The Age of Wrath: A History of the Delhi Sultanate

by Abraham Eraly

  The classic instance of this was the reception he accorded to the Caliph’s representative when he arrived in Delhi on royal invitation. As his troubles mounted, Muhammad conceived the chimerical notion that what would save him from his vicissitudes would be to secure pontifical recognition for his rule. ‘It occurred to his mind that no king or prince could exercise regal power without conformation by the Caliph of the race of Abbas,’ notes Barani. So he made diligent inquires, and, on learning from travellers that the true representative of the line of Abbas was the Caliph of Egypt, he sent envoys to Egypt to seek the Caliph’s formal recognition.

  ‘His flatteries of the Caliph were so fulsome that they cannot be reduced to writing,’ states Barani. And when the Caliph’s representative arrived in Delhi bringing Caliphal honours and a ceremonial robe for Muhammad, ‘the sultan, with all his nobles … went forth to meet … [him] with great ceremony, and he walked before him barefoot for the distance of some long bow-shots.’

  On getting pontifical recognition, Muhammad considered himself to be the deputy of the Caliph in India, and he removed his own name from his coins, and substituted it with the name of the Caliph. And, predictably, he then went to absurd extremes in displaying his subservience to the caliph. ‘Without the Caliph’s command the sultan scarcely ventured to drink even a draught of water,’ wryly comments Barani.

  Around this time there arrived in India one Ghiyas-ud-din Muhammad, a great-great grandson of the Abbasid Caliph al-Mustansir of Baghdad, and the sultan received him with grovelling servility. He sent the leading ecclesiastics and theologians of the court to receive the guest in western Haryana, and himself went a good distance from Delhi to meet him. After a ceremonious exchange of gifts, the sultan held Ghiyas-ud-din’s stirrup while he mounted his horse, and they rode together to Delhi with the royal umbrella held over the heads of them both. The sultan even persuaded the reluctant Ghiyas-ud-din to place his foot upon his neck!

  Muhammad was generally gracious and generous—almost fawning—towards the foreigners who visited him. It was as if he sought to purchase their appreciation as he could not win it from his own people, and he hoped that the visitors would spread his renown around the world. Typically, Ghiyas-ud-din was granted surpassing privileges at the royal court, given opulent presents, provided with lavish residential facilities and assigned an extensive fief for his income. Battuta too received very generous treatment from the sultan. ‘When I approached the sultan, he took my hand and shook it,’ reports Battuta. ‘And, continuing to hold it, he addressed me most affably in Persian, saying, “Your arrival is blessed; be at ease, I shall be compassionate to you and grant you such favours that your fellow-countrymen will hear of it and come and join you.” Then he asked me where I came from and I answered him, and every time he said any encouraging word to me I kissed his hand, until I had kissed it seven times.’ Battuta was then given 6000 tankas in cash, and was assigned three villages as his fief, to which two more were later added, yielding him in all a substantial annual income of 12,000 tankas. Besides, he was given ten Hindu slaves to attend on him. He was even appointed as the kazi of Delhi, even though he did not know the local language—the office was, for Battuta, a sinecure, for he was given two local assistants to do his work, so he could enjoy the royal bounty with a clear conscience.

  As in his treatment of foreign visitors, the sultan was equally cordial in his relationship with foreign rulers. Typical of this was his response to a diplomatic mission from China. ‘The king of China had sent valuable gifts to the sultan, including a hundred slaves of both sexes, five hundred pieces of velvet and silk cloth, musk, jewelled garments and weapons, with a request that the sultan permit him to rebuild the idol-temple which is near the mountains called Qarajil,’ reports Battuta. ‘It is in a place known as Samhal, to which the Chinese go on pilgrimage; the Muslim army in India had captured it, laid it in ruins and sacked it.’ On receiving the Chinese request for permission to rebuild the temple, Muhammad wrote to him that under Islamic law permission to build infidel temples could be given only to those who paid poll-tax. ‘If thou wilt pay the jizya we shall empower thee to build it,’ he wrote. But along with this negative reply, the sultan sent to the Chinese ruler, to mollify him, even richer presents than what he had received from him: ‘a hundred thoroughbred horses, a hundred white slaves, a hundred Hindu dancing and singing girls, twelve hundred pieces of various kinds of cloth, gold and silver candelabra and basins, brocade robes, caps, quivers, swords, gloves embroidered with pearls, and fifteen eunuchs.’

