‘Let me enter alone,’ said Humayun. ‘I will deal with this obdurate traitor. I alone should spill my family’s blood.’
One of the guards pulled back the heavy iron bolts at the top and bottom of the thick wooden door. Humayun entered the small cell and there was Kamran, whom he had not seen for over five years, slumped on the straw-covered floor, his back against the damp stone wall. He was still dressed in the brown women’s clothes he’d been wearing when he was captured. They were full of holes, and with the heavy black veil thrown back over his head he looked ridiculous not rebellious.
After a moment, Kamran got slowly to his feet. He avoided Humayun’s eye, and it was he who broke the silence first. ‘I’m not going to plead with you for my life. So don’t think I’m about to fall at your feet and beg for mercy. I see our father’s sword in your hand. Use it. Kill me. If I were in your position I wouldn’t hesitate. . There’s only one thing I want. . ’ and here he raised his green eyes for the first time and looked deep into Humayun’s. ‘Bury me next to our father.’
Humayun stared unflinchingly back. ‘Why should I when you have dishonoured his memory? Why should I when you have broken every promise you ever made to me, thrown back my offers of peace and reconciliation, and worst of all exposed my son to danger?’
‘To prove you’re better than me, just as you loved to do when we were children. But what do I care about where my body lies. Get it over with. Prove you’re not the weakling everyone, including me, knows you are.’ Kamran pushed his face into Humayun’s and spat a great gob of rancid-smelling spittle into his eye.
But Humayun did not react. Suddenly the real wisdom behind Babur’s dying words, Do nothing against your brothers, however much you think they may deserve it, had hit him with a new clarity. Babur had been protecting Humayun as much as his brothers. Could he live with himself if he murdered his own brother in anger? By inciting him to kill him now in this squalid cell, Kamran — who knew him so well — was setting one last trap for him, daring him to set honour aside and descend to his level, and in his anger to prove that all his previous gestures of reconciliation had been acts of weakness, not of mercy.
Humayun lowered his sword and wiped away the spittle. ‘I am pleased you recognise you deserve death but I’ll consult with my counsellors as to your fate. If you die it will be an act of cool justice and not hot vengeance.’ As he turned to leave, Humayun thought he saw a brief half-smile cross Kamran’s lips. Was he laughing at him for what he saw as his weakness or, after all, was he simply relieved that for the moment he would live?
When he turned back to look at Kamran again, his half-brother’s eyes were downcast once more, his face expressionless.
Humayun scrutinised his counsellors, gathered in his sunlit audience chamber. His own mood was dark. He needed to decide the fate of Kamran.To delay would be to appear weak. His counsellors too seemed grave as he began.
‘It is for me to take the decision whether my half-brother Kamran should live or die but I wish to seek your views. Undoubtedly he has been responsible for the death of many men in the rebellions he has raised against me. His opposition has weakened my power, delayed my plans to reconquer Hindustan, as well as exposed my son Akbar to danger. Yet he is my half-brother, my father’s son and of the blood of Timur. If I am to spill that blood I must do so only if I am convinced that there is no other course I can take and that his death is for the sake of justice and the benefit of my realm and its people. Give me your views.’
‘Majesty,’ Bairam Khan stepped forward, his voice firm and clear, ‘I think I speak for all of us here. There can be no doubt.Your half-brother should die for the sake of you, your son, your dynasty and us all. Kamran is not your brother, he is your enemy. Put aside any brotherly feelings you have for him. They have no place in a ruler’s decisions. If you wish to remain king and to achieve the ambition we all share of regaining the throne of Hindustan for yourself and your son there is only one course to take. Execute him. Am I not right, my fellow commanders?’
Without hesitation and as with one voice they answered, ‘Yes!’
‘Does none of you advocate any other solution?’ Humayun asked.
‘No, Majesty.’
‘Thank you. I will ponder your advice.’ Humayun walked straight from the room, his brow furrowed. The decision was not as easy as his counsellors suggested. They did not share Kamran’s blood as he did. Without thinking consciously of what he was doing, Humayun headed for the women’s apartments and when he got there went straight to Gulbadan’s room. His half-sister was sitting on a low gilt chair wearing a loose purple silk robe as her attendant pulled an ivory comb through her dark hair. As soon as she saw the expression on Humayun’s face, Gulbadan dismissed the woman. ‘What is the matter?’
‘You know they have captured Kamran once more and he is imprisoned in the dungeons?’
‘Of course.’
‘I am desperately searching my conscience as to what his fate must be. I realise that by all the normal conventions he deserves death for his many misdeeds and my advisers tell me unanimously that this time he must die. Often, when I’ve anticipated the moment he’d be in my power again, anger at him for his ill-treatment of Akbar alone has made me want to kill him myself, and Hamida — as Akbar’s mother — urges this upon me. However, when I become calmer I know I must not act in anger but for what is best for our empire. I remember our father’s injunction to do nothing against my brothers and I hesitate.’
‘I understand your dilemma,’ Gulbadan said, taking Humayun’s hand. ‘You have always been a man of your word. Remember how you honoured your promise to Nizam the water-seller that he could sit on your throne for an hour or two, despite the mutterings of your courtiers? Because you always keep your word, you sometimes fail to realise that others like Sher Shah who deceived you before the battle of Chausa — or indeed our half-brothers — will not.You have given Kamran so many chances and he has exploited your mercy so often that even I believe that his persistent wickedness negates any promise you ever made to our father. . ’ She paused. ‘If I am honest I think he should die. It would be best for the dynasty that our father fought so hard to establish. With Kamran gone you will be free to concentrate on the recapture of Hindustan.’
Humayun said nothing for a long time. At last he spoke very deliberately. ‘I know that in logic you are right. I know also our father always said I loved solitude too much. . but I must go to consider alone for a time before taking my final decision.’
‘Why not take our father’s memoirs with you to see if they offer you any solace or guidance? After all, he wrote them, as he put it, “to give guidance for living and ruling”.’
A few minutes later, Humayun climbed the stone stairs to the top of the highest watchtower on the walls of the citadel in Kabul. In his hand were his father’s memoirs which, in their ivory binding, he had preserved so carefully throughout all his vicissitudes. He had left Jauhar at the entrance to the watchtower with strict orders that no one should be allowed to enter. As he reached the top of the stairs and emerged on to the flat roof, Humayun felt that the day’s heat was dying. It would be dark in an hour. Perhaps he should wait until the stars came out to see what guidance they might offer him, but then he dismissed the idea. He had learned from the many trials and disappointments he had endured during his life that he could not abdicate responsibility for his decisions to the stars any more than he could to his advisers, his wife or his blood relations.