I MENTIONED above that out of my force of 700 men, only fifty
remained with me. The rest all got away to Yárkand, as best they
could. It has also been already observed, that the difficulties of
travelling in Tibet are due to the scarcity of provender and the
terrible severity of the cold, while the roughness of the paths is
almost beyond conception. We were without a proper supply of
clothing and food, and more particularly of horse-shoes, which are
above all things indispensable on those roads; our horses were few,
and were in a broken condition. To remain in Tibet, therefore,
became impossible; while to leave it was difficult. However, if
to stay and to go were both attended by obstacles, there was at
least hope in the latter course; to it we might look for a termination
of our troubles, but we could foresee none if we determined to
stay. [Verse]… [The routes] to Kashmir, Káshghar, Turfán,
and Hindustán were all equally impossible. The road to Badakh-
No one of us had ever travelled from Tibet to Badakhshán, excepting by way of Káshghar. But among those who had deserted and fled to Yárkand, was a certain man named Jahán Sháh. He once related that he had heard from the people of the mountain districts of Yárkand, that from a place called Tágh Nák,*
there was a bye-path leading to the Pamirs of Badakhshán. I had inquired the particulars of him. By that unknown road we now advanced. “Can one travel by a road one has never seen and knows not?” Of the fifty persons who had remained with me many, from want of strength, stayed behind in Tibet.
I moved off finally, with twenty-seven men. [We suffered much] from want of supplies for the journey—from the weakness of the beasts of burden, from the difficulties of the road and from the cold. For although it was now the season of Virgo, the cold was so severe, that at a place we came to called Kara Kuram, as the sun sank, the river (which is a large one) froze over so completely, that wherever one might break the ice, not a drop of water was forthcoming. * We continued our efforts [to obtain water] until bedtime prayers. The horses that had travelled all day over dam-giri ground, arriving at a stage where there was neither water nor grass, refused to eat the little barley that was left (and which we now gave them) because they had not drunk. Ján Ahmad Ataka said: “I remember once noticing a spring at about half a farsákh's distance from here.” He indicated a spot in the middle of the ice, where we had to cut a hole; this time there was water, and we gave the horses to drink. There was one mare [hajr] among them, the strongest of all the beasts, whose teeth, from want of water, became so tightly locked together, that in spite of every exertion she could not drink, and therefore died.* The baggage which she had carried was thus left behind. This will give some idea of the intensity of the cold. [Verse.] …
When, after much hardship, we reached the spot where the untried road to Badakhshán branched off, Iskandar Sultán came to ask my permission to make his way to Rashid Sultán, saying: “Perhaps his brotherly affection will induce him to take pity on me, and cause him to heal the wounds which have hitherto cut him off from his relations.” I replied: “Your brother is certainly not a man of his word, as his actions testify. Good faith is the first duty of a Musulmán; but he is so entirely under the evil influence of Muhammadi, that you need never expect mercy at his hands.” [Quatrain] … With such words did I attempt to dissuade him, but he, being worn out with the sufferings of the journey and the misfortunes in Tibet, shut his eyes to the path of reason, and was so persistent in his demands, that at last I gave him leave to go, sending four men to accompany him.
My party of twenty-seven, by the loss of these five, was thus reduced to twenty-two, and with these I went forward upon this [strange] road. A few of our horses had become useless from want of shoes. On the same day that we parted from Iskandar Sultán, towards midday prayer-time, we killed a wild kutás. With its skin we made coverings for the feet of our disabled horses: of its flesh we carried away as much as we were able, and even then there remained what would have been sufficient for a day or two. This was a favour bestowed upon us by the Giver of daily bread. We carried away as much as our beasts could bear, which amounted to about five days' provisions for the party. I suppose about a quarter of the kutás was lost: that is to say about that quantity remained behind. The crows and ravens, by their screams, gave a general invitation to the beasts of prey of the neighbourhood, and they celebrated a feast in company.*
We proceeded in this manner, guessing [our way]. On the next day we killed another kutás, of a very large breed. [Couplet.] …
From the information I had gathered from Jaháh Sháh, I reckoned that it would be another six days, before we should come to a cultivated region; but on the third day after our separation from Iskandar Sultán, at about breakfast-time, we met with some men with their families, some of whom came out to receive us with great cordiality, and asked us whence we had come and whither we were going. They told us that this valley was called Rás Kám, and that from here to [the] Pamir was five days' journey. When we arrived at this place [Rás Kám], all of us took a rest, after the trials of so many years.
