When Qāsim kūka died, Māh-chūchak married her cousin, Shāh Ḥusain, and she was with him during Humāyūn's miserable stay in Sind.

Another cause of friction lay in the presence of a former wife of Ḥusain with Humāyūn's household. In 1524 Ḥusain had allied himself with Khalīfa's family by marry­ing his daughter Gul-barg. As the fact adds to the domestic complication, it may be mentioned that at the same time Ḥusain's stepdaughter, Nāhīd, the child of Qāsim and Māh-chūchak, married Khalīfa's son, Muḥibb-'alī. Ḥusain and Gul-barg (Rose-leaf) did not get on well, and she left him after what Mīr Ma'sūm calls two years of wedded life. She then, says the same author, went to India with Jannat-āshyānī (Humāyūn) ‘previous to the fitrat.’ This last word is frequently used of the rout at Chausa in 1539, but the next nearest catastrophe to which it would apply after 1524 is the death of Bābar, because Gul-barg is named by Gul-badan in Humāyūn's household shortly after his accession. She was with him in Sind in 1541 onwards, and so, too, was Sulānam,* who was perhaps her mother, and both were unlikely to make the best of Shāh Ḥusain to Humāyūn.

In 1545 Kābul heard that Humāyūn was on his way back from Persia with the Shāh's army behind him. A first result of this was to bring the little Akbar within reach of Khānzāda and to her charge. All the histories tell of his wintry journey from Qandahār taken with Bakhshī-bānū, the one being under three and the other about four. Their coming adds a touch of tenderness to the historic Khānzāda, who paces through the histories sad and wise and trusted. She kissed the baby feet and hands of Akbar, and declared they were the very hands and feet of Bābar, and that he was like him altogether. Her first marriage with Shaibānī had been made to save Bābar from captivity or death. She was divorced because suspected of leaning to his side when his interests conflicted with her husband's, and she had been restored to him (1511) when she was about thirty-three years old.* To the reader's fancy she wears a mourning garb; she is mentioned with deference, and is a dignified figure in the turmoil of her day. Her third marriage,—she was doubly widowed at Merv,—takes an impersonal colour, as an alliance which her age, story and loss of her only son make seem rather one contracted to confer honour and afford her a safe home, than on any ground of personal affection. She bore Mahdī no child; she adopted his sister Sulānam at the age of two, and reared her to become the wife of Hindāl.

By March 21st Humāyūn was besieging Qandahār, and he then sent an envoy to Kābul, who would be a welcome guest as teller of the events since Humāyūn had left Quetta in 1543. This was Bairām Khān Bahārlū, and with him went Bāyazīd bīyāt. Bairām saw Akbar, and could take back to Ḥamīda news of his welfare; and also a number of princes who were kept in Kābul under Kāmrān's eye. These were Hindāl, Yādgār-nāṣir, some of the ‘mīrzās,’ Sulaimān, Ḥaram and Ibrāhīm.

Bairām spent six weeks waiting till Kāmrān should choose his course now that he knew his brother was the stronger; and when he left the city, he was accompanied by Khānzāda, charged to mollify Humāyūn and smooth the way for 'Askarī when the latter should submit. She went into Qandahār, but her presence did not bring about the immediate surrender, and the weary siege carried on its burden of suffering. Many of the amīrs of the defence began to slip away; the two Khiẓrs, Hazāra and Cha-ghatāi , dropped themselves over the wall. The first got away to the mountains with adventures which fit a High­land setting; the second sought Humāyūn and obtained forgiveness.

Qandahār was surrendered on September 3rd, and Askarī and his amīrs came out with swords hung round their necks, and some having winding-sheets in their hands. He was forgiven, and a feast with wine and talk and music sped the night away. While 'Askarī was gay with the rest, someone laid before him his own letters to the Biluchī chiefs of whom Gul-badan tells, urging them to capture Humāyūn when he was in flight from Quetta. This was Humāyūn's revenge.

