Muhammad Bin Tughlaq Read online

  ANUJA CHANDRAMOULI

  MUHAMMAD BIN TUGHLAQ

  Tale of a Tyrant

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Contents

  A Note on the Author

  Part One: Prince Jauna

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  Part Two: Sultan Muhammad Bin Tughlaq

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  Part Three: The Mad Monarch

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  Author’s Note

  Notes

  References

  Follow Penguin

  Copyright

  A Note on the Author

  Anuja Chandramouli is a bestselling Indian author and new-age Indian classicist. Her highly acclaimed debut novel, Arjuna: Saga of a Pandava Warrior-Prince, was named by Amazon India as one of the top five books in the Indian writing category for 2013. Yama’s Lieutenant, its sequel Yama’s Lieutenant and the Stone Witch and Prithviraj Chauhan: The Emperor of Hearts are her other bestsellers. Her articles, short stories and book reviews have appeared in various publications like the New Indian Express and The Hindu.

  An accomplished orator, she regularly conducts storytelling sessions and workshops on creative writing, empowerment and mythology in schools, colleges and various other platforms.

  This happily married mother of two little girls lives in Sivakasi, Tamil Nadu. She is a student of classical dance and yoga.

  By the Same Author

  Yama’s Lieutenant

  Yama’s Lieutenant and the Stone Witch

  Prithviraj Chauhan: The Emperor of Hearts

  For all those who take pride in the fact that India is a secular nation

  ‘We strutted about this world a good deal;

  we indulged in luxuries.

  We had many joys; till at last, we sank and became hump-backed like the new moon.’

  Muhammad bin Tughlaq

  PART ONE

  PRINCE JAUNA

  ‘Muhammad, son of Tughlaq, is the prince of kings; his helper is God.’

  (from an inscription carved on a stone monument)

  1

  The two young men stood in silence on the terrace, oblivious to the splendour of the setting sun, which was discarding its golden rays like a gorgeous woman undressing at leisure as the sky blushed and shut its eyes, allowing the darkness to descend. Both were lost in their own thoughts—Abu, at least, was more than a little worried. This was certainly not the best of times. Blood flowed freely and the spectre of death loomed over them all.

  Jauna seemed composed. Relaxed even, for someone who seemed determined to embark on a reckless mission that was certain to get them both killed, or worse. If caught, death was the best they could hope for. But that was a fool’s notion. Their captors wouldn’t dream of giving them such a merciful release. But Abu knew better than to try and dissuade his friend. Fakhiruddin Muhammad Jauna Khan was nothing if not mulishly obstinate.

  ‘It has to be done.’ Jauna’s voice was steadfast. ‘There is no other way. Besides, my blood is boiling. That upstart slave, Khusrau Khan, and his posse of perverts are a disgrace to God and man!’

  ‘Careful, old friend! The former slave is Nasiruddin Shah now and has been known to treat those who point out his lowly antecedents most cruelly. Those panwari scum of his are everywhere, spoiling for a fight. I still think it would be best to wait,’ Abu’s voice was low, ‘for your father’s response. You should play it safe.’

  Jauna smiled at him in that easy, effortless manner of his. ‘There is no need to whisper! It will only make people strain their ears to hear what we are saying. Besides, we have been silent and held our peace for too long. In doing so, we have been complicit in his wrongdoing.’

  Jauna’s eyes darkened as he remembered the things he had allowed to happen. He refused to dwell on them now. Not today. He forced himself to go on, ‘But now, the fool slave is so busy keeping a wary eye on the father, he hardly expects the son to strike. It’s time for the seeds of rebellion to be planted and nourished, all in plain sight. Under the circumstances, my position couldn’t be more secure.’

  ‘Secure? I wouldn’t go that far . . .’ Abu had to stop himself from looking around nervously to check for spies.

