READING HALL DOORS OF WISDOM
"THIRD MILLENNIUM LIBRARY"
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READING HALL DOORS OF WISDOM"THIRD MILLENNIUM LIBRARY" |
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BABAR
CHAPTER VIIIHERAT.1500—1507 A.D.
Shaibáni Khan, after finishing the subjugation of the
kingdom of Khuwárizm, by the Sea of Aral, returned. to the attack of the
remnant of the Timurid Empire. At the end of 1505, when all the land between
the Sir and the Amu, from Aral to Badakhshan, was his, he prepared to conquer
Persia, and began by laying siege to the great city of Balkh, the strongest
outpost of Khurasán. Sultán Husain at last was thoroughly roused; he took the
field, despite his age and infirmities, and summoned all his kinsmen to his
side. Now or never must the Uzbeg invasion be met and rolled back. Among the
rest, Babar was called to the war, and none would more heartily join in a
campaign against his own deadliest enemy. To defeat Shaibáni was now his
dearest wish : it meant revenge for the loss of Samarkand, it might mean
Samarkand regained. In June, 1506, he led his troops out of Kabul, and taking
the Shibertú and the “Tooth-break” (Dendán-shikán) passes, descended to Kahmard, and thence past
the Aimák country, where “as all the world was in disorder, every one
plundering and usurping other folks property, my people took some booty from
the tilled land as well as from the clans; and we imposed a subvention on the
Turks and Aimáks”. His brother Jahángir had been intriguing among these people,
and Babar had chosen this route in order to assert his sovereignty and bring
his brother, like a whipped cur, to heel.
At the end of October, after a march of eight hundred
miles, he met the sons of Sultán Husain; the old man himself had died in the
spring, even before the army left Kabul. The princes were encamped with all the
troops they could collect on the bank of the river Murghab. They were a totally
new experience to the hardy soldier. Whatever may have been the comparative
luxury of Andiján or Samarkand in the days of his infancy, Babar had never
known the soft delights of cultured ease and magnificent idleness. His own life
had been a succession of adventures and privations. He now for the first time
became acquainted with the luxurious possibilities of a decadent civilization.
Herat, then the capital of Khurasán, had been the home of science and the arts
during the long reign of the late sovereign, and the natural capacity of the
site had been developed to the utmost. Though it possessed but a single stream
within the walls, the gardens without were famous for fertility, and for twenty
miles on one side, and nearly ten on another, the country round about was a
wilderness of lovely orchards and plantations, and expanses of well-tilled
fields, surrounding numerous villas and hamlets, were highly renowned, and
this party was certainly free, easy, and unconstrained. “During the time I remained
on the banks of the Murghab, I was present twice or thrice at the Mirzá’s
drinking parties; when it was known that I drank no wine, they did not trouble
me by pressing”. Then he began to argue with himself thus—but we will quote the
whole passage, as it is admirably illustrative of the society of the time:—
“A few days later, I had an invitation from Muzaffar Mirza,
who lived at the White Garden. Khadija Begum, when dinner was removed, carried
him and me to a palace called Terebkhána [or House of Delight] which Babar Mirza
[the elder] had built. It stands in the midst of a garden, and though small and
of only two stories it is a delightful little house. The upper storey is the more elaborate : it has four rooms, one in
each corner, enclosing a central large hall; and the four rooms have four royal
balconies. Every part of the hall is covered with paintings ... executed by
order of Sultan Abu-Said Mirza, to represent his wars.
“There was a drinking party in the Terebkhána. In the
north end of the north balcony two carpets were set facing each other; on one
of them sat Muzaffar Mirza and I, and on the other Sultan Masud Mirzá and Jahángir. As we were guests in Muzaffar’s house, the Mirza placed me
above himself, and having filled up a glass of welcome, the cupbearers began
to supply all who were of the party with pure wine, which they quaffed as if it
had been the water of life. The party waxed warm, and the spirit mounted up to
their heads. They took a fancy to make me drink, too, and bring me into the
same ring as themselves. Up to then I had never been guilty of drinking wine,
and was therefore practically ignorant of the sensations it produced; yet I had
a strong lurking inclination to roam in this desert, and my heart was very fain
to cross the stream. In my boyhood I had no wish for it, and knew not its joys
or pains. Whenever my father invited me to drink wine, I excused myself and
abstained; and after his death, by the protecting care of Khwája Kázi, I
continued pure and undefiled : I abstained even from forbidden foods, so was it
likely I should indulge in wine? Afterwards, by youthful fancy and natural impulse,
I began to hanker for wine, but there was no one about me to help me to gratify
my desire; not a soul even suspected, my secret longing ...
