Raja Puraji Kika and I may be soulmates but it’s mostly a long-distance closeness. Besides, even when we are together, neither of us is very voluble. What we share is taciturnity and silence. I often ask myself if I am incapable of making, and more important, keeping friends. And yet perhaps my state of almost total friendlessness is good training for kingship. For a king may have many companions but no friends. However much the poets and romantics may protest, friendship and favouritism go hand in hand. And where there’s favouritism, it’s not long before a king or a dynasty heads for a fall. I hear people say that the best relationship between a father and son is that of friendship. I have no doubt about it. But I think Father is wise to keep all his sons at a distance. Fondness is often nothing but foolishness. You can only say ‘no’ to people who cannot blackmail you emotionally. And a king must needs say ‘no’ several times a day. When it comes to jobs, for instance, there’s a limit to them. You can’t, it’s obvious, have two prime ministers or two commanders-in-chief. But even in the lower echelons where the posts are not so limited, you can only appoint a restricted number of people for otherwise, both the concept of ‘officer’ and ‘the chain of command’ become meaningless and the strain on your exchequer intolerable.
That leaves Mangal. He is the only companion I have in my professional dealings and the closest thing to a friend under the circumstances. I wonder if I have degraded the notion of friendship. For me it seems to boil down to respect for ability, the willingness to pursue a goal with imagination, originality and economy. There’s something about doing a job well that is akin to art. In his sphere of action, Mangal is indeed an artist. Even so, one of my fears about the bits and pieces of paper that have been coming down from the court in Kabul is their authenticity. I guess what is at the back of my mind is the staggering rise in fake miniatures and relics in Mewar in the last few years since my wife’s elevation to sainthood. Our two most well-known miniaturists are Ajeet Solanki and Sharafat Ali. On an average anywhere between twenty and forty paintings of the Little Saint singing, playing the ektara, dancing with the Flautist are sold outside the Brindabani Mandir every day and all are signed Ajeet or Sharafat. But the miniature industry is a fraction of the relic business. There’s so much of the Princess’ hair sold daily that she should have gone bald seven times over by now.
My anxiety about the Babur-notes has been that some clever trader who is fluent in Turki is in league with Shyam Dulare and Pyarelal and is making a small fortune by selling forgeries and fabrications. Mangal had decided on his own to double-check at the very source. It must have required a great deal of ingenuity, deviousness and perseverance but he has slowly established a network that extends up to Kabul and has infiltrated the king’s quarters. Babur, it turns out, does have a much younger cousin called Haider of whom he is very fond. Despite his sojourns to India, various battles with neighbours and rebels, not to mention civilian and administrative matters, he has taken it upon himself to supervise the education of the youngster. As a matter of fact there are some subjects like calligraphy, reading, the art of writing letters and poetry for which Babur alone is his teacher. As for tangible proof, Mangal has furnished that too. He has managed to obtain, steal would be more correct, the ceramic vessel inside Haider’s bejewelled inkpot (which is a present from Babur) and the quill which Haider used. Both the ink and the strokes, angle and width of the quill match the ones in the stolen diary entries.
Let me quote some of the highlights from the material that Shyam Dulare has been passing on to Mangal over the past year or so. They are longer and far more substantial than the earlier ones.
Here’s an entry about his first marriage at the age of sixteen.
‘Ayisha-sultan Begum whom my father and hers, i.e. my uncle, Al-Ahmed Mirza had betrothed to me, came to Khujand and I took her in the month of Sha’ban. Though I was not ill-disposed towards her, yet, this being my first marriage, out of modesty and bashfulness, I used to see her once in ten, fifteen or twenty days. Later on when even my first inclination did not last, my bashfulness increased. Then my mother Khanim used to send me, once a month or every forty days, with driving and driving, dunnings and worryings.’
Babur is smitten with an adolescent but deep infatuation, the only one of its kind, it would appear, in his entire life.