  THERE IS VERY little information in medieval chronicles about Muhammad’s private life, but he seems to have been very close to his mother, whom he always treated with the highest respect and was ever obedient to her. He was continent in sexual relationships, and prohibited the presence of women in military camps. He also abstained from drinking.

  Muhammad, as sultan, had many reprehensible and ludicrous qualities, but these were compensated, though only in a small part, by a few laudable qualities. Battuta records several instances of Muhammad’s concern for equity and justice. ‘Once a Hindu noble claimed that the sultan had put his brother to death without cause, and cited him before the qazi,’ writes Battuta. ‘The sultan then walked on foot and unarmed to the kazi’s court, saluted him and made obeisance, and remained standing before him, having previously commanded the kazi not to rise before him … when he entered the court. The qazi gave judgement against the sultan, to the effect that he must give satisfaction to his adversary for the blood of his brother, and he did so. At another time a certain Muslim claimed that the sultan owed him a sum of money. This matter too was brought before the kazi, who again gave judgement against the sultan for the payment of the debt, and he paid it.’

  In the same compliant, caring spirit he did at times, though rarely, take special measures to succour the people in distress. Thus ‘when a famine broke out in India and Sind, and prices became so high that [the cost of] a maund of wheat rose to six dinars, the sultan ordered that every person in Delhi, small or great, freeman or salve, should be given six months’ provisions from the granary, at the rate of a pound and a half per person per day,’ records Battuta. ‘The doctors and qazis then set about compiling registers of the population of each quarter and brought the people, each of whom received six months’ provisions.’ Even in normal times the sultan took care to provide sustenance for the indigent in Delhi, by setting up public kitchens for feeding several thousands of them every day. He also set up hospitals for the sick, and hospices for widows and orphans.

  IN RELIGION, AS in everything else, Muhammad was a bundle of contradictions, rigidly orthodox in some ways, but in other ways flagrantly unorthodox. According to Battuta, ‘the ceremonies of religion are strictly complied with at his court, and he is severe in the matter of attendance at prayer and in punishing those who neglect it.’ Ferishta confirms this. On the other hand, Barani and Isami denounce Muhammad as an irreligious person—Barani in fact, despite being a timorous courtier, once openly told the sultan that many of his actions, particularly the harsh punishments he meted out to rebels, had no sanction in Islamic tradition. Isami went further, and he in his chronicle denounced Muhammad as a kafir, an infidel, who sided with infidels and indulged in infidel practices, and he urged people to rise up against him.

  One of the ‘infidel practices’ of Muhammad that outraged orthodox Muslims was his patronage of yogis, of which Battuta gives a vivid account. ‘The sultan sent for me once when I was in Delhi, and on entering I found him in a private apartment with some of his intimates and two … yogis,’ records Battuta. ‘One of the yogis, who squatted on the ground, then rose up in the air above our heads, still sitting. I was so astonished and frightened by this that I fell to the floor in a faint. A potion was administered to me, and I revived and sat up … Meantime … the yogi’s companion took a sandal from a bag he had with him, and beat it on the ground like one infuriated. The sandal rose in the air until it came above the neck of the �
� [yogi who had risen up in the air] and then began hitting him on the neck while he descended little by little until he sat down alongside us. Then the sultan said, “If I did not fear for your reason I would have ordered them to do still stranger things than this that you have seen.” I took leave, but was affected with palpitation and fell ill.’

  Another paradoxical trait of Muhammad was that he, for all the violence of his rule, was an ardent patron of Jain sage Jinaprabha Suri, who was, in conformity with the precepts of his religion, a strict practitioner of nonviolence. According to Jain sources the sultan once invited the sage to the royal palace, ‘treated him with respect, seated him by his side, and offered to give him wealth, land, horses, elephants etc, all of which the saint declined. The sultan praised him [for his austerity] and issued a firman … for the construction of a new … rest-house for the monks.’ The sage was then carried on an elephant to his residence, escorted by several nobles and ‘to the accompaniment of varied music and dances of young women.’

