* WHEN all the brothers were assembled, they conferred together upon the state of affairs. The discussion was protracted, but no profitable decision was arrived at; in fact, nothing was proposed that was worthy of the occasion, for as it is said: “When fortune's adverse, minds are perverse.” Kámrán Mirzá was very anxious to return, but Humáyun, conceding all other representations, dis­regarded his request on this point. Seven months were wasted in weary indecision, until the opportunity was lost, and Shir Khán was on the Ganges, ready for war. [Verses]… In the midst of this discussion and argument, Kámrán Mirzá became very ill. The climate of Hindustán had brought on some serious disorders.* When he had thus suffered for two or three months, he lost the use of his hands and feet. [Verses]… As no medicine or treatment relieved him, he became more desirous of departing to Láhur. At length his maladies so increased, that he made up his mind to return thither.

This departure of Kámrán Mirzá was the turning-point in the rise of Shir Khán, and in the downfall of the Chaghatái power. The Emperor strongly urged him to leave some of his officers and forces as auxiliaries, but Kámrán Mirzá, on the contrary, did all he could to induce those who were at Agra to go away with him, and strenuously rejected the proposal to leave his own army behind. Mir Khwája Kilán, who was his prime minister (and a slight allusion to whose character has been made above), exerted himself to the same purpose. Kámrán Mirzá sent him on in advance, and then followed in person.

While this was passing, Shir Khán advanced to the banks of the Ganges and crossed his army over. Kutb Khán, his son, marched towards Atáva [Etáwa] and Kálpi. These territories were the fiefs [ikta] of Husain Sultán, who was one of the Uzbeg Sultáns,* and Yádgár Násir Mirzá, son of Sultán Násir Mirzá, the brother of the Emperor Bábar, whose story has been told above. Part of Kálpi had been given to Kámrán Mirzá and he had sent to that district Iskandar Sultán, as his representative. These three persons advanced against Kutb Khán, who was slain in the battle, and they gained a complete victory. The Emperor now marched from Agra towards the Ganges against Shir Khán.

Kámrán Mirzá, having placed the entire management of his own affairs in my hands, strongly urged me to return to Láhur. He represented as follows: “You left Kashghár on account of the unworthy treatment of your own people, whom you had served faithfully all your life: the result is evident. When you came to me, I treated you, in consideration of our relationship, like a brother—nay, even better: I entrusted the conduct of all my affairs to you and gave you full authority to appoint and displace, and generally to administer [my dominion]. If in these matters I have been guilty of any shortcoming, you must point it out to me, that I may make reparation. But do not, on the other hand, at such a crisis as this, when the enemy has the upper hand in my kingdom and disease in my body, withdraw the hand of brotherly compassion from acts of kindness; rather save me from these two imminent dangers, and accompany me to Láhur.”

Now the Emperor and myself had become friends, after the Moghul fashion, and he had given me the name of dust [friend]. In council he never addressed me by any other name, and on the firmáns it was written in this manner. No one of my brothers or the Sultáns of the time, who had been in the Emperor's service, had ever been honoured in such a way as was I, Muhammad Haidar Kurkán, who being the approved friend of such a prince as the Emperor, was called not merely ‘brother’ but was chosen as dust.

Although I was already in the service of Kámrán Mirzá [the Emperor] acted upon my advice in all his affairs. He said: “What Kámrán Mirzá asks of you, with regard to escorting him [to Láhur], in consequence of the aggravated symptoms of his malady, which prevent his full comprehension of things as they are, is not an affair of yours. His going does not depend upon your accompanying him, nor are you in any way bound to go to Láhur. If he gives his illness as a reason, you are not a physician, nor have you any remedies. If he urges you on the ground of kinship, your relationship descends from the [late] Emperor, and therefore your connection with me and with Kámrán Mirzá is exactly equal. Consider, for the sake of justice, the truth of what I am saying to you! On the issue of this battle between myself and Shir Khán, depends the fate of all India and all the house of Bábar Pádisháh. If, with such a conflict about to take place, you betake yourself to Láhur on account of Kámrán Mirzá's sickness, two things will ensue. Firstly, having escaped from the yawning abyss, you will save your own head, and by means of Kámrán Mirzá's feigned illness, will regain safety. All the rest will die, but you will be safe! Secondly, you being the cousin of Bábar Pádisháh, your relationship [to his sons] is equal, and it is fitting that you should show your sympathy with the whole of the Emperor's race. In such a flight as you meditate, you will bear nobody's sorrow.* Escaping in safety to Láhur, you will thence proceed to whatever place you consider secure. If you think this conformable with the conduct of a ‘friend’ and a ‘brother,’ you may act accordingly: but know, for a certainty, that you will encounter the opposition of the people. Instead of their saying: ‘In spite of Kámrán Mirzá's illness, he did not escort him to Láhur, but with sound judgment, took part in the Ganges campaign with the army:’ they will say that you left me alone to undertake a combat, on the result of which hung the fate of the house to whom your loyalty is owing. [They will add] that giving as an excuse the illness of Kámrán Mirzá, you found for yourself a place of security. Besides, it is a fact that if we lose the day here, Láhur too will quickly fall.”

