‘No,’ Humayun interrupted, ‘I will not let the monsoon stop us. That is what Sekunder Shah will expect. The prize of the throne of Hindustan is too great. It has been lost to me too long. Now is no time to hold back. If we press on to attack him at once we will have the advantage of surprise. Too often in the past I’ve delayed and lost the initiative. It will not be so this time. Ahmed Khan, how far away is Sekunder Shah’s main force? How many days’ march will it take us to come up with them?’
‘They are still encamped at Sirhind on the Sutlej, about a hundred miles east of here, perhaps ten days’ march for the army with its baggage. Our spies report they seem to be well established there and preparing to see out the monsoon in comfort before making their next move.’
‘Well, they’re in for a shock.’
Chapter 26
Victory
Fat drops of rain were splashing from a leaden sky into the large puddles of water that had already formed outside Humayun’s scarlet command tent. As he looked out from beneath its dripping awning while he waited for his commanders to join him for a council of war, he could see that the puddles had already coalesced to form pools in some of the lower-lying and muddier parts of his camp. The water rose over the feet of his soldiers who, heads hunched into their shoulders against the downpour, splashed their way to and from picket duty. In whatever direction he looked there was no sign of a break in the weather.
Humayun turned back into his tent, where his officers were now assembled in a semicircle, some of them still shaking from their clothes the rain which had soaked them as they ran the short distance from their own tents across to his. Humayun took his place in the centre with the young Akbar at his side.
‘Ahmed Khan, what are the latest reports of Sekunder Shah’s army?’
‘He remains six miles away behind his fortified positions at Sirhind, just as he did for the fortnight we were making our way towards him before we set up camp here. We know from the number of his scouts that we’ve encountered or captured that he has long been aware of our approach, yet he has made no move to confront us. No doubt he still believes that we will not attack him during the monsoon for fear of being slowed down by all the mud and made into easy targets for his well dug-in cannon and for his archers and musketeers.’
‘I have delayed our assault for this last week to encourage Sekunder Shah in that false belief, attempting to convince him that we will be as cautious and conventional in our thinking as he is and that – having come up to his position – we will postpone any combat until the rains have abated and the ground has begun to dry.’
‘But doesn’t he have a point, Majesty?’ asked Zahid Beg, a deeply concerned expression on his thin face. ‘We cannot move our cannon at any speed and the powder for our muskets is always getting damp. There have been several accidents when our men have rashly brought it too close to fires in an attempt to dry it out.’
‘Of course we will face some problems when we attack,’ said Humayun, ‘but these will be mere inconveniences compared to the benefits surprise will secure us.’
Bairam Khan was nodding but some others still looked doubtful. Suddenly, Akbar, who usually listened attentively but rarely spoke, rose from the place where he had been sitting and said in a steady, firm voice, ‘I believe you are right, Father. Now is the time to seize our destiny and surprise Sekunder Shah before he succeeds in raising more troops. He has a far greater reservoir to draw on than we.’
‘Well spoken, Akbar,’ Humayun said. ‘I will have Ahmed Khan send scouts to test out the firmest approach route to Sekunder Shah’s camp. It would seem to lie over that slightly higher ground northeast of here. If we go in that direction we may have to ride a mile or so further but it will be worth it. We will not attempt to move our cannon forward but will take some mounted musketeers. Even if only some of their muskets fire because of the damp it will help.’
‘But if we follow that route we will be seen and it will give Sekunder Shah longer to prepare,’ interrupted Nadim Khwaja.
‘I’ve thought of that.To add to the surprise and to conceal our movements, I intend to attack under cover of darkness in the hour before dawn tomorrow. We will make our preparations as inconspicuously as we can today and will rouse our troops at three in the morning to begin our advance an hour later. We’ll move in separate divisions of five hundred men, each identified by a brightly coloured cloth tied around the arm to reduce the chances of confusion in the dark.’
‘Majesty,’ said Bairam Khan, ‘I understand your plan. I believe our men will be disciplined enough to carry it out, trusting as they do in their leaders.’