‘In those leisurely days I discovered in myself a strange inclination, nay! as the verse says, “I maddened and afflicted myself’ for a boy in the camp-bazaar, his very name, Baburi, fitting in. Up till then I had no inclination for anyone, indeed of love and desire, either by hearsay or experience, I had not heard, I had not talked. At that time I composed Persian couplets, one or two at a time; this is one of them:
May none be as I, humbled and wretched and love-sick;
No beloved as thou art to me, cruel and careless.
‘From time to time Baburi used to come to my presence but out of modesty and bashfulness, I could never look straight at him; how then could I make conversation and recital? In my joy and agitation I could not thank him for coming; how was it possible for me to reproach him with going away? What power had I to command the duty of service to myself? One day during that time of desire and passion when I was going with companions along a lane and suddenly met him face to face, I got into such a state of confusion that I almost went right off. To look straight at him or to put words together was impossible. With a hundred torments and shames, I went on. A Persian couplet of Muhammad Sabih’s came into my mind:
I am abashed with shame when I see my friend;
My companions look at me, I look the other way.
‘That couplet suited the case wonderfully well. In that frothing-up of desire and passion, and under that stress of youthful folly, I used to wander, bare-head, barefoot, through street and lane, orchard and vineyard. I showed civility neither to friend nor stranger, took no care for myself or others.
Out of myself desire rushed me, unknowing
That this is so with the lover of a fairy-face.
‘Sometimes like the madmen, I used to wander alone over hill and plain; sometimes I betook myself to gardens and the suburbs, lane by lane. My wandering was not of my choice, not I decided whether to go or stay.
Nor power to go was mine, nor power to stay;
I was just what you made me, o thief of my heart.’
Would I who am as much a warrior as Babur, have been candid and so explicit about a homosexual longing even in the privacy of my own diary? I doubt if I will ever distrust Babur’s word.
I feel like a peeping tom. What would be my reaction if I discovered that someone was privy not just to my actions (you can’t live in the palace and expect privacy) but to my thoughts and writings? Diaries, at least those that are not written deviously with an ulterior motive and for public consumption, I’m convinced are far more revealing than a face-to-face encounter or even a long acquaintance with the person. One thing is certain: the more I get to know Babur, the more I want to know him. Why must religion be such an unbridgeable divide? I would have liked to meet him, perhaps, even be friends with him.
My train of thought was broken off. I heard a heavy dragging step and the scurrying of retainers. It couldn’t be. His Majesty. It was late and Father had hurriedly thrown a duglo over his shoulders. My head was resting on his feet when his good hand reached down and tousled my hair, an unusual gesture on Father’s part, to say the least. Had I finally come of age, had he discovered that his eldest son was not a bad sort after all or, more likely, was he favourably disposed towards me because of his affection for the Little Saint?
My wife brought a silver lota of water and poured him a glass.
‘A missive’s just arrived from Medini Rai. His former liege, the Sultan of Malwa, has laid siege to Gagrone at the head of forty thousand troops and three hundred elephants. The Rai’s son Hem Karan is holding the fort. Supplies are running out and he doesn’t have enough warriors to defend the citadel.’
‘Where is Medini Rai?’ I asked.
‘At Dharampur waiting for assistance from us. Who should we appoint commander and how many troops can we muster in a short time?’
‘How long can Prince Hem Karan last out in Gagrone?’ Had Father really come to consult me about who I thought was the best man for the job – he had never done so in the past – or did he have something else in mind?
‘Seven days, maybe eight. After that he will have to declare Kesariyabana: open the gates and march with his men to certain death. Who is going to be our man, son?’
‘There’s only one person I can think of.’
I had not realized that my wife was now His Majesty’s military adviser. Neither it would seem, had Father, for he looked as surprised as I.
‘And who may that be? You, Princess?’ Father had obviously decided to indulge the Princess but I felt she was trying his patience.
‘Don’t underestimate me, Your Majesty.’ There was a smile on my wife’s face but she was also giving notice that she would not brook it if anyone took her lightly. ‘Prince Vikramaditya. He’s aggressive and a doer; and most crucial of all, he has the killer instinct. Come what may, he’ll rescue Prince Hem Karan and his men.’