These arguments quite convinced me, and being unable to obtain Kámrán Mirzá's permission, I remained behind without it.*

Kámrán Mirzá himself, shamefully leaving only Iskandar Sultán with about one thousand men as auxiliaries, went off to Láhur, taking with him all the men from Agra whom he could carry with him, thus giving strength to the enemy and preparing defeat for his friends.

The Imperial army reached the banks of the Ganges in the best way that it could. There it encamped and lay for about a month, the Emperor being on one side of the river, and Shir Khán on the other, facing each other. The armies may have amounted to more than 200,000 men. Muhammad Sultán Mirzá, a descendant of Ulugh Mirzá and Sháh Mirzá (who were of the house of Timur) and grandson (by a daughter) of Sultán Husain Mirzá (of Khorásán), had come to India to wait upon the Emperor Bábar, and had been received with every mark of kindness and royal favour. After Bábar's death, he had several times revolted against Humáyun; but being unsuccessful, he had sought forgiveness, and had been pardoned. Now having colluded with Shir Khán, he deserted. A new way was thus opened. Everybody began to desert, and the most surprising part of it was, that many of those who deserted did not go over to Shir Khán, and so could expect no favour from him. An excited feeling ran through the army and the cry was, “Let us go and rest in our homes.” A number of Kámrán's auxiliary forces also abandoned him and fled to Láhur.

Among the equipments which were in the train of the Emperor were 700 carriages (gardun), each drawn by four pairs of bullocks, and carrying a swivel (zarb-zan), which discharged a ball (kalola) of 500 mithkáls weight. I, myself, saw several times that from the top of an eminence they unfailingly (bi-khatá) struck horsemen who slightly and unsuspectingly exposed themselves. And there were twenty-one carriages, each drawn by eight pairs of bullocks. Stone balls were of no use in these, but the shots were of molten brass weighing 5000 mithkáls, and the cost of each was 200 mithkáls of silver. They would strike anything that was visible at the distance of a parasang.

As the army had taken to desert, it was judged better to risk a battle, than to see it go to ruin without fighting. If the result were unfavourable, we could not, at least, be accused of having abandoned an empire like Hindustán, without striking a blow. Another consideration was, that if we passed the river, desertion would no longer be possible. We therefore crossed over.

Both armies entrenched themselves. Everyday skirmishes occurred between the adventurous, swaggering spirits of both sides. These proceedings were put an end to by the monsoon rains, which came on and flooded the ground, rendering it unfit for a camp. To move was indispensable. Opinions were expressed that another such a deluge would sink the whole army in the abyss of despair, and it was proposed to move to some rising ground which the inundation could not reach, and which lay in front of the enemy. I went to reconnoitre, and found a place suitable for the purpose.

I said that we would, on the morrow, try the enemy on the touch­stone of experience; for he ought not to attack while we were on the march, but if he should do so, it would be wrong to attempt a pitched battle while moving. The morrow would be the 10th of Moharram, and we must keep our forces well under control, until we should see if the enemy came out of his trenches and advanced against us. Then, at last, a regular pitched battle would be fought between us. The proper plan would be for us to place the mortars and swivels in front: and the gunners, nearly 5000 in number, must be stationed with the guns. If he should come out to attack us, there would be no time or place more suitable than the present, for battle. If he should not come out of his entrench­ments, we must remain drawn up till about midday, and then return to our position. Next day we must act in just the same way. Then the baggage must move to the new position, and we must follow and occupy the place. This scheme of mine met with general approbation.

