There was some excuse for the expenditure on food. Famine is the recurrent curse of countries with imperfect means of transport, and “the land suffered from famine at this time. Thus suffering was relieved; and fame of it borne afar.” But Batûta does not conceal his having used money which his friends lent him during his stay at Delhi. Indeed he vilifies them for expecting him to return any part of it. He tells his tale in the tone of a man who believes himself to have been treated ungenerously and unjustly.
Later on in his narrative, he has occasion to refer to the fact that at some time during the few years of his residence at Delhi he added to the number of his wives by marrying the daughter of the Emir of Mobar, in Southern India. “She was a religious woman, who would spend the whole night in meditation and prayer. She could read, but not write. She bore me a female child; but what is become of either of them is beyond my ken.” The indelicacy of the dress of women in Delhi shocked him: “they merely cover the face, and the body from the navel downwards only.” He tried to get them to robe themselves completely, and failed.
“How wretched
Is that poor man who hangs on princes’ favours!”
It seems that the capricious Sultan had placed much confidence in a certain holy man; but suspicion of the sheik’s fidelity was aroused, and spies were set to take note of his visitors. Among his friends and visitors was Batûta. Everybody on the list was ordered to appear at the fatal portal. Batûta thought his last hour had come and betook himself to his prayers; he repeated “God is our succour and exceeding help” no less than 33,000 times in a single day; he fasted for four days, taking nothing but water and expecting the executioners every moment. He alone escaped the fatal scimitar.
He had seen enough of Imperial caprice to know that respite was not security, or innocence a lasting defence. He resigned his office and went to a worker of miracles, “the saint and phœnix of his time,” who was one of his friends. He gave all that he possessed to holy men; put on the robe of an ascetic, and ate nothing but rice. But the blindfold goddess had him on her wheel, and was to give it many a turn yet. Five months passed, and then the Sultan sent for him and gave him a gracious reception. But he deemed it wise to return to his rigorous life, and was more severe in it than before. Yet forty more days passed, and then the Sultan again commanded his presence.
There was now a much greater trade with China than in the time of Hiuen-Tsiang. An Embassy, headed by a high mandarin, had come from China (A.D. 1342) with presents of 100 male slaves, 50 slave-girls, rich dresses, quivers of gold, and jewelled swords. In a certain lower reach of the Himalaya was a plain which had been overrun by the Moslem conquerors. Once a Buddhist temple stood there; and Chinese pilgrims were wont to journey across Thibet to pray at the sacred spot. Moreover the inhabitants of the district were cut off from their wonted toil in Thibetan fields beyond the border. The place was secured by Nature from any attack from the North; and the Great Khân of China begged that restrictions should be removed and permission given for the temple to be rebuilt. The Sultan was willing to grant the request on certain pecuniary conditions, but he cast about for some one to accompany the returning embassy and represent him at the Chinese Court. Who so suitable as Batûta, a man of the world, experienced in travel, highly educated, and sharp-witted? His innocence was established. Such a degree of asceticism, so long endured, was proof of piety. The Sultan ordered him to go. The garb of the ascetic was thrown off. He would feel more secure in China than at Delhi.