In the year 973 H. (1565 A.D.,) near the end of his life, Mirzá 'Isa Tarkhán, proceeded with his son, Mirzá Muhammad Bákí, in the direction of Bhakkar. As they drew near the town of Durbela, a dependency of Bhakkar, Mahmúd Khán, having strengthened his stronghold, sent forth his army to meet them, for, thought he, what breach of contract is this? They bring an army into my territory! What can be their object? It was the intention of Muhammad Bákí, to detach the Parganah of Durbela, from the province of Bhakkar, and to incorporate it in that of Síwán; but he was frustrated in this design by the army of Mahmúd Khán, which was powerful, and was everywhere prepared for fight. Blood had not yet been spilled, when, suddenly, news came from Thatta, that the Firingís had passed Láhorí Bandar, and attacked the city, The gates were closed, said the despatch; if the army returned without delay, the place would be delivered; otherwise, the enemy was strong, and would effect his object. This intelligence caused the Mirzá to desist from prosecuting the quarrel any further. Leaving the country under the rule of the Khán, he speedily embarked in his boats, and departed. Before he could arrive, the Firingís had sacked the city, and filled it with fire and slaughter. Many of the inhabitants had found an asylum in the Jáma' Masjid of Mír Farrukh Arghún, which they quitted, on hearing of the Mirzá's approach. The mode of the Firingís coming was as follows:—Between the town of Thatta and Láhorí Bandar is a distance of two days journey—both by land and by water; beyond this, it is another day's march to the sea. There is a small channel, (called nár in the language of Thatta), communicating with the port; it is in some places about ten tanábs wide, in others, something more. It is unfordable. Between the port and the ocean there is but one inhabited spot, called Súí Miání. Here a guard belonging to the Mír Bandar, or port-master, with a loaded piece of ordnance, is always stationed. Whenever a ship enters the creek, it intimates its approach by firing a gun, which is responded to by the guard-house, in order, by that signal, to inform the people at the port, of the arrival of a strange vessel. These, again, instantly send word of its arrival to the merchants of Thatta, and then embarking on boats, repair to the place where the guard is posted. Ere they reach it, those on the look-out have already enquired into the nature of the ship. Every vessel and trader must undergo this questioning. All concerned in the business, now go in their boats, (ghrábs) to the mouth of the creek. If the ship belong to the port it is allowed to move up and anchor under Láhorí Bandar; if it belong to some other port, it can go no further, its cargo is transferred into boats, and forwarded to the city. To be brief, when these Firingí traders had got so far, and learned that the king of the country was away on a distant expedition, they felt that no serious obstacle could be made to their advance. The Mír Bandar wished to enforce the regulations, but he was plainly told by the foreigners that they had no intention of staying at the Bandar, but that they intended to proceed on to Thatta, in the small boats (ghrábs) in which they had come. There they would take some relaxation, sell their goods, buy others, and then return. The ill-provided governor, unable to resist them by force, for their plans had been well laid, was fain to give in; so, passing beyond the Bandar, the Firingís moved in boats, up the river Sind towards Thatta, plundering as they went all the habitations on the banks. The ruler of the country being away, no one had sufficient power to arrest the progress of the invaders. They reached the city unmolested; but here the garrison, left by the Mirzá, defended the place with the greatest gallantry. A spirited contest with artillery took place on the banks of the river. In the end the defenders were overpowered; the enemy penetrated the city, and had made themselves fully masters of it, when the Mirzá arrived in all haste. As soon as they heard of his being near, with a powerful army, they loaded their boats with as much spoil as they could contain, and withdrew.*
The Mirzá, who had previously laid the foundation of a citadel for protection against the Arghúns, now deemed it necessary to encircle his palace and the whole city, with fortifications.
His reign ended with his life in the year 984 H. (1576 A.D.) His wealth and kingdom passed into the hands of his son—Muhammad Bákí.