‘He’s all those things, Princess, but he’s also a hothead. Not the ideal qualification on this campaign when you need to think clearly and yet act swiftly and decisively.’
‘That sounds like the profile of Rattan Simha,’ Greeneyes, it was becoming clear was not about to shut up. ‘He’s thoughtful, dependable and experienced. He’ll deliver Gagrone.’
What was the Little Saint up to? Was she really backing my brothers? I had the uneasy feeling that the more earnest she looked, the less trustworthy she was. Was she leading Father on or was His Majesty merely playing along because he too had a hidden agenda?
‘You wouldn’t recommend your husband for the job?’
‘His Highness? No. He’s good but he has too many unorthodox ideas. If the commanders of Mewar are uncomfortable with his methods, imagine poor Medini Rai’s reaction. I’m sure he’ll think we are letting him down once again.’
‘That’s curious. That’s what I thought too. But it’s the Rai who has asked for your husband.’
My wife had gone through this elaborate charade, it was clear now, to try and get Father to nominate me to lead the Mewar armies against Malwa. But as usual His Majesty had already made up his mind.
‘That settles it then. Will you excuse me, Majesty? I’ll pack His Highness’ things.’
‘Do I take second place in your affections merely because your husband is going to war? Am I to eat my meal alone tonight, then?’ Father smiled. It is clear that my wife knows Father better than I am ever likely to.
‘Not a chance, Majesty. I know you are looking forward to spending all the money that you made off me last night by cheating me at cards. But I intend to win everything back with compound interest.’
‘I keep telling your wife that she’s got married into the wrong family. Rao Viramdev should have given her in marriage to one of Adinathji’s grandsons. She’s no saint, this woman. She has a moneylender’s heart, mind and soul.’
Greeneyes stomped out melodramatically. Father, needless to say, was delighted with his daughter-in-law’s histrionics.
‘What is the strength of Medini Rai’s army?’ Father got back to business.
‘I believe it’s around ten thousand, Majesty. If the Rais from the east join him and Silhadi brings his forces, they would swell by another ten thousand. But Mahmud Khalji has chosen his time well. Silhadi and the other rais, while being favourably inclined, will, I suspect, play a waiting game and not commit their troops for fear of another defeat at the hands of the Sultan.’
‘Mahmud Khalji didn’t beat them alone the last time. If Muzaffar Shah of Gujarat hadn’t taken the lead, I am sure that Medini Rai would have defeated Mahmud Khalji.’
‘More than likely but that’s an academic question now. Mangal tells me that the Rai and his Rajputs lost not twenty thousand of their men but closer to forty thousand including most of the senior commanders.’
‘How many troops do you wish to take with you?’
‘Three thousand. All of it cavalry.’
‘I would caution you against arrogance, my son.’
‘I believe time is of the essence on this occasion. If we try to put together an army of twenty or thirty thousand, it will take at least ten to twelve days and another week to arrange supplies. By that time, it will be too late to help either Prince Hem Karan or Medini Rai.
‘Tej and Shafi have been working for the past year and a quarter on a kind of flash-force. Most of the soldiers have fought alongside me in the past but the idea was to train them in a different kind of discipline and make them into a task force that is so tightly knit that they think and act as a highly trained raiding party and are yet almost impenetrable. They’ve been fighting mock battles so far. This will be a good time to test their skills. Besides, I hope that the news of the Mewar men joining Medini Rai will encourage his allies to stop vacillating and proceed directly to Gagrone.’
‘I trust you know what you are doing. I wish you success. When do you leave?’
‘Seven hundred and fifty men will leave tonight. I’ll speak to Tej and Shafi right away. They’ll go singly and without attracting attention to themselves. They’ll conceal their weapons and will move out as farmers or as pilgrims returning after taking a darshan of the Little Saint. One thousand five hundred will wend their way in the daytime tomorrow. And the remaining tomorrow night. We’ll meet up in Dharampur.’