‘I intend to go amongst the troops towards dusk with Akbar to encourage our soldiers and tell them of our plan and of my faith in it – and in them – to see it through.’
The rain had slackened a little during the day but more dark clouds were gathering on the horizon as, with Akbar, Ahmed Khan and Bairam Khan at his side, Humayun rode up to the cluster of tents occupied by some of Bairam Khan’s cavalry – mostly men from Badakhshan. Humayun had decided to keep his address to this group to the last. He dismounted from his tall black horse and, as the men gathered around, began.
‘Your fathers served my father well as he won an empire. You have served me well in this campaign to win back the lands clawed away by greedy usurpers. Tomorrow you will join me in the vanguard. Together we will face our greatest battle so far. When we conquer, as I know we will, we will regain Hindustan and secure its rich lands for our sons.’
Humayun paused to put his arm around Akbar’s shoulders before continuing. ‘I know that your sons – like young Akbar here – will be worthy of the legacy we will win for them. Remember that tomorrow we fight for their future as well as our own. Let us seize our destiny. Let us show such valour and gain such a victory that our grandsons and their children will still talk with awe and gratitude of our deeds, just as we recall the fabled feats of Timur and his men.’
As Humayun finished a burst of cheering rose from the Badakhshanis. His words had hit home, just as they had with all the other men he had spoken to on his tour of the camp.
Jauhar quietly entered Humayun’s tent at two in the morning to rouse him but found that Humayun was already awake. He had been for some time.While listening to the rain falling steadily on his tent he’d searched his mind, rehearsing his battle plan over and over again to check he had overlooked nothing. Eventually he had convinced himself that he had not.
Then his thoughts had turned involuntarily to the course of his life since he had first left Agra seventeen years ago to confront Sher Shah. At that time – he now realised – he had been immature, too ready to believe that success would be his by right and consequently not sufficiently motivated to apply all his inner resources to achieving it. However, he had never lost his belief in himself and in his destiny, never conceded that a setback, however severe, might be a final defeat. He was immensely grateful that he had been granted a second chance and for that he knew he had deserved his birth name of Humayun, ‘Fortunate’. So many – even kings – only received a single opportunity and, if they did not grasp it, disappeared from history as if they had never lived, all their promise, all their hopes and ambitions evaporating into eternal obscurity. He had learned over his reign that a consistently indomitable spirit was as essential to a ruler as bravery in battle. Today, however, was to be a day of battle and he knew he must put his courage to the test once more.
With that thought, he had begun to prepare himself for combat, a task in which Jauhar now started to assist him, helping him draw on his long yellow leather riding boots and – as he had done since they were both young men – strapping on Humayun’s jewel-studded, engraved steel breastplate. As Jauhar finally handed him his father’s great sword Alamgir, Humayun smiled at him and touching him on the arm said, ‘Thank you for your loyal service during all my troubles. Soon we will be back in our fine quarters at Agra.’
‘Majesty, I have no doubt of that,’ said Jauhar as
he held open the tent flaps for Humayun to step out into the wet night air.
Akbar was waiting outside for his father and they embraced. Then Akbar asked, ‘May I not join the attack? I envy my milk-brother Adham Khan who will ride in the vanguard. He will be able to boast of his part in the fight when we again meet our tutors while I . . . ’
‘No, you are the future of our dynasty,’ Humayun interrupted.‘If, God forbid, Adham Khan were to fall, Maham Anga would weep but his loss would be a personal one to his family. If you and I fell together our line would be extinguished. I cannot risk that happening so you must remain behind.’
Humayun realised that Akbar had asked more in hope than expectation and could not but admire him for doing so. As he moved away from Akbar towards the place beneath the neem tree where Bairam Khan and his other commanders were waiting, he saw by the ghostly light of one of the frequent flashes of sheet lightning that a few yards away Bairam Khan’s young qorchi – his squire – was bent over being sick as he held on to the reins of his own horse and that of his master. Humayun turned and walked over to him. Seeing him approach, the young man quickly straightened up and wiped his mouth with a cloth.
‘Are you nervous . . . or perhaps a little frightened?’ Humayun asked.
