Turning away, Jahangir took a deep breath. Dara Shukoh’s vehemence had shaken him.
‘General, they are moving down the riverbank,’ shouted one of Mahabat Khan’s junior officers the next morning, two hours after daybreak. Mahabat Khan had had his scouts monitor carefully the movements of the troops on the other bank as he tried to predict what Mehrunissa and the officers of Jahangir’s guard would do next. He had discovered from questioning the prisoners – not under threat of torture but with the promise of reward under his new regime – that the imperial forces accompanying Jahangir numbered not three thousand as he had thought but more like six thousand, of whom he had captured perhaps fifteen hundred, together with a lot of equipment. With his ten thousand Rajputs he still theoretically had double the manpower of Mehrunissa but he knew that in practice he needed at least a quarter of these to guard the camp and his prisoners. In particular he had designated Ashok and two hundred of his most loyal and level-headed soldiers to keep Jahangir and his two grandsons safe but also secure in his hands at all times.
Although he had been confused for a time by the various patrols sent in random directions in accordance with Mehrunissa’s orders, it had become increasingly clear to him that the imperial troops were really concentrating all their efforts upstream around a small hill on their side of the river. Just before dusk one of his prisoners had volunteered that the imperial troops had previously considered but quickly discarded the idea of using a deep ford there as an alternative to a boat bridge for crossing the Jhelum. It had only taken Mahabat Khan a moment to realise that Mehrunissa had no intention of either yielding or trying to escape but meant to attempt to snatch her husband back by an attack over that same ford. He could not help but admire the courage of his fellow Persian. Indeed, she reminded him of his wife, and for a moment he found himself wishing for the comforting presence of that strong-willed woman. But at the beginning of his impulsive ride from the Deccan he had written telling her to leave Agra on the pretext of returning to visit relations in Persia and go to Rajasthan to the Aravalli Hills, whence he had recruited so many of his best troops and where he knew she would be safe.
Once he had become sure in his own mind that an attack was coming sooner or later over the ford, he had ordered a thousand of his best musketeers to take an extra musket each from a stock he had found among the captured baggage train so that they could fire two volleys quickly. He had also designated others of his men to act as their loaders, again to increase their rate of fire. In this way he hoped to make up for his lack of cannon apart from the three small bronze gajnals he had found among the imperial baggage train, which were equipped with only limited quantities of powder and shot. These he had ordered to be mounted in baggage carts and moved by ox teams under cover of darkness to some of the low mud banks near the ford, where he had also commanded some of his chosen musketeers with their two weapons and attendant loaders to conceal themselves.
Now the moment for action had come once more Mahabat Khan grew calm. He shouted to his musketeers and archers to hold their fire until he was sure their targets were within range and gave the order. Then they were to continue to fire as rapidly as possible. He ordered those manning the small cannon to do the same, although he knew that their inexperience with the weapons would make them slow to reload. Then he moved across to join the squadrons of horsemen waiting to attack any of the imperial soldiers who actually succeeded in crossing the Jhelum.
The first beasts Mahabat Khan saw enter the river, which at this point was around eighty yards wide, were a line of three large war elephants wearing overlapping steel plate armour to protect their bodies and heads with scimitars strapped to their red-painted tusks. Each had two drivers sitting behind its ears and trying to make themselves as small targets as possible in their exposed position. Five musketeers were crammed into open wooden howdahs on each of their backs. Two more war elephants followed them into the cold water and Mahabat Khan saw at least twenty or thirty more behind them. Perhaps, he thought, some were actually baggage elephants pressed into an unfamiliar role. There were also hundreds of horsemen massing on the riverbank and churning it into mud. Many were carrying long lances at the ends of which fluttered green Moghul pennants. The middle elephant of the first line of three had advanced only about ten yards into the river and Mahabat Khan’s men were still holding their fire when he saw it stumble, perhaps in one of the deep potholes in the river bed the prisoners had warned of. It swayed so violently it shed two of the musketeers from its open howdah into the swift-flowing waters to be carried off downstream towards the burnt remnants of the bridge of boats.