‘You had planned all this in advance, hadn’t you?’
‘When Mangal said at the Security Council meeting some weeks ago that there was much troop movement in and around Mandu, I felt that Mahmud Khalji might be plotting a sudden attack. But frankly, Tej and Shafi’s task force is meant to be in a state of preparedness at all times.’
‘Has Mangal been leaking all the reports he makes to me to you?’ Father had a smile on his face but I knew that we had reached the trickiest part of our meeting. After all, he must have known from day one that Tej and Shafi were instructing our troops at the training ground behind the Khatan Rani Palace.
‘Mangal’s loyalties are to the Rana and Mewar, Your Majesty. Mangal did not part with any information to which the Security Council was not privy.’
‘What would we do without Mangal?’
‘I trust we’ll never have to do without him.’
‘One small matter, son. I suggest you ensure that the Sultan of Malwa survives the battle.’
You can never trust Father or rather you can trust him a hundred point seven percent as Adinathji’s tribe is fond of saying. Father had pulled this same trick on me before but I never seem to learn. Instead of summoning me, he had come over in person. He had put me at ease with his banter with the Princess, asked me honest probing questions, then taken the offensive and put me in the dock about Mangal’s and my integrity and when I was vastly relieved that I had risen to the occasion and had made the grade, he had, in passing, revealed the reason for his visit.
Had Medini Rai really asked for my services? Maybe he had. Maybe Father had put him up to it. It doesn’t matter. His Majesty was, as usual, playing two or three games simultaneously. Queen Karmavati has been clamouring for the past six months to come back to Chittor: she had realized that while she thought that she had inveigled His Majesty into doing her bidding, Father, dear Father, had sidelined her. In the meantime, my wife and Father had become close. I don’t think this was a conscious, calculated move on the part of either of them but once it had happened, Father was not averse to bending the friendship to his own purposes. The Queen would be recalled but held in check by the Princess. I was to be removed from the scene, given an important mission, perhaps even a second chance to try out my unorthodox ideas but clearly put on a very short leash. I was firmly told to stay off what I perceived to be the objective of the exercise: eliminate Mahmud Khalji and conquer Malwa.
His Majesty was not ready, at least not yet, to wipe out a dynasty and take control of a new kingdom. Perhaps he has sound reasons, he wants to build and integrate a strong Rajput confederacy first, perhaps he doesn’t think that we have the trained manpower to staff a new bureaucracy and the top posts or more importantly to police the new state and quell revolts and rebellions. He may be right. But I believe a king may wait too long for the opportune moment. When the time is ripe, it may be too late and one may forfeit the chance altogether.
‘Highness,’ Medini Rai walked briskly towards me. He had not had time to put on his saafa and was carrying it in his hands, ‘forgive me for not coming to receive you. We were not expecting you for another week. If only you had sent a courier ahead of you, I would have ridden hard and met you at the border.’
There was a silver streak in his slightly dishevelled hair cutting across his head like a vein of mica in the noon sun. He ran his hand over the shock of thick hair and pushed it back as he put on the turban. He was not putting me on or flattering me, he would have ridden seventy miles to greet me.
‘I bring you greetings from His Majesty, the Rana, and a detailed letter. With me, are my deputies from Mewar, Tej Simha and Shafi Khan. I believe that all three thousand of our soldiers have been in Dharampur since early this morning.’
‘That seems unlikely, Maharaj Kumar. If the Mewar troops had arrived, I would have heard of it from my commanders. Or perhaps not,’ he smiled deprecatingly as he looked at our clothes. ‘Were they also travelling incognito in villagers’ clothes?’
‘I’m afraid, yes. We did not want to arouse Sultan Mahmud Khalji’s suspicions. As a further precaution they must all have gone east, west and north before turning south-east. How many days will it take for the Sultan to turn around and confront us at Dharampur?’
‘Four to seven days if he rides with his army. But why would he forsake the prize at hand and come looking for us?’
