The execution of Jalal-ud-Din Khalji (r. 1290–96), with the usurper Alauddin Khalji enthroned. Jami al-Tawarikh, 1314 CE painting (Source: Wikimedia).

Allahabad Under the Delhi Sultanate: The Khalji Dynasty

Provincial power, regicide, and the origins of the Bhakti Movement (1290–1320 CE).

In our last article, we traced Allahabad’s role in the rise and fall of the Mamlūk — or Slave — Dynasty, the first Muslim dynasty to rule India. We followed the arc of history from the accession of Quṭb al-Dīn Aibak to the overthrow of the last Mamlūk Sultan, Shams-ud-Dīn Kayumars. As we noted there, it was a Khaljī noble named Jalāl-ud-Dīn Khaljī who ended that dynasty, establishing the second ruling house of the Delhi Sultanate — the Khaljī Dynasty — and reigning from 13 June 1290 CE to 19 July 1296. In this article, we turn to Allahabad’s story during the Khaljī era. Our primary source will be Ziyā-ud-Dīn Baranī’s Tārīkh-i-Fīrōz Shāhī, supplemented where needed by Firishtā’s Tārīkh-i-Firishtā.

Kara: A Province That Would Not Be Tamed

As we saw in the previous article, Kara was never a quiet province. It chafed under the authority of Delhi, and this restlessness would prove far more consequential during Khaljī rule than it ever had been under the Mamlūks. It was here that the fate of medieval India would be decided — not once, but repeatedly.

Recall the story of Malik Chajju, the nephew of the late Sultan Balban and the last significant representative of the old Balbanite order. He had been posted to Kara precisely to keep him far from Delhi — close enough to govern, distant enough to be harmless. When Jalāl-ud-Dīn Khaljī dethroned the last Mamlūk Sultan in 1290 CE, Malik Chajju found himself with what he considered a legitimate claim to the throne. He was, after all, the blood of Balban. And so he acted.

Baranī records the rebellion in vivid detail:

In the second year of the reign, Malik Chhaju, nephew of Balban, raised the white canopy in Karra, and had the khutba read in his name. Malik ‘Ali, sar-jandar, son of a slave (maula-zada) of Sultan Balban, who held the grant of Oudh, joined him. Several other old adherents of Balban, who held territories towards Hindustan, also supported him. He assumed the title of Sultan Mughisu-d din, and the khutba was read in his name throughout Hindustan. Assembling an army, he marched towards Dehli to claim the throne of his uncle, with the expectation that the people of the city would join him. Many of the inhabitants of Dehli and the environs, mindful of the benefits they had received from his ancestors, heard of his approach with satisfaction and joy, and recognized him as the rightful heir to the throne; for they said that no Khilji had ever been a king, and that the race had no right or title to Dehli.

The forces of Kara marched on Delhi and encountered the royal army near Badaun. The Sultan’s second son, Arkali Khan, commanded the Khaljī forces. Malik Chajju and his supporters were routed, and Arkali Khan, as Baranī tells us, “… put yokes upon their necks and sent them bound to the Sultan…. their hands tied behind their necks, covered with dust and dirt, and their garments all soiled.”

What followed next was as surprising as the rebellion itself. Rather than make a public example of the prisoners, the Sultan pardoned them entirely. Baranī notes:

It was expected that the Sultan would have them paraded in this state all through the army as examples, but as soon as he saw them, he put his handkerchief before his eyes and cried with a loud voice, ‘What is this!’ He ordered them to be dismounted and unfastened immediately.

The mercy did not end there. Baranī’s account continues that the rebells:

… were conducted into an empty tent, where they were washed, perfumed, and dressed in clean garments by the Sultan’s attendants. The Sultan went into his private apartments and ordered wine to be set out. He then called these captive nobles in as his guests, and they were so overwhelmed with shame that they kept their eyes fixed on the ground and did not speak a word. The Sultan spoke kindly to them and endeavoured to console them, telling them that, in drawing their swords to support the heir of their old benefactor, they had taken an honest rather than a dishonest course.

This extraordinary act of clemency was not universally admired. Among the Khaljī nobles, it was read as weakness, and quiet disaffection began to take root — a seed that would bear poisonous fruit.

Alā-ud-Dīn Khaljī: The Governor Who Would Be King

The rebellion’s aftermath brought a development of enormous consequence. Baranī records: “When the Sultan returned from Badaun after the suppression of the rebellion of Malik Chhaju, he bestowed Karra on ‘Alau-d din his nephew (brother’s son) and son in law, whom he had brought up.”

This was, though no one could have known it then, one of the most consequential appointments in Indian history. The young Alā-ud-Dīn, recently posted to Kara, soon encountered many of Malik Chajju’s former rebels and supporters still lingering in the province. Instead of punishing them, he absorbed them into his own circle — and they wasted no time in reshaping his ambitions. Baranī captures the moment with precision:

Alau-d din proceeded to his territory, and in the same year he found there many of the officers and friends of Malik Chhaju who had taken part in his rebellion. Them he set free and took into his service. These disaffected persons began at once to suggest to ‘Alau-d din, that it was quite possible to raise and equip a large force in Karra, and through Karra to obtain Dehli. Money only was needed: but for want of that Malik Chhaju would have succeeded. Get only plenty of money, and the acquisition of Dehli would be easy…. The crafty suggestions of the Karra rebels made a lodgement in his brain, and, from the very first year of his occupation of that territory, he began to follow up his design of proceeding to some distant quarter and amassing money. To this end he was constantly making inquiries about other countries from travellers and men of experience.

The opportunity came sooner than expected. With the Sultan’s permission, Alā-ud-Dīn marched to Bhilsa (then called Bhailasan), plundered it successfully, sent the spoils to Delhi, and was rewarded with the additional governorship of Oudh. But it was the next step — a raid deep into the Deccan — that would change everything.

When ‘Alau-d din went to Bhailasan (Bhilsa), he heard much of the wealth and elephants of Deogir. He inquired about the approaches to that place, and resolved upon marching thither from Karra with a large force, but without informing the Sultan.

To buy himself time, Alā-ud-Dīn travelled to Delhi and convinced the Sultan to defer the tribute owed from Kara and Oudh — ostensibly to fund a campaign against Chanderi, a place, as Baranī describes, “…where peace and security reigned, and where no apprehension of the forces of Dehli was felt.” The trusting Sultan agreed. Alā-ud-Dīn used the respite to quietly assemble his forces and marched south toward Devagiri, the immensely wealthy capital of the Yādava kingdom, all while maintaining the pretence of heading for Chanderi.

Joshi notes that before departing “