Mahabat Khan knew that this was his opportunity and shouted the order to open fire. Within moments the musketeers and archers emerged from behind the mud banks and got to work. Some of the first shots hit both of the mahouts on another of the leading elephants and they too fell with a splash into the swirling waters of the Jhelum, leaving the driverless animal to try to turn in fright to regain the northern bank from which it had come. As it turned it too slipped, and its left shoulder dropped below the water level. Impeded by the heavy weight of its armour, it overbalanced completely and was carried away half submerged and drowning, leaving the musketeers from its howdah to swim as best they could for their lives. The remaining elephant of the front line continued to advance, however, as did those behind until a shot from one of the gajnals caught an elephant in the fourth rank in an unprotected portion of its face and it too fell, flecking the jade-green waters of the Jhelum with its blood.
Many of the imperial horsemen were now in the water and they and their mounts seemed to be making better progress, half walking, half swimming and overtaking the stumbling elephants. Some of the riders even stood courageously in their stirrups to loose off arrows or – astonishingly, to Mahabat Khan’s mind – in one case managing to fire a long-barrelled musket. Two or three of Mahabat Khan’s musketeers fell and by now others were reloading, so the fire from his side of the river diminished. This allowed several of the leading imperial horsemen to complete their crossing.
‘Charge!’ Mahabat Khan yelled, and at the head of his riders he swept down on to the muddy river bank to attack the horsemen as they emerged. His first sword stroke glanced off the breastplate of one but his second caught the throat of a chestnut horse which instantly collapsed, throwing its rider. For a moment it lay kicking in the shallows, blood pumping into the water, but then it was still. All about him horsemen were clashing along the river’s edge. Here a horse reared up and its imperial rider slipped from its back; there one of his own Rajputs was knocked from his saddle, spitted like a chicken for cooking by one of the imperial lances.
Elsewhere, two men were fighting in the shallows, rolling over and over as they grappled to hold each other’s head under water. Then one managed to grab a dagger and stabbed his opponent beneath his breastplate. Blood flowed into the water again. The victor – who Mahabat Khan was relieved to see was one of his Rajputs – heaved aside the body of his dying opponent and, water sluicing from him, began to stagger from the river. But Mahabat Khan’s relief turned to dismay when the man suddenly flung up his arms and fell backwards, to be carried away instantly in the current. Almost immediately another Rajput crashed from his horse so close to Mahabat Khan that cold water from the splash soaked him. He looked around for the source of the accurate fire and as he did so he heard another musket ball hiss past his head.
Then he saw where the fire was coming from – the gilded howdah on a massive elephant wading through the river about fifty feet away. In the howdah were four figures. The one in front was wearing a dark cloak. The other three were attendants, two intent on loading muskets, pushing lead balls down the barrel with steel ramrods, the third handing a loaded weapon to the cloaked figure. The empress, Mahabat Khan realised at once. He knew instinctively that she recognised him too. Well aware of her skill as a tiger hunter he tried to make himself small, crouching low over the withers of his horse, his arms about its neck. But only
a few moments later he felt a sharp pain and numbness in his right forearm and the horse pitched forward. Both he and his mount had been hit.
Immediately he was in the cold water, being whirled downstream by the flow. Although he had lost his helmet in his fall he was being pulled underwater by the weight of his breastplate. Water was in his nostrils and his ears and he struggled to close his mouth. His ears were bubbling now and his lungs felt fit to burst. He had to do something quickly to get his breastplate off or he would drown. Despite the wound he could still move his right hand and he groped for the dagger at his waist. Finding it, he closed his fingers carefully round the jade hilt before pulling it out of its scabbard to be sure it would not slip from his grasp. It came out fairly easily and he cut first one and then the other leather strap on the left side of his breastplate. As it came away the force of the water caught it and because the straps on his right side were still fastened he was twisted down further underwater, before he freed himself from it. He clawed his way up to the surface, and took in a gasping lungful of air, only to feel a sharp blow and then another in the small of his back.
He was becoming entangled with another floating body – that of a dying horse kicking its hooves in its agony. Mahabat Khan dived again, this time beneath the horse, holding his breath and gripping a stone on the river bed to keep himself still while the current carried the animal’s body away. Then he pushed back to the surface and made the mistake of trying to wade out of the river. His foot slipped on a slimy, algae-covered rock and he went under yet again. This time he struck out for the shore using his little skill at swimming. But he was nearly at the bend in the river and the current was decreasing. Using all his diminishing reserves of strength he was able to get himself into the shallows and scramble out, water pouring from his sodden garments and mingling with the blood from the wound in his right arm.
Sitting down on the muddy riverbank he inspected the wound. He could see some creamy fat and red muscle exposed but no bone. God be praised, only a flesh wound. He pulled off the yellow woollen cloth he had been wearing round his neck to stop his breastplate chafing. It was dripping water but using his left hand he managed to wring it out after a fashion and with the help of his teeth tied it roughly round the wound in his right arm. Then he saw the shadow of a rider approaching from behind. He realised he would have little chance if it was one of the imperial soldiers but when he twisted round he saw to his intense relief it was not. One of his own bodyguards had seen him fall into the river and followed him downstream in case he was washed ashore.
‘Are you all right, General?’ the man asked.
‘I think so,’ he said, although in fact he was beginning to shake with cold and shock. ‘Give me your horse,’ he added. He scrambled to his feet only for his knees to buckle, causing him to collapse once more. The rider dismounted, but before he could get to him Mahabat Khan was on his feet again. This time his knees held and he staggered over to the horse. With a little help from his bodyguard he clambered aboard. His feet were so cold he could barely feel them, but he pushed them clumsily into the stirrups and with a shout of thanks to his bodyguard headed back towards the fighting round the ford. It was no distance and he realised that probably less than a quarter of an hour had elapsed since he was hit and fell into the river. But that was a long time in the course of a battle.
As far as he could make out his men seemed to be gaining the advantage, as they should given their superiority in numbers and the fact that their opponents had had to ford the river under fire. Then he made out Rajesh and rode towards him, shouting out as soon as he was in earshot, ‘What happened to the elephant with the gold howdah?’
‘I was told by one of your bodyguards that soon after you fell into the water one of its mahouts toppled from its neck and the remaining one, perhaps wounded, was not able to control the beast properly. It turned back into midstream and the guards lost sight of it.’
‘That was the empress,’ Mahabat Khan blurted out, eyes sweeping the river for any sign of the huge beast or its gold howdah. ‘We must find that elephant. We must know if she lives or dies.’
‘I was abandoned at birth to die and did not. It will take more than you to kill me, Mahabat Khan,’ came a voice from behind him. Mahabat Khan jumped in surprise and turned. Amid the sounds of battle and preoccupied with his scanning of the river he had not heard some of his bodyguards ride up behind him with a prisoner. There was Mehrunissa, looking unperturbed.
‘I am sorry I did not kill you, Mahabat Khan. I yield to you this time from expediency and not from fear. Now take me to my husband. I have already given orders for my men to surrender. Remember, your victory is only temporary.’
Chapter 23
A Parting of the Ways
‘Majesty, I am again most grateful to you for your agreement. Rajesh will make an excellent divisional master of horse – much better than Alim Das who was both corrupt and an incompetent judge of horseflesh.’ Mahabat Khan bowed and then turned and left the audience chamber. He was surprised that Jahangir had agreed so easily to Rajesh’s appointment. In truth Rajesh’s knowledge of horses was little better than the previous incumbent’s and he too had a venal streak and might seek to profit from his position. Few officials did not. But at least he was no worse, and the appointment was a fitting reward for one of his most loyal officers.
As he walked towards his luxurious quarters in Srinagar’s Hari Parbat fort, Mahabat Khan mused over the events of the months since his capture of the imperial party. After much thought he had decided that they should continue the journey to Srinagar together. To do so would suggest that that there was nothing unduly untoward as well as freeing him from questions of how to handle other courtiers and officials if they returned to Agra or Lahore. The Governor of Kashmir was an old army colleague of his and a Persian from Tabriz. On both counts he had thought him likely to be sympathetic and so he had proved, particularly when offered a promotion and expensive presents.
The greatest difficulty he himself had had – and still had – was how to use his newly acquired power; how to make his control anything other than temporary. When he spoke to Jahangir or Mehrunissa they acquiesced in his suggestions. They had only objected when he raised the question of replacing some of their closest attendants or dismissing the remnants of the bodyguard who had accompanied them on their journey to Kashmir. He had agreed to their wishes for appearances’ sake and both attendants and bodyguards remained with them.
Jahangir, however, was in poor health. He ate little but continued to consume opium and alcohol in considerable quantities. Mahabat Khan could see that they were taking their toll on the constitution of a man by now in his fifty-eighth year. In addition to being bleary eyed and scarcely coherent for much of the day, Jahangir was racked with bouts of coughing. Nevertheless he continued to claim that the mountain air of Kashmir would clear his lungs, but to Mahabat Khan the beneficial effect of the beautiful valley seemed slow in taking effect.
The emperor could still, however, surprise Mahabat Khan when, on the occasions he was relatively free from the effect of drugs, he commented wisely on military matters and tartly on the characters and failings of his courtiers and officers. What impressed the Persian most was the emperor’s detailed knowledge about plants and animals and the other workings of the natural world in general and Kashmir in particular.
Once and only once had Jahangir commented to Mahabat Khan on his present situation. The two men had been riding side by side along the Dal lake, a little ahead of the bodyguards whom Mahabat Khan had thought it prudent to have always accompanying them both, in the case of the emperor to prevent escape and in his own to guard against assassination, when Jahangir had suddenly asked, ‘Have you learned to be careful what you wish for yet, Mahabat Khan? I too wished for unrestrained power when it should not yet have been mine. And then when I obtained it, I found knowing what to do with it even more difficult, never being quite sure whom to trust even amongst those close to me.’
Mah
abat Khan winced at the truth of this assertion but Jahangir did not appear to notice and continued, ‘Power corrodes most men. I know it has me, and that is why I’m happy to drift away from it through the opium and alcohol my wife prepares for me. It’s a great comfort to leave decisions to the empress, and now even she is relieved of that burden since you have taken it on yourself. I warn you, power is lonely – or I found it so.’ Jahangir broke off for a moment before going on. ‘Perhaps the time when I acquired it made it more so, for I already felt isolated. I had lost my grandmother Hamida – a great support to me – as well of course as my father . . . though to this day I don’t know whether he loved me – and I soon lost my best friend, my milk-brother Suleiman Beg. I was close to none of my sons, nor my wives. For a while I gloried in my authority, sometimes – I now admit – using it brutally and capriciously. Then I married Mehrunissa. I loved her and still do. She, I believe, loved me . . . loves me, as well as my power. The more she wanted of it the more I let her have. Was I wrong . . . ?’
Jahangir’s voice had become quieter and more introspective the longer he spoke and finally tailed off as he turned and gazed abstractedly into the middle distance towards the glinting waters of the Dal lake. Mahabat Khan had made no response and had known that none was expected or required.
What of the empress? he wondered. She was habitually present whenever he spoke to Jahangir and had dispensed with any pretence of keeping purdah before him, although otherwise she had reverted to the seclusion of the haram. Her eyes frankly met his whenever they met and sometimes the expression in them when she told him that she lay in his power, that she was his to command, had led him to imagine that she might even have dallied with the idea of seducing him as a means of regaining control. She was after all still only in her forties, only a few years older than him, and her flesh had not yet started to sag down her body like wax down a candle as it did so often as women aged or fattened. However he had put the idea of seduction firmly from his mind as fantasy, but still when they met it was he who averted his eyes. When she spoke softly and smiled he usually agreed, almost without thinking, to her requests, such as retaining the remaining members of the bodyguard.
Empire of the Moghul: The Tainted Throne Page 30