On the 10th Moharram, 947, we mounted to carry the plan into effect, and made our dispositions. As had been determined, the carriages and mortars and small guns were placed in the centre. The command of the guns was given to Muhammad Khán Rumi, to the sons of Ustád Ali Kuli, to Ustád Ahmad Rumi and Husain Khalifa. They placed the carriages and mortars in their proper positions, and stretched chains between them. In other divisions there were Amirs of no repute—men who were Amirs [nobles] only in name. They had got possession of the country, but they had not a tincture of prudence or knowledge, or energy or emulation, or dignity of mind or generosity—qualities from which nobility draws its name.

The Emperor had posted the author of this work upon his left, so that his right flank should be on the Emperor's left. In the same position he had placed a force of chosen troops. On my left all my retainers were stationed. I had 400 chosen men, inured to warfare and familiar with battle, fifty of whom were mounted on horses accoutred with armour. Between me and the river (jui-bár) there was a force of twenty-seven Amirs, all of whom carried the tugh [banner]. In this position also, were the other components of the left wing, and they must be judged of by the others. On the day of battle, when Shir Khán, having formed his divisions, marched out, of all these twenty-seven banners not one was to be seen, for the great nobles had hidden them, in the apprehension that the enemy might advance upon them. The soldiership and bravery of the Amirs may be conceived from this exhibition of courage.

Shir Khán came out in five divisions of 1000 men each, and in advance of him were 3000 men. I estimated the whole as being less than 15,000, but I calculated the Chaghatái force at about 40,000, all mounted on tipchák horses, and clad in iron armour. They surged like the waves of the sea, but the courage of the Amirs and officers of the army was such as I have described. When Shir Khán's army came out of its entrenchments, two divisions (jauk) which seemed to be equal to four divisions, drew up in that place, and three divisions advanced against their opponents. On our side I was leading the centre, to take up the position which I had selected; but when we reached the ground, we were unable to occupy it, for every Amir and Vazir in the Chaghatái army, whether he be rich or poor, has his camp-followers [ghulam]. An Amir of note, with his 100 retainers and followers, has 500 servants and ghulams, who on the day of battle render no assistance to their masters and have no control over themselves. So in whatever place there was a conflict, the ghulams were entirely ungovernable. When they lost their masters, they were seized with panic and blindly rushed about in terror. In short, it was impossible to hold our ground. They so pressed us in the rear, that they drove the centre upon the chains stretched between the chariots, and they and the soldiers dashed each other upon them. Those who were behind, so pressed upon those who were in front, that they broke through the chains. The men who were posted by the chains were driven beyond them, and the few who remained behind were broken, so that all formation was destroyed.*

Such was the state of the centre. On the right Shir Khán advanced in battle array; but before an arrow was discharged, the camp followers fled like chaff before the wind, and breaking the line, they all pressed towards the centre. The ghulams whom the commanders had sent to the front, rushed to the lines of chariots, and the whole array was broken: the Mir was separated from his men, and the men from the Mir. While the centre was thus thrown into disorder, all the fugitives from the right bore down upon it. So before the enemy had discharged an arrow, the whole army was scattered and defeated. I had estimated the Chaghatái army as numbering 40,000 men, excluding the camp-followers [ghulam] and workmen [shágird pisha]. They fled before 10,000 men, and Shir Khán gained a victory, while the Chaghatái were defeated on this battle-field, where not a man, either friend or foe, was wounded. Not a gun was fired and the chariots [gardun] were useless.

When the Chaghatái took to flight, the distance between their position and the Ganges might be nearly a farsákh. All the Amirs and braves [báhadurán] fled for safety to the river, without a man of them having received a wound. The enemy pursued them, and the Chaghatái, having no time to throw off their armour and coats, plunged into the water. The breadth of the river might be about five bowshots. Many illustrious Amirs were drowned, and each one remained or went on, at his will. When we came out of the river, His Majesty, who at midday had a retinue of 17,000 in attendance upon his court, was mounted upon a horse which had been given to him by Tardi Beg, and had nothing on his head or feet. “Permanence is from God and dominion is from God.” Out of 1000 retainers eight persons came out of the river; the rest had perished in the water. The total loss may be estimated from this fact. When we reached Agra, we made no tarry, but, broken and dispirited, in a state heart-rending to relate, we went on to Láhur.