The Delhi official made for the door to Bahlul Khan Lodi’s throne room. As he reached the door he turned to face the Sultan, who had been about to make an offensive gesture towards the official, but instead hurriedly and awkwardly made to stroke his beard instead.
“Same time next month” the official grinned sheepishly at the Sultan, who met his grin with a stony silence. The door opened and the official left, relieved the meeting was over.
Bahlul Khan Lodi sighed as soon as the door closed, before cursing the official, and the name of his overlord, Alam Shah Sayyid. It had been barely a year since he had attempted to overthrow the Sayyids and take Delhi for himself, but his attempt had been thwarted by a heavy monsoon and a bout of camp fever amongst his soldiers; since the aborted siege it had been the worst kept secret in all of Sirhind that he would one day try again. His acts of court done for the day, Lodi retired to his bedchamber, acknowledging the guard posted outside. Once in his chamber he clutched the amulet around his chest, which had once belonged to his grandfather, the great Malik Bahram Lodi. A pair of rubies embedded in a golden medallion, worn around his neck during his days in court as a reminder of his predecessor. It had been gifted to Bahlul Khan on his grandfather’s deathbed, along with the proclamation that one day he would have a kingdom to rule of his own. True to the prophecy, Bahlul Khan had first been granted a pargana of his own in Sirhind, and had built up an impressive territory from there, having added Lahore and its surrounding lands to his rule. The final piece of the puzzle for Bahlul Khan lay to the east, where the Sayyids had presided over the remnants of the Delhi Sultanate. The kingdom had been in something of a terminal decline since the sack of Delhi itself by Tamerlane some fifty years earlier, but still claimed overlordship of Sirhind. Through what appeared to those outside the court as little more than luck, the Sultanate had survived. However, there would surely be many who would welcome a regime change, not least of all Bahlul Khan Lodi.
Clutching his grandfather’s amulet to his chest, he took one last breath to clear his thoughts, and left the chamber for his evening stroll around the palace walls. As he made to acknowledge the guard at the door, he noticed that this one appeared different to the one who had been posted when he entered his chamber. He stared at the guard for a moment, who looked somewhat fidgety, but was doing his best to stand to attention in the presence of his liege. Bahlul Khan Lodi had something of a reputation as a disciplinarian, and no doubt it was this fear which was making the soldier uneasy. He turned and headed towards the ramparts of the palace, something he frequently did to pass the time by observing the city and its people from atop the palace walls. He watched the cotton merchants closing up their market stalls for the day, the travellers heading for the taverns, and the carriage of the official as it began returning towards Delhi. He fixed his eyes on the carriage for a moment, and watched as one of its wheels fell off, as he had instructed his servant to sabotage it earlier in the afternoon. The Sultan even afforded himself a chuckle as the official and driver stood in the street, looking perplexed at the now three wheeled vehicle as men came to see what all of the fuss was about. Such petty acts were surely unbecoming of a man with as mighty a reputation as Bahlul Khan Lodi, but he did what he could to make the Delhi officials lives as inconvenienced as possible anyway, knowing that the feeling was surely mutual between the courts of Delhi and Sirhind. He took one last look around the city, and went back inside to his bedchambers, taking another gaze at the guard outside the door. The guard still looked like he was recovering from the stare he had received when the Sultan was on his way out. Once inside, he took off the amulet of his Malik Bahram Lodi, and placed it in the chest next to his bed. He locked the chest, and soon fell asleep, dreaming of how he might continue to be a nuisance for Alam Shah Sayyid and the Delhi Sultanate.
Outside the bedroom, Akram Manak breathed a sigh of relief. Everything had gone according to his plan, well, that of his master Yusuf Singh at least. Yusuf Singh served in the court of Alam Shah Sayyid, and had heard from his spies and the delegations from Delhi to Sirhind about the amulet that Bahlul Khan Lodi wore. Such an amulet as this must be invaluable to him, and the loss of the amulet, Yusuf had figured, would show this rebellious upstart who was really in charge. He had devised a simple plan for Akram Manak to follow: enter the city, disguise himself as a guardsman, break into the palace chambers and steal the amulet, then make a getaway. It had been a simple enough plan for Akram to follow so far. Now here he was, outside the Sultans bedchamber, all he needed to do was to get the amulet and leave. This was the part he knew best, lockpicking had been a specialty of his since he was a child on the Delhi streets, trying to get enough food to survive. This amulet would make him enough to retire a rich man. He waited what seemed like an eternity for Bahlul Khan to fall asleep, before surveying the corridor one final time. Nobody was coming.