‘I may be wrong but it is my guess that once the Sultan learns that the Mewar forces have joined you, he’ll appreciate that Gagrone is likely to be an extremely ephemeral possession. If he takes it, he might find us besieging him in a couple of days. That might prove to be galling since Prince Hem Karan and his men have exhausted all supplies and it may take a while before the Sultan can restock the granaries. If, however, you feel that we should proceed forthwith to Gagrone and relieve the siege and the Prince, we can leave in an hour’s time.’
He pondered over my two scenarios for a long time. ‘I am anxious for Prince Hem Karan and my people but it would be unforgivable if that consideration led me to take an unwise step. It is likely that there is a slim chance, a chance nevertheless, that your prognosis is sound. Besides I doubt that thirteen thousand troops will be sufficient to relieve Gagrone.’
‘In that case we have time for a quick bath prior to conferring with you and the heads of your army. Highness, may I make bold to ask you a candid question: when you wrote to His Majesty for assistance, why did you ask for me?’
‘Before I make answer, I must ask you, Maharaj Kumar, not to take offence if I return your candour with just as much honesty. I asked for you because they tell me you are an unreasonable man. That if it was possible, you would like to win a war without losing a single one of your soldiers. They say you are a man without scruples, that you have no qualms attacking an enemy from the rear and in the dark. They say you play your cards so close to the chest that even your commanders sometimes learn of major engagements just a few hours before they are to take place. They say you walk at all times with your tail between your legs and will retreat at the slightest pretext. They tell me that you are unpredictable and change your plans without notice. They also say that you are a liar and are not to be trusted by your enemies and if you had any friends, they would be wise to keep you at an arm’s length. That is why I chose you, Maharaj Kumar.’
When we met again, I showed Medini Rai the letter I had written and asked him to send it to the Sultan by the fastest set of couriers at his disposal.
It was a friendly letter.
To
His Majesty, Mahmud Khalji, Sultan of Malwa.
His Majesty, Rana Sangram Simha, the citizens of Mewar, Hindu, Muslim and Jain, and I, the Maharaj Kumar of Mewar, send you and the populace of Malwa our greetings. We wish you a long, happy and healthy reign.
I am sure that your sources have already informed you that fifty thousand of Mewar’s soldiers are camped some fifteen miles from Dharampur and await your arrival with a growing sense of impatience. My men will soon be joined by His Highness Rao Medini Rai, His Highness Silhadi, Their Highnesses Chand Rai, Arjun Rai, Jai Rai, Rai Pithora’s son Indrasen Rai, and their troops. All in all, over seventy thousand soldiery will be gathered to welcome you amongst us.
Our only wish is peace. Our only gift to the people of Malwa is the hand of friendship. We believe that you too are tired of all the internecine squabbles and wars within Malwa and are just as keen to sign a pact of peace with His Highness, Medini Rai, Mewar and the other Rais of the east. May no Mewar or Malwa blood be spilt henceforth. May our children grow up and grow old as brothers.
Think of us kindly, Your Majesty.
Ever at your service, etc.
The Maharaj Kumar
P.S. Ajeet Simha, His Highness Medini Rai’s head of intelligence, tells us that the intent of your visit to Gagrone is bellicose. How can that be possible, we ask him even as we scoff at him, does he not know that you are a wise man and a man of peace? Does he not know, we further ask him, that a confrontation with Mewar will not only cost the Sultan the lives of tens of thousands of men as it did Muzaffar Shah, the Sultan of Gujarat, but several provinces of precious Malwa territory, for while we are generous in friendship, excessively so, we are also ruthless with our enemies. But we know that Ajeet Simha is a foolish man, and you will not suffer fools.
‘What if he accepts your offer, Highness?’
‘Why, then, Sire, we’ll wine him and dine him, throw a feast such as Gagrone and Malwa have never witnessed and sign a peace treaty with him whereby Chanderi is awarded to you as your fiefdom. Anyone who dares break the terms of the treaty will stand to lose his entire kingdom. But while I pray that the Sultan will see sense, I suspect he’ll feel honour bound, having come so far, to wage war with you.’