  ‘If he had wanted to, Khusrau Khan could have had me killed easily. But if he were to do that, my father would mourn the loss of his heir and console himself with the fact that he has a few spares, before giving orders to march immediately and massacre the lot of them. With a single stroke, he would have avenged himself for the slaying of his son and the annihilation of his ill-fated benefactor, the late Alauddin Khalji, and his descendants. My father is efficient that way.’ Jauna’s smile was bitter.

  ‘I’ll grant that Khusrau has low cunning,’ Jauna continued, ‘but that reprobate is no strategist and he is no match for Ghazi Malik!’

  ‘Yes, of course. Everybody knows that! Your sainted father, Ghiasuddin Tughlaq, was the Warden of the Marches, appointed by Alauddin Khalji himself,’ Abu said enthusiastically, ‘and he repulsed the Mongols on twenty-nine separate occasions, a feat that will never be matched, and led to his being appointed as the governor of Punjab. Everybody knows that he is loyal to the Alai family, or what remains of them, but he dare not make a move with the Sultan keeping his firstborn so close to him.’

  ‘Which is why it is imperative that I join him at the earliest,’ Jauna was unperturbed, ‘or risk being held hostage to keep my father in check. That impostor becomes surer of his usurped position with every passing minute. He has no qualms about spilling innocent blood and has been particularly generous with the contents of the treasury that he has appropriated for his own personal use. The scions of the Alai family have been treacherously murdered by that monster. Yet he has managed to secure the allegiance of spineless scoundrels who formerly served the royal family—all with indecent amounts of gold! All that stands between him and success is my father, whose hands are tied as long as I am held here.’

  ‘But you are most certainly being watched,’ Abu pointed out. ‘The Shah is not going to allow you to just saunter out of here!’

  ‘I was thinking more in terms of a canter if not an outright gallop!’ Jauna smiled at his own joke. ‘Last time I checked, it was I who was the superintendent of the royal stables.’

  ‘One way or the other, we will be free and clear of this unholy mess within a matter of days!’ Abu sounded resigned. ‘And hopefully we will still have our lives and all body parts intact so that we may commit a few transgressions of our own.’

  The two men were silent for a few moments, reliving the turbulence and violence that had become the norm ever since the demise of Alauddin Khalji. Too many princes of the Alai family had been imprisoned, blinded or killed outright, their tender years notwithstanding. It was a blot against all who had served the emperor faithfully that they had allowed such a travesty of justice to take place.

  The scions of the Khalji dynasty weren’t the only ones to die, though. All those who hadn’t convinced Nasiruddin Khusrau Shah of their loyalty, those whose property he coveted, and the unfortunates who merely looked at him wrong, were crushed. It was madness. Anarchy prevailed and roared along a river of blood.

  Jauna drew in a sharp breath, his eyes blazing with fierce intensity. ‘The Tughlaqs have Alauddin Khalji to t
hank for their exalted position today and we are grateful. But truth be told, he is entirely responsible for the inglorious end of his line. In his prime, he was a canny ruler and a capable administrator, but in his old age, the Shah managed to undermine every one of his achievements. My father refuses to hear a word against his overlord but despite Alauddin’s many admirable qualities, his reign became accursed the day he murdered his uncle, father-in-law and Shah, Jalaluddin Khalji, for an empire.’

  Abu looked at his friend. What a contradictory creature he was! No one could question his loyalty to the Khaljis, and yet he had never been one to support his benefactors blindly. Unlike Ghazi Malik, Jauna could never forgive the dear departed for their depredations.

  ‘Personally, I think he did the right thing by murdering Jalaluddin,’ Abu said. ‘If there is one thing that is truly unforgiveable in an emperor, it is weakness. Intemperate kindness is a close second.’

  ‘Every emperor has his faults, and some deserve to be killed, but staining your hands with the blood of your relatives is insupportable,’ Jauna said firmly.

  Abu nodded. ‘However, it was Alauddin Khalji’s unholy dalliance with another upstart slave, the late and not quite lamented Malik Kafur, that was even more inexcusable. He could not trust his own sons, convinced they may murder him for the throne, and chose to give his love to the eunuch instead.’

