Khān-qulī said, ‘This will never do! They will take us all. From amongst the horses there are, you take two good ones and go quickly on with Mīrzā Qulī Kūkūldāsh, each with a led horse. May-be you will get away.’ He did not speak ill; as there was no fighting to hand, there was a chance of safety in doing as he said, but it really would not have looked well to leave any man alone, without a horse, amongst his foes. In the end they all dropped off, one by one, of themselves. My horse was a little tired; Khān-qulī dismounted and gave me his; I jumped off at once and mounted his, he mine. Just then they unhorsed Sayyidī Qarā’s ‘Abdu’l-qadūs and Nāṣir’s Shāham who had fallen behind. Khān-qulī also was left. It was no time to profer help or defence; on it was gone, at the full speed of our mounts. The horses began to flag; Dost Beg’s failed and stopped. Mine began to tire; Qaṃbar-‘alī got off and gave me his; I mounted his, he mine. He was left. Khwāja Ḥusainī was a lame man; he turned aside to the higher ground. I was left with Mīrzā Qulī Kūkūldāsh. Our horses could not possibly gallop, they trotted. His began to flag. Said I, ‘What will become of me, if you fall behind? Come along! let’s live or die together.’ Several times I looked back at him; at last he said, ‘My horse is done! It can’t go on. Never mind me! You go on, perhaps you will get away.’ It was a miserable position for me; he remained behind, I was alone.
Two of the enemy were in sight, one Bābā of Sairām, the other Banda-‘alī. They gained on me; my horse was done; the mountains were still 2 miles (1 kuroh) off. A pile of rock was in my path. Thought I to myself, ‘My horse is worn out and the hills are still somewhat far away; which way should I go? In my quiver are at least 20 arrows; should I dismount and shoot them off from this pile of rock?’ Then again, I thought I might reach the hills and once there, stick a few arrows in my belt and scramble up. I had a good deal of confidence in my feet and went on, with this plan in mind. My horse could not possibly trot; the two men came within arrow’s reach. For my own sake sparing my arrows, I did not shoot; they, out of caution, came no nearer. By sunset I was near the hills. Suddenly they called out, ‘Where are you going in this fashion? Jahāngīr Mīrzā has been brought in a prisoner; Nāṣir Mīrzā also is in their hands.’ I made no reply and went on towards the hills. When a good distance further had been gone, they spoke again, this time more respectfully, dismounting to speak. I gave no ear to them but went on up a glen till, at the Bed-time prayer, I reached a rock as big as a house. Going behind it, I saw there were places to be jumped, where no horse could go. They dismounted again and began to speak like servants and courteously. Said they, ‘Where are you going in this fashion, without a road and in the dark? Sl. Aḥmad Taṃbal will make you pādshāh.’ They swore this. Said I, ‘My mind is not easy as to that. I cannot go to him. If you think to do me timely service, years may pass before you have such another chance. Guide me to a road by which I can go to The Khān’s presence. If you will do this, I will shew you favour and kindness greater than your heart’s-desire. If you will not do it, go back the way you came; that also would be to serve me well.’ Said they, ‘Would to God we had never come! But since we are here, after following you in the way we have done, how can we go back from you? If you will not go with us, we are at your service, wherever you go.’ Said I, ‘Swear that you speak the truth.’ They, for their part, made solemn oath upon the Holy Book.
I at once confided in them and said, ‘People have shewn me a road through a broad valley, somewhere near this glen; take me to it.’ Spite of their oath, my trust in them was not so complete but that I gave them the lead and followed. After 2 to 4 miles (1-2 kuroh), we came to the bed of a torrent. ‘This will not be the road for the broad valley,’ I said. They drew back, saying, ‘That road is a long way ahead,’ but it really must have been the one we were on and they have been concealing the fact, in order to deceive me. About half through the night, we reached another stream. This time they said, ‘We have been negligent; it now seems to us that the road through the broad valley is behind.’ Said I, ‘What is to be done?’ Said they, ‘The Ghawā road is certainly in front; by it people cross for Far-kat.655 They guided me for that and we went on till in the third watch of the night we reached the Karnān gully which comes down from Ghawā. Here Bābā Sairāmī said, ‘Stay here a little while I look along the Ghawā road.’ He came back after a time and said, ‘Some men have gone along that road, led by one wearing a Mughūl cap; there is no going that way.’ I took alarm at these words. There I was, at dawn, in the middle of the cultivated land, far from the road I wanted to take. Said I, ‘Guide me to where I can hide today, and tonight when you will have laid hands on something for the horses, lead me to cross the Khujand-water and along its further bank.’ Said they, ‘Over there, on the upland, there might be hiding.’
Banda-‘alī was Commandant in Karnān. ‘There is no doing without food for ourselves or our horses;’ he said, ‘let me go into Karnān and bring what I can find.’ We stopped 2 miles (1 kuroh) out of Karnān; he went on. He was a long time away; near dawn there was no sign of him. The day had shot when he hurried up, bringing three loaves of bread but no corn for the horses. Each of us putting a loaf into the breast of his tunic, we went quickly up the rise, tethered our horses there in the open valley and went to higher ground, each to keep watch.
Near mid-day, Aḥmad the Falconer went along the Ghawā road for Akhsī. I thought of calling to him and of saying, with promise and fair word, ‘You take those horses,’ for they had had a day and a night’s strain and struggle, without corn, and were utterly done. But then again, we were a little uneasy as we did not entirely trust him. We decided that, as the men Bābā Sairāmī had seen on the road would be in Karnān that night, the two with me should fetch one of their horses for each of us, and that then we should go each his own way.
At mid-day, a something glittering was seen on a horse, as far away as eye can reach. We were not able to make out at all what it was. It must have been Muḥ. Bāqir Beg himself; he had been with us in Akhsī and when we got out and scattered, he must have come this way and have been moving then to a hiding-place.656
Banda-‘alī and Bābā Sairāmī said, ‘The horses have had no corn for two days and two nights; let us go down into the dale and put them there to graze.’ Accordingly we rode down and put them to the grass. At the Afternoon Prayer, a horseman passed along the rising-ground where we had been. We recognized him for Qādīr-bīrdī, the head-man of Ghawā. ‘Call him,’ I said. They called; he came. After questioning him, and speaking to him of favour and kindness, and giving him promise and fair word, I sent him to bring rope, and a grass-hook, and an axe, and material for crossing water,657 and corn for the horses, and food and, if it were possible, other horses. We made tryst with him for that same spot at the Bed-time Prayer.
Near the Evening Prayer, a horseman passed from the direction of Karnān for Ghawā. ‘Who are you?’ we asked. He made some reply. He must have been Muḥ. Bāqir Beg himself, on his way from where we had seen him earlier, going at night-fall