The Age of Wrath: A History of the Delhi Sultanate (24 page)

WHAT WERE THE thoughts of the sultan as he lay dying? We do not know. There is no record of anything that he said or did in his last days. But certainly his dying thoughts would have been hardly pleasant, for the grand dreams with which he began his reign had all turned into most dreadful nightmares.

Muhammad was a learned man with wide cultural interests, but that was a qualification of little value in a medieval ruler; indeed, the most successful rulers of medieval India, Ala-ud-din Khalji and Akbar, were both illiterate.
Undeniably Muhammad had some good and progressive ideas, and several of them were achievable goals. But he did not have the pragmatism or the mental stamina to think through his plans in detail, nor did he have the tenacity and toughness of character to carry them through to success in the face of problems. None—not one—of his schemes was carried to success. Muhammad, for all his posture of toughness, was a weak, wavering ruler, who blamed others for the failure of his schemes, while the faults were all of his own.

Muhammad had the potential of being an agent for revolutionary change for the good in the Sultanate, but his reign turned out to be an absolute disaster. He meant to do good, but ended up doing only harm. All contemporary sources agree that his policies resulted in the ruin of the county and the people. ‘The glory of the state, and the power of the government of Sultan Muhammad … withered and decayed,’ states Barani. In fact, paradoxical though it might seem, it was the good in him that fuelled and fanned the flames of the fiend in him—he turned devilish to punish the people who failed to appreciate the good in him! His frustrations warped his character, turned him into a raging, rampaging monster.

And that brought untold misery on his subjects. In his death, comments Badauni, ‘the king was freed from his people, and they from their king.’

As Muhammad Tughluq lay terminally ill, the anxiety about what the future portended for the Delhi Sultanate and all those associated with it swept through the imperial army. ‘They were a thousand kos distant from Delhi and their wives and children, and were near the enemy and in a wilderness and desert,’ reports Barani. ‘So they were sorely distressed and, looking upon the sultan’s expected death as preliminary to their own death, they quite despaired of returning home.’

Presently, as expected, the sultan died. And that left the army without a commander—and the empire without a ruler. So the entire Sultanate camp, which included a good number of women and children, swirled into utter chaos as it set out to return to Delhi. ‘Every division of the army marched in the greatest disorder, without leader, rule, or route,’ states Barani. ‘No one heeded or listened to what anyone said … When they had proceeded a kos or two, Mongols, eager for booty, assailed them in front, and the rebels of Tattah attacked them in the rear. Cries of dismay arose on every side. Mongols fell to plundering, and carried off women, maids, horses, camels, troopers, baggage, and whatever else had been sent on in advance. They very nearly captured even the royal harem and treasure … Then the villagers who had been pressed into the service of the army … took to flight. They pillaged various lots of baggage on the right and left of the army, and then joined the rebels of Tattah in attacking the baggage train. … [All this plunged the army into a whirl, for] if they advanced in front they were assailed by Mongols; if they lagged behind, they were plundered by the rebels of Tattah … Every man was in despair for his life and goods, his wife and children.’

These troubles went on for a few days. Then, according to Barani, the top officers in the Sultanate camp gathered together and, ‘after a long and anxious deliberation,’ decided to offer the crown to Firuz Shah, a first-cousin of Muhammad, and they went to him and ‘with one voice said, “Thou art the heir apparent and legatee of the late sultan; he had no son … There is no one else … who enjoys the confidence of the people or has the ability to reign. For god’s sake save these wretched people; ascend the throne and deliver us.”’ Firuz, apparently in a show of becoming modesty, expressed reluctance to accept the responsibility, and said that he was planning to go on a pilgrimage to Mecca at that time. But ‘all ranks, young and old, Muslims and Hindus, horse and foot, women and children, assembled, and with one acclaim declared that Firuz Shah alone was worthy of the crown.’

Then, according to Afif, the chief chronicler of Firuz’s reign, Tatar Khan, a top noble, ‘stood up, and taking the arm of Firuz Shah, forced him to sit on the throne … as heralds and attendants shouted in loud acclaim, and drums were beaten in exultation …’

This was on 23 March 1351, three days after the death of Muhammad. Firuz, 46 years old then, was the closest surviving male relative of Muhammad—who had no sons, but only two daughters—and therefore had a very strong claim for the throne. He had always been close to Muhammad, and had been at times appointed (along with a couple of other senior officers) by the sultan as his regent in Delhi when he went on military campaigns. And there was a general belief that Muhammad had intended Firuz to succeed him; indeed, according to Ferishta, Muhammad ‘proposed making him (Firuz) his successor, and accordingly recommended him as such on his deathbed to his nobles.’

