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Authors: Alex Rutherford
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the treasure chambers. To the continuing sound of the trumpets and the heavy beat of the large military drums from the battlements above, Humayun advanced through the ranks of his soldiers to the low dais and slowly mounted it, followed by his most senior officers, and stood before the assembled treasure. Motioning the trumpeters and drummers to be silent he addressed his men.
‘Tonight we celebrate the successful end to our campaign in Gujarat. Everywhere we have defeated those of our enemies brave enough to face us. Sultan Bahadur Shah has not even dared to do so, hiding in the most remote corners of his realm like the cowardly rat he is.Yet we have conquered his lands and behind me you see all the piles of his treasure we have made our own. First let us give thanks to God for our victory.’
‘ Allah akbar , God is great,’ came the instant response from the ranks.
‘Before we feast let me share some of this treasure with you. Each senior officer has been ordered to bring his shield to this assembly. Shortly you will see why. It is not for fear of sudden attack – our enemies are well scattered and demoralised – but to carry off rewards for himself and his men. Officers, advance with your shields. First you, Baba Yasaval.’
The shaven-headed Baba Yasaval walked forward and bowed low before Humayun.
‘Take your shield from your back and place it upside down on the ground.’
Baba Yasaval did so.
‘Servants. Pile it with gold and silver bars and top it with jewels.’The servants brought forward the precious metals and gems, glinting and glittering in the torchlight, and heaped them on the shield. ‘Now carry it away, Baba Yasaval, with my heartfelt thanks, and if you’re still too weak from drinking get your men to help!’
The burden would have been far too great for any man, young or old, hungover or not, and a smiling Baba Yasaval bowed his head, his hand on his heart, and motioned to his men to assist. As together they bore their treasure off, Humayun signalled to the next officer, a tall pale Afghani, to mount the stage and the process was repeated. All the time the cries of ‘Glory to Humayun, our emperor, our padishah ’ increased. As he acknowledged the acclaim, both hands held high above his head, Humayun smiled. He had been successful in his first campaign as emperor. Like his father before him, he had brought himself and his men glory and booty. Life was good – long might it continue so.
Chapter 4
In the Balance
T he monsoon rains were falling so hard that the courtyards of the Agra fort were awash. The heavy drops bounced off the paving stones and drowned the fountains that should have been bubbling up. Clothes were beginning to mildew and in the imperial library anxious scholars were at their annual task of trying to protect from the damp the manuscripts brought to Hindustan by Babur. Among them were Babur’s own diaries, which Humayun had ordered his librarians to store in a specially made metal box with a tight-fitting lid to protect against the moist air and the ceaseless swarms of insects. In the room where the box was kept, a fire of camphor wood was kept constantly burning during the monsoon to dry the air.
Late last night, oblivious of the pouring rain, Humayun had returned to Agra in triumph from his conquest of Gujarat. The gold, silver and jewels that remained, even after rewarding his men, had already been piled in the imperial treasure houses. Except, that was, for a few items that Humayun had kept back – a silver belt set with pearls that he would enjoy fastening around Salima’s supple waist, a carved jade cup for his mother Maham, and for Khanzada a double-stranded necklace of rubies and uncut emeralds set in gold that had reputedly adorned the throats of generations of royal women of Gujarat. Unlocking an enamelled casket he drew it out, admiring once more the fiery brilliance of the rubies counterpointed by the dark green emeralds.
Still holding the necklace,
‘Tonight we celebrate the successful end to our campaign in Gujarat. Everywhere we have defeated those of our enemies brave enough to face us. Sultan Bahadur Shah has not even dared to do so, hiding in the most remote corners of his realm like the cowardly rat he is.Yet we have conquered his lands and behind me you see all the piles of his treasure we have made our own. First let us give thanks to God for our victory.’
‘ Allah akbar , God is great,’ came the instant response from the ranks.
‘Before we feast let me share some of this treasure with you. Each senior officer has been ordered to bring his shield to this assembly. Shortly you will see why. It is not for fear of sudden attack – our enemies are well scattered and demoralised – but to carry off rewards for himself and his men. Officers, advance with your shields. First you, Baba Yasaval.’
The shaven-headed Baba Yasaval walked forward and bowed low before Humayun.
‘Take your shield from your back and place it upside down on the ground.’
Baba Yasaval did so.
‘Servants. Pile it with gold and silver bars and top it with jewels.’The servants brought forward the precious metals and gems, glinting and glittering in the torchlight, and heaped them on the shield. ‘Now carry it away, Baba Yasaval, with my heartfelt thanks, and if you’re still too weak from drinking get your men to help!’
The burden would have been far too great for any man, young or old, hungover or not, and a smiling Baba Yasaval bowed his head, his hand on his heart, and motioned to his men to assist. As together they bore their treasure off, Humayun signalled to the next officer, a tall pale Afghani, to mount the stage and the process was repeated. All the time the cries of ‘Glory to Humayun, our emperor, our padishah ’ increased. As he acknowledged the acclaim, both hands held high above his head, Humayun smiled. He had been successful in his first campaign as emperor. Like his father before him, he had brought himself and his men glory and booty. Life was good – long might it continue so.
Chapter 4
In the Balance
T he monsoon rains were falling so hard that the courtyards of the Agra fort were awash. The heavy drops bounced off the paving stones and drowned the fountains that should have been bubbling up. Clothes were beginning to mildew and in the imperial library anxious scholars were at their annual task of trying to protect from the damp the manuscripts brought to Hindustan by Babur. Among them were Babur’s own diaries, which Humayun had ordered his librarians to store in a specially made metal box with a tight-fitting lid to protect against the moist air and the ceaseless swarms of insects. In the room where the box was kept, a fire of camphor wood was kept constantly burning during the monsoon to dry the air.
Late last night, oblivious of the pouring rain, Humayun had returned to Agra in triumph from his conquest of Gujarat. The gold, silver and jewels that remained, even after rewarding his men, had already been piled in the imperial treasure houses. Except, that was, for a few items that Humayun had kept back – a silver belt set with pearls that he would enjoy fastening around Salima’s supple waist, a carved jade cup for his mother Maham, and for Khanzada a double-stranded necklace of rubies and uncut emeralds set in gold that had reputedly adorned the throats of generations of royal women of Gujarat. Unlocking an enamelled casket he drew it out, admiring once more the fiery brilliance of the rubies counterpointed by the dark green emeralds.
Still holding the necklace,
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