“At this party, among the musicians was Hafiz Haji;
Jalal-ad-dín Mahmud, the flute-player, was there too, and the younger brother
of Ghulam Shadi, Shadi Becheh, who played the
harp. Hafiz Haji sang well. The people of Herat sing in a low, delicate, legato style. There was a singer of
Jahangir Mirzá’s present, Mir Jan by name, a man from Samarkand, who always
sang in a loud, harsh voice, and out of tune. Jahángir, who was far gone,
suggested that he should sing, and sing he did, in a horribly loud, rasping,
unpleasant tone. The men of Khurasán pique themselves on their good breeding,
but many turned their ears away, some frowned, but out of respect for the Mirza
no one ventured to stop him. After the hour of evening prayers we went from the
Terebkhána to the new Winter Palace which Muzaffar Mirzá had built. By the time
we got there Yusuf Ali Kukildash, being very drunk, rose and danced; he was a
musical man and danced well. Now the party grew very merry and friendly; Jánik
sang a Turki song; Muzaffar’s slaves performed some lewd, scurvy tucks while
the company were hot with wine; the party was kept up late, and did not
separate till an untimely hour.
It seems probable that Babar did not have his wish
after all to drink wine at Herat. His chief adviser, Kásim Beg Kochín,
remonstrated so severely with the princes upon their reprehensible design of
making their young cousin break his religious habit, that when the next
entertainment came off at the eldest prince’s, we hear nothing of Babar’s
intended initiation in drinking—though unfortunately he had more than enough of
it later on—but only of his lack of science as a carver. He could not carve a
goose, like many another man of genius, and was obliged to surrender the
problem to his cousin: “Badi-az-zamán at once cut up the goose, divided it into
small pieces, and set it again before me : he was unequalled in this sort of politeness”
Unfortunately carving geese and sending the cup round
were not the qualities most needed when Shaibáni was in the field. Babar soon
realized that “the brave barbarian from the north was not to be vanquished by
men like these. Their tents of state, their rich carpets, their gorgeous attire
and goblets of silver and gold, without adding to their own means of defence,
were an incentive to the rapacity of the enemy. “The Mirzás”
says Babar, “although very accomplished at the social board, or in the arrangements
for a party of pleasure, and although they had a charming talent for conversation
and society, possessed no knowledge whatever of the conduct of a campaign or of
warlike operations, and were perfect strangers to the preparations for a
battle, and the dangers and spirit of a soldier’s life”. No help was to be
expected from these polished gentlemen in withstanding the Uzbeg attack; and
now that winter was come, and there could be no campaigning till the next
season, Babar resolved to go home and see what mischief the Turks, Mongols, Aimáks,
Afghans, Hazára, and all the Ils and Ulúses, clans and tribes of various
nations and languages, not to mention his own blood relations, had been doing
all this while in his new kingdom of Kabul.
At the entreaty of his cousins, the Mirzas, he had
spent twenty days in Herat—for “in the whole habitable world there is not such
another city”—he had enjoyed life as he had never enjoyed it before; the
youngest of his fair cousins, Masuma, had fallen violently in love with him,
and they were engaged: but winter was advanced, and on December 34, 1506, he
began his return march to Kabul. By the advice of Kásim Beg Kochín he took the
mountain road. Babar had a very high opinion of Kásim, who had been his
father’s majordomo, and in time to come would be governor of his son Humayun.
He describes him as “a brave man, a fine sword, and matchless in a foray”. It
is true, when Babar’s fortunes were overcast, Kásim took service with Khusrau Shah,
but when this great Amir fled before Shaibáni, and his Begs deserted to Babar, Kásim
also returned to his fealty, and his young master welcomed him with affection.
In the fight with the Hazára in the glen of Khish, Kásim had shown prodigious valor,
despite his years. “He was a pious, devout, faithful Muslim” says Babar, “and
carefully abstained from all questionable food. His judgment and talents were
remarkably good. He was a humorous fellow, and though ho could neither read nor
write, he had an ingenious and elegant wit”.
Kásim and his master needed all their courage in the
adventure that now lay before them. They marched by a route much further south
than that they had traversed coming out. It snowed incessantly, and in places
the snow rose above the stirrups. They lost their way, their guide became
hopelessly puzzled, and never succeeded in finding the road again. They sent
out exploring parties, in the hope of lighting upon some stray mountaineers who
might be wintering nearby, but the scouts came back after three or four days,
and reported that no one could be found : the country was absolutely empty of
human beings. During the next few days the little army suffered terrible
hardships—“such suffering and hardship, indeed” says Babar, “as I have scarcely
endured at any other time of my life; and he forthwith sat down and wrote a poem
about it, but it was like to be the last poem he should ever write.
