Alex Rutherford - Ruler of the World

‘Perhaps he does, but how can he be sure his elephant will beat yours?’

‘He is conceited enough to believe this Bengal fighter of his is invincible. But even if not, he will know that the very fact of holding the fight will suggest to the world that he and I are equals — both contenders for my father’s favour. You know better than anyone the extent of his and his supporters’ ambitions. . You carry the scar. He will think victory for him will be seen as a symbol and an omen.’

‘So what will you do?’

‘Everything I can to make sure my elephant wins. Send for Suraj and Basu, my best mahouts . We still have a few hours to prepare.’

News of the elephant fight spread quickly and as the time drew near excited spectators crowded the wide, hard-baked riverbank beneath the Agra fort. The area where the fight was to take place — an enclosure two hundred feet long and fifty feet wide — had been created by piling jute sacks of earth one on top of the other to the height of a man’s shoulder, leaving a gap on the west and east sides for the elephants to enter. A six-foot-high earth barrier running across width-wise divided the enclosure into two.

Salim was standing on the jharoka balcony with Khusrau and Khurram behind the low throne on which Akbar, wrapped in a fine embroidered Kashmiri wool shawl, was seated. Looking down, Salim noticed the purple tunics and cloth-of-silver turbans of Khusrau’s men among the crowds below. He could also see the red and gold clothing of some of his own attendants, including Zahed Butt, the captain of his bodyguard. He glanced at his eldest son. Khusrau was looking very confident and something he had just said to Akbar made his grandfather laugh.

The emperor raised his hand and at the signal a trumpeter high on the battlements put his six-foot-long bronze instrument to his lips and gave three short blasts — the signal for the elephants to proceed from their stables, the hati mahal , down the ramp from the fort and along the riverbank. First, to the accompaniment of kettledrums booming out from above the gatehouse, came the fifteen-foot-tall Damudar, wearing a purple velvet, silver-fringed jhool , his great legs loosely shackled with silver chains to prevent him from bolting. His mahout was seated on his neck and holding the long boathook-like metal rod used to control the animal during the fight. A second mahout was perched immediately behind. It would be his job to take over should the first man fall or be injured. Damudar’s forehead and eyes were protected by a shining steel plate that ended halfway down his trunk and his tusks were painted gold except for the tips, which were scarlet. As Damudar emerged from the fort and made his stately way towards the fight enclosure, Khusrau’s supporters on the riverbank roared their approval.

Craning his neck, Salim could now see his own elephant — a gift from Jodh Bai’s father — walking slowly down the ramp with Suraj sitting on his neck in front of Basu. World Shaker was smaller by nearly a foot than Khusrau’s beast but his silvered tusks were longer and more curved. The Rajputs trained their elephants well and World Shaker had proved his fearlessness many times.

As soon as Damudar and World Shaker had each entered their own side of the enclosure, bags of earth were piled up behind them to close the gaps in the arena walls. While this was being done, the elephants’ jhools had been removed and the beasts were already trumpeting angrily at each other with Khusrau’s Damudar swinging his great grey head from side to side. Salim felt his blood begin to pump. Glancing at Khusrau he saw from the rapid rise and fall of his chest that he too was excited. Had he misjudged his son? Was this simply a contest between two fighting elephants to amuse the sick emperor? But watching Khusrau bend to whisper again in Akbar’s ear, Salim was sure he had understood his son’s motives correctly.

Youths were now darting between the elephants’ legs to remove their chains. They had barely scrambled from the enclosure when with a great roar Khusrau’s elephant stormed towards the central barrier and standing up on his hind legs brought his two front legs crashing down. Then he reared up again as if he couldn’t wait to get at World Shaker who, guided by Suraj’s gentle taps, was withdrawing slowly backwards from his own side of the barrier. Salim saw Khusrau’s grin of triumph as Damudar continued to smash his way through.

Moments later, with his two riders clinging to his neck, the bellowing Damudar trampled with his great pillar-like legs the remains of the barrier and charged forward into World Shaker’s half of the arena, kicking earth and dust up into the air as he went. Suraj was still holding World Shaker back, exactly as he and Salim had planned he should, to lure his opponent into making a rush attack. You could never be sure of anything in an elephant fight but it should be the right tactic, Salim thought to himself. World Shaker was smaller and nimbler than Khusrau’s elephant.

As Damudar crashed forward, trunk high in the air and tusk tips horizontal, towards World Shaker, Salim wondered whether Suraj had left it too late. But at the very last moment, just as Damudar seemed about to smash into them, with a shouted command and a tap of his bar on the elephant’s right shoulder Suraj made World Shaker step quickly to one side, avoiding Damudar’s onrush. At the same time the elephant tossed up his head so that his tusks, filed to fine sharp points, inflicted a jagged gash to Damudar’s left side as he passed. Blood at once began seeping from the wound. As Damudar stumbled off, trumpeting in pain, Suraj urged World Shaker in pursuit. He caught up with Damudar close to the earth bags enclosing the arena. There Damudar’s driver, still struggling to bring his panicked and wounded beast back under full control, somehow managed to swing him round to confront World Shaker.

Urged on by their drivers and the shouts of the crowd, the two elephants rose up repeatedly on their hind legs, each seeking a way to gore the other. Within moments World Shaker had succeeded in slashing open Damudar’s trunk just beneath his steel head armour. Then, as Damudar staggered back, he followed up by thrusting one of his tusks deep into his opponent’s right shoulder. Khusrau was no longer looking so confident. World Shaker’s victory couldn’t be long delayed, Salim thought, but as the maddened elephants closed again Damudar’s driver lunged forward with his metal pole. He looked as if he intended to strike his elephant but suddenly, grabbing hold of a leather strap round Damudar’s neck, he leaned right out and with a quick movement hooked the curved end of his rod round Suraj’s leg. Pulled off balance, Suraj teetered for a moment then fell, arms flailing, to the ground. From where he was standing Salim couldn’t quite see what had happened to him but he heard the shocked gasp that a moment or two later rose up from the crowd.

‘Stop the fight!’ Akbar ordered.

Within moments, attendants were throwing lit fire crackers into the enclosure to frighten the elephants and drive them apart. The noisy, fizzing, smoking devices were too much for Damudar who, with his two riders still clinging to his neck, stampeded and burst right through the wall of earth-filled sacks. Trampling three spectators who were not quick enough to leap out of the way, the terrified animal bolted along the riverbank, scattering further onlookers as he ran, and then, swerving, plunged into the Jumna where he came to a halt nearly in midstream, staining the water red with his blood.

Meanwhile Basu had slid forward to take Suraj’s place on World Shaker and had managed, despite the noise and the chaos, to soothe the elephant and even to slip a cotton blindfold over his eyes to quieten him further. In the very middle of the enclosure lay the mangled heap that had been Suraj. His head had been crushed to a bloody pulp by an elephant’s foot and his intestines were spilled on the ground. Salim turned to his eldest son, shouting, ‘Your driver realised my elephant was about to win so he cheated by attacking my mahout , causing the needless death of a brave man.’