He took his lockpicks from his tunic and got to work, picking the chamber door with ease. Pushing the door open very slowly in order not to wake the Sultan, he crept to the chest with the amulet in it. The chest was every bit as magnificent as the amulet, the lid engraved with an outline of the Indian subcontinent, with several of the major cities marked out. Around the side were images of men, presumably Malik Bahram Lodi’s predecessors, slaying their enemies in combat. Akram had no time for marvelling at the design of the chest now though. He inserted his lockpick into the keyhole and began searching for the point where the lock would give. As he turned he felt some resistance, he turned in the other direction. There was an audible click as the lockpick broke.
Akram Manak had not planned for this.
Bahlul Khan Lodi woke with a start at the sound and saw the thief. He hurriedly got up and reached for his sword. In a panic, Akram grabbed the chest, getting to the door quicker than Lodi who was not far behind. He saw the open window ahead and sprinted down the corridor, leaping out into the night.
Akram had not planned for this either.
The Sultan reached the window and looked down, the loud splash as the thief hit the water would surely be heard by the guards on patrol. He went back into his chamber and saw the space where the chest containing his grandfather’s amulet would normally be. He had treasured this amulet for many years, a legacy of his grandfather and a sign of his destiny, and in a moment it had gone. Bahlul Khan could feel a rage brewing inside him as he called for his guards, and began describing the height and build of the thief to the men in the palace.
In the castle moat, Akram Manak swam like his life depended on it, which it did. He had been caught stealing the Sultan's most valued possession and surely every guard in the city would soon be on him. He reached the edge of the riverway and made for the city gates, disposing of his guardsman’s tunic as he did so. He felt sure he would be stopped, but news obviously hadn’t spread yet, for although there were some odd looks at the still dripping man running through the city streets, he was able to make it as far as the gates. When he got there, he made for the horse he had arrived on. As he went to mount it, he was challenged. Explaining that he had been unfortunate enough to be walking past a window as some dirty water was thrown out of it - which also explained the smell - the guardsman let him pass. Akram breathed a sigh of relief, but this would not last long. He heard the bellowing voice of Bahlul Khan Lodi in the streets, promising a reward for anyone who found a thief, soaked from head to toe in the waters of the palace moat. The gate guard realised a moment too late that he had been duped, and turned to see Akram Manak riding into the distance.
Bahlul Khan Lodi stood at the city gates, and looked out at the rider in the distance. He promised himself that this would be the last mistake that Delhi would ever make. The royal proclamation in front of all gathered there was brief. Delhi would fall.
Akram Manak rode hard and made Delhi as quickly as he could. Leaving his horse at the gate he rushed to his master Yusuf Singh, who had just come from a meeting with Alam Shah. Yusuf was slightly surprised by the presence of his apprentice in court, and rather more repulsed by the smell of a man who had ridden the entire journey without pausing to change his clothes, which still bore the odour of the moat that Akram had jumped into in order to escape Bahlul Khan Lodi. Yusuf’s joy at the sight of the chest containing the amulet was short-lived, firstly as Akram told him of his narrow escape, before the conversation was interrupted by alarmed voices around the palace of Alam Shah. Scouts had seen an army coming from the west, headed by Bahlul Khan Lodi himself. He was coming for what was his.
Bahlul Khan Lodi drew up his army upon the drylands of Bhattiana, a middle ground between Sirhind and Delhi. His stirring speech had roused the spirits of his own people, who had willingly followed him to war. His followers would be superior to the outnumbered, outflanked armies of their Delhi overlords, but he knew that he could not be complacent. He drew up his lines for battle, and seeing his opposite Daulat Khan Nazimmudin do the same, the order was given to advance. Bahlul Khan Lodi had seen years in the field, and his experience and leadership shone over his rival. He was able to effectively counter anything the enemy threw at him in the centre, whilst his cavalry on the flanks had freedom to harass the enemy line. When the dust settled, the enemy had been routed from the field, Bahlul Khan was victorious. Celebrations would be short lived, however. The road to Delhi now lay open, but there was first the matter of the army of Jangladesh to deal with.
