IT has already been stated that Sultán Said Khán had passed some time in the service of Sháhi Beg Khán, and was consequently well acquainted with his disposition and that of his nobles. He felt assured that Sháhi Beg would not spare the Moghul Sultáns, merely in recognition of having once been released by them, after having fallen into their hands.* So, whenever he had heard praises bestowed on Sháhi Beg Khán, he had protested. Ulti­mately, things came to such a pass in Moghulistán, that he had no resource left but to surrender himself to the Uzbeg.

Under these conditions, he entered Andiján. The government of the province of Farghána was, at that time, in the hands of Jáni Beg Sultán. He had given Andiján to Khwája Ali Bahádur, who was one of Sháhi Beg Khán's most trusty men, and whom he now promoted to the rank of Atálik* [guardian]. He was partially mad, but, in military and state affairs, exceedingly capable.

The Khán reached Sulát-Kand,* which is one of the dependencies of Andiján, but, before he told his name and descent, asked the inhabitants what had happened to Sultán Mahmud Khán, and whither Sultán Khalil Sultán had been sent. They answered him: “Sultán Mahmud Khán and all the Khákáns of the Moghuls, who have come here, have been sent to the City of Non-Existence, by the Gate of Martyrdom.”

At this announcement, the thread of the Khán's hope, which was slender as a spider's web, snapped in two. But he did not regret that he had come, for he had done so as a last resource, with his eyes open and knowing the risk he was running. Khwája Ali Bahádur sent people to seize whatever they had brought with them, and imprisoned the Khán in an apartment which was above the gateway of the citadel of Andiján.

On the morrow, when the glorious sword-bearer of the East drew his sword from the sheath of the horizon, and caused its dazzling brightness to illumine the earth, the resplendent world was utter darkness in the eyes of the Khán, who was sent, with his hands tied to his neck, to Jáni Beg Khán in Akhsi. But Khwája Ali Bahádur was depressed and sorrowful; he felt deeply for the Khán, but as he did not dare to disobey Sháhi Beg Khán's orders, he could not so much as think of releasing the Khán. Before sending him off he had despatched a special messenger [to announce the Khán's approach]. At about that time, Jáni Beg Sultán had fallen from his horse onto his head, and his brain had become severely deranged, so that now, most of his actions and words were inconsistent with a healthy understanding, and the reins of memory fell from the hands of his intellect. On the day that this news was brought to him, it chanced that his brain was influenced by the spirit of Islám and the Holy Law (the Most High God had ordained this, for the purpose of delivering the Khán), and he said: “I am not an executioner that I should endeavour to take any man's blood.” He then ordered a letter [nishán] to be written to Khwája Ali Bahádur, saying: “The Moghul Sultán who has come [to you] has not been delivered into our custody. It would not be acting in conformity with the statutes of the Holy Law were I to take his life. [It behoves me] to open to him the meadows of mercy and safety, that he may wander whither he will.” [Such was the purport of his letter.]