‘A bit, Majesty,’ the youth, whose smooth face showed that he was no older than Akbar, admitted.
‘It’s normal,’ said Humayun. ‘But remember something my father told me before the battle of Panipat. True courage is to feel fear but still to mount your horse and head into battle.’
‘Yes, Majesty. I will not let you or Bairam Khan down.’
‘I know you will not.’
The weather had deteriorated dramatically by the time – an hour later – Humayun and the first division of his Badakhshani cavalry halted.They had reached the point where they would need to turn from the relatively firm but circuitous northeastern approach track Ahmed Khan had successfully identified to begin their final assault on Sekunder Shah’s camp. The rain was slanting down harder and heavier than ever, reducing further what little visibility there was in the darkness. Even the flickering sheets of lightning revealed little more than the drenching drops of rain which they turned silver and steel before the peering eyes of Humayun and his men. The occasional rumbles of distant thunder had turned into an almost constant crash and crack overhead. Even the elements were allying themselves to him, thought Humayun with grim satisfaction. From his perspective, the change in the weather was not a worsening but an improvement. There was little prospect that Sekunder Shah’s men would see or hear their approach before they were almost on them.
Minutes earlier, Ahmed Khan had ridden up through the downpour. The rat tails of wet hair protruding from beneath his helmet were now flecked with grey and his face was deeply lined, but the smile that lit it was as broad and as vital as when together they had climbed the sheer cliff to assault the Gujarati fortress of Champnir.
‘Majesty, we have captured the only outpost of Sekunder Shah’s that we picked out in daylight as protecting this approach to his camp. Thirty of my men crept up to and silently climbed a section of its low mud wall which was crumbling away in the rains. Then they rushed the garrison, which numbered a dozen men, and quickly and quietly slit their throats or strangled them with thin cords. None escaped to give the alarm – none even raised a cry.’
‘As usual you’ve done well, Ahmed Khan,’ Humayun had said and Ahmed Khan had departed to despatch more of his scouts to advance stealthily towards Sekunder Shah’s camp. Their task now was to try as best they could in the conditions to pick out the worst quagmires between Humayun’s current position and the camp which lay unseen in the darkness no more than a mile away so that Humayun’s assault troops could skirt them, avoiding becoming bogged down.
Impatient as he was to bring on the battle that would decide his destiny, Humayun knew their task was a crucial one and that it would be worth the wait for their report. In any case, the distances were small and they should soon return. After what seemed to Humayun an age but was, in fact, no more than a quarter of an hour, Ahmed Khan reappeared with six of his scouts, all mud-spattered and soaked like himself. Ahmed Khan spoke.
‘The mission was so important I went forward myself with these brave men. We were not detected. We used lances to probe the firmness of the ground and the depth of the mud. We found that if we ride directly forward we will indeed come upon great stretches of extremely boggy ground which would impede our advance and might even cause some of the horses to become completely stuck. However, if as we ride we take a rightward arc we will have a better if still very muddy approach. We will reach the earth barricades that Sekunder Shah has thrown up around his camp at their northern corner. Here they stand higher than a man. We may need to use the ladders that you ordered to be brought with us.’
‘Thank you, Ahmed Khan. Jauhar, tell Bairam Khan to choose some pairs of soldiers from among the vanguard, each to carry slung between their horses one of the ladders we have brought this far on the backs of pack animals. Ask him to let me know once he is ready and I will join him in the advance.’
Jauhar rode off and Humayun could just distinguish by the lightning flashes Bairam Khan’s horsemen forming up in battle order. Now combat was imminent, Humayun realised that he felt no fear but a general heightening of his senses which made a moment last a minute and a minute an hour and even seemed to sharpen his vision, enabling him to see Bairam Khan beckoning him through the murk before Jauhar appeared to tell him he was ready.
Humayun tugged on his leather gauntlets and instinctively touched his father’s sword Alamgir in its jewelled scabbard at his side. Then he repositioned his feet in his stirrups to ensure they would not slip and finally kicked his black horse into motion and rode over to where Bairam Khan was waiting with Ahmed Khan.The latter would lead the advance with his six scouts who had made the reconnaissance. They had each draped white linen sheets around their shoulders to make themselves easier to follow in the gloom.
