There was wonderful cheerfulness and happiness because many officers and their followers met their relations again, for they too had been sundered because of their masters' quarrels. Nay! one might rather say they had thirsted for one another's blood. Now they passed their time in complete happiness.

On his return from Badakhshān the Emperor spent a year and a half in Kābul and then resolved to go to Balkh. He took up his quarters in the Heart-expanding Garden,* and his own residence was over against the lower part of the garden, and the begams were in Qulī Beg's house because it was close by.

The begams said to the Emperor over and over again: ‘Oh, how the rīwāj* will be coming up!’ He replied: ‘When I join the army, I shall travel by the Koh-dāman, so that you may come out and see the rīwāj growing.’ It was at afternoon prayer-time that he rode out* (of Kābul) to the garden. Qulī Beg's house where the begams were, was close by and overlooked it, and his Majesty pulled up as he passed, and all the begams saw him, and rose and made the kōrnish. (73b) Directly they had made this salutation, he beckoned with his own blessed hand, to say: ‘Come.’*

Fakhru-n-nisā' māmā and Afghānī āghācha went on a little ahead. There was a stream in the lower part of the garden which Afghānī āghācha could not cross, and she fell off her horse. For this reason there was an hour's delay.* At last we set out with his Majesty. Māh-chūchak Begam not knowing, her horse went up a little.* His Majesty was very much annoyed about this. The garden was on a height and the walls were not yet made. Some vexation now showed itself in his blessed countenance and he was pleased to say: ‘All of you go on, and I will follow when I have taken some opium and got over my annoyance.’ He joined us when we had, as he ordered, gone on a little. The look of vexation was entirely laid aside and he came with a happy and beautiful look in his face.

It was a moonlight night. (83a) We talked and told stories,* and Mīr (fault) and Khānish āghācha and arīf the reciter and Sarū-sahī and Shāham āghā sang softly, softly.

Up to the time of our reaching Laghmān, neither the royal tents nor the pavilions of the begams had arrived, but the mihr-amez* tent had come. We all, his Majesty and all of us, and Ḥamīda-bānū Begam sat in that tent till three hours past midnight and then we went to sleep where we were, in company with that altar of truth (Humāyūn).

Early next morning he wished to go and see the rīwāj on the Kōh. The begams' horses were in the village, so the starting-time passed before they came up. The Emperor ordered that the horses of everyone who was outside should be brought. When they came he gave the order: ‘Mount.’

Bega Begam and Māh-chūchak Begam were still putting on their head-to-foot dresses, and I said to the Emperor: ‘If you think well, I will go and fetch them.’ ‘Go,’ he answered, ‘and bring them quickly.’ I said to the begams and to Māh-chūchak Begam and the rest of the ladies: ‘I have become the slave of his Majesty's wishes. What trouble waiting gives!’ I was gathering them all together and bringing them when he came to meet me and said: ‘Gul-badan! the proper hour for starting has gone by. (83b) It would be hot the whole way. God willing, we will go after offering the afternoon prayer.’ He seated himself in a tent with Ḥamīda-bānū Begam.* After afternoon prayers, there was the interval between two prayers before the horses arrived. In this interval he went away.*

Everywhere in the Dāman-i-kōh the rīwāj had put up its leaves. We went to the skirts of the hills and when it was evening, we walked about. Tents and pavilions were pitched on the spot and there his Majesty came and stayed. Here too we passed the nights together in sociable talk, and were all in company of that altar of truth.

In the morning at prayer-time, he went away to a distance (bīrūn), and from there wrote separate letters to Bega Begam and to Ḥamīda-bānū Begam and to Māh-chūchak Begam and to me and to all the begams,* saying: ‘Becoming spokeswoman of your own fault, write apolo­gizing for the trouble you have given. God willing, I shall say farewell and go to join the army either at Farẓa or Istālīf, and if not we shall travel apart.’ (74a)

Then everyone wrote to apologize for having given trouble, and sent the letter for his holy and elevating service.

In the end his Majesty and all the begams mounted and rode by Lamghān to Bihzādī. At night each one went to her own quarters, and in the morning they ate (? alone), and at mid-day prayer-time rode to Farẓa.