Suraj Paunia was marching his army as hard as he could. It had taken some time to rouse his troops for war; perhaps it was the rumours that Bahlul Khan Lodi had a reputation for executing any enemies he had captured in battle, or maybe it was that the reports of the vastly superior enemy numbers, that had made his soldiers somewhat reluctant to face an army of Sirhind. It had been a march of several days across the desert in Churu, which had done little for the morale of his men; the rivers around Bhattiana had been a blessed relief to those who had only seen sand for days. Paunia had heard that this would be a likely spot for a battle, if indeed there would be one, and had marched his men as hard as he could, hoping he would not be too late.
He would soon find his answer. His men crossed a river and rounded a bend in the road towards Sirhind, whereupon they stumbled into the entire Sirhindi army. Bahlul Khan Lodi at the head of his men roared with laughter at his pitiful force. His soldiers followed suit. Suraj Paunia and his men fled, figuring they would at least escape with their lives this way. Smiling to himself about how easy it had all been, Bahlul Khan Lodi divided his forces, sending contingents to occupy Bhattiana, Panipat and Upper Doab, whilst he would march with the rest of his army to Delhi. He would not fail this time.
Inside the Delhi court, Yusuf Singh had summoned his new apprentice, Ibrahim Nadeem. Stealing the amulet would have been a good idea were it not for the incompetence of Akram Manak, who had survived just long enough to see the Sirhindi army march up to the gates and set up a siege. The loss of the amulet of Malik Bahram Lodi had driven his grandson on, and Bahlul Khan Lodi now stood outside the walls of Delhi, determined to get it back. Having made sure Ibrahim understood his instructions to the letter, he was sent to carry out his task. Yusuf and Ibrahim were to split up and leave Delhi with separate groups of deserting civilians, and were to meet up at the only place left where an army capable of any resistance would muster, the fort in Jangladesh. Yusuf, as always, was perfect in executing his plan; his disguise fooled the Sirhindi guards who were on the lookout for anyone suspicious leaving the capital, and he was on the road southwest. Once safely past the army, Yusuf waited for Ibrahim, who was in the next group of civilians. The plan was working, at least it was until the nervous Ibrahim trod on his own gown, giving a slight reveal of the chest he was carrying inside. Yusuf gasped in horror at the thought of Ibrahim having revealed the secret, but the guards did not notice much and the two men united, making for Jangladesh, hoping that they would make good their escape and hopefully pawn off the amulet when they reached their destination.
Bahlul Khan Lodi stood at the gates of Delhi and welcomed the delegation from inside the city. The defending garrison was unwilling to suffer any longer for the sake of Alam Shah Sayyid, who had no hope of summoning enough of a force to scatter the attackers. With the surrender taken as read, Bahlul Khan entered the city and searched the palace while his men occupied the fortifications. The search revealed nothing, however, and the victorious Sultan was growing frustrated when a report came in from a scout patrol. Two men had been seen on the road to Jangladesh, one of whom was carrying a fine looking chest, nicely engraved, apparently carrying something precious. The search for the amulet of Malik Bahram Lodi was on once more, his grandson rounding up his troops for Jangladesh.
Yusuf Singh took a look over the walls of Jangladesh and sighed. The army of Sirhind was making camps outside, and drawing up a siege. Another apprentice had failed him. He had dismissed Ibrahim Nadeem on their arrival at the fort, but with news of the enemy advance, he knew he could not stay long in Jangladesh. A visit to the tailor later, and he was on his way. The guard patrols weren’t as rigorous as they had been in Delhi, thank goodness, and he was soon heading for pastures new. Where, he wasn’t quite sure, but away from Bahlul Khan Lodi would be a start.