“For about a week we went on trampling down the snow,
yet only able to make two or three miles. I helped, in trampling the snow; with
ten or fifteen of my household, and with Kásim Beg and his sons and a few
servants, we all dismounted and labored at beating down the snow. Each step we
sank to the waist or the breast, but still we went on trampling it down. After a
few paces a man became exhausted, and another took his place. Then the men who
were treading it down dragged forward a horse without a rider; the horse sank
to the stirrups and girths, and after advancing ten or fifteen paces, was worn
out and replaced by another; and thus from ten to twenty of us trod down the
snow and brought our horses on, whilst the rest—even our best men, many of them
Begs—rode along the road thus beaten down for them, hanging their heads. It was
no time for worrying them or using authority: if a man has pluck and emulation
he will press forward to such work of his own accord ... In three or four days
we reached a cave called Khawál Koti, at the foot of
the Zirrín Pass [Zard Sang, over the Koh-i-Baba]. That day the storm was terrible, and the snow
fell so heavily that we all expected to die together. When we reached the cave
the storm was at its worst. We halted at the mouth : the snow was deep, and the
path so narrow that we could only pass in single file. The horses moved with
difficulty over the beaten, trampled snow, and the days were at the shortest.
The troops began to arrive at the cave while it was yet light; when it was dark
they stopped; each man had to dismount and hall where he was; many waited for
morning in their saddles.
“The cave seemed small. I took a hoe, and scraping and
clearing the snow away made a resting-place for myself as big as a prayer
carpet near the mouth of the cave; I dug down, breast deep, but did not reach
the ground. In this hole I sat down for shelter from the gale. They begged me
to go inside, but I would not. I felt that for me to be in warm shelter and
comfort whilst my men were out in the snow and drift—for me to be sleeping at
ease inside whilst my men were in misery and distress, was not to do my duty by
them, or to share in their sufferings as they deserved that I should. Whatever
their hardships and difficulties, whatever they had to undergo, it was right
that I should share it with them. There is a Persian proverb that “In the
company of friends death is a feast”. So I remained sitting in the drift, in
the hole that I had dug out for myself, till bedtime prayers, when the snow
fell so fast that, as I had been all the time sitting crouched on my feet, I
found four inches of snow on my head, lips, and ears : that night I caught cold
in the ear. Just then a party that had explored the cave brought word that it
was very capacious, and could hold all our people. As soon as I heard this I
shook off the snow from my head and face, and went into the cave, and sent to
call those who were at hand. A comfortable place was found for fifty or sixty;
those who had any eatables, stewed meat, preserved flesh, or anything ready,
brought them out; and so we escaped from the terrible cold and snow and drift
into a wonderful safe, warm, cozy place, and refreshed ourselves”
It was by such, acts of comradeship find unselfish
endurance, at the risk of his life, that Babar endeared himself to his
soldiers. They knew that be took a real personal interest in each one of them,
and that every gallant deed or feat of uncomplaining patience was sure to be
observed and remembered, whilst in their illness or sufferings they could count
on his sympathy and help. He possessed many of the finest qualities of a
commander; he knew when to be gentle as well as when to be firm; and above all
he never asked his men to do what he would not do himself. Whatever they
suffered, he would suffer too. This comradeship with his soldiers accounts for
much of Babar’s success, and explains the devotion of the rank and file which enabled,
him again and again to snatch, victory in the most unfavorable conditions.
Fortunately the terrible march was nearly at an end.
When they looked forth from the cave the next morning, the storm was over, the
snow had stopped, and though the cold was still intense, and many lost their
hands or feet from frost-bite, they managed to climb the pass, and the
following day the inhabitants of a village down below were amazed to see a
weary body of armed men limping down from the snow-clad heights, which the
oldest native had never seen crossed by human beings at such a season. The
depth of the snow indeed had saved them, and it was only afterwards that they
understood how the heavy drifts, through which they had struggled with so much
toil, had leveled and softened many a rift and precipice which they could never
have passed but for the friendly covering. As they listened to the hidden penis
they had escaped, they learnt to be thankful, seated round the fires of the
hospitable villagers, taking their fill of good bread and fat sheep, and warmth
and sleep, after the hardships of that fearful journey.