Ḥamīda-bānū Begam sent nine sheep to the quarters of each one of us. Bībī Daulat-bakht had come one day earlier to Farẓa and had got ready plenty of provisions and milk and curds and syrup and sherbet and so on. We spent that evening in amusement. In the early morning (we went) above Farẓa to where there is a beautiful water­fall. Then his Majesty went to Istālīf and passed three days, and then in 958H.* marched towards Balkh.

When he crossed the pass, he sent farmāns to summon Mīrzā Kāmrān and Mīrzā Sulaimān and Mīrzā 'Askarī, and said: ‘We are on the march to fight the Uzbegs; now is the time for union and brotherliness. You ought to come as quickly as possible.’ Mīrzā Sulaimān and Mīrzā 'Askarī came and joined him. (74b) Then march by march they came to Balkh.

In Balkh was Pīr Muḥammad Khān,* and on the first day his men sallied out and drew up in battle array. The royal army carried off the victory, and Pīr Muḥammad's men tasted defeat and returned to the city. By the next morning the khān had come to think: ‘The Chaghatāī are strong; I cannot fight them. It would be better to get out and away.’ Just then the royal officers joined in repre­senting that the camp had become filthy, and that it would be well to move to a desert place (dasht). His Majesty ordered them to do so.

No sooner were hands laid on the baggage and pack­saddles, than others raised a clamour and some cried out: ‘We are not strong enough.’ Since such was the Divine will, the royal army took the road without cause from a foe, without reason or motive.* The news of their march reached the Uzbegs and amazed them. Try as the royal officers would, they produced not a scrap of effect. It could not be hindered: the royal army ran away. (75a)

The Emperor waited a little, and when he saw that no one was left, he too had to go. Mīrzā 'Āskarī and Mīrzā Hindāl, not having heard of the confusion, rode up to the camp. They found no one and saw that the Uzbegs had gone in pursuit, so they too took the road and made for Kunduz. After riding a little way, his Majesty stopped and said: ‘My brothers are not here yet: how can I go on?’ He asked the officers and attendants whether anyone would bring him news of the princes. No one answered or went. Later on word came from the Mīrzā's people in Kunduz that they had heard of the disaster and did not know where the princes had gone. This letter upset the Emperor very much. Khiẓr Khwāja Khān said: ‘If you approve, I will bring news.’ ‘God's mercy on you!’ re­joined his Majesty. ‘May they have gone to Kunduz!’ (75b)

Two days afterwards the khwāja, to the Emperor's great delight, brought word that Mīrzā Hindāl had arrived at Kunduz safe and sound. His Majesty gave Mīrzā Sulaimān leave to go to his own place, Qila'-i-afar, and came himself to Kābul (1550, 957H.).

While Mīrzā Kāmrān was in Kūlāb, a woman named Tarkhān* Bega, who was a thorough cheat, showed him the way by saying: ‘Make a declaration of love to Ḥaram Begam.* Good will come of it.’ Acting on these words of an ill-judging adviser, he actually sent a letter and a kerchief* to Ḥaram Begam by the hand of Begī āghā. This woman laid the letter and the kerchief before the begam and then set forth the mīrzā's devotion and passion. Ḥaram Begam said: ‘Keep that letter and that kerchief now and bring them again when the mīrzās come home.’ Begī āghā then wept, and moaned, and coaxed, and said: ‘Mīrzā Kāmrān has sent you this letter and this kerchief; he has loved you a long time, and you have no pity for him.’ (76a) Ḥaram Begam began to show her disgust and violent anger, and at once sent off for her husband, Mīrzā Sulaimān, and her son, Mīrzā Ibrāhīm. She said to them: ‘Mīrzā Kāmrān must have come to think you are cowards, since he sends me a letter like this. Have I deserved to be written to in this way? He is as your elder brother, and I am to him as a younger brother's wife.* Send off a letter for me about it and rebuke him. As for this wretch of a woman, tear her piece by piece. Let her be a warning to others that no man may cast the evil eye of sinful thought upon another man's womanfolk. What does such a man deserve who, the son of a mother, yet does such monstrous things, and who fears neither me* nor my son?’