The Sultan awoke from his tent one morning and gazed at the city walls he had become familiar with for almost a year. It had been a long time to have spent away from Sirhind, but it would be worth it, he had told himself, to recover the amulet. Since the siege had been set up, everyone who had left Jangladesh had been searched; the amulet had not been found, and so must still be inside the city. The thought had kept him going while the defenders had resisted manfully, even for six months after the attackers had breached the city walls. This morning felt different, however. Food and water had been scarce for weeks, and rumours were about the camp that a surrender was imminent. Sure enough, in the heat of the afternoon sun, the defenders could take no more. The gates were opened and the besiegers marched in. As he had done at Delhi, Bahlul Khan Lodi made for the palace, and he and his retinue began to turn over every chest, wardrobe and cupboard in the building, hoping to be reunited with the amulet of his grandfather.
The last room in the palace had been searched, and Bahlul Khan Lodi let out a roar of frustration. He and his men had thoroughly searched the palace, and reports from within the city were also proving fruitless. The amulet had evaded him again. The journey to his estate at Sirhind after the surrender, and complete annexation, of both Delhi and Jangladesh, should have been a joyous one. He had thrown off the shackles of his overlord and now ruled a kingdom of his own, as his grandfather had prophesied he would, but without the amulet it all seemed for nought. There was still no trace of the amulet, and he prayed that he would get a chance to find the man responsible for its theft, and recover it once and for all. It would take pride of place in his bedchamber, he had thought, mounted where nobody would be able to steal it again.
In a dimly lit tavern, the sun setting in the distance, Yusuf Singh smiled to himself. He sat at a table and drank his wine to the ignorance of those around him, next to him was a fine wooden chest, belonging to Bahlul Khan Lodi. The Sultan’s men had been most thorough in searching him, and his cart, but had not found the hidden compartment containing the chest, and Yusuf had enjoyed a leisurely journey away from Jangladesh. He had been on the road for several months now, sometimes sleeping in his cart on the road, others in whatever tavern he had come across. He would not stop, however, until he had found somewhere safe. Somewhere over the Sirhindi borders, where he would not be checked. Nobody in the villages knew about the amulet, which was to his advantage. Whilst at the table, he had written a missive to someone he would be sure would be interested in acquiring such a precious item that had sentimental value to the Sultan of Sirhind, in the morning he would send a carrier pigeon with the letter, before setting off again.
Before the assembled crowds in Delhi, Bahlul Khan Lodi stood ready to give his speech. He had returned to Sirhind before heading for the headquarters of his now defeated overlords, the Sayyids. His intention was to reassure the people of Delhi that even though he had beaten Alam Shah, and was now ruler of the kingdom, there would be no changes or upheavals for them to worry about. He would finish by announcing the construction of a fort in the city to defer future enemy attacks, before unfurling the banners of the new kingdom for all to see. All went swimmingly for the Sultan, and with the announcement of the fort he gave the signal, at which point he was alarmed and dismayed to see the banners unfurl. They were not the white of Sirhind, but the green, red and blue stripes of the former Delhi Sultanate. He stood awkwardly for a moment, with the crowd stunned to silence. He turned to face the crowd, feeling rather awkward.
“Why of course,” he started. “The reason I said that nothing would change for the people of Delhi, is that I myself, and my heirs, shall be the new sultans of Delhi. Everything will be as it was before, my people will be glad to accept your traditions and ideals as their own. You may enjoy your lives as citizens of the Delhi Sultanate, which will rise again.”
His voice tapered off, he turned away from his audience, and clapped. The guards in his eyesight took the hint of the menacing glare they were given, and began clapping too. Moments later the crowd had taken the hint and united in a steady, confused applause. Bahlul Khan had somehow turned this mishap into an unconvincing victory. Away from the crowds at a meeting of court, the Sultan learned how the mix up with the flags had occurred. The guards assigned to the duties had been accosted, only found hours later in a pile of hay at the palace stables. The two “guards” who unveiled the Delhi flags had revealed themselves to be agents of Multan, who Bahlul Khan was quick to send an emissary declaring a rivalry. As he dismissed the court, the Sultan welcomed another messenger, bringing news of a man with a wooden chest that never left his side, engraved with fighting warriors. The messenger gave a brief description of the man, and left with the words that he had last been seen heading northwest towards Kabul, and possibly beyond.
