of ritual and opium that is alienating your nobles and compromising your ability to rule.You are a warrior like your father. Stop worrying about what the stars say and whether you can live up to Babur, just do it!’
She had stopped striking him but the stinging pain was clearing the fog in his mind. The words that — when she had first begun speaking — had seemed to have no meaning were beginning to make some sense. Round and round in his mind they went and with them images of the past that they conjured — the visceral excitement he had always felt in the heat of battle or wrestling with his nobles or galloping out to the hunt with Babur. That whole, vibrant, physical world to which he had once belonged. .
‘Give up the opium, Humayun. . it is destroying you. Where are you keeping it?’
Kasim’s gentle words of warning began to come back to him from many months ago when Kasim and Baisanghar had given advice in his stead to the envoy of his governor in Bengal. If he had talked to the man himself might he have caught some nuance or given some guidance that might have prevented Sher Shah’s rebellion? Or perhaps Sher Shah had somehow come to learn of his lack of interest in what happened in Bengal. Humayun’s hand went slowly to the locket around his neck. Unclasping it, he handed it to Khanzada. Then, equally slowly, he walked over to the still open cabinet where he kept Gulrukh’s opium-infused wine. As he reached inside for the bottle, the dark, almost purple liquid inside glinted. It had brought him so much pleasure, so much knowledge. . revealed so much to marvel at. Could it really be the destructive force that Kasim and Khanzada claimed?
‘My father took opium. .’ he said slowly, turning the flask.
‘Yes, but not like you. . Babur never let it control him or dictate his actions. He never neglected his trusted band of comrades, his commanders and his courtiers in its favour. But in you it has enslaved an emperor. You have become addicted. . just like the man who cannot taste a cup of wine without wanting to empty the entire wineskin. You must give it up, Humayun, or it will destroy you. You will lose the empire your father gained. Renounce opium now before it is too late.’
Still he gazed at the liquid in the bottle with all its hidden secrets and delights. But then he looked up at Khanzada’s face, still wet with tears, and saw how strained she looked and how afraid. And he knew that that fear was for him and for the dynasty of which she was a part and for which she had suffered. Slowly the realisation that she was right, that Kasim was right, that all the others who had expressed concern were right, penetrated the opium fumes in his mind. He must be strong — strong within himself. He had no need of outside props. Suddenly more than anything he wanted to regain Khanzada’s respect, her approval. The thought of how he had treated her and his closest advisers in recent months made him ashamed.
‘Give me the bottle, Humayun.’
‘No, Aunt.’ Going to the casement, he poured the liquid away to splash on the ground below; then, flinging the bottle after it, he heard the faint, fragile tinkle as it shattered. ‘I will tell Gulrukh that I will accept no more of her drugged wine. I swear to you, on this ring of Timur, that however hard it may be I will take no more opium or wine. I will send her to live with one of her sons. And I will prove anew to myself and to you that I am worthy of my father’s trust.’
Khanzada took his face between her hands and kissed him. ‘I will help you conquer this addiction. Opium has such a grip that it will not be easy. You are a great man, Humayun, a great leader — I have always known that — and you will become a greater one.’
‘And I have always known that you are my most trusted confidante.’
‘And now?’
‘Stay with me while I send for the messenger and question him again. I want you to hear what he says. If it is true, I must prepare immediately for war.’
Later that day, Humayun sat on his throne. Before him were his courtiers and commanders. As he had ordered they were no longer dressed in clothing matching the planet governing the day — neither was he. Khanzada was right. The rituals he had imposed had brought neither harmony nor strength to his court. He must win the respect and allegiance of his nobles in other ways. And one of those would be by victory in the field.
‘You have all heard the news brought by the messenger Kamal. Sher Shah’s invasion of Moghul territories is an affront to our honour that I will not tolerate. As soon as the army is ready, we will ride against this upstart. And when I have finished with Sher Shah I will trade him into slavery, just as Sher Shah’s ancestors used to trade a worn-out horse to the knacker’s men.’