After he had dwelt some time in the city of Sáí, the thought
entered his mind to build, at some auspicious moment, a new town,
where happiness might remain for ever. Brahmans and astrologers
having settled a lucky day, and having sought a spot in the neighbourhood
of Sámúí, they selected an eligible place, where now stands the
city of Tatta, and there, with the assent of the Jám, the foundation
was laid. A division of the land having been made, mansions and
houses were constructed. In truth, at such a fortunate moment was
the foundation of this place laid, that trouble and affliction have
never visited its inhabitants. Contented with what they possess,
they carry on their affairs in luxury and ease. The cheerfulness and
happiness which reigns among these people has never yet been, nor
ever will be found elsewhere. Each month has several 'Íds for
them; the first Friday after the new moon, they call in their Sindí
language, Máh-pahra Jum'a. Such a crowd of men and women
flock, on this day, to the Makalí monntain, that there is scarce room
to stand. It has become a custom, among many classes, to consider
the similar festival of Máh-pahra Somár—or the first Monday in
each month—a great day for making pilgrimages. The pleasure of
visiting each other, induces them to go in large parties, taking with
them abundance of sweet river water and food such as they can
afford. The day is spent in amusements, and visits to the shrines.
The reason why they take water with them is, that the rain-water
found in the tanks contiguous to the tombs is brackish, owing to the
nitrous nature of the soil, and consequently, though fit for oblations, is
not fit to drink. When evening puts a close to these pleasures, they
seek their own abode. Besides the shrine of the Shaikh of Shaikhs,
Shaikh Patta, there are some ten or twelve other places, where
darweshes perform their dance. These excitable men often work
themselves into such a state of holy ecstacy, that they cast themselves
on the rocks of the mountain of Makalí; but by the blessing of their
learned doctors and teachers, no harm befalls them. This custom,
however much opposed to the laws of Islam, has been transmitted
from generation to generation, and all the attempts of wise teachers
and just governors have never succeeded in putting a stop to it
More wonderful still, is the fact that, during the rainy months, only
a few showers fall on the mountain. At its summit is a pond, which
they call “Kíra tal,” or sweet tank; so long as the water of the
heavens fills it, men and women of all classes, Hindús and Musul-
When Jám Nanda, son of Bábiniya had to the gratification of his friends, become the occupant of the throne of Tatta, he embellished the new city and ruled with so much justice and moderation that every citizen found happiness at his own hearth.
“That spot is Elysium where oppression comes not
Where no one interferes with another.”
One day he went out to hunt, taking with him his minister Lakzhír.* The latter had with him a young slave named Kabúla, to whom was entrusted the care of his master's drinking-water. This boy was in reality the son of a Saiyid, but having fallen into captivity, he had been purchased by the minister. The Jám, becoming thirsty during the chase, called for water. His own water-carrier not being on the spot, the minister ordered his boy to fill a cup for the king. The lad, young in years but old in wisdom, filled the cup and threw in it some small blades of grass. The Jám put down the cup, and asked him what grass had to do in drinking water. The slave replied: “I saw your highness was very thirsty, and I feared lest you should drink too large a quantity and suffer from it in riding; I therefore put in the water these small obstacles, that you might drink in moderation.” There was nothing so wonderful in this, but the boy's destiny befriended him, and the Jám was much pleased. He took Kabúla from the minister and made him one of his personal attendants. Day by day his affection for the youth increased, and finding him possessed of sufficient abilities to administer the affairs of the kingdom, or even to govern one, he soon conferred upon him the title of Mubárak Khán and employed him in all difficult matters. He loved him better than his own children and relatives. The Jám had many good men around him, such as Wazír Dilshád, who in the year 912 H. (1506 A.D.) carried his victorious arms from Tatta as far as the city of Úch, yet Mubárak carried off from all of them the ball of good fortune, and was honoured by the king with the management of the affairs of the State in preference to his own son, Jám Fíroz. He brought the country, from Multán to the borders of Kandahár and from Kach to Makrán, into such subjection, that if at midnight one of his officers carried an order to any of the Zamíndárs and Búmiyas of these territories, it was instantly and gratefully obeyed. Such was the terror of his name in these turbulent provinces, that a pregnant woman miscarried if she heard of his approach. So far had spread the fame and dread of his incursions, that the words— “Silence, the terrible chieftain is coming,” were enough to stop the crying of a wayward child.*
When at length, after a reign of seventy-three years, Jám Nanda passed from this perishable world to the abodes of immortality, he confided the care of the kingdom, of his treasures, his family, and his son Jám Fíroz, to Daryá Khán. “The management of the affairs of this kingdom,” said the dying ruler, “devolves on thee. Discharge thy duty to Jám Fíroz with zeal and self devotion.”*