‘May God go with us,’ Humayun said. ‘Lead off, Ahmed Khan.’
Ahmed Khan simply nodded and rode forward. He was quickly followed by the other six scouts and then by Bairam Khan and his young qorchi, now looking fully composed with a stern, concentrated expression on his young face. Humayun turned his horse and headed with them into the murk and falling rain towards Sekunder Shah’s camp.
The conditions meant that they could not advance at much more than a canter. Even then, the horses’ hooves threw up large amounts of mud and water which splattered those following. After they had ridden for no more than two or three minutes, Ahmed Khan reined in his horse by a small cluster of boulders on a low rise and Humayun rode up to him.
‘Majesty,’ Ahmed Khan spoke softly, ‘these rocks are the last important marker. From here, the walls of Sekunder Shah’s camp are about six hundred yards directly in front of us.’
‘Summon up the pairs of men with ladders.’
As they rode up, the rough ladders slung between their horses by leather thongs, the rain slackened and almost as if by a miracle the moon appeared, pale and watery, through a gap in the scudding clouds. In the few moments before it disappeared again, Humayun glimpsed the walls of Sekunder Shah’s camp.They were as Ahmed Khan had described, about eight feet high and made of earth, some of which appeared to have slipped down in places, making those sections more like steep hillocks.
There was no sign of sentries as moments later the men rode up to the walls and, dismounting quickly, positioned the ladders and scrambled up them on to the walls. There they began pushing the mud down, some kicking at it with their feet, others using spades they had carried strapped across their backs. Soon, about thirty feet of the wall had been reduced to no more than a low mound and Bairam Khan, followed by his qorchi, was leading his horsemen quietly into the camp. The rain was falling more heavily again and still there were no signs of alarm as Humayun himself and his bodyguard crossed the remains of the wall.
Suddenly,
however, a startled cry rang out from somewhere in front of Humayun. ‘The enemy!’ Another fainter shout came from along the mud walls, then the much louder blare of a trumpet from the same direction. Perhaps the dozing personnel of a guardhouse had woken to the peril that was flowing all around them and were giving the alarm. There were answering trumpet blasts from towards the centre of the camp.
Now that surprise had been lost, Humayun realised that he and his men needed to advance as quickly as possible to destroy their enemy before they had time to arm and to form up. As he rode over towards Bairam Khan to give him the order to ride for the centre of the camp, a straggling volley of arrows fell, slanting down among the raindrops from the direction of the guard post. One implanted itself in Humayun’s saddle. Another struck Bairam Khan’s breastplate and bounced harmlessly off but a third caught Bairam Khan’s qorchi in the thigh. The youth clutched at his leg and as the blood began to run through his fingers stifled a cry.
‘Bind his wound tightly,’ shouted Humayun. ‘Get him back to our camp to the hakims. He’s young and has been brave. He deserves to live.’ One of Humayun’s own bodyguards rushed to comply.
Another volley of arrows fell but they were few in number and the only casualty was a cavalryman’s bay horse which slipped to the ground, two black-flighted arrows protruding from its neck. Its rider, a squat Tajik, jumped clear as it fell but slipped as he landed heavily in the mud, lying winded for a moment before scrambling to his feet.
‘Bairam Khan, send forty men to locate the position those arrows came from and destroy the enemy archers. The rest of you, charge with me to victory.’
As Bairam Khan quickly detached the men to deal with the guard post, Humayun drew Alamgir. Holding the sword straight out in front of him, and with his bodyguard around him and Mustapha Ergun and his Turkish mercenaries close behind, he kicked his black stallion into as near a gallop as it could come to in the mud, riding deeper into the camp. By now there was a slight lightening of the sky on the eastern horizon, the precursor of dawn, but Humayun could still see little through the rain as he rode, head low over his horse’s neck. Then, after a minute or so, he managed to distinguish the dark shapes of close-packed lines of tents ahead and at the same time heard the cries of Sekunder Shah’s men as they emerged from them, pulling their weapons from their scabbards.
Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War Page 42
