AKBAR'S FIGHT FOR HIS FATHER'S THRONE
The news of his father's death, I have said, reached Akbar as he was
entering the town of Kalanaur at the head of his army. At the moment
he had not heard of the revolt at Kabul, nor had his adviser, Bairam
Khan, dwelt in his mind on the probability of a movement by Hemu
against Delhi. In the first few days, then, it seemed as though there
were but one enemy in the field, and that enemy the Sikandar Shah, to
suppress whom his father had sent him to the Punjab. That prince was
still in arms, slowly retreating in the direction of Kashmir. It
appeared, then, to the young Emperor and his adviser that their first
business should be to secure the Punjab; that to effect that object
they must follow up Sikandar Shah. The army accordingly broke up from
Kalanaur, pushed after Sikandar, and drove him to take refuge in the
fort of Mankot, in the lower ranges of the Siwaliks. As Mankot was
very strong, and tidings of untoward events alike in Hindustan and
Kabul reached them, the leaders {66} contented themselves with
leaving a force to blockade that fortress, and returned to Jalandhar.
It was time indeed. Not only had Kabul revolted, but Hemu, his army
increasing with every step, had taken Agra without striking a blow,
and was pursuing the retreating garrison towards Delhi. A day later
came the information that he had defeated the Mughal army close to
Delhi, and had occupied that capital. Tardi Beg, with the remnants of
the defeated force, had fled towards Sirhind.
In the multitude of counsellors there is not always wisdom. When
Akbar heard of the success of Hemu, he assembled his warrior-nobles
and asked their advice. With one exception they all urged him to fall
back on Kabul. That he could recover his mountain-capital they felt
certain, and there he could remain until events should be propitious
for a fresh invasion of India. Against this recommendation Bairam
Khan raised his powerful voice. He urged a prompt march across the
Sutlej, a junction with Tardi Beg in Sirhind, and an immediate
attempt thence against Hemu. Delhi, he said, twice gained and twice
lost, must at all hazards be won back. Delhi was the decisive point,
not Kabul. Master of the former, one could easily recover the latter.
The instincts of Akbar coincided with the advice of his Atalik, and
an immediate march across the Sutlej was directed.
Akbar and Bairam saw in fact that their choice lay between empire in
Hindustan and a small kingdom in Kabul. For they knew from their
adherents in {67} India that Hemu was preparing to supplement the
occupation of Delhi by the conquest of the Punjab. To be beforehand
with him, to transfer the initiative to themselves, always a great
matter with Asiatics, was almost a necessity to secure success. Akbar
marched then from Jalandhar in October, and crossing the Sutlej,
gained the town of Sirhind. There he was joined by Tardi Beg and the
nobles who had been defeated by Hemu under the walls of Delhi. The
circumstances which followed their arrival sowed in the heart of
Akbar the first seeds of revolt against the licence of power assumed
by his Atalik. Tardi Beg was a Turki nobleman, who, in the contest
between Humayun and his brothers, had more than once shifted his
allegiance, but he had finally enrolled himself as a partisan of the
father of Akbar. When Humayun died, it was Tardi Beg who by his tact
and loyalty succeeded in arranging for the bloodless succession of
Akbar, though a son of Kamran was in Delhi at the time. After his
defeat by Hemu, he had, it is true, in the opinion of some of the
other nobles, too hastily evacuated Delhi; but an error in tactics is
not a crime, and he had at least brought a powerful reinforcement to
Akbar in Sirhind. But there had ever been jealousy between Bairam
Khan and Tardi Beg. This jealousy was increased in the heart of
Bairam by religious differences, for Bairam belonged to the Shi'ah
division of the Muhammadan creed, and Tardi Beg was a Sunni. On the
arrival of the latter at Sirhind, then, Bairam summoned him to his
tent {68} and had him assassinated.[1] Akbar was greatly displeased
at this act of violence, and Bairam did not succeed in justifying
himself. It may be inferred that he excused himself on the ground
that such an act was necessary, in the interests of discipline, to
secure the proper subordination of the nobles.
[Footnote 1: Vide Dowson's Sir Henry Elliot's _History of India as
told by its own Historians_, vol. v. page 251 and note. The only
historian who states that Akbar gave a 'kind of permission' to this
atrocious deed is Badauni. He is practically contradicted by Abulfazl
and Ferishta. In Blochmann's admirable edition of the _Ain-i-Akbari_,
p. 315, the story is repeated as told by Badauni, but the translator
adds the words: 'Akbar was displeased. Bairam's hasty act was one of
the chief causes of the distrust with which the Chagatai nobles
looked upon him.']