Firuz’s accession was however challenged by Muhammad’s sister, Khudavand-zada, on the ground that her son, as Muhammad’s nephew, had the greater claim to the throne. This claim was however rejected by the nobles on the ground that the prince was too young to rule in those troubled times.
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Another problem that Firuz faced on his accession was that when the news of Muhammad’s death reached Delhi, Khvaja Jahan—a long time close associate of Muhammad, and whom he had apparently left in Delhi as his regent when he set out for Gujarat—raised to the throne a child who he claimed was Muhammad’s son. According to Afif, Khvaja did this with good intentions, ‘for public welfare and the safety of the country,’ to prevent the empire from disintegrating into anarchy without a sultan, for he had been told
that Firuz was missing or dead. Khvaja was well over eighty years old then, and was presumably not motivated by any personal ambition in his action. Besides, he had excellent rapport with Firuz, and had always treated him like a son. He therefore had no hesitation to submit to Firuz as he approached Delhi. And Firuz in turn received him graciously, and was inclined to pardon him and retain him as the vizier. But his advisers, no doubt motivated by their own ambitions, objected to this on the ground that Khvaja’s offence was too serious to be pardoned. Firuz then left the matter to be decided by the nobles, and they had the old man executed.

FIRUZ’S FATHER, SIPAH-SALAR Rajab, was the younger brother of Ghiyas-ud-din Tughluq, and they together had migrated to India from Khurasan during the reign of Ala-ud-din Khalji. In India Rajab married a Jat princess, a beautiful and spirited daughter of Rana Mall Bhatti of Dipalpur in Punjab. Firuz was their only child.

Rajab died when Firuz was seven, so the boy was brought up by Ghiyas-ud-din. And when Ghiyas-ud-din ascended the throne of Delhi, Firuz, who was then fourteen, was given a role in government, as an aid to the sultan, a post that enabled him to gain wide experience in governance. Four years later, when Muhammad ascended the throne, Firuz was appointed as deputy of the Lord Chamberlain, and was given the command of a 12,000-strong cavalry force. ‘The sultan was exceedingly kind and generous to him, and keeping him constantly near his person he used to explain to him, with much intelligence, all the affairs of the state that came up for consideration,’ states Afif. Later Muhammad put Firuz in charge of one of the four divisions of the Sultanate, ‘so that he might acquire experience in the art of government … [and] become an adept in all political matters … [The sultan] used to keep Firuz Shah continually at work in various matters … to train him so that he might become thoroughly versed in the duties of royalty.’

Firuz on his accession was thus well-equipped to assume royal responsibilities. As sultan, his first task was to restore order in the army, but this was accomplished without any special effort on his part, as the mere fact that there was now a sultan on the throne immediately calmed the army and restored its discipline. Mongols and the Sind rebels were then driven away, and the army resumed its journey to Delhi in fair order. On the way the sultan received the news that Taghi, the rebel who had sorely tried Muhammad in his last days, was dead. The news was considered an auspicious portent for the success of the reign of Firuz.

As Firuz proceeded to Delhi, his followers swelled in number, and when he neared the capital, most of the chiefs there came out to greet him. On 25 August 1351 Firuz entered the capital in a triumphant procession, when ‘drums
of joy were beaten, and the citizens decked themselves out in their jewels and best clothes,’ reports Afif. ‘Pavilions were erected and decorated … and for twenty-one days a continual festival was maintained.’

In every respect the reign of Firuz was unlike the reign of Muhammad; the contrast between them was like that of between a pitch-dark, cyclonic night and a calm and clear dawn. Though Muhammad and Firuz were close to each other, they were entirely unlike each other in character, temperament and policies—Muhammad was an egomaniac, flighty and unpredictable, ever pursuing some chimerical scheme or other; in contrast, Firuz was a stable, dependable ruler, with a good sense of what was viable and necessary. While Muhammad wanted the world to adjust to him, Firuz adjusted himself to the world. And, more than anything else, Firuz was concerned with the stability of the empire and the welfare of its people, rather than with self-fulfilment. He was the right person in the right place at the right time.

‘Sultan Firuz was a very cautious man,’ states Afif. He was also very pious. ‘Whenever he was about to make a journey for a month or two, he used to visit the shrines of holy men and famous kings, to invoke their aid and to cast himself on their protection, not trusting his own power and greatness … The sultan never transacted any business without referring to the Koran for an augury.’ But despite being a devout Muslim, Firuz had a weakness was for wine, in which he indulged secretly. Also, he was a sensualist, and was particularly addicted to sexual pleasures. His harem, according to Afif, was periodically restocked with the ‘beautiful slaves, dressed and ornamented in the most splendid style,’ presented to him by his provincial officers. He was also passionate about hunting, like most Delhi sultans.

