Within a kos of Akhsi there is place called Gumbaz-e-chaman (or the Garden-dome). We had just passed it, when Ibrahīm Beg called out to me for assistance. I looked round and perceived him engaged with a home-bred slave* of Sheikh Bayezīd. I instantly turned my bridle to go back. Jān Kuli Bayān Kuli,* who was by me, exclaimed, ‘What time is this for turning back?’ seized my bridle-reins, and hurried me on. Before we reached Sang they had unhorsed the greater part of my adherents. Sang may be about two kos from Akhsi. After passing Sang we saw no more of the enemy in pursuit. We proceeded up the river of Sang, being at this time only eight in all—Dost Nāsir, Kamber Ali Kāsim Beg, Jān Kuli Bayān Kuli, Mirza Kuli Gokultāsh, Shahim Nāsir, Abdal Kadūs Sayyidī Kāra, and Khwājeh Hussaini; I myself was the eighth. A sort of path leads up the river amidst broken glens, remote from the beaten road. By this unfrequented and retired path we proceeded up the river, till, leaving the river on the right, we struck into another narrow* path. It was about afternoon prayers when we emerged from the broken grounds into the level country. A blackness was discernible afar off in the plain. Having placed my men under cover, I myself, on foot, ascended an eminence to spy what it might be; when suddenly a number of horsemen galloped up the hillock behind us. We could not ascertain precisely how many or how few they were, but took to our horses and continued our flight. The horsemen who followed us were not in all above twenty or twenty-five; and we were eight, as has been mentioned. Had we but known their number when they first came up we should have given them warm play; but we imagined that they were certainly followed by a detachment sent in pursuit of the fugitives. Impressed with this notion, we continued our flight. The fact is, that the fliers, even though the most numerous, can never contend with the pursuers, though the inferior number. As it is said,

(Persian verse)—The shout of hāī is sufficient for vanquished bands.

Jān Kuli said, ‘We must not go on in this way or they will take us all. Let you and Mirza Kuli Gokultāsh, there­fore, select the two best horses of the party,* and galloping off together keep one another’s horses at speed; perhaps you may escape.’ The advice was not a bad one; for, since we could not engage them, this presented a possibility of escape; but I could not consent in such circumstances to leave any of my followers dismounted in the midst of the His follow-
ers taken
one after
another. enemy. At length, however, the party began to separate and fall behind each other. The horse on which I was mounted began to lag. Jān Kuli dismounted and gave me his horse. I leaped from my own and mounted his, while he mounted mine. At this very instant Shahim Nāsir, with Abdal Kadūs Sayyidī Kāra, who had fallen behind, were dismounted by the enemy. Jān Kuli also fell behind; but it was no season for trying to shield or assist him. We, therefore, pushed our horses to their utmost speed, but they gradually flagged and fell off. The horse of Dost Beg too began to flag, and fell behind; and the horse which I rode likewise began to be worn out. Kamber Ali dismount­ing, gave me his own horse. He mounted mine, and presently dropped behind. Khwājeh Hūssaini, who was lame, turned off towards the heights. I now remained alone with Mirza Kuli Gokultāsh. Our horses were too weak to admit of being put to the gallop; we went on at a canter, but the horse of Mirza Kuli began to move slower and slower. I said to him, ‘If deprived of you, whither can I go? Come, then, and be it death or life, let us meet it together.’—I kept on, turning from time to time, to see Mirza Kuli. At last, Mirza Kuli said, ‘My horse is com­pletely blown, and it is impossible for you to escape if you encumber yourself with me. Push on, and shift for yourself. Perhaps you may still escape.’ I was in a singularly Is left alone,
and pursued
by Baba
Seirāmi and
Bandeh Ali. distressful situation. Mirza Kuli also fell behind, and I was left alone. Two of the enemy were in sight; the name of the one was Baba Seirāmi, that of the other Bandeh Ali; they gained upon me; my horse began to flag. There was a hill about a kos off, and I came up to a heap of stones. I reflected with myself that my horse was knocked up, and the hill still a considerable way off. What was to be done? I had about twenty arrows left in my quiver. Should I dismount at this heap of stones, and keep my ground as long as my arrows lasted? But it occurred to me again, that perhaps I might be able to gain the hill, and that if I did I might stick a few arrows in my belt and succeed in climbing it. I had great reliance on my own nimbleness. Impelled by this idea I kept on my course. My horse was unable to make any speed, and my pursuers got within arrow’s reach of me; I was sparing of my arrows, however, and did not shoot. They also were somewhat chary and did not come nearer than a bowshot, but kept on tracking me.