Meantime Kāmrān was in singular isolation in Kābul. He heard of the fall of Qandahār, of the move of the royal army for Kābul, of the death of the travel-worn Khānzāda, and of the escape of some of his princely détenus. He was depressed and irritable. He sent troops out to meet Humāyūn, but there was no fighting, and he fled by way of Ghaznī to Sind. Then came the end of the ‘toil and moil’ of separation, and Gul-badan met her brother again after five years, on November 15th, 1545. For awhile there was peace and festivity in Kābul. Ḥamīda followed the army in the spring; she had now a second child, a girl, born in Persia, and she took possession once more of her first-born. Humāyūn wished to see if Akbar, whom his mother had had to desert at Quetta when he was fourteen months old, would remember her now. He had him taken into a room in which a number of ladies had assembled and seated him on the masnad. The child recognized Ḥamīda, and made his way to her arms. Abū'l-faẓl, who tells the story, gives all the credit of the recognition to the boy; but to those not dazzled by the light in which Akbar lived for his historian, it seems extremely probable that the child had some help from the smile which he had known as one of the first happy things of life.

In the spring, too, Humāyūn set out on a campaign in Badakhshān. He sent word back to the governor of Kābul, Uncle Muḥammad 'Ali, that he was to strangle Yādgār­nāṣir, who had been tried and condemned to death for treachery. The khwāja declined the office. ‘How should I kill the mīrzā, I who have never killed a sparrow?’ This uncle (aghāī) seems a mild man for his post. Another executioner was found, and the mīrzā ‘was relieved of the pains of existence.’

Humāyūn took 'Askarī with him as a precautionary measure. Of the ladies, Māh-chūchak went, and in atten­dance, Bībī Fāima, the chief armed woman of his ḥaram and mother of Zuhra, whom Ḥamīda's brother was to marry and murder. Near Khishm Humāyūn fell alarm­ingly ill and lay unconscious for four days. He had nurses at hand whose excellence is attested by the annals, and it adds life to the scene to know that the long watch over the unconscious man was broken by his opening his eyes just when Māh-chūchak was dropping pomegranate-juice into his mouth. He recovered, but it was a perilous time for him and his supremacy, and had a bad sequel.

News of the illness went to Sind, and Kāmrān, reinforced by his father-in-law, Ḥusain, hurried up and seized Kābul. Winter was at its depth on the passes, and the amīrs with the royal force were anxious to get back to protect their families. They had premonitions that he would take the city again, and many slipped away in small parties and went to Kābul, where they found all their anticipations and dread justified. It does not seem right to stigmatize their leaving Humāyūn as traitorous; they had their own people to save, and this might be done by slight show of submis­sion to Kāmrān. No one can consider Humāyūn a man who had claim to fidelity when the lives and honour of wives and children were in the balance. Indeed, to have left Kābul under the charge of Muḥammad 'Alī was to court disaster, and to make reasonable a good deal of independence of action in those whose unarmed people he could not protect.

Every fear of the amīrs was justified. On his northward march Kāmrān passed through Ghaznī, where Zahīd Beg was governor. He it was who when offered a Bengal appointment in 1538, had asked Humāyūn if he could not find another place to kill him in. He had not waited for a reply, but had left Bengal, and helped Hindāl to rebel in Āgra. Kāmrān now answered his question in Ghaznī, and after this murder hurried off towards Kābul. ‘It was morning, and the Kābulīs were off their guard, and grass-cutters and water-carriers were going in and out as usual. Mīrzā Kāmrān went in with all these common people.’ So speaks the princess. The gentle-hearted governor was at the ḥamām, and was brought before Kāmrān, without time given to dress, and there and then sabred. The list of other cruelties and murders is too terrible reading for these pages, and the ensuing siege was full of barbarous acts. Humāyūn crossed the passes as soon as it was practicable, and sat down to take the city. When Kāmrān saw at length that he could not hold it, he escaped through a hole fashioned in the wall, got through the trenches and away to the mountains. Some say Hindāl let him pass the royal lines; others that Ḥājī Muḥammad Khān kūka overtook him later (so destitute that he was being carried by a man), and that Kāmrān appealed to their milk-brotherhood and was allowed to go free. He then joined his hereditary foes, the Uzbegs.