The people took over all our broken horses and gave us strong ones in their stead. They also supplied us, in the most hospitable manner, with such meat and drink as they had to give. When they saw me, they all began to weep and cried, in their own language: “Thanks be [to God] that there still remains a prince of the dynasty that has ruled over us for four hundred years: we are your faithful and devoted servants.” They then attached themselves, with their wives and families, to me. I was powerless to hinder them. At every place we came to, I was joined by all the men, women and children of the district. For the space of seven days they lavished every attention and honour upon us, brought us to the Pamir, and induced us to proceed to Badakhshán. (Sulaimán Sháh Mirzá, the son of Mirzá Khán, the son of my maternal aunt, has been mentioned in several places above. When I came to his [abode] he hastened out to receive me, showing me honour, by every means at his disposal.)* We then offered up a thousand thanks to God Almighty, who had delivered us from such great dangers, and had brought us into safety; [verse] … and from a land of Infidels to one of true Believers. [Three couplets.] …
When we reached Wákhán, which is the frontier [sar-hadd] of Badakhshán, there came to me one of Rashid Sultán's followers, who was there on some business. I gave him some Turki verses, which I had composed, to deliver over to his master…*
If I were to detail the acts of violence and unkindness of Rashid Sultán, a separate chapter would be necessary. God willing an account of his life will be given in the First Part; repetition would not be pleasing.
To be brief, at this time my wife, who was Rashid Sultán's paternal aunt, was banished [ikhráj] in a kindly way, with Iskandar Sultán to accompany her. Another act of kindness was that she was not robbed, or deprived of anything; all that she had at hand was sent with her. She reached Badakhshán, however, in a pitiable and destitute condition. About ten persons were allowed, by Rashid's favour, to accompany her, and these took with them all their cattle.*
That winter I passed in Badakhshán in perfect comfort, and the spring I spent in the plains and hills of that country; in the summer I went to Kábul. Soon after my arrival, there came together, in Kábul, some of my connections who had been banished [by Rashid Sultán]: namely, the Khán's wife, Zainab Sultán Khánim, who was his cousin, with her children Ibráhim Sultán (the Khán's favourite child), Muhassan Sultán and Mahmud Yusuf.
[Afterwards] I passed on into Hindustán. When I reached Láhur I found Kámrán Mirzá, son of Bábar Pádisháh, there. He came out to meet me with every mark of respect, and bestowed honours on me. From the depths of distress and hardship, I found myself raised to honour and dignity. [Verses.] … The princely patronage and attention [of Kámrán Mirzá] acted as an antidote to the numerous sufferings and griefs, which had made the sweetness of life bitter on the palate of my soul. [Verses.] …
At this period, one of the sons of Sháh Ismáil marched upon Kandahar, and captured it. It came about thus: Sám Mirzá, one of Sháh Ismáil's sons, fleeing with a body of men from his brother Sháh Tahmásp, reached the territory of Sistán. Thence he turned towards Kandahár, where was Mir Khwája Kilán. This Mir Khwája Kilán was the son of Mauláná Muhammad Sadr, one of the pillars of religion and state to Mirzá Amar Shaikh, son of Mirzá Sultán Abu Said. His [Mauláná Sadr's] children, after the death of Mirzá Amar Shaikh, entered, by hereditary succession, the service of Bábar Pádisháh, for whom they achieved great things. In that family their reputation stands high, for six brothers were killed in battle on separate occasions, and this one, Mir Khwája Kilán, alone survived.
He was a brave and learned man, and by his sound judgment was able to regulate most of the Emperor's affairs of State. It was owing to his exertions that, under the divine decree, the Emperor achieved the conquest of Hindustán.* In short, he defended the fort of Kandahár in such a way, that Sám Mirzá, after besieging it vigorously and persistently for eight months, was unable to take it. At the end of eight months, Kámrán Mirzá arrived from Hindustán and engaged [Sám Mirzá] in battle, at the very gates of the fort of Kandahár. Through the gallantry and energy of Mir Khwája Kilán, victory declared for Kámrán Mirzá after a hard fought combat, and Sám Mirzá, humbled and discomfited, fell back on Irák,* while Kámrán Mirzá returned to Láhur. It was at that time that I arrived at Láhur.
That winter passed over, and in the following spring, Sháh Tahmásp marched against Kandahár to avenge his brother. It was this Sháh Tahmásp who, whenever he made war upon Khorásán, met with such determined opposition from the Uzbeg under Ubaid Ullah Khán, and such overpowering resistance from their numerous forces, that he was always compelled to retreat. [Couplet]… Mir Khwája Kilán was not able to put the fort in a state to withstand a siege, on account of the numbers and the strength of Sháh Tahmásp's army, and also because, having the year before sustained a siege of eight months, his ammunition and other necessaries were exhausted. Moreover, he entertained no hope of Kámrán Mirzá coming to his relief. Under these conditions, he abandoned Kandahár and retired to Ucha and Tatta, whence he passed on to Láhur.
When this news reached the ears of Kámrán Mirzá, he resolved
to march [at once] for Kandahár. Leaving the whole of Hindu-