‘The next morning my father gave the order to pursue the enemy, whom our scouts reported fleeing south. Towards midday on the second day of the chase, intent on overhauling our foes we were marching through a valley with gently sloping hills on either side when a great number of Golcondan cavalry suddenly appeared over one of the ridges and immediately galloped down, smashing into our troops before we could form battle order. Their first impact cut our column in two. The attackers circled around the rear portion, where most of the cannon and baggage carts were, in a pincer movement, hacking and slashing as they went. Many of our men fell in the chaos. Some fled but most of the cowards did so in vain as the Golcondan horsemen cut at their backs as they ran.
‘Others of the rearguard tried to form up and fight their way through their attackers to the front half of our column where my father now had musketmen in action. Their disciplined volleys were succeeding in holding the enemy back. Numbers of our cavalry did manage to join him but few of the infantry. I saw one party of orange-clad Rajputs all on foot defending themselves against the lances of the enemy cavalry. Several times horses struck by the Rajputs’ swords reared up and threw their riders. But it was an unequal contest. The Rajputs could rarely get close enough to use their weapons effectively. There could be but one outcome. Only two of the Rajputs made it back to our lines, both bleeding heavily. Next the attackers fired arrows bound with pitch-soaked burning rags. These frightened our war elephants and some panicked, crashing into their comrades and overturning the gun limbers they were pulling, adding to the chaos.
‘My father ordered all the remaining troops to fight their way towards a low hillock near the end of the valley around which we could regroup. We were doing so successfully despite the enemy’s constant assaults when, just as we were approaching it, some mounted archers attacked, loosing off more of their flaming arrows as they stood in their stirrups holding their reins in their teeth. Three of their arrows penetrated the palanquin my father was being carried in because of his wound. Two set the palanquin alight, the third hit my father in the thigh, setting fire to his garments. His attendants bravely pulled him clear and smothered the flames on his clothes. He remained conscious but his wounds were such that he knew that this time not even the hakims could save him.
‘Fighting against the pain, he handed the command of the column to his second-in-command, Zafir Abas, instructing him to conduct an orderly withdrawal as best he could. Then, summoning me to him, he clasped my hand and ordered me to carry the news of the defeat to you … to tell you he was sorry for leading so many of your troops to their death and that many well-trained reinforcements were required immediately or all our territories in the south would be lost.’ Abdul Aziz’s whole body shuddered as he broke into a series of great heaving sobs. ‘Majesty, the attendants had not been able to prevent the flames from setting fire to my father’s beard. Burnt skin was peeling in strips from his face … his blistered lips were bursting … he could say no more. A few minutes later he died.’
‘Your father was a great man. I honour his memory. You too have done your duty. Now you must sleep. We will speak further in the morning.’
As Abdul Aziz departed, his shoulders still shaking with grief at the memory of his father’s death, Shah Jahan turned and walked slowly back through the gatehouse into the haram. His army in the Deccan had clearly suffered a great defeat. A new army and a new commander must be sent to restore order and take revenge. Who should the general be? If Mahabat Khan, his khan-i-khanan, commander-in-chief, had not been leading an army in the foothills of the Himalayas against incursions by the King of Nepal and his Gurkha warriors he would have been the obvious choice, but to recall him would take too long. As he walked past the still bubbling fountains, Shah Jahan went over the names of some other commanders. His loyal friend Kamran Iqbal, commander of the Agra garrison, was needed here. Besides, he had not yet fully recovered from the wounds he had suffered during the fighting against Shahriyar in Lahore and perhaps never would. His father-in-law Asaf Khan was ageing and might not be up to the rigours of campaigning. Others were either too impulsive or too cautious. Yet others were inclined to deal harshly with local populations, living off their lands without payment, and forcing them into unpaid labour. Such behaviour could only prove counterproductive among the proud, restless population of the Deccan. No. There was nothing for it. He must return south and lead his armies in person.
A few minutes later he was pushing back the gold-embroidered muslin curtains of Mumtaz’s room once more. She was lying with her back against a lilac brocade bolster drinking a glass of watermelon juice. Looking up she asked, ‘What did Abdul Aziz want?’
‘We’ve suffered a major invasion and rebellion in the Deccan. I must assemble an army and lead it south immediately.’
‘When do we leave?’
‘I will go alone. You should stay here.’
‘Why should this be any different from your previous campaigns in the Deccan? I accompanied you then and you were glad to have me with you.’
‘Yes, and I would be happy for you to join me again if we hadn’t just discovered you are pregnant once more. Your last pregnancies have been harder than the previous ones. You will have better hakims here.’
‘And as I told you before you embarked on your first campaign, I refuse to be parted from you. The best hakims can come with us.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘No. There’s no “perhaps”. I and all our children and as many hakims as you wish will accompany you. Together we will march to victory.’ Mumtaz’s expression brooked no denial.
Chapter 2
Standing alone on the jharoka balcony of the Agra fort in the pale early morning light, Shah Jahan raised his sword and circled it three times above his head. At his signal, the artillerymen on the battlements fired their small cannons to set in motion the army that had been assembling in camps on the banks of the Jumna below in the fortnight since Abdul Aziz had brought the news from the Deccan. How magnificent it looked — not even the Persian shah could put a better equipped army in the field, Shah Jahan thought with a shiver of pride.
First of the twenty thousand men to move out were the vanguard of the cavalry, their green silken standards rippling. Elephants of state, gorgeous in velvet and cloth of gold and clanking with gold and silver chains and bells, followed, bearing his senior commanders. Next came the great bronze cannons pulled on wooden gun carriages by teams of milk-white bullocks, the tips of their horns striped green and gold. Behind them Shah Jahan made out the advance columns of infantry marching twenty abreast. The enormous baggage train followed, its mass of pack elephants resembling a fleet of ships afloat in a sea of dust. In their wake came ranks of laden camels and mules and lines of ox carts.
Soon it would be time for him to mount his own elephant, descend the fort’s broad winding ramp and proceed out through the gateway, while in the drumhouse above muscular bare-torsoed drummers beat their kettledrums to signal to the world that the Moghul emperor was riding to war. ‘Don’t understimate the power of spectacle and in particular the spectacle of power,’ Akbar had once said to him with a smile. As a youth the aphorism had puzzled him but he was beginning to understand what his grandfather had meant. He was learning never to neglect the image of himself and his empire he presented to his people, whether on campaign or presiding over his court. That was why, while he was away, he had ordered his architects to modify the Agra fort by adding white marble pavilions to the existing sandstone edifice. The blood-red sandstone would convey his empire’s martial power while the marble would show his wealth and opulence.