“Same time next month” the official grinned sheepishly at the Sultan, who met his grin with a stony silence. The door opened and the official left, relieved the meeting was over.
Bahlul Khan Lodi sighed as soon as the door closed, before cursing the official, and the name of his overlord, Alam Shah Sayyid. It had been barely a year since he had attempted to overthrow the Sayyids and take Delhi for himself, but his attempt had been thwarted by a heavy monsoon and a bout of camp fever amongst his soldiers; since the aborted siege it had been the worst kept secret in all of Sirhind that he would one day try again. His acts of court done for the day, Lodi retired to his bedchamber, acknowledging the guard posted outside. Once in his chamber he clutched the amulet around his chest, which had once belonged to his grandfather, the great Malik Bahram Lodi. A pair of rubies embedded in a golden medallion, worn around his neck during his days in court as a reminder of his predecessor. It had been gifted to Bahlul Khan on his grandfather’s deathbed, along with the proclamation that one day he would have a kingdom to rule of his own. True to the prophecy, Bahlul Khan had first been granted a pargana of his own in Sirhind, and had built up an impressive territory from there, having added Lahore and its surrounding lands to his rule. The final piece of the puzzle for Bahlul Khan lay to the east, where the Sayyids had presided over the remnants of the Delhi Sultanate. The kingdom had been in something of a terminal decline since the sack of Delhi itself by Tamerlane some fifty years earlier, but still claimed overlordship of Sirhind. Through what appeared to those outside the court as little more than luck, the Sultanate had survived. However, there would surely be many who would welcome a regime change, not least of all Bahlul Khan Lodi.
Clutching his grandfather’s amulet to his chest, he took one last breath to clear his thoughts, and left the chamber for his evening stroll around the palace walls. As he made to acknowledge the guard at the door, he noticed that this one appeared different to the one who had been posted when he entered his chamber. He stared at the guard for a moment, who looked somewhat fidgety, but was doing his best to stand to attention in the presence of his liege. Bahlul Khan Lodi had something of a reputation as a disciplinarian, and no doubt it was this fear which was making the soldier uneasy. He turned and headed towards the ramparts of the palace, something he frequently did to pass the time by observing the city and its people from atop the palace walls. He watched the cotton merchants closing up their market stalls for the day, the travellers heading for the taverns, and the carriage of the official as it began returning towards Delhi. He fixed his eyes on the carriage for a moment, and watched as one of its wheels fell off, as he had instructed his servant to sabotage it earlier in the afternoon. The Sultan even afforded himself a chuckle as the official and driver stood in the street, looking perplexed at the now three wheeled vehicle as men came to see what all of the fuss was about. Such petty acts were surely unbecoming of a man with as mighty a reputation as Bahlul Khan Lodi, but he did what he could to make the Delhi officials lives as inconvenienced as possible anyway, knowing that the feeling was surely mutual between the courts of Delhi and Sirhind. He took one last look around the city, and went back inside to his bedchambers, taking another gaze at the guard outside the door. The guard still looked like he was recovering from the stare he had received when the Sultan was on his way out. Once inside, he took off the amulet of his Malik Bahram Lodi, and placed it in the chest next to his bed. He locked the chest, and soon fell asleep, dreaming of how he might continue to be a nuisance for Alam Shah Sayyid and the Delhi Sultanate.
Outside the bedroom, Akram Manak breathed a sigh of relief. Everything had gone according to his plan, well, that of his master Yusuf Singh at least. Yusuf Singh served in the court of Alam Shah Sayyid, and had heard from his spies and the delegations from Delhi to Sirhind about the amulet that Bahlul Khan Lodi wore. Such an amulet as this must be invaluable to him, and the loss of the amulet, Yusuf had figured, would show this rebellious upstart who was really in charge. He had devised a simple plan for Akram Manak to follow: enter the city, disguise himself as a guardsman, break into the palace chambers and steal the amulet, then make a getaway. It had been a simple enough plan for Akram to follow so far. Now here he was, outside the Sultans bedchamber, all he needed to do was to get the amulet and leave. This was the part he knew best, lockpicking had been a specialty of his since he was a child on the Delhi streets, trying to get enough food to survive. This amulet would make him enough to retire a rich man. He waited what seemed like an eternity for Bahlul Khan to fall asleep, before surveying the corridor one final time. Nobody was coming.