As Babar drew near to Kabul, he learnt that his return
had been timed not a moment too soon. A rumor had been spread about that he had
been made prisoner in Khurasán, and some of the Mongols who had stayed behind
had set up a new king. This was Khan Mirza, the only surviving son of Sultan
Mahmud of Samarkand. Khan Mirza was doubly a cousin, for his father was brother
of Babar’s father, and his mother was half-sister of Babar’s mother. It happened
that several sympathetic relations of Khan Mirza were at that time in Kabul,
including a very strong-minded old woman, Shah Begum, the Mirzá’s own
grandmother, but only step-grandmother to Babar, whose own mother and
grandmother, his once zealous advocates, were unfortunately dead. There was
also an uncle-in-law, Muhammad Husain Mirza Dughlát (father of Mirza Haidar,
the author of the celebrated history), who had married Babar’s mother’s sister
(now dead), and to whom, on going away to Khurasán,
the nephew naturally confided a considerable share in the conduct of affairs.
There seems to be no doubt that he betrayed his trust, and even his own son’s
account in the Tarikh-i-Rashili convicts him first of neglect or secret sympathy, and finally of open treason.
The rebels had been laying siege for twenty-four days
to the castle of Kabul, which was valiantly defended by some loyal servants of
the absent king, when suddenly Babar burst in upon them. The traitors instantly
broke and fled, only to be captured by the loyalists and brought before their
injured master. What followed is best told in the words of the chief traitor’s
son, who sets the conduct of Babar in a noble and generous light :
“The Emperor”
he says, “in conformity with his affectionate nature, without ceremony, and
without a sign of bitterness—nay, with the utmost cheerfulness and good humor—came
into the presence of his step-grandmother, who had withdrawn her affection from
him and set up her grandson as king in his stead. Shah Begum was confounded and
abashed, and knew not what to say. The Emperor, going down on his knees, embraced
her with great affection, and said, “What right has one child to be vexed
because the motherly bounty descends upon another? The mother’s authority over
her children is in all respects absolute”. He added, “I have not slept all
night, and have made a long journey”. So saying, he laid his head on Shah
Begum’s breast and tried to sleep; he acted thus in order to reassure the
Begum. He had scarcely fallen asleep when his maternal aunt, Mihr Nigar Khánim [daughter of
Yunus, and widow of Sultan Ahmad, and herself apparently in the plot], entered.
The Emperor leapt up and embraced his beloved aunt with every manifestation of
affection. The Khánim said to him, “Your children, wives, and household are
longing to see you. I give thanks that I have been permitted to behold you once
again. Rise up and go to your family in the castle. I, too, am going thither”.
So he went to the castle, and on his arrival all the
Amirs and people began to thank God for His mercy. They made the dust of the
feet of that loving king kohl for
their eyes. Then the Khánim conducted Khan Mirza and my father [the treacherous
uncle] before the Emperor. As they approached, the Emperor came out to meet
them. The Khánim then said, “O soul of your mother! I have also brought the guilty
grandson and the unfortunate brother to you. What have you to say to them?”.
And she pointed to my father. When the Emperor saw my father, he instantly came
forward with his wonted courtesy, and smiling openly, embraced him, made many
kind enquiries, and showed him marked affection. He then embraced Khan Mirza in
like manner, and displayed a hundred proofs of love and good feeling. He
conducted the whole ceremony with the utmost gentleness of manner, bearing
himself, in all his actions and words, in such a way that not a trace of
constraint or artifice was to be seen in them. But, however much the Emperor
might try to wear away the rust of shame with the polish of mildness and
humanity, he was unable to wipe out the dimness of ignominy which had covered
the mirror of their hopes”.
As Erskine points out, while this clemency was,
indeed, founded on strong natural affections, and constitutional strength of
feeling, it was sound policy as well as natural kindness that directed Babar’s
conduct in this and many similar acts of mercy. But he felt the treachery of
his kindred deeply, especially of the women to whom he had given asylum at his
court; whilst as to his uncle, Muhammad Husain, who had so ill requited his
trust, he says plainly that had he been cut in pieces he would only have met
with his deserts; yet he forgave him for his kinship, and let him depart, only
to hear “that this ungrateful thankless
man, this coward, who had been treated by me with such lenity, and whose life I
had spared, entirely forgetful of this benefit, abused me and libeled me to
Shaibáni his new master”. Even this did not prevent Babar’s receiving the
traitor’s son at Kabul with the utmost kindness a few years later.
Such was the end of Babar’s expedition to Khurasán,
and of the hopes of repelling Shaibáni. The voluptuous Mirzas of Herat and
their beautiful capital soon fell before the brave barbarian from the north,
and Babar was next to be menaced in his own little kingdom, which he had
opportunely recovered from the traitors of his own household.
CHAPTER IXKABUL AND KANDAHAR
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