READING HALL DOORS OF WISDOM

"THIRD MILLENNIUM LIBRARY"

BABAR

CHAPTER V

EXILE, 1502 A.D.

Babar did not see Samarkand again for many years. He had matched his strength against Shaibáni Khan, and the Uzbeg had shown himself the stronger. The young prince—he was king of nothing now—did not give in on that account; he sought more than once to cross swords with his powerful adversary; but he made no fresh attempt upon his capital for a long while. For the present he retired among the shepherds on the hills near Uratipa, waiting upon events. He had the happy faculty of being interested wherever he was, and now he found much amusement in talking to the Persian Sarts in the mountain village, and watching their sheep and herds of mares, as he took long rambles barefooted among the pastures. He lodged with the headman of the village, a veteran of seventy or eighty, whose mother was still alive at the age of a hundred and eleven. She had children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren to the number of ninety-six in the district round about, and she delighted the prince with her reminiscences of old days. One of her people had actually served in Timur’s army when he invaded Hindustan: “she remembered it well, and often told us stories about it”. Perhaps the old woman’s tales fired her listener’s imagination, and led him to dream of that Indian empire which was one day to lie at his feet.

At present nothing lay at his feet but humble peasants and their nocks. He was so poor that he viewed with alarm the arrival of his grandmother, “with the family and heavy baggage, and a few lean hungry followers”, escaped from Samarkand. His pride had fallen so low that he was persuaded by a politic counselor to send a present to his more fortunate brother Jahángir: he sent him an ermine cap, and unwillingly added a heavy Samarkand sword for his old enemy Tambal. He lived to regret the sword. The presents were carried by those of his followers who, having nothing but mischief to do in the village, were allowed to return to their homes at Andiján. He made a raid himself in the winter. Shaibáni was ravaging the country about the Sir, and Babar could not resist the temptation of having a thrust at him. He led his few troopers to Panjkend, but found nothing of the Uzbegs but their tracks. The river was another temptation, for Babar was a magnificent swimmer, as he afterwards proved in India.

“It was terribly cold” he writes, “and the wind from the desert had lost nothing of its violence and blew keen : so cold was it that in a few days we lost several comrades from its nip. I had to bathe, for religious purification, and went down to a stream that was frozen at the banks but not in the middle, by reason of the swift current. I plunged in, and dived sixteen times, but the biting chill of the water cut through me”.

Another fruitless expedition followed, and then Babar seriously considered his prospects. He reflected that to ramble thus from hill to hill, without house or home, country or resting-place, could serve no good purpose. His only plan was to go to the Khan his uncle. On June 16, 1502, he kept the great festival, the Idi-i-kurbán, at Sháhrukhíya, and then went straight to Táshkend. Mahmud Khan welcomed him with the hospitality of the desert, but evidently without much sympathy. When Babar presented him with an elegant quatrain on the miseries of exile, the Khan would not commit himself on the subject: “it was pretty evident that he had no great skill in poetic diction” said the mortified poet, but it is also possible that the uncle thought his nephew had brought his misfortunes on his own head. The Memoirs give many curious pictures of Mongol customs, and show the character of the people from whom Babar drew at least half his blood.

During his stay with his uncle at Táshkend, the restless Khan took a desire to lead his Mongols against Tambal, who was harassing Uratipa. The army marched to Panjkend, where Babar assisted in the ceremony of trooping the colors according to Mongol traditions. First the Khan dismounted, and nine ox-tail standards were set before him. A Mongol stood by, holding in his hand an ox’s shank-bone, to which he tied a long white cotton cloth. Another fastened three long slips of white cloth below the horse-tail of the standard.

“One corner of one of the cloths the Khan took, and putting it beneath his feet, stood upon it. I stood on a corner of another of the long slips, which was in like manner tied under one of the ox-tails; and Sultan Muhammed Khanikeh [the Khan’s son] took the third, and placing the cloth under his feet, likewise stood upon a corner of it. Then the Mongol who had tied the cloths, holding the ox-shank in his hand, made a speech in the Mongol tongue, looking often to the standards, and pointing and making signs towards them. The Khan and all the men formed in line, took kúmis in their hands, and sprinkled it towards the standards. All the trumpets and drums struck up at once, and all the soldiers who were drawn up shouted the war-cry. These ceremonies they repeated thrice”.