IN MANY RESPECTS Firuz was a model ruler, esteemed alike by his officers and his subjects. The main task of Firuz on his accession was to rebuild the foundations of the empire, which had crumbled during the calamitous reign of Muhammad. This task involved, above all, restoring the mutual trust between the ruler and the ruled. Firuz therefore first of all sought the forgiveness of the people—and of god—for the misdeeds of Muhammad. The heirs of those who had been wantonly killed or mutilated on the orders of Muhammad were ‘appeased with gifts, so that they executed deeds declaring their satisfaction, duly attested by witnesses,’ states Firuz in his autobiography,
Futuhat-i-Firuz Shahi
. ‘These deeds were put in a chest, which was placed … at the head of the tomb of the late sultan, in the hope that god in his great clemency would show mercy to my late friend and patron.’ Similarly, Firuz ordered that the properties which former sultans had unfairly confiscated from people should be restored to their owners. ‘Villages, lands, and ancient patrimonies of every
kind had been wrested from the hands of their owners in former reigns, and had been brought under the exchequer. I directed that everyone who had a claim to property should bring it forward in the law court, and, upon establishing his title … the property … should be restored to him.’

He would be a humane ruler, Firuz resolved. ‘In the reigns of former kings … many varieties of torture were employed … All these things were practised so that fear and dread might fall upon the hearts of man, and that the regulations of government might be duly maintained … Through the mercy which god has shown to me, these severities and terrors have been exchanged [by me] for tenderness, kindness, and mercy. Fear and respect have thus taken firmer hold of the hearts of men, and there has been no need for executions, scourgings, tortures, or terrors,’ Firuz writes, and goes on to approvingly quote a poem:

Thy power is great, then mercy show:

Pardon is better than vengeance …

Boast not the hundreds thou hast slain,

To save one life is a nobler aim …

This was not just a pious pretence. Firuz had a genuine concern for the welfare of the people. He reversed the prevailing royal view that people should serve the king, and held that the king should serve the people. The Delhi Sultanate under him was the closest that any government in medieval India came to being a welfare state. Firuz was especially caring towards the lowly—he was, according to Afif, ‘very kind and generous to the poor’—and he introduced several measures to succour the poor. One such measure was the setting up of a free hospital for the public. ‘I was by god’s grace enabled to build a hospital for the benefit of everyone of high or low degree,’ he states. ‘The cost of medicines and food is defrayed from my endowments. All sick persons, residents and travellers, highborn and commoner, bond and free, resort thither.’

In the same spirit, Firuz ‘founded an establishment for the promotion of marriages,’ reports Afif. ‘Many needy Muslims were distressed at having marriageable daughters, for whom they could provide no marriage portion … Notice was given that any man having a marriageable daughter might apply at the
diwan-i-khairat
(charity bureau) and state his case … to the officers of that establishment … who, after due enquiry, might fix an allowance [for them] … People, small and great, flocked to the city from all parts of the country, and received grants for purchasing housekeeping requisites for their daughters.’ The charity bureau also provided succour to widows and orphans.

FIRUZ WAS ESPECIALLY concerned with the welfare of his officers and soldiers and their families, motivated as much by humane considerations as by official responsibility. Thus, on learning about the distress of the families of the soldiers who perished in the Rann of Kutch during his disastrous Sind campaign of 1362, he ordered that the children of the dead soldiers should receive the allowances of their fathers, and ‘should not be troubled in any way,’ states Afif. The sultan even ‘directed that those who had deserted him in Gujarat [because of their sufferings in the Sind campaign] … and had returned home were to have their livelihood and villages continued to them. He was desirous that no one should suffer on that account.’ The deserters might be reproached, but not executed, banished or amerced, the sultan ordered.

The sultan also took care to substantially increase the salaries of government officers, for their loyalty was critically important for the success of his government. Whereas the highest pay given to an officer under Muhammad was only 200,000 tankas, Firuz assigned to his officers land grants yielding between 400,000 and 800,000 tankas, depending on their rank. His vizier was even assigned villages yielding 1,300,000 tankas!

Equally, Firuz showed earnest consideration for the welfare of his common soldiers, even in small matters. For instance, when he with his army finally emerged from the wilderness in which it had got trapped for six months while returning to Delhi from Orissa after one of his campaigns, and he then sent to Delhi a message about his safety, he also solicitously ‘gave public notice that all who wished to write to their families and friends might take this opportunity,’ states Afif. ‘This gave great satisfaction, and every man of the army, from the highest to lowest, wrote [to his family] some account of his condition,’ and a camel load of letters was sent to Delhi.