He took his lockpicks from his tunic and got to work, picking the chamber door with ease. Pushing the door open very slowly in order not to wake the Sultan, he crept to the chest with the amulet in it. The chest was every bit as magnificent as the amulet, the lid engraved with an outline of the Indian subcontinent, with several of the major cities marked out. Around the side were images of men, presumably Malik Bahram Lodi’s predecessors, slaying their enemies in combat. Akram had no time for marvelling at the design of the chest now though. He inserted his lockpick into the keyhole and began searching for the point where the lock would give. As he turned he felt some resistance, he turned in the other direction. There was an audible click as the lockpick broke.
Akram Manak had not planned for this.
Bahlul Khan Lodi woke with a start at the sound and saw the thief. He hurriedly got up and reached for his sword. In a panic, Akram grabbed the chest, getting to the door quicker than Lodi who was not far behind. He saw the open window ahead and sprinted down the corridor, leaping out into the night.
Akram had not planned for this either.
The Sultan reached the window and looked down, the loud splash as the thief hit the water would surely be heard by the guards on patrol. He went back into his chamber and saw the space where the chest containing his grandfather’s amulet would normally be. He had treasured this amulet for many years, a legacy of his grandfather and a sign of his destiny, and in a moment it had gone. Bahlul Khan could feel a rage brewing inside him as he called for his guards, and began describing the height and build of the thief to the men in the palace.
In the castle moat, Akram Manak swam like his life depended on it, which it did. He had been caught stealing the Sultan's most valued possession and surely every guard in the city would soon be on him. He reached the edge of the riverway and made for the city gates, disposing of his guardsman’s tunic as he did so. He felt sure he would be stopped, but news obviously hadn’t spread yet, for although there were some odd looks at the still dripping man running through the city streets, he was able to make it as far as the gates. When he got there, he made for the horse he had arrived on. As he went to mount it, he was challenged. Explaining that he had been unfortunate enough to be walking past a window as some dirty water was thrown out of it - which also explained the smell - the guardsman let him pass. Akram breathed a sigh of relief, but this would not last long. He heard the bellowing voice of Bahlul Khan Lodi in the streets, promising a reward for anyone who found a thief, soaked from head to toe in the waters of the palace moat. The gate guard realised a moment too late that he had been duped, and turned to see Akram Manak riding into the distance.
Bahlul Khan Lodi stood at the city gates, and looked out at the rider in the distance. He promised himself that this would be the last mistake that Delhi would ever make. The royal proclamation in front of all gathered there was brief. Delhi would fall.
Akram Manak rode hard and made Delhi as quickly as he could. Leaving his horse at the gate he rushed to his master Yusuf Singh, who had just come from a meeting with Alam Shah. Yusuf was slightly surprised by the presence of his apprentice in court, and rather more repulsed by the smell of a man who had ridden the entire journey without pausing to change his clothes, which still bore the odour of the moat that Akram had jumped into in order to escape Bahlul Khan Lodi. Yusuf’s joy at the sight of the chest containing the amulet was short-lived, firstly as Akram told him of his narrow escape, before the conversation was interrupted by alarmed voices around the palace of Alam Shah. Scouts had seen an army coming from the west, headed by Bahlul Khan Lodi himself. He was coming for what was his.
Bahlul Khan Lodi drew up his army upon the drylands of Bhattiana, a middle ground between Sirhind and Delhi. His stirring speech had roused the spirits of his own people, who had willingly followed him to war. His followers would be superior to the outnumbered, outflanked armies of their Delhi overlords, but he knew that he could not be complacent. He drew up his lines for battle, and seeing his opposite Daulat Khan Nazimmudin do the same, the order was given to advance. Bahlul Khan Lodi had seen years in the field, and his experience and leadership shone over his rival. He was able to effectively counter anything the enemy threw at him in the centre, whilst his cavalry on the flanks had freedom to harass the enemy line. When the dust settled, the enemy had been routed from the field, Bahlul Khan was victorious. Celebrations would be short lived, however. The road to Delhi now lay open, but there was first the matter of the army of Jangladesh to deal with.