Mirzá Muhammad Bákí ruled with a strong hand, and ruin fell upon the houses and property of the people. No one dared to oppose his improper proceedings. He did not consider it expedient, that any one with pretensions to eminence, learning, or genius, should be left in undisturbed tranquillity. Nobles and plebeians, men of rank, and men without rank, Saiyids, Shaikhs, Kázís and Judges, were all driven from their time-honoured abodes, and ordered to dwell without the city, as the Mirzá was of opinion that they were disaffected. To the eldest son of Míyan Saiyid 'Alí, although married to the daughter of Muhammad's brother, Mirzá Sálih, no more leniency was shown; he experienced the same treatment as the rest. Tyranny became the rule. Of the travellers from all parts who passed through the country, those whom he deemed worthy of notice were summoned to his presence. So affably were they received, and such the apparent kindness shown to them, that it served as a balm to the weariness of travel. The beguiled stranger was deluded into the belief, that, in the wide world, there could not exist so benevolent a patron to travellers. When the visitors were preparing to depart, the Mirzá would say to his Mír Bahr, or superintendent of his Boat Department, that, as the breezes of his kingdom were soft and balmy, and river-excursions tended to cheerfulness, he must place a handsome boat at their disposal. As soon as they had been thus politely enticed into the middle of the stream, a plank was taken out of the bottom of the boat, and the unhappy travellers were drowned. This was done to provent the chance of anyone talking of this favoured land elsewhere, so that the country, which had required such labour and pains to subdue, should find another conqueror. Any poor traveller, not considered fit to appear in the presence, was simply put to death.* Such was the meanness of this prince, that, only once a week, on Thursdays, was a meal prepared in the Díwán -khána; beyond this, he gave away nothing. If he heard of any person living generously in his own house, it mattered not whether he were a relative or otherwise, a citizen or a soldier, he laid the hand of tyranny on his possessions, nor withdrew it so long as a thing was left to take. Cunning showed itself in every word he spoke. Seated in the audience-tent, hardly a moment passed, but he said to his nobles: “Bring me gold, bring me grain; let this be your sole occupation, for these form the basis of power.” The privations which he had formerly endured led him to heap treasure upon treasure, and grain upon grain. Not a corner of the citadel of Thatta but was filled with rice. Often the grain got clotted, and the heat arising therefrom occasioned spontaneous combustion, but the Mirzá would not have it removed from the fort, nor allow it to be given away. At harvest-time he held a revenue audit, and collecting all his dependents, he paid them, according to their dues, by assignments, partly in grain and partly in money. At length, one day his officers respectfully informed him that the fort was so full of old and new grain, that no room could be found for the produce of the coming harvest. The grain was getting clotted and burnt, so that it was best to assist the people with it, for, by this means, something would be saved at all events. The Mirzá replied, that they should have his answer on the morrow. During the night, he ordered some loaves to be made of clay. When the nobles came in the morning to pay their respects, the Mirzá ordered the cloth to be spread, and, contrary to custom, invited them to eat. They screwed up their courage, and wondered what evil was impending. For any officer of the state who incurred the ruler's displeasure was usually cut into pieces, which were placed in dishes, and carefully sent to his officers' houses, as a warning, to keep up a perpetual dread of his punishment. As the wondering and terrified nobles removed the dish covers, and beheld the strange-looking loaves laid out for the woeful meal, they cast glances from one to another, as if to say, what can this mean? Their host asked why they did not partake of the food before them. “You have all I can give you,” said he; “perchance you are wealthy men, and do not like my simple fare.” Impelled by fear, some of the ministers took the burnt rice-loaves. The Mirzá angrily enquired why they did not also partake of the other loaves. They replied: “Sire, your prosperity and wisdom are great: but to eat clay is difficult. In his fierce anger he became abusive, and exclaimed, “Oh! ye simpletons, how long will your wisdom ensure the welfare of my kingdom? Useless grain may at times render good service, for is it not better than clay? It may serve as food for the maintenance of life. Of what good are you, since the mere sight of clay-bread has half killed you! and you give me unsuitable advice! Have you not heard, how, when Humáyún came into this country, and Mirzá Sháh Husain Arghún laid waste the whole land, and gave orders for the sowing of grain,* what hunger and misery were endured; how raw hides and old skins were cooked in hot water and eaten?*”