THE blockade drawing out to a great length, provisions
and supplies coming in from no quarter, and no succours
or reinforcements appearing on any hand, the soldiers and
inhabitants at length began to lose all hope, went off by ones
and twos, escaped from the city*
and deserted. Sheibāni
Khan, who knew the distress of the inhabitants, came and
encamped at the Lovers’ Cave. I also moved my head-quarters
and came to Kūe payān (Low Street) to Malik
Muhammed Mirza’s house.*
At this crisis, Ūzūn Hassan,
the son of Khwājeh Hussain, who had been the chief
ringleader in the rebellion of Jehāngīr Mirza, by which I had
formerly been obliged to leave Samarkand; and who had
afterwards been the prime mover of much rebellion and
sedition, as has been related, entered the town with ten or
fifteen followers. The famine and distress of the town’s-people
and soldiers had now reached the greatest excess.
Even men who were about my person, and others high in
my confidence, began to let themselves down over the walls
and make their escape. Of the chiefs, Weis Sheikh and
Weis Bāburi*
deserted and fled. I now despaired of
assistance or relief from any quarter. There was no side
to which I could look with hope. Our provisions and stores,
which from the first had been scanty, were now totally
exhausted, and no new supplies could enter the city. In
these circumstances, Sheibāni Khan proposed terms. Had
I had the slightest hopes of relief, or had any stores remained
within the place, never would I have listened to him.
Compelled, however, by necessity, a sort of capitulation
Bābur
leaves the
city,
was agreed upon, and about midnight I left the place by
Sheikh-zādeh’s gate, accompanied by my mother the
Khanum. Two other ladies escaped with us, the one of
them Bechega Khalīfeh, the other Mingelik Gokultāsh: my
eldest sister Khanzādeh Begum was intercepted, and fell
into the hands of Sheibāni Khan, as we left the place on
this occasion. Having entangled ourselves among the great
branches of the canals of the Soghd, during the darkness of
the night, we lost our way, and after encountering many
difficulties, we passed Khwājeh Dīdār about dawn. By
the time of early morning prayers, we arrived at the hillock
of Kārbūgh, and passing it on the north below the village
of Khardek*
we made for Ilān-ūtī. On the road, I had a race
with Kamber Ali and Kāsim Beg. My horse got the lead.
As I turned round on my seat to see how far I had left them
behind, my saddle-girth being slack, the saddle turned
round, and I came to the ground right on my head. Although
I immediately sprang up and mounted, yet I did not recover
the full possession of my faculties till the evening, and the
world, and all that occurred at the time, passed before my
eyes and apprehension like a dream, or a phantasy, and
disappeared. The time of afternoon prayers was past ere
we reached Ilān-ūtī, where we alighted, and, having killed
a horse, cut him up, and dressed slices of his flesh; we stayed
a little time to rest our horses, then mounting again, before
daybreak we alighted at the village of Khalīleh. From
reaches
Dizak.
Khalīleh we proceeded to Dizak.*
At that time Tāher
Duldāi, the son of Hāfiz Muhammed Beg Duldāi, was
governor of Dizak. Here we found nice fat flesh, bread of
fine flour well baked, sweet melons, and excellent grapes in
great abundance; thus passing from the extreme of famine
to plenty, and from an estate of danger and calamity to
peace and ease:
(Tūrki)— From famine and distress we have escaped to repose
We have gained fresh life, and a fresh world.(Persian)— The fear of death was removed from the heart
The torments of hunger were removed away.
In my whole life, I never enjoyed myself so much, nor at any period of it felt so sensibly the pleasures of peace and plenty. Enjoyment after suffering, abundance after want, come with increased relish, and afford more exquisite delight. I have four or five times,* in the course of my life, passed in a similar manner from distress to ease, and from a state of suffering to enjoyment: but this was the first time that I had ever been delivered from the injuries of my enemy, and the pressure of hunger, and passed from them to the ease of security, and the pleasures of plenty. Having rested and enjoyed ourselves two or three days in Dizak, we proceeded on to Uratippa.
Visits Peshāgher is a little out of the road, yet as I had formerly
passed some time there, I turned aside and visited it again.
In the fortress of Peshāgher I unexpectedly fell in with an
ātūn (or governess), who had long been in the service of the
Khanum, my mother, but whom, on the present occasion,
for want of horses, we had been compelled to leave behind
in Samarkand. On accosting her, we found that she had
travelled all the way from Samarkand on foot. My mother’s
younger sister, Khub Nigār Khanum,*
had departed from
this transitory life; information of the event was communicated
to my mother and me at Uratippa. My father’s
mother had also paid the debt of mortality at Andejān, and
the news was communicated here. My mother,*
since the
death of my maternal grandfather,*
had never seen her
mothers,*
nor her younger brother and sisters, Shah Begum,
Sultan Muhammed Khan, Sultan Nigār Khanum,*
and
Doulet Sultan Khanum,*
and had been separated from them
thirteen or fourteen years. She now set out for Tāshkend,
Goes to
Tāshkend.
for the purpose of seeing them. After consulting with
Muhammed Hussain Mirza, it was arranged that I should
take up my winter-quarters in the village of Dehkat, which
belongs to Uratippa. I therefore went thither with my
baggage, which I deposited there, and in the course of a few
days afterwards, I, too, went to Tāshkend to see Shah
Begum, my maternal uncle, and my other friends and
relations. I waited on Shah Begum and my uncle accordingly,
and remained with them for some days. My mother’s
eldest sister of the full-blood, Meher Nigār Khanum,*
also
arrived from Samarkand. My mother the Khanum fell sick,
became desperately ill, and was reduced to the point of
death. The reverend Khwājehka Khwājeh had left Samarkand,
and now arrived at Farket. I went to Farket and
paid the Khwājeh a visit. I had entertained hopes that the
Khan my uncle, from affection and regard, might give me
some country or district; and he did give me Uratippa, but
Mahmūd Hussain Mirza refused to deliver it up. Whether
he did this of himself, or acted on a hint from higher
authority, I cannot tell; however that be, in a few days
Returns to
Dehkat.
I returned to Dehkat.
Dehkat is one of the hill-districts of Uratippa.* It lies on the skirts of a very high mountain, immediately on passing which, you come on the country of Masīkha. The inhabitants, though Sarts,* have large flocks of sheep, and herds of mares, like the Tūrks. The sheep belonging to Dehkat may amount to forty thousand. We took up our lodgings in the peasants’ houses. I lived at the house of one of the head men of the place. He was an aged man, seventy or eighty years old. His mother was still alive, and had attained an extreme old age, being at this time a hundred and eleven years old. One of this lady’s relations had accompanied the army of Taimūr Beg, when it invaded Hindustān.* The circumstances remained fresh in her memory, and she often told us stories on that subject. In the district of Dehkat alone, there still were of this lady’s children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren, to the number of ninety-six persons; and including those deceased, the whole amounted to two hundred. One of her great-grandchildren was at this time a young man of twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, with a fine black beard. While I remained in Dehkat, I was accustomed to walk on foot all about the hills in the neighbourhood. I generally went out barefoot, and, from this habit of walking barefoot, I soon found that our feet became so hardened that we did not mind rock or stone in the least. In one of these walks, between afternoon and evening prayers, we met a man who was going with a cow in a narrow road. I asked him the way. He answered, ‘Keep your eye fixed on the cow; and do not lose sight of her till you come to the issue of the road, when you will know your ground.’ Khwājeh Asadullah, who was with me, enjoyed the joke, observing, ‘What would become of us wise men were the cow to lose her way?’