  Whatever be the veracity of these stories, Muhammad seems to have loved to explore other faiths, at least as an intellectual exercise, for he was, despite all his wildness, a man of learning and wide cultural interests. ‘In calligraphy … Sultan Muhammad abashed the most accomplished scribes,’ writes Barani. ‘The excellence of his handwriting, the ease of his composition, the sublimity of his style, and the play of his fancy, left the most accomplished teachers and professors far behind. He was an adept in the use of metaphor. He knew by heart a good deal of Persian poetry, and understood it well … No learned or scientific man, or scribe, or poet, or wit, or physician, could have had the presumption to argue with him about his own special pursuit, nor would he have been able to maintain his position against the throttling arguments of the sultan.’ Confirms Battuta: ‘He is one of those kings whose felicity is unimpaired and surpassing all ordinary experience.’

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  Daydreamer Sultan

  Muhammad Tughluq was an incorrigible daydreamer. And it was only in his dreams that he was able to fulfil himself. The problem was not with his ideas, which were mostly quite sound, but with his character, which was mercurial and erratic, and lacked the tenacity and pragmatism needed to implement his schemes successfully. In this, the contrast between Muhammad and Ala-ud-din, the other great radical reformer sultan of Delhi, could not have been greater. While Ala-ud-din was a pragmatist, motivated solely by practical considerations, Muhammad was a fantasist, who was motivated more by the excitement of his whimsies than by expediency. Muhammad was impulsive, while Ala-ud-din was deliberate and calculating. So while Ala-ud-din succeeded in almost all his reforms, Muhammad failed in everything. In nearly every case the result that Muhammad got out of his projects was the exact opposite of what he hoped for.

  Even the mode of decision-making by the two sultans was entirely different. While Ala-ud-din always held detailed discussions with his councillors on every major project, though in the end he made up his own mind, Muhammad ‘never talked over his projects with any of his councillors and friends,’ states Barani. ‘Whatever he conceived, he considered to be good, but in promulgating and enforcing the schemes he lost his hold upon the territories he possessed, disgusted his people, and emptied his treasury. Embarrassment followed embarrassment, and confusion became worse confounded. The ill feeling of the people gave rise to outbreaks and revolts … As more and more the people became disaffected, more and more the mind of the king was set against them, and the numbers of those brought to punishment increased. The tribute of most of the distant countries and districts was lost, and many of his soldiers and servants were scattered and left in distant lands. Deficiencies appeared in the treasury. The mind of the sultan then lost its equilibrium. In the extreme weakness and harshness of his temper he gave himself to severity … [Thus his] schemes led to the ruin of his empire, and the decay of the people. Every one of [his schemes] … led to some wrong and mischief, and the minds of all men, high and low, were disgusted with their ruler … When the sultan found that his orders did not work as well as he desired, he became still more embittered against his people, and he cut them down like weeds …’

  Many of Muhammad’s administrative reforms related to revenue matters, for adequacy of funds was a prerequisite for the implementation of his other ambitious plans. Soon after his accession he therefore ordered the compilation of a register of the revenue and expenditure of all the provinces of his empire, on the model of the register that was already being maintained for the districts neighbouring Delhi. For this, Muhammad directed the governors of the provinces to send to him the details of their revenue and expenditure, and these reports were, over several years, compiled into a common register for the whole empire by a host of clerks under the supervision of officers. This register, if properly maintained, would have been invaluable for systematising the revenue administration of the empire, but it is not known how effectively it was maintained, or for how long, and with what results.

  Equally innovative and valuable was Muhammad’s decision to set up a ministry of agriculture, to expand cultivation by converting fallow lands into farmlands, and to spread the cultivation of high value commercial crops in the place of common crops—‘not one span of land should remain uncultivated … and whatever was being cultivated should be changed [for more valuable crops],’ the sultan directed. ‘Wheat should be sown instead of barley; sugarcane instead of wheat; grape and date instead of sugarcane …’ And, to encourage farmers to make this changeover, the sultan offered them liberal loans from the royal treasury.

