The Cambridge History of India, Vol. III: Turks and Afghans v3.c20.236

v3.c20.236

The armies were encamped on the opposite bank of the Gogra, and the situation was critical, but Bughrā hesitated to attack his son’s superior force and contented himself with threatening messages, but when they were answered in the same strain changed his tone and suggested a meeting. This was arranged, but it was stipulated that Bughrā should acknowledge the superior majesty of Delhi by visiting his son. He consented, and crossed the river. Kaiqubād was to have received his father seated on his throne, but as Bughrā approached his natural feelings overcame him, and he descended from the throne and paid to him the homage due from a son to his father, and their meeting moved the spectators to tears. A friendly contention regarding precedence lasted long and was concluded by the father taking the son by the hand, seating him on the throne, and standing before him. He then embraced his son and returned to his own camp. Kaiqubād celebrated the reconciliation, in characteristic fashion, with a drinking bout at which he and his courtiers got drunk. He exchanged complimentary presents with his father and three more meetings took place between them. Bughrā took his son to task for putting to death Kaikhusrav and so many of the old nobles and advised him to substitute a council of four for a single adviser. At the last meeting he whispered in his son’s ear, as he embraced him, a caution against Nizām-ud-dīn and advised him to put him to death. The two parted with tokens of affection and returned to their capitals. ‘Alas!’ cried Bughrā, ‘I have seen the last of my son and the last of Delhi.’ His counsels induced Kaiqubād to make a faint effort to reform his ways, but before he reached Delhi he had returned like a dog to his vomit and a washed sow to her wallowing in the mire. The rejoicings with which his hardly expected return was celebrated were the occasion of general licence, in describing which the aged and toothless Baranī, writing more than half a century later, is beguiled into rhapsodical and unseemly reminiscences of his own misspent youth.