Meanwhile Hemu remained at Delhi, amusing himself with the new title
of Raja which he had assumed, and engaged in collecting troops. When,
however, he heard that Akbar had reached Sirhind, he despatched his
artillery to Panipat, fifty-three miles to the north of Delhi,
intending to follow himself with the infantry and cavalry. But, on
his side, Akbar was moving from Sirhind towards the same place. More
than that, he had taken the precaution to despatch in advance a force
of ten thousand horsemen, under the command of Ali Kuli
Khan-i-Shaibani, the general who had fought with Tardi Beg against
Hemu at Delhi, and who had condemned his too hasty retirement.[2] Ali
Kuli rode as far as Panipat, and noting there the guns of Hemu's
army, unsupported, he dashed upon them and captured them all. {69}
For this brilliant feat of arms he was created a Khan Zaman, by which
he is henceforth known in history. This misfortune greatly depressed
Hemu, for, it is recorded, the guns had been obtained from Turkey,
and were regarded with great reverence. However, without further
delay, he pressed on to Panipat.
[Footnote 2: Blochmann's _Ain-i-Akbari_, p. 319.]
Akbar and Bairam were marching on to the plains of Panipat on the
morning of the 5th of November, 1556, when they sighted the army of
Hemu moving towards them. The thought must, I should think, have been
present in the mind of the young prince that just thirty years before
his grandfather, Babar, had, on the same plain, struck down the house
of Lodi, and won the empire of Hindustan. He was confronted now by
the army of the usurper, connected by marriage with that House of Sur
which had expelled his own father. The battle, he knew, would be the
decisive battle of the century. But, prescient as he was, he could
not foresee that it would prove the starting-point for the
establishment in India of a dynasty which would last for more than
two hundred years, and would then require another invasion from the
north, and another battle of Panipat to strike it down; the advent of
another race of foreigners from an island in the Atlantic to efface
it.
Hemu had divided his army into three divisions. In front marched the
five hundred elephants, each bestridden by an officer of rank, and
led by Hemu, on his own favourite animal, in person. He dashed first
against the advancing left wing of the Mughals and {70} threw it into
disorder, but as his lieutenants failed to support the attack with
infantry, he drew off, and threw himself on the centre, commanded by
Bairam in person. That astute general had directed his archers, in
anticipation of such an attack, to direct their arrows at the faces
of the riders. One of these arrows pierced the eye of Hemu, who fell
back in his howdah, for the moment insensible. The fall of their
leader spread consternation among the followers. The attack
slackened, then ceased. The soldiers of Bairam soon converted the
cessation into a rout. The elephant on which Hemu rode, without a
driver--for the driver had been killed[3]--made off instinctively
towards the jungle. A nobleman, a follower and distant relative of
Bairam, Shah Kuli Mahram-i-Baharlu, followed the elephant, not
knowing who it was who rode it. Coming up with it and catching hold
of the rope on its neck, he discovered that it was the wounded Hemu
who had become his captive.[4] He led him to Bairam. Bairam took him
to the youthful prince, who throughout the day had shown courage and
conduct, but who had left the ordering of the battle to his Atalik.
The scene that followed is thus told by contemporary writers. Bairam
said to his master, as he presented to him the wounded general: 'This
is your first war: prove your sword on this infidel, for it will be a
meritorious deed.' {71} Akbar replied: 'He is now no better than a
dead man; how can I strike him? If he had sense and strength I would
try my sword (that is I would fight him).' On Akbar's refusal, Bairam
himself cut down the prisoner.
[Footnote 3: This is the generally received story, though Abulfazl
states that the driver, to save his own life, betrayed his master.
Elliot, vol. v. p. 253, note.]
[Footnote 4: Compare Elliot, vol. v. p. 253, and Blochmann's
_Ain-i-Akbari_, p. 359.]
Bairam sent his cavalry to pursue the enemy to Delhi, giving them no
respite, and the next day, marching the fifty-three miles without a
halt, the Mughal army entered the city. Thenceforward Akbar was
without a formidable rival in India. He occupied the position his
grandfather had occupied thirty years before. It remained to be seen
whether the boy would use the opportunity which his father and
grandfather had alike failed to grasp. To show the exact nature of
the task awaiting him, I propose to devote the next chapter to a
brief survey of the condition of India at the time of his accession,
and in that following to inquire how the boy of fourteen was likely
to benefit by the tutelage of Bairam Khan.
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