‘And what if he wins? Neither His Highness Silhadi nor the other rais have shown much enthusiasm to join us. And I’m afraid as of this moment your forces amount to a little over three thousand and not fifty thousand.’
‘If we lose, my father, the Rana will not forgive me for letting you down. If on the other hand I had decided to bring thirty thousand men with me, it would have taken us at least twenty to twenty-five days and that delay may have cost you Gagrone and your son Hem Karan. That was a risk I did not wish to take.’
‘In that case, it is for my people and me to do your bidding while making you responsible for both victory and defeat.’
* * *
The meeting with Medini Rai’s commanders was not the most pleasant but not unsatisfactory. Whether the Rai agreed with me or not, whether he believed that I was dangerous or deranged, he held his counsel and allowed me to conduct the meeting without contradicting or questioning my oddest assertions. Our first task was to spread the word and make people believe that we were arranging accommodation for fifty thousand soldiers behind two stocky peaks of the branch of the Aravali mountains called Dhola Maru. We requisitioned every single tent in Dharampur and in the neighbouring areas and placed an order for another hundred, delivery within two days. Next we rounded up all the dogs in the vicinity and penned them in the military camp. Dharampur is well known for its monkey population. There were thousands of them; in a good year a third of the crops is eaten by them. They are much hated and though there’s no law against killing them, hardly anybody does, since they are said to be descendants of Hanumanji. Notices were put up in all the villages that His Highness the Maharaj Kumar would pay a tanka to anybody who delivered ten dogs or monkeys to the army stores.
‘Army stores?’ His Highness’s second-in-command Karan Rai sounded perplexed. ‘What would they do with them?’
‘The soldiers will as usual cook for themselves but what will an army of fifty thousand feed on? I’m afraid there’s not much game left in this region after last year’s drought.’
‘On monkeys, Maharaj Kumar?’ Karan Rai looked genuinely horrified.
‘The brains of live monkeys are considered a rare delicacy in China, Karanji.’
‘You have odd tastes in food,’ he looked revolted, ‘to say the least. My troops certainly will not touch the stuff.’
‘The Mewar armies, I’m afraid, cannot afford to be choosy. When on a campaign, they’ll eat elephant meat or rats if need be. On the Gujarat campaign, when there was an acute shortage of food because of a drought, our armies and I had snakes, mongoose and roasted red ants for a week.’
I believe Karan Rai would have liked to ask me to pack up my bags and leave but since Medini Rai kept an impassive face, he had no choice but to shut up. I turned round to Shiraz Ali, the man Mangal had deputed as intelligence officer for the campaign and asked him to spread the word in the Khalji camp that any enemy soldiers who were taken prisoner would be blinded and put to work instead of oxen in the oil presses or the flour mills. Alternatively, they would be emasculated and despatched to labour in the coalmines whence as everyone knew no one ever returned alive. Their mothers, wives, sons and daughters would be prostituted; they would be made to participate in unnatural and beastly acts and then when they were no longer of any use, put to death. Needless to say, their lands would be confiscated by us and auctioned off to the highest bidder.
On the other hand, if a Khalji soldier joined the Mewar army or went back home, he would be given a handsome reward: two months’ salary in advance on reporting to our war office in Dharampur and a beast of burden or a cow, as per his wishes, at the end of the war.
‘Surely you don’t mean that about the old parents and the wives and children being prostituted, do you, Your Highness? Or that business about unnatural acts?’ one of Karanji’s lieutenants smiled indulgently and tried to humour me.
‘Why not?’ I was short with him.
‘Because we are not like them, we are civilized.’
‘No, you’re right, we are not like them. They are about to discover that there is no deed so heinous and depraved that we will not perform it. Let me explain the arithmetic to you gentlemen. Our interest charges currently stand at 300 percent. As you know Mewar lost 3,000 soldiers to Gujarat a long time ago. Some years later Mewar destroyed 10,000 Gujarati troops in one morning alone. His Highness Medini Rai lost 39,917 men at Mandu. One way or the other, Mahmud Khalji is about to find three times that number, civilian or military, male or female, wiped out from his kingdom.’