All this was minutely regulated by precedent, for among the Mongols, the rules of Chingiz Kahn are still strictly observed. Each man has his appointed post; those appointed to the right or left wing or center have their established posts handed down from father to son; and those of the greatest trust and rank are at the extremities or flanks.

After this review, the army marked out a great hunting circle, and hunted as far as the Chahár-Bágh of Burk. Meanwhile Babar indulged his poetry and melancholy by composing his first ghazal or ode, beginning

I have found in the world no faithful friend but my soul;

Save mine own heart I have no trusty confidant.

They then marched to the Sir, where the young prince gave the officers a banquet, at which, in true Mongol style, the gold clasp of his girdle was stolen. Some of the Begs deserted to Tambal next day—with the gold clasp, as Babar suspected. He was out of humor with everything, even with making war: “this expedition of the Khan” (he says) “was rather a useless sort of excursion. He took no fort; he beat no enemy; he went and came back again”

Inaction and dependence did not agree with Babar’s proud and energetic spurt.

“While I remained at Táshkend” he confesses, “I endured great distress and misery. I had no country nor hopes of one. Most of my servants had left me out of sheer want; the few who still stood by me could not escort me on my journeys for want of means. When I went to my uncle the Khan’s audience, I was attended only by one or two; fortunately this did not happen among strangers, but with my own kindred. After paying my respects to the Khan, my uncle, I went in to wait on [his mother] the Shah Begum, bareheaded and barefoot, as freely as one might do in one’s own home. But at last I was worn out with this unsettled state, with no house or home, and weary of life. I said to myself, rather than pass my life in such wretchedness and misery, it were better to go my way and hide me in some nook where I might he unknown and undistinguished—to flee away from the sight of man as far as my feet could carry me”

He thought of China, which he had always longed to visit, and now that he had no ties of kingship, and his family was in safety with the Khan, he resolved to journey into the unknown. His plan was to go and visit his younger uncle, Ahmad Khan, surnamed Aláchá or “the Slayer” in Mongolistán, and thence escape to the eastward. But the plan was upset by the unexpected tidings that Ahmad was actually coming to visit his brother Mahmud, whom he had not seen for a quarter of a century—indeed they had been on no friendly terms. Babar set out at once to welcome him, and it happened that the meeting between uncle and nephew took place quite suddenly.

“All at once I found myself face to face with him. I instantly dismounted and went forward to meet him. The Khan, seeing me get off, was much upset. He had meant to dismount somewhere and receive me, seated, with all the ceremonies; but I had come upon him too quickly, and dismounted in such a hurry, that there was no time for etiquette. The moment I sprang from my horse, I knelt down and then embraced my uncle. He was a good deal agitated and disconcerted”

However, on the morrow, “the Slayer” had his wish, and carried out the formalities. He sent Babar a complete Mongol dress, and one of his own horses ready saddled. “The dress consisted of a Mongol cap embroidered with gold thread, a long frock of China satin adorned with flowered needlework, a Chinese belt of the old style, with whetstone and purse-pocket, to which were hung three or four things like the trinkets women wear at their necks, such as a perfume box and little bag.” They journeyed together to Táshkend, and the elder Khan came out a dozen miles to meet his brother. Then he awaited him, seated solemnly under a tent.