When the Khán related these incidents to me, as he frequently did, he used to say: “I had, for a long time, felt quite assured that the Uzbeg would spare none of the Moghul Sultáns, and had become so convinced of this, at the time of my first visit to Andiján, that when I arrived there [on this occasion], and* certain pious men had written to me and sent prayers [for me to repeat], I said in reply to them: ‘One of the conditions [of prayer] is that nothing impossible should be prayed for; now my deliverance must be reckoned among impossibilities, and therefore these prayers for my safety would be ill-advised.’ To which they answered: ‘Though these prayers may not have the power to bring about deliverance from the imminent peril in which you stand, yet on account of them, God will give you a greater reward in the next world.’ On this assurance I repeated the prayers which they had sent me. I began also to turn over in my mind my chances of safety, and how my escape might be achieved, but not one of the ideas that occurred to me seemed feasible. If, for example, Sháhi Beg Khán were now to die, how could his dying in Khorásán, at the time when they were going to put me to death in Akhsi, in any way further my escape? If, again, Jáni Beg Sultán were to die, his death would not throw the affairs of the Uzbeg into such confusion that, during the disturbance, my escape could be effected. In short, I could not conceive any possibility or probability of deliverance. As we drew near to Akhsi, we saw a horseman riding towards us; I was persuaded that he was coming to put me to death, and wondered how he would do it. But when he approached, we found that it was Mauláná Haidar Kharsuz, one of the notables of Andiján. Throw­ing himself from the saddle, he came and kissed my stirrup, with joy and delight that knew no bounds, and said: ‘Good news for you! Jáni Beg Sultán has issued an order for your release. The joyful mandate is now being brought by Dust Ali Chulák.’ It then occurred to me that he was saying this just to set my fears at rest, so I said: ‘May God reward you with good things! As for me, I have withdrawn my mind from life, and therefore do not stand in need of such comfort.” But Mauláná Haidar reiterated his assertions, and was confirming them with the strongest assevera­tions and the most solemn oaths, when Dust Ali Chulák arrived, and commanded my guard [muvakkal] to return, to escort me back to Khwája Ali Bahádur and perform all the details of the man­date concerning me. Thus, from within one farsákh of Akhsi I was conveyed back to Andiján.

“When the mandate was delivered to Khwája Ali Bahádur, he [having read it] handed it to me. On perusing it, I found it to contain exactly what Mauláná Haidar had told me. Khwája Ali Bahádur then said: ‘Though he should not abide by this decision but, changing his humour, should issue a second mandate reversing this one, still this is sufficient pretext for me; you must be cheer­ful, and enjoy now the soul-stirring wine-cups of the spirit of youth. Be at your ease.’ However much I insisted that it was but base deceit and a mean device to pollute the cup of martyrdom with [earthly] wine, [my protestations] were of no avail.* More­over, in conformity with the rules of good breeding [ilm-i-maásh], I was obliged to give in to his mode of thinking [and with an unwilling heart I accepted his invitation]. As the wine-cup was passed round, the rose-coloured liquor diffused itself over our cheeks, which had become yellow as saffron, from the jaundice-tainted order of the livid-souled Sháhi Beg Khán, but now opened out like the red rose or the new-blown tulip. All that day was spent in wine drinking, [and when night came on] the feast adorning torches made the banquet hall bright as the day. [The festivities had scarce recommenced] when one of Jáni Beg Sultán's chamber­lains named Alláh Birdi came in and placed a sorrow-bearing mandate in the hands of Khwája Ali Bahádur, who passed it on to me, saying: ‘Read thy letter.’ In it was written: ‘The question of the release of Sultán Said Khán has been reconsidered, and found to be contrary to the orders of the Khán. He must be sent to join those who have gone before him and who will never return: or, otherwise, according to the old Moghul custom, he must be sent to the capital, where he should, by means of the gallows, be sent to his lasting home.’ On reading this ill-favoured mandate, the rosy tints of joy were exchanged for the saffron hues of apprehension. Khwájá Ali Bahádur grasped the situation, and asked: “What is the cause of your dejection? Read out the mandate.’ So I read it aloud. Then Khwája Ali Bahádur became enraged, and said: ‘His brain is disordered with mischief: what­ever emanates from such a mind, if it be originally a good thought, becomes a sin, and if it be a premeditated sin—then God pre­serves us! When a man has escaped from the edge of the sword, or from the foot of the gallows, he is as difficult to lay hold of as quicksilver—he disappears like camphor unmixed with pepper. Where can I find him?’ The chamberlain, kissing the ground of respect, said: ‘It is not reasonable that you, Bahádur, should deviate from the straight-road of loyalty and adopt that of false­hood, which is the worst of qualities. You say that the Sultán, like quicksilver, is not to be caught; but he is now at your side, and of this I am a witness.’ [At these words] Khwája Ali Bahádur blazed up, like a fire, with rage, and cried: ‘Have all the worthy services and deeds of valour I have performed in the employment of Jáni Beg Sultán, resulted in so little, that a Chaghatái like yourself (whose skirt of service is still so defiled with the pollution of hostility that no water of forgiveness could cleanse it) should come and give me the lie direct, and point out to me the straight road of loyalty to this family? I will report your answer in full to the Sultán.’ He then ordered a hole to be cut out of a beam, and that the beam should be placed upon the man's neck [and he be made to sit before the gate].”