  ‘It wasn’t love that corrupted Malik Kafur,’ Jauna remarked. ‘It was the dizzying ascent to power and authority. That dog repaid the Shah’s blind trust by having him condemned to an excruciating death by slow-acting poison. If that were not bad enough, he imprisoned and blinded the heir apparent, Khizar Khan, as well as poor Shadi Khan, who had his eyeballs torn out with rusty razors. Mubarak would have met the same fate, but at least he had the wherewithal to talk the paiks sent to do the nasty deed into sparing him. Being his father’s loyal foot soldiers, they were happy to spare him and murder Malik Kafur instead. Fortunately, Kafur’s reign of terror lasted only thirty-five days. If only Mubarak had displayed the same resourcefulness as a ruler!’

  ‘Do you remember the celebrations on the streets after Kafur’s passing?’ Abu had been tempted to join the revellers himself as they raced down the streets distributing sweets and drinks, burning effigies of the eunuch in raucous celebration. ‘But everybody’s happiness was short-lived. Nobody expected Alauddin Khalji’s son to be such a disappointment. He won himself an empire, but did not hesitate to throw power away to drown himself in all things perverse and pleasurable.’

  ‘Alauddin’s foolish passion for that treacherous eunuch was bad enough, but it was worse that his son inherited this particular vice and none of his father’s virtues.’ Jauna’s smile was sardonic. ‘Mubarak’s fondness for Khusrau Khan made him every bit as foolhardy as his father. His lover got him addicted to every available intoxicant and inebriant, leaving him with addled brains, a taste for sybaritic excess and little else. History will remember Alauddin’s achievements and the strength he displayed as a ruler. Mubarak will be remembered for allowing the palace to be overrun with prostitutes of both sexes and disgracing his father’s legacy by prancing around in the nude on the terrace while insisting his companions urinate on the heads of visiting dignitaries or perform oral sex on them.1 For shame!’ His voice was hard.

  Abu shook his head at the memory. He would never forget the debauched orgies that had desecrated the hallowed premises of the audience chamber and the shocking sights his eyes had borne witness to, and truth be told, his loins had been stirred by. Jauna had been repulsed by the entire thing, which was probably why he took care to devote himself solely to study and the duties allotted to him.

  ‘He must have been insane to hand over so much power and privilege to Khusrau on a silver platter. Mubarak Shah not only raised the slave to the position of grand vizier but also handed over total command of the imperial army to him.’ Abu, like the other nobles, had been flabbergasted at this display of stupidity.

  ‘Clearly Mubarak inherited another vice from Alauddin,’ Jauna went on. ‘While Malik Kafur had placed five-year-old Shihabuddin on the throne as a puppet king he could manipulate, after his death, the nobles respected the young ruler’s birthright and named Mubarak as his deputy. But Mubarak had his younger brother blinded and imprisoned in Gwalior. Having narrowly escaped such an awful fate, how could he condemn one of his own blood to the same? And when he came to know of the plots being hatched to kill him, he had his remaining brothers, Khizar Khan, Shadi Khan and Shihabuddin, killed in cold blood, all because he was unable to identify the conspirators.’

  ‘I have heard that it was Khusrau who incited him to commit those murders, getting him to issue the orders while under the influence. But I take your point. Mubarak Shah must bear the responsibility for his misdeeds.’

  Jauna shook his head in disgust. ‘I have always wondered if it’s power that makes monsters out of men or if it’s only the monsters who successfully capture and wield power. Alauddin and Mubarak stained their hands with the blood of family to get their paws on a throne. It is hardly surprising that Mubarak’s brief reign was accursed like his father’s and he himself came to a bad end.’

  Abu shrugged. ‘A bad end indeed! It is hard to feel sorry for a fool, though. Mubarak had it coming! When well-wishers like Malik Tamar and Malik Taligha, veteran warriors who had suppressed the rebellions in Devagiri and Ma’bar, tried to warn him about the treachery of Khusrau Khan, he became paranoid, irrational and murderous. Both men were publicly flogged and flayed alive, but not before seeing their iqtas and worldly possessions handed over to Khusrau. Like Alauddin, Mubarak raised the beast that would slay him with his own hands.’