Suraj Paunia was marching his army as hard as he could. It had taken some time to rouse his troops for war; perhaps it was the rumours that Bahlul Khan Lodi had a reputation for executing any enemies he had captured in battle, or maybe it was that the reports of the vastly superior enemy numbers, that had made his soldiers somewhat reluctant to face an army of Sirhind. It had been a march of several days across the desert in Churu, which had done little for the morale of his men; the rivers around Bhattiana had been a blessed relief to those who had only seen sand for days. Paunia had heard that this would be a likely spot for a battle, if indeed there would be one, and had marched his men as hard as he could, hoping he would not be too late.
He would soon find his answer. His men crossed a river and rounded a bend in the road towards Sirhind, whereupon they stumbled into the entire Sirhindi army. Bahlul Khan Lodi at the head of his men roared with laughter at his pitiful force. His soldiers followed suit. Suraj Paunia and his men fled, figuring they would at least escape with their lives this way. Smiling to himself about how easy it had all been, Bahlul Khan Lodi divided his forces, sending contingents to occupy Bhattiana, Panipat and Upper Doab, whilst he would march with the rest of his army to Delhi. He would not fail this time.
Inside the Delhi court, Yusuf Singh had summoned his new apprentice, Ibrahim Nadeem. Stealing the amulet would have been a good idea were it not for the incompetence of Akram Manak, who had survived just long enough to see the Sirhindi army march up to the gates and set up a siege. The loss of the amulet of Malik Bahram Lodi had driven his grandson on, and Bahlul Khan Lodi now stood outside the walls of Delhi, determined to get it back. Having made sure Ibrahim understood his instructions to the letter, he was sent to carry out his task. Yusuf and Ibrahim were to split up and leave Delhi with separate groups of deserting civilians, and were to meet up at the only place left where an army capable of any resistance would muster, the fort in Jangladesh. Yusuf, as always, was perfect in executing his plan; his disguise fooled the Sirhindi guards who were on the lookout for anyone suspicious leaving the capital, and he was on the road southwest. Once safely past the army, Yusuf waited for Ibrahim, who was in the next group of civilians. The plan was working, at least it was until the nervous Ibrahim trod on his own gown, giving a slight reveal of the chest he was carrying inside. Yusuf gasped in horror at the thought of Ibrahim having revealed the secret, but the guards did not notice much and the two men united, making for Jangladesh, hoping that they would make good their escape and hopefully pawn off the amulet when they reached their destination.
Bahlul Khan Lodi stood at the gates of Delhi and welcomed the delegation from inside the city. The defending garrison was unwilling to suffer any longer for the sake of Alam Shah Sayyid, who had no hope of summoning enough of a force to scatter the attackers. With the surrender taken as read, Bahlul Khan entered the city and searched the palace while his men occupied the fortifications. The search revealed nothing, however, and the victorious Sultan was growing frustrated when a report came in from a scout patrol. Two men had been seen on the road to Jangladesh, one of whom was carrying a fine looking chest, nicely engraved, apparently carrying something precious. The search for the amulet of Malik Bahram Lodi was on once more, his grandson rounding up his troops for Jangladesh.
Yusuf Singh took a look over the walls of Jangladesh and sighed. The army of Sirhind was making camps outside, and drawing up a siege. Another apprentice had failed him. He had dismissed Ibrahim Nadeem on their arrival at the fort, but with news of the enemy advance, he knew he could not stay long in Jangladesh. A visit to the tailor later, and he was on his way. The guard patrols weren’t as rigorous as they had been in Delhi, thank goodness, and he was soon heading for pastures new. Where, he wasn’t quite sure, but away from Bahlul Khan Lodi would be a start.