The Rai’s War Council sat chewing upon that information in silent consternation.
‘One last question, Highness.’ Karan Rai was not about to let go of me that easily. ‘When do the rest of your fifty thousand soldiers arrive?’
‘Within the week. Shiraz Ali and his men will bring them to the encampment directly along the Neelkanth bypass so that they won’t disturb the peace of the civilian populace. They are good people, Karanji,’ I smiled deprecatingly, ‘but like any other troops a little frisky.’
In the end Karan Rai and his deputies did the job of vilifying us far more effectively than any fifth column or disinformation service could have. There was a wave of revulsion in the city: a couple of occasions when our men were abused and one incident of stone-throwing. Medini Rai ordered the miscreants whipped but we thought it wise to remain inside the camp limits from then on and not venture out unless something pressing demanded our attention in the city. I have to grant that my brother Vikramaditya, too, had his uses. But for him, I would never have known the potential of innuendo and rumour. By the third day there was not a dog on the streets of Dharampur. No, we hadn’t eaten them all yet (though I was more than willing to, they were making such an unholy cacophony in the encampment at nights, or worse, keening for some mate in Badrinath or Bajaur.) The townspeople had either shooed them away or locked them up in their courtyards and houses, so that those devilish Mewaris wouldn’t get at them.
* * *
Late one night, I believe it was the fourth day since our arrival, Medini Rai came to our camp. There was another man with him. The Rai seemed a little overwrought and unable to speak. Oh God, please, not bad news. Don’t let Prince Hem Karan die. Had Gagrone fallen? Had I committed the one unforgivable crime for a commander: overconfidence? Why had I not played it safe and ridden with the Rai to Gagrone and relieved the pressure on the fort?
‘Highness, there are debts that one is unable to repay.’ Medini Rai was inside the tent by now. ‘This is one debt I have no wish whatsoever to be free of. I shall be beholden to you till my dying day. You have given me back my son, Hem Karan, and all my people who were beleaguered in Gagrone.’
I gave thanks to our family deity, Eklingji, that the Sultan had given credence to my story about the fifty thousand Mewar troops. We could expect him any time now but that was fine with me. I hugged Karan I don’t know how long. I sat him down next to me but within minutes, he was fast asleep.
‘Take him under your wing, Maharaj Kumar. I think you are a hero to him and he would like to walk in your footsteps.’
God forbid. Today’s heroes are tomorrow’s villains. But I would be happy if there was one other Rajput apart from Tej and Shafi who thought that all life was not about the art of dying.
What was the Sultan of Malwa up to? It was close to three weeks since he had lifted the siege of Gagrone and there was still no sign of him. He should have followed on the heels of Prince Hem Karan and overrun us. Was he waiting for reinforcements? Was he far shrewder than I had given him credit for? Was he paying me back in the same coin by preying upon our fears? If he was, he was doing a good job of it. He had Medini Rai, Hem Karan, Tej and Shafi, all our men and me stewing in a gruel of doubt and speculation and fear, wondering what his next move was going to be.
It was time, I thought, to test the waters; if possible, jangle the Sultan’s nerves and get a reaction out of him. We would play cat and mouse with him, hopefully he would be mouse. We chose three thousand of Medini Rai’s men, put them together with our troops and divided them into four groups of fifteen hundred men. At no time would more than two task forces go out on sorties. Tej and Shafi were put in charge while Prince Hem Karan and Karan Rai were to assist them till they had learnt the ropes. After that they would have independent command.
‘You are on your own,’ I told the four men. ‘Don’t try to figure out how I would act or wonder whether I’ll approve of your actions. You will be on the spot and therefore the best judges of what needs to be done. Two rules. Don’t take the enemy head on. Whenever possible, strike simultaneously but in different locations. Sow confusion and panic among the enemy. The idea is to decimate their men. Lose one of our men without good reason and you’ll be charged with culpable homicide. Godspeed.’