About sunset I got near the hill, when they suddenly called out to me, ‘Where do you intend going that you flee in this manner? Jehāngīr Mirza has been taken and brought in; Nāsir Mirza, too, has been seized.’ I was greatly alarmed at these words; because, if all of us* fell into their hands, we had everything to dread. I made no reply but kept on for the hill. When we had gone a certain way farther they again called out to me. This time they spoke to me in a more gracious style than at first. They dismounted from their horses and began to address me. I did not attend to what they said, but proceeded in my course and, entering a glen, I began to ascend it, and went on till about bedtime prayers, when I reached a large rock about the size of a house. I went behind it and came to an ascent of steep ledges, where the horse could not keep his feet. They also dismounted and began to address me in a still more courteous and respectful style, expostulating with me, and saying, ‘What end can it serve to go on in this manner, in a dark night, and where there is no road? Where can you possibly go?’ Both of them, with a solemn oath, asserted, ‘Sultan Ahmed Beg wishes to place you on the throne.’ ‘I cannot’, I replied, ‘confide in anything of the sort; and to join him is for me impossible. If you are serious in your wish to do me an important service you have now such an opportunity as may not occur for years. Point out to me a road by which I may rejoin the Khans, and I will show you kindness and favour even beyond your highest wishes. If you refuse this, return by the way you came, and leave me to fulfil my destiny—even that will be no mean service.’ ‘Would to God’, they replied, ‘that we had never come; but, since we have come, how can we desert you in this desolate situation? Since you will not accompany us we shall follow you and serve you, go where They swear
to be true
to him. you will.’ I answered, ‘Swear then unto me by the Holy Book that you are sincere in your offer.’ And they swore the heavy and awful oath.

I now began to have a certain degree of confidence in them, and said to them, ‘An open road was formerly pointed out to me near this same valley; do you proceed by it.’ Though they had sworn to me, yet still I could not perfectly confide in them; I therefore made them go on before and followed them. We had advanced a kos or two, when we reached a rivulet. I said, ‘This cannot be the road by the open valley that I spoke of.’ They hesitated, and said, ‘That road is still a considerable way forward.’ The truth is, that we then really were on the very road of the open valley and they were deceiving me and concealing the truth. We went on till midnight, when we again came to a stream. They now said, ‘We have not been sufficiently attentive, and have certainly left behind the road in the open valley.’ I said, ‘What then is to be done?’ They said, ‘The road to Ghava lies a little farther on, and by it you may go to Farket.’ We kept on in our way, therefore, and continued travelling forward till the end of the third watch of the night,* when we reached the river of Karnān, which comes down from Ghava. Baba Seirāmi then said, ‘Stop here, while I go on before, and I will return after reconnoitring the road to Ghava.’ He did return in a short time and told us, ‘A good many men are passing over the plain along the road; it will be impossible for us to go this way.’ I was alarmed at this information. I was in the midst of an enemy’s country, the morning was near at hand, and I was far from the place to which I had wished to go. ‘Show me, then,’ I said, ‘some spot where we may remain concealed during the day, and, when it is night, we can get something for our horses, pass the river of Khojend, and then proceed straight for Khojend by the other side of the river.’ They answered, ‘Hard by there is a hillock, in which we may hide ourselves.’ Bandeh Ali was the Dārogha of Karnān. He said, ‘Neither we nor our horses can long stand out unless we get something to eat. I will go to Karnān, and will bring out whatever I can procure.’ We therefore passed on, and took the road for Karnān. We stopped about a kos from Karnān, while Bandeh Ali went on, and stayed away for a long time. The morning had dawned, yet there was no appearance of our man. I began to be greatly alarmed. Just as it was day, Bandeh Ali came cantering back, bringing three loaves, but no grain for the horses. Each of us taking a loaf under his arm we went off without loss of time, reached the hillock where we wished to Bābur com-
pelled to
conceal
himself. remain in concealment, and, having tied our horses in the low marshy broken grounds, we all mounted the eminence and sat keeping watch on different sides.