Mohammed Khan, conceiving that the ex-judge had now performed sufficient penance for his indiscretion, sent for him again, and receiving him more graciously than ever, observed, “Knowing the delight you experience in travelling into various countries, I am desirous of sending you on an embassy into China.” Ibn Batūta, who appears by this time to have grown thoroughly tired of a fakeer’s life, very readily consented, and forthwith received those dresses of honour, horses, money, &c. which invariably accompanied such an appointment. Ambassadors had lately arrived from the Emperor of China with numerous costly presents for the khan, and requesting permission to rebuild an idol temple within the limits of Hindostan. Mohammed Khan, though, as a true Mussulman, he could not grant such permission unless tribute were paid, was now about to despatch ambassadors to his brother of China, “bearing, in proof of his greatness and munificence, presents much more valuable than those he had received.” These presents, as highly illustrative of the manners of those times and countries, we shall enumerate in the words of the traveller himself; they consisted of the following articles:—One hundred horses of the best breed, saddled and bridled; one hundred Mamlūks; one hundred Hindoo singing slave girls; one hundred Bairami dresses, the value of each of which was a hundred dinars; one hundred silken dresses; five hundred saffron-coloured dresses; one hundred pieces of the best cotton cloth; one thousand dresses of the various clothing of India; with numerous instruments of gold and silver, swords and quivers set with jewels, and ten robes of honour wrought with gold, of the sultan’s own dresses, with various other articles.
Ibn Batūta was accompanied on this mission by one of the chief of the Ulema, and by a favourite officer of the emperor, who was intrusted with the presents; and a guard of a thousand cavalry was appointed to conduct them to the seaport where they were to embark. The Chinese ambassadors and their suite returned homeward in their company. The embassy left Delhi in the year 1342, but had not proceeded far before they encountered a serious obstacle to their movements, and found themselves engaged in warlike operations. El Jalali, a city lying in their route, being besieged by the Hindoos, Ibn Batūta and his companions determined, like true Mussulmans, to unite with their distressed brethren in repelling the infidel forces, and in the commencement their valour was rewarded by success; but a great number of their troop suffering “martyrdom,” and among the rest the officer who had been intrusted with the care of the present, it was judged necessary to transmit an account of what had taken place to Delhi, and await the further commands of the “Lord of the World.” In the mean while the Hindoos, though, according to Ibn Batūta, thoroughly subdued, if not exterminated, continued their attacks upon the Moslems; and during one of these affrays our valiant traveller was accidentally placed in the greatest jeopardy. Having joined his coreligionists in pursuing the vanquished Hindoos, he suddenly found himself and five others separated from the main body of the army, and pursued in their turn by the enemy. At length his five companions, escaping in different directions, or falling by the sword of the Hindoos, disappeared, and he was thus left alone in the midst of the most imminent danger. Just at this moment the forefeet of his horse sticking fast between two stones, he dismounted to set the beast at liberty, and observed, that having entered the mouth of a valley his pursuers had lost sight of him, as he had of them. Of the country, however, the towns, the roads, and the rivers he was totally ignorant; so that, thinking his horse as good a judge of what was best as himself in the present dilemma, he permitted the animal to select his own path. The horse, imagining, perhaps, that shade and safety were synonymous, proceeded towards a part of the valley where the trees were closely interwoven, but had no sooner reached it than a party of about forty cavalry rushed out, and made our ambassador prisoner.
Ibn Batūta, who immediately alighted from his charger, now began to believe that all his journeyings were at an end; and that, notwithstanding his dreams, and the predictions of many saints, he was doomed never to behold China, or the second and third brothers of the Sheïkh Borhaneddin. To corroborate his apprehensions the Hindoos plundered him of all he possessed, bound his arms, and, taking him along with them, travelled for two days through a country unknown to our traveller, who, not understanding the language or manners of his captors, imagined they intended to kill, and, perhaps, to eat him. From these fears he was soon delivered, however, for at the end of two days, the Hindoos, supposing, no doubt, that they had terrified him sufficiently, gave him his liberty, and rode away. The shadows of his past apprehensions still haunting him, he no sooner found himself alone than plunging into the depths of an almost impenetrable forest he sought among the haunts of wild animals an asylum from the fury of man. Here he subsisted seven days upon the fruit and leaves of the mountain trees, occasionally venturing out to examine whither the neighbouring roads might lead, but always finding them conduct him towards ruins or the abode of Hindoos.
On the seventh day of his concealment he met with a black man, who politely saluted him, and, the salute being returned, demanded his name. Having satisfied the stranger upon this point, our traveller made the same demand, and the stranger replied that he was called El Kalb El Karīh (the “Wounded Heart”). He then gave Ibn Batūta some pulse to eat, and water to drink, and, observing that he was too weak to walk, took him upon his shoulders and carried him along. In this position our traveller fell asleep, and his nap must have been a long one, for, awaking about the dawn of the next day, he found himself at the gate of the emperor’s palace. What became of his extraordinary charger he does not inform us; but the emperor, who had already received by a courier the news of his misfortunes, bestowed upon him ten thousand dinars, to console him for his losses, and once more equipped him for his journey. Another officer was sent to take charge of the present, returning with whom to the city of Kul, he rejoined his companions, and proceeded on his mission.
