‘Such courage as yours is hard to emulate, but I will not fail my father or our house.’
‘What is it, then? You are young, ambitious. . you were eager for the throne long before your father fell ill. Babur knew; he spoke to me of it.’
‘His death was so sudden when it came. I left so much unsaid. I didn’t feel ready to be emperor. . at least not so soon, nor in such a way.’
Humayun let his head drop. It was true. His father’s final moments still haunted him. Summoning the last of his strength, Babur had ordered his attendants to dress him in his royal robes, seat him on his throne and call his nobles to him. Before the entire court, in a weak voice but firm in his resolve, Babur had ordered Humayun to take Timur’s heavy gold ring, engraved with the head of a snarling tiger, from his finger, saying, ‘Wear it with pride, and never forget the duties it imposes on you. .’ But Babur had been just forty-seven, still in his prime and far too young to hand on his fledgling empire.
‘No man, not even an emperor, can know when he will be called to Paradise and in what manner. None of us can predict or control fully the course of our lives. Learning to live with the great uncertainty of mortality as well as the other vicissitudes of fortune is part of growing to adulthood.’
‘Yes. But I often think there is more we can do to understand the underlying patterns behind our lives. Events that appear random may not be. For example, Aunt, you said just now that my father’s death was God’s will, but you’re wrong. It was my father’s will. He deliberately sacrificed himself for me.’
Khanzada stared. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘I’ve never revealed to anyone my father’s last words to me. Just before he died, he whispered that when I was sick with fever a few months earlier, my astrologer, Sharaf, had told him that he’d read in the stars that if he wished me to live he must offer up what was most precious to him. So falling on his face he offered God his life for mine.’
‘Then it was indeed God’s will — God accepted the sacrifice.’
‘No! Sharaf told me that all he intended was that my father should offer up the Koh-i-Nur diamond — not his life. But my father misinterpreted his words. . It seems overwhelming that my father loved me so much, saw me as so important to the future of our dynasty, that he offered his own life. How can I live up to such faith in me? I feel that I don’t deserve the throne I once so hungered for. I fear that a reign that began in such a way will be tainted. .’
‘Such thoughts are absurd.You search too hard for patterns of cause and consequence. Many a reign begins in loss and uncertainty. It is up to you to make sure by your own actions that yours doesn’t end so. Any sacrifice Babur made was done through love for you and trust in you. Remember also he did not die immediately — you recovered and he lived eight more months. His death at that time might well have been pure coincidence.’ Khanzada paused. ‘Did he say anything else to you in his last moments?’
‘He told me not to grieve. . he was happy to go. He also made me promise to do nothing against my half-brothers, however much they might deserve it.’
Khanzada’s face tautened. For a moment Humayun thought she was about to say something about his brothers, but instead, with a toss of her small, elegant head, she seemed to think better of it.
‘Come. That’s about enough of these musings. The cloth is spread in the haram. You must not keep your mother and the other ladies waiting. But Humayun. . one last thought. Don’t forget that your name means “fortunate”. Fortune will be yours if you will be strong in mind as well as in body and seize it. Banish these foolish self-doubts of yours. Introspection may become a poet or a mystic but it has no place in the life of an emperor. Grasp with both hands what fate — and your father — have bequeathed you.’
With a last look up at the sky that showed him that the moon was now obscured by cloud, Humayun slowly followed his aunt towards the stone staircase that led down to the women’s apartments.
Prostrating himself before Humayun in the emperor’s private chambers some weeks later, Baba Yasaval, his usually blunt, ebullient master-of-horse, looked strangely nervous. As the man rose again and looked up at him, Humayun noticed that his skin seemed stretched unnaturally tight over his wide cheekbones and a pulse throbbed at his temple.
‘Majesty, if I might speak to you alone?’ Baba Yasaval glanced at the guards positioned on either side of Humayun’s low silver chair. It was an unusual request. Security dictated that the emperor was seldom on his own — even when he was in the haram guards were always near at hand, ready to turn an assassin’s blade. But Baba Yasaval, who had fought loyally for Humayun’s father, could be trusted.
Humayun dismissed his guards from the chamber and beckoned Baba Yasaval closer. The man approached but hesitated before speaking, scratching his stubbly scalp which, to remind him of the old ways of his clan, since arriving in Hindustan he had taken to shaving, except for a single lock of coarse, greying hair that swung like a tassel.
‘Baba Yasaval, speak. What is it you wish to tell me?’
‘Bad news. . terrible news, Majesty. .’ A sigh that was almost a groan escaped Baba Yasaval’s lips. ‘There is a plot against you.’
‘A plot?’ Humayun’s hand instinctively reached for the jewelled dagger tucked into his yellow sash, and before he knew it he had risen to his feet. ‘Who would dare. .?’
Baba Yasaval bowed his head. ‘Your half-brothers, Majesty.’
‘My brothers. .?’ Only two months ago he and they had stood side by side in the courtyard of the Agra fort as the gilded cart drawn by twelve black oxen and bearing their father’s silver coffin departed on the long journey to Kabul, where Babur had asked to be buried. His half-brothers’ faces had been as marked by grief as his own and in those moments he had felt a rush of affection for them and a confidence that they would help him complete the task their father had left unfinished: making the Moghuls’ hold on Hindustan unassailable.
Baba Yasaval read the incredulity and shock on Humayun’s face. ‘Majesty, I speak the truth, though I wish for all our sakes that I did not. .’ Now that he had started, Baba Yasaval seemed to take courage, becoming again the tough warrior who had fought for the Moghuls at Panipat. His head was no longer bowed and he looked unflinching into Humayun’s eyes. ‘You will not doubt me when I tell you that I have this information from my youngest son. . he is one of the conspirators. He came to me just an hour ago and confessed everything.’
‘Why should he do that?’ Humayun’s eyes narrowed.
‘Because he fears for his life. . because he realises he has been foolish. . because he knows his actions will bring ruin and disgrace on our clan.’ As he spoke these last words, Baba Yasaval’s face creased as he struggled to contain his emotions.
‘You have done well to approach me. Tell me everything.’
‘Scarcely a fortnight after His Majesty your father’s coffin left for Kabul, the princes Kamran, Askari and Hindal met in a fort two days’ ride from here. My son, as you know, serves Kamran, who offered him great rewards to join the plot. Hot-headed young fool that he is, he agreed, and so heard and saw everything.’