  Mubarak Shah was dead now. But it was hard to refrain from thinking badly of him for inflicting the likes of Nasiruddin Khusrau Shah on his subjects. Anxious to hold on to his ill-gotten gains, he was draining the treasury to curry favour with the powerful Maliks, and had made short work of the remaining princes who carried the blood of the Alai family in their veins. Farid Khan and Abu Baker, aged fifteen and fourteen, had been killed on the orders of the new Shah. The younger boys, Ali, Bahar Khan and Usman—who was only five—had been deprived of their eyes.

  According to the palace wags, the foul deed was done while they were with their teachers, being taught to read the Quran. It may have been a rumour designed to incite passions but given Khusrau’s execrable conduct it did not seem exaggerated.

  As far as Abu was concerned, the only sensible thing Mubarak Shah had done in the course of his four-year reign was to raise the talented and capable Jauna to the rank of Akur Bak, the superintendent of the royal stable, and appoint him as the Barid-ul-Mulk, postal superintendent.

  Jauna had been careful not to jeopardize his precarious position by revealing his loathing for Khusrau Khan. ‘How do you manage to keep your true feelings hidden from the false Shah?’ Abu had asked him once.

  ‘I keep reminding myself of what happened to Malik Kafur and assure myself that if the father’s paramour got the comeuppance he deserved, there is no reason why the son’s lover should fare any different!’ came the reply. Whatever his reasons, it had been most judicious of him. The new Shah had allowed him to keep his head on his shoulders and not stripped him of these offices. This in turn had allowed Jauna to keep his father informed about the usurper’s movements and formulate the bold plan, which, if not executed to perfection, would lead to his own execution. Now, he had decided that it was time to act.

  ‘We leave shortly after breaking our fast tomorrow,’ Jauna told him with a slow smile, which had the faintest trace of the devil in it. ‘But let us get something to eat first, followed by a good night’s rest. Something tells me we’ll need all our strength and wits if we are to get through this in one piece.’

  Abu swallowed and followed his friend inside.

  2

  The sun was peeking at them from behind the clouds as the two horsemen rode like the very devil. They were spared its overpowering heat during w
hat was certain to be an arduous and life-threatening journey from Dilli to Punjab. Fortunately, it did not rain either and the horses weren’t forced to slog their way past slippery mud tracks in poor visibility and high winds.

  Jauna’s hair streamed past him and his cheeks had a robust colour that enhanced his natural good looks. He had so much to lose and yet his manner was carefree. Abu was convinced, then, that here was one who was born to rule. At the very least, he certainly wouldn’t develop a hankering for the hired help and piss away his prospects.

  It had been a clean getaway. Jauna was a meticulous planner, after all. He loved every single horse in his charge, and it was well-known that he cared for them like his own children. Despite the high status he had achieved at a young age on the strength of his many merits, he gave himself no airs and joked with the stable boys as he cheerfully performed duties well beneath his station.

  Jauna was so gentle with the horses that there were a few who were inclined to comment about it. ‘He caresses and talks to the mare as if it were a beautiful woman!’ ‘He seldom evinces the same interest in the fairer sex. Perhaps his tastes are peculiar, if you know what I mean!’

  The whisperers made sure the calumny never reached his ears, for Jauna was also infamous for his mercurial temper. Calm and measured on most days, his sudden rages would erupt without warning. Once, he had whipped a groomsman to within an inch of his life for daring to use the same whip to ill-treat one of the more temperamental horses.

  When not brushing the manes of his horses till they shone or feeding them the little treats he always carried on his person, Jauna could be seen astride one, putting the thoroughbreds through their paces with the style and precision of the born horseman. He was most assiduous about fulfilling his other duties as the postal superintendent, which was why it usually went unremarked when he disappeared with one of the horses for the entire day and returned well after sundown.