Proceeding by the way of Dowlutabad, Nazarabad, Canbaza, and Pattan, he at length arrived at Kalikut in Malabar, where the whole party were to embark for China. Here, not having properly timed their arrival, our sage ambassadors had to remain three months, waiting for a favourable wind. When the season for departure had arrived, the other members of the embassy embarked with the present; but Ibn Batūta, finding the cabin which had been assigned him much too small to contain his baggage and the multitude of slave girls, remained on shore for the purpose of bargaining for a larger vessel, and hearing divine service on the next day. During the night a tempest arose, which drove several of the junks upon the shore, where a great number of the crew and passengers perished. The ship which contained the imperial present weathered the storm until the morning, when our traveller, descending to the beach, beheld her tossed about upon the furious waves, while the officers of the emperor prostrated themselves upon the deck in despair. Presently she struck upon the rocks, and every soul on board perished. A part of the fleet, among the rest the vessel containing our traveller’s property, sailed away, and of the fate of the greater number of them nothing was ever known. The whole of Ibn Batūta’s wealth now consisted of a prostration carpet and ten dinars; but being told that in all probability the ship in which he had embarked his fortune had put into Kawlam, a city ten days’ journey distant, he proceeded thither, but upon his arrival found that his hopes had been buoyed up in vain.
He was now in the most extraordinary dilemma in which he had ever been placed. Knowing the fierce and unreflecting character of the emperor, who, without weighing his motives, would condemn him for having remained on shore; and being too poor to remain where he was, he could not for some time determine how to act. At length, however, he resolved to visit the court of Jemaleddin, king of Hinaur, who received him kindly, and allowed him to become reader to the royal mosque. Shortly afterward, having been encouraged thereto by a favourable omen, obtained from a sentence of the Koran, he accompanied Jemaleddin in an expedition against the island of Sindibur, which was subdued and taken possession of. To console Ibn Batūta for the many misfortunes he had lately endured, Jemaleddin presented him with a slave girl, clothing, and other necessaries; and he remained with him several months. Still, however, he was not reconciled to the loss of his pretty female slave and other property which had been embarked in the Chinese ship, and requested the king’s permission to make a voyage to Kawlam for the purpose of making inquiries concerning it. His request being granted, he proceeded to Kawlam, where, to his great grief, he learned that his former mistress had died, and that his property had been seized upon by the “infidels,” while his followers had found other masters.
This affair being thus at an end, he returned to Sindibur, where he found his friend Jemaleddin besieged by an infidel king. Not being able to enter the city, he embarked, without delay, for the Maldive Islands, all parts of the earth being now much alike to him, and after a ten days’ voyage arrived at that extraordinary archipelago. Here, after dwelling upon the praises of the cocoanut, which he describes as an extremely powerful aphrodisiac, he informs us, as a commentary upon the above text, that he had four wives, besides a reasonable number of mistresses. Nevertheless, the natives, he says, are chaste and religious, and so very peacefully disposed that their only weapons are prayers. In one of these islands he was raised to the office of judge, when, according to his own testimony, he endeavoured to prevail upon his wives, contrary to the custom of the country, to eat in his company, and conceal their bosom with their garments, but could never succeed.
The legend which ascribes the conversion of these islanders to Mohammedanism, the religion now prevailing there, to a man who delivered the country from a sea-monster, which was accustomed to devour monthly one of their most beautiful virgins, strongly resembles the story of Perseus and Andromeda. In order to keep up the fervency of their piety the monster still appears on a certain day in the offing. Ibn Batūta, who had little of the skeptic in his composition, saw the apparition himself, in the form of a ship filled with candles and torches; and it may, perhaps, be the same supernatural structure which still hovers about those seas, sailing in the teeth of the wind, and denominated by European mariners the “Flying Dutchman.” In these islands Ibn Batūta remained some time, sailing from isle to isle through glittering and tranquil seas, being everywhere raised to posts of honour and distinction, and tasting of all the delights and pleasures which power, consideration, and a delicious climate could bestow.
Neither riches nor honours, however, could fix Ibn Batūta in one place. He was as restless as a wave of the sea. No sooner, therefore, had he seen the principal curiosities of the Maldive Islands, than he burned to be again in motion, visiting new scenes, and contemplating other men and other manners. Embarking on board a Mohammedan vessel, he set sail for the island of Ceylon, principally for the purpose of visiting the mark of Adam’s footstep on the mountain of Serendib, the lofty summit of which appeared, he observes, like a pillar of smoke at the distance of nine days’ sail. Drawing near the land, he was at first forbidden by the Hindoo authorities to come on shore; but, upon his informing them that he was a relation of the King of Maabar, as he in some sense was, having while at Delhi married the sister of that prince’s queen, they permitted him to disembark. The king of the country, who happened at that time to be in amity with the sovereign of Maabar, received him hospitably, and bade him ask boldly for whatever he might want. “My only desire,” replied the traveller, “in coming to this island is to visit the blessed foot of our forefather Adam.” This being the case, the king informed him that his desires might easily be gratified, and forthwith granted him an escort of four Jogees, four Brahmins, ten courtiers, and fifteen men for carrying provisions, with a palanquin and bearers for his own use.
With this superb retinue the traveller departed from Battalā, the capital of his royal host, and journeying for several days through a country abounding with wild elephants, arrived at the city of Kankār, situated on the Bay of Rubies, where the emperor of the whole island at that time resided. Here Ibn Batūta saw the only white elephant which he beheld in all his travels; and the beast, being set apart for the use of the prince, had his head adorned with enormous rubies, one of which was larger than a hen’s egg. Other rubies of still greater magnitude were sometimes found in the mines, and Ibn Batūta saw a saucer as large as the palm of the hand cut from one single stone. Rubies were in fact so plentiful here that the women wore strings of them upon their arms and legs, instead of bracelets and ankle-rings.