The Sultan awoke from his tent one morning and gazed at the city walls he had become familiar with for almost a year. It had been a long time to have spent away from Sirhind, but it would be worth it, he had told himself, to recover the amulet. Since the siege had been set up, everyone who had left Jangladesh had been searched; the amulet had not been found, and so must still be inside the city. The thought had kept him going while the defenders had resisted manfully, even for six months after the attackers had breached the city walls. This morning felt different, however. Food and water had been scarce for weeks, and rumours were about the camp that a surrender was imminent. Sure enough, in the heat of the afternoon sun, the defenders could take no more. The gates were opened and the besiegers marched in. As he had done at Delhi, Bahlul Khan Lodi made for the palace, and he and his retinue began to turn over every chest, wardrobe and cupboard in the building, hoping to be reunited with the amulet of his grandfather.
The last room in the palace had been searched, and Bahlul Khan Lodi let out a roar of frustration. He and his men had thoroughly searched the palace, and reports from within the city were also proving fruitless. The amulet had evaded him again. The journey to his estate at Sirhind after the surrender, and complete annexation, of both Delhi and Jangladesh, should have been a joyous one. He had thrown off the shackles of his overlord and now ruled a kingdom of his own, as his grandfather had prophesied he would, but without the amulet it all seemed for nought. There was still no trace of the amulet, and he prayed that he would get a chance to find the man responsible for its theft, and recover it once and for all. It would take pride of place in his bedchamber, he had thought, mounted where nobody would be able to steal it again.
In a dimly lit tavern, the sun setting in the distance, Yusuf Singh smiled to himself. He sat at a table and drank his wine to the ignorance of those around him, next to him was a fine wooden chest, belonging to Bahlul Khan Lodi. The Sultan’s men had been most thorough in searching him, and his cart, but had not found the hidden compartment containing the chest, and Yusuf had enjoyed a leisurely journey away from Jangladesh. He had been on the road for several months now, sometimes sleeping in his cart on the road, others in whatever tavern he had come across. He would not stop, however, until he had found somewhere safe. Somewhere over the Sirhindi borders, where he would not be checked. Nobody in the villages knew about the amulet, which was to his advantage. Whilst at the table, he had written a missive to someone he would be sure would be interested in acquiring such a precious item that had sentimental value to the Sultan of Sirhind, in the morning he would send a carrier pigeon with the letter, before setting off again.
Before the assembled crowds in Delhi, Bahlul Khan Lodi stood ready to give his speech. He had returned to Sirhind before heading for the headquarters of his now defeated overlords, the Sayyids. His intention was to reassure the people of Delhi that even though he had beaten Alam Shah, and was now ruler of the kingdom, there would be no changes or upheavals for them to worry about. He would finish by announcing the construction of a fort in the city to defer future enemy attacks, before unfurling the banners of the new kingdom for all to see. All went swimmingly for the Sultan, and with the announcement of the fort he gave the signal, at which point he was alarmed and dismayed to see the banners unfurl. They were not the white of Sirhind, but the green, red and blue stripes of the former Delhi Sultanate. He stood awkwardly for a moment, with the crowd stunned to silence. He turned to face the crowd, feeling rather awkward.
“Why of course,” he started. “The reason I said that nothing would change for the people of Delhi, is that I myself, and my heirs, shall be the new sultans of Delhi. Everything will be as it was before, my people will be glad to accept your traditions and ideals as their own. You may enjoy your lives as citizens of the Delhi Sultanate, which will rise again.”
His voice tapered off, he turned away from his audience, and clapped. The guards in his eyesight took the hint of the menacing glare they were given, and began clapping too. Moments later the crowd had taken the hint and united in a steady, confused applause. Bahlul Khan had somehow turned this mishap into an unconvincing victory. Away from the crowds at a meeting of court, the Sultan learned how the mix up with the flags had occurred. The guards assigned to the duties had been accosted, only found hours later in a pile of hay at the palace stables. The two “guards” who unveiled the Delhi flags had revealed themselves to be agents of Multan, who Bahlul Khan was quick to send an emissary declaring a rivalry. As he dismissed the court, the Sultan welcomed another messenger, bringing news of a man with a wooden chest that never left his side, engraved with fighting warriors. The messenger gave a brief description of the man, and left with the words that he had last been seen heading northwest towards Kabul, and possibly beyond.
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