After the Khán [Sultán Said] had been invested with the robe of sovereignty of Andiján, this same Alláh Bardi was taken before him, and he was thus reminded of the man's former base conduct. But he said: “Khwája Ali Bahádur avenged me that same night, and the rancour I bore him was washed from my heart. Let him now be restored to his former post of chamberlain;” and he gave him the middle rank of chamberlain, which was a high office for him.*

“That night was spent in companionship, until day dawned; on the morrow, attended by a few men, we set out for Karátigin. After travelling for one day, the men sent to accompany us, having lost the right road, turned back. When Khwájá Ali Bahádur was informed of this, he vented his wrath upon these men and punished them severely.” He kept the Khán with him some days, while he selected for him some distinguished and trusty persons. The first among them was Mauláná Khaliki, a talented, good, and studious man; he wrote the Naskh-Táalik perfectly, and composed good poetry; he was also a proficient musician. Another of them was Khwája Sálih, who was the leading merchant in the province of Andiján, and was known by every one he met on the road, while people often appealed to him for advice in their affairs. A third was Mauláná Yusuf Káshghari, who was an accountant [muhtasib], much esteemed in Andiján for his judgment. Another was Gadái Piri, a professional courtier [nadim] and a skilled musician. An­other was Mir Ahmad, one of the Andiján Turks; he had travelled much and knew all the best routes. Another was Jalál, a very serviceable man. Having given him these few men as an escort, he started the Khán off a second time.

Khwája Sálih and Mauláná Yusuf were dressed like merchants, Mauláná Khaliki, Darvish Piri and the Khán were in the guise of students, and looked very like kalandars. Mir Ahmad and Jalál passed as servants of the merchants. Thus attired, they set forth and reached Kala-i-Zafar in perfect peace and safety. Here they found Mirzá Khán, who received and entertained them as well as his straitened circumstances would allow. They remained there eighteen days. Now, since Mirzá Khán was a very feeble man, some of his retainers, on account of his weakness, thought fit to offer the Khán the government of Kala-i-Zafar (which was not worth half a loaf of bread). But the Khán declined, saying: “Mirzá Khán, who is my cousin, has been exposed to a thousand hardships, by crooked fortune. It would be contrary to all rules of good feeling and justice to oppose him, or to deprive him of this [possession].” The Khán accordingly hastened to depart, and went on to Kábul. Eighteen days after his departure, I arrived at Mirzá Khán's [capital], as has been mentioned above.

On reaching Kábul, the Khán was welcomed with the utmost respect and honour by the Emperor. The Khán used to say [when telling his story]: “Those days that I spent in Kábul were the freest from care or sorrow of any I have ever experienced, or ever shall experience. I spent two years and a half at the court of this excellent Prince, in a continual succession of enjoyments, and in the most complete abandonment to pleasure and absence of pre­occupation. I was on friendly terms with all, and made welcome by all. I never suffered even a headache, unless from the effects of wine; and never felt distressed or sad, except on account of the ringlets of some beloved one.”

In short, the Khán remained in Kábul as the companion and confidant of the Emperor. There existed between these two great princes perfect accord and love and trust. The Khán's visit lasted from Shabán 914 to Ramazán 916,* at which latter date Sháhi Beg Khán fell into the hands of Sháh Ismail, and was killed by him, as will be related.