  When this scheme to expand cultivation was promulgated, several ‘greedy, impecunious men … came forward,’ reports Barani. ‘Some … pledged to bring one lack of bighas of wasteland under cultivation, others promised to raise a thousand horsemen from [the revenues of] wastelands—all within three years! They were given horses …, gold-embroidered gowns, waistbands of brocade, and cash [by the sultan].’

  The scheme however failed miserably, for, as Barani observes, ‘the officers entrusted with the distribution of loans [to farmers] from the public treasury took care of themselves, and appropriated the money for their own wants and necessities … In the course of two years about seventy lakh tankas had been issued from the treasury to the superintendents of the cultivation of wastelands, but not one hundredth or one thousandth part of what was disbursed was reproduced in agriculture.’

  ANOTHER SCHEME OF Muhammad to increase the revenue of the state was the introduction of revenue farming, by which all the revenues of particular areas were for a certain period assigned to their highest bidders, on their agreement to pay the government the bid amounts irrespective of whether the revenue they collected was more, or less, than the bid amount. This scheme was initially introduced in the Deccan, but was later extended to the other provinces of the empire.

  This procedure had, in theory, the double advantage of reducing the administrative burden of the state and at the same time increasing and stabilising its revenue. In practice, however, the system proved to be ruinous, to the people as well as to the government, for the successful bidders were often upstart speculators with hardly any administrative experience, who could seldom meet their extravagant revenue promises, however hard they squeezed the people. Predictably several of the franchise holders turned into rebels eventually, when faced with punitive action by the sultan for the collection of the revenue dues from them. The common people too suffered greatly, due to their exploitation by the revenue collectors. So this scheme too, like most of the other schemes of Muhammad, proved to be counterproductive, resulting in civil disturbances and the near collapse of the revenue administration of the state.

  Yet another counterproductive administrative reform of Muhammad was to sharply increase the tax on the cultivators in the Doab, as he, according Barani, felt that ‘he ought to get five or ten per cent more tribute from the [rich agricultural] lands there … [And he] collected these cesses so rigorously that cultivators there were impoverished
and reduced to beggary.’ Further, these taxes were assessed on the standard yield, not on the actual yield, and that added to the distress of farmers during periods of poor yield. But instead of offering relief to farmers in distress, the sultan added to their financial burden by requiring them to pay, in addition to the tax on farm produce, ‘a cattle-tax, a house tax, and several other imposts of an oppressive nature,’ states Mughal chronicler Badauni. All this, according to Barani, led to ‘the ruin of the country and the decay of the people.’ But Muhammad was unconcerned. And he, despite the all too evident problems that his tax measures caused, gradually extended them to a wide area of the empire.

  Inevitably people in several places rose in rebellion against these exacting, oppressive measures of the sultan. In the Doab, farmers ‘burnt their corn stacks and turned their cattle out to roam at large,’ reports Barani. Muhammad responded to this peasant uprising with savage reprisals. ‘Under the orders of the sultan, collectors and magistrates then laid waste the country, and they killed some landholders and village chiefs and blinded others. Such of these unhappy inhabitants as escaped formed themselves into bands and took refuge in jungles.’ According to Nurul Haq, ‘the sultan then gave orders that every peasant who was seized should be put to death, and that the whole country should be ravaged and given up to indiscriminate plunder … He himself marched out … and put to the sword all the remaining population and ordered their heads to displayed from the battlements of the fort. In this way he utterly depopulated whole tracts of his kingdom, and inflicted such rigorous punishment, that the whole world was aghast.’

  These adversities of the people were compounded by an acute and prolonged drought that afflicted North India at this time. ‘For seven whole years not a drop of rain fell from the heavens,’ states Badauni. And this, according to Barani, ‘produced a fatal famine in Delhi and its environs, and throughout the Doab … It continued for some years, and thousands upon thousands of people perished … All cultivation [was] abandoned … Man was devouring man.’ Battuta states that he once saw some women stripping off the skin of a long dead horse and eating it, and that cooked hides were on sale in markets. And people gathered in butcheries to drink the blood of slaughtered cattle. In one place a man was found cooking a human foot. Cannibalism became common.