“The younger Khan went straight up, and on coming near him in front, turned off to the left, find fetched a circle round him, till he was again in front, when he dismounted, and advancing to the proper distance for the kornish obeisance, bowed nine times, and then came up and embraced him. The elder Khan on his approach stood up for the embrace; they stood a long time clasped in each other’s arms. Then the younger Khan, on retiring, again bowed nine times; and when he presented his piskkash (or tributary offering) he bent again many times, after which they both sat down. All the younger Khan’s men were dressed in the Mongol fashion, with the native caps and flowered China satin frocks; their quivers and saddles were of shagreen, and their horses were decked and caparisoned in a singular fashion. The younger Khan came with but few followers—less than two thousand. He was a stout courageous man, and a perfect master of the sabre, hit favorite weapon. He used to say that the mace, javelin and battle-axe, if they hit, could only be relied on for a single blow. This sharp, trusty sword he never allowed to lie away from him; it was always either at his waist or in his hand. As be had been brought up in an out-of-the-way country, he was something rude of manner and uncouth of speech”

The two Khans, joining their forces, celebrated their reunion by a warlike expedition. Tambal must be crushed. He was then at Andiján, and thither they advanced against him (July, 1502), sending Babar with a detachment to move upon Ush and Uzkend, and thus take the enemy in the rear. He took Ush by surprise, to the delight of the inhabitants, who dreaded Tambal; and the “Ils and Ulúses”, or wandering tribes, flocked to his standard. Uzkend and Marghinán declared for their former king, with all the country on the southern side of the Sir, save Andiján itself. Meanwhile Tambal lay unperturbed between Akhsi and Karman, facing the Khans, in his entrenched zariba. Babar bethought him of a night reconnaissance to Andiján, where the citizens at least were understood to be loyal. He set out one evening from Ush, and at midnight was within a couple of miles of the capital. Then he sent forward Kambar Ali with, a party to open a secret conference with the Khwájas and leading men. Babar himself waited their return, seated on horseback with the rest of his men. He must tell the story himself:—

“It might be about the end of the third watch of the night, some of us were nodding, others fast asleep, when all at once kettle-drums struck up, accompanied by warlike shout and hubbub. My men being off their guard and oppressed with drowsiness, not knowing how many or how few the enemy might be, were seized with panic and took to disorderly flight. I had no time to rally them, but advanced towards the enemy, accompanied by Mir Shah Kochín, Baba Shirzad, and Dost Nasir. Except us four, all ran on to a man. We had gone but a little way when the enemy, after discharging a flight of arrows, raised the war-cry, and charged upon us. One fellow on a horse with a white blaze came up to me. I let fly an arrow which hit the horse, and he instantly fell dead. The others drew rein a little. My three companions said, “the night is dark, and it is impossible to judge the number and force of the enemy; all our troops are fled; we are but four, and with such a number how can we hope to win? Let us follow our party, rally them, and bring them back into action”. So we galloped off and overtook our men, but in vain we flogged them—we could not make them stand anyhow. Again we four turned and gave the pursuers a flight of arrows. They halted a space; but after one or two volleys they saw we were only four, and set off again in pursuit of our men, to strike and unhorse them. Three or four times we covered and protected our people in this way, and as they would not rally, I was constantly turning with my three companions to keep the enemy in check and bring them up short with our arrows”.

They kept up the pursuit, nevertheless, for the space of five miles, till they came to some hills, when Babar saw how few they were, and cried out, “Come, let us charge them”. When they charged, the others stood still! And they proved to be some of their Mongol allies, who had mistaken them in the dark for the enemy. After this confusion the reconnaissance naturally failed, and all returned abashed to Ush.

Nevertheless Tambal became disheartened: the people were going back to their old allegiance, and he felt he must soon break up his force and retire. Babar, discovering this downheartedness, forthwith marched again upon Andiján, met a body of the enemy outside, and drove them in; but was dissuaded by his old Begs from forcing an entrance in the dark: “Had we done so” he remarked afterwards, “there is not the shadow of a doubt that the place would have fallen into our hand”. As it was, while negligently sleeping in the open plain, without pickets or sentries, they were surprised at dawn by the main body under Tambal himself:—

“Kambar Ali galloped up, shouting, “The enemy are upon us—rouse up!”. Having so said, without a moments halt he rode on to give the alarm. I had gone to sleep, as my custom was even in times of security, without taking on my jáma, and instantly arose, girt on my sabre and quiver, and mounted my horse. My standard-bearer seized the standard-pole, but had no time to tie on the ox-tail; so seizing the staff as it was, he leapt on horseback, and we went towards the quarter whence the enemy were advancing. When I mounted there were ten or fifteen men with me. By the time I had advanced a bow-shot we fell in with the enemy’s skirmishers. At this moment there might be about ten men with me. Hiding quickly up to them and shooting our arrows, we came upon the foremost, smote them and drove them back, and pressing on pursued them for another bow-shot, when we fell in with the mam body of the enemy. Sultan Ahmad Tambal was standing there [in front of his troops] with about a hundred men; he was speaking with another man in front of the line, and in the act of saying, “Smite them! Smite them!” but his men were sidling in a hesitating way, as if saying, “Shall we flee? Let us flee” yet without budging.

“There were now only three men left with me—Dost Nasir, Mirzá Kuli Kukildash, and Kerimdad Khodaidad the Turkman. One arrow was on my notch and I shot it point blank at Tambal’s helmet. Again I felt the quiver, and brought out a barbed arrow, which my uncle the Khan had given me. Unwilling to throw it away, I returned it, and thus lost time. Then I put another arrow on the string and went forward, the others lagging a little behind. Two men came straight on to meet me, the forwarder was Tambal. There was a causeway between us. He mounted, on one side of it just as I mounted on the other, and we met so that my right hand was towards my enemy and Tambal’s right towards me. Except for his horse, Tambal was completely in mail. I had on my cuirass, and carried my sabre and bow and arrows. I drew up to my ear and sent my arrow right at his head, when at the same instant an arrow struck me on the right thigh and pierced through and through. Tambal rushed on, and, with the great Samarkand sword I had given him, smote me such a blow on my steel head­piece as to stun me. Though not a link of the cap was cut, my head was severely bruised. I had neglected to clean my sword, so that it was rusty, and I lost time in drawing it.

“I was alone, solitary, in the midst of foes. It was no time for standing still, so I turned my bridle, receiving another sabre stroke on my quiver. I had gone back seven or eight paces when three foot-soldiers came up and joined me. Tambal attacked Dost Nasir with the sword. They followed us about a bow-shot ... God directed us aright, so that we came exactly upon one of the fords of the river. Just after crossing, Dost Nasir’s horse fell from exhaustion. We halted to remount him, and pushing among the hills got back to Ush safely”

The behavior of his two uncles now began to make him uneasy. Mahmud Khan very coolly made over to his brother all the places which Babar had reconquered of his patrimony, on the ground that Ahmad Khan required a good position close at hand in order to withstand Shaibáni. They would presently conquer Samarkand, and Babar should have that in exchange for Farghana. He was not deceived; it was not the first time that his uncle had coveted the little kingdom. “Probably” he wrote, “all this talk was merely to overreach me, and had they succeeded, they would have forgotten their promise. But there was no help for it: willing or not, I had to seem content”. He went to visit his younger uncle, who seeing him walking painfully with a stick, by reason of his wound, ran out beyond the tent-ropes and embraced him heartily, saying, “Brother, you have quitted yourself like a hero”. The visitor noticed that the tent was small and untidy: melons, grapes, and stable furniture were lying about in a muddle. The Khan, however, was kind, and at once sent his own surgeon to dress the wound.

“He was wonderfully skillful in his art” says Babar, in all good faith. “ If a man’s brains had come out he could cure him, and he could even easily heal severed arteries. To some wounds he applied plasters; for others he prescribed doses. To my thigh wound he applied the skin of some fruits which he had prepared and dried, and he did not insert a seton. He also once gave me something like a vein to eat. He told me that “a man once had his leg broken so that part of the bone as large as one’s hand was completely shattered. I cut open the integuments, extracted the whole of the shattered bone, and inserted in its place a pulverized preparation, which grew in place of the bone, and became bone itself, and the leg was perfectly cured”. He told me many similar strange and wonderful stories of cures, such as the surgeons of our parts are totally unable to effect”

No doubt this extraordinary operator made a good cure of the wound in the thigh, for we find his patient soon afterwards riding to Akhsi, at the invitation of Tambal’s younger brother, Shaikh Bayazid. This strange partnership led to many adventures.

CHAPTER VI

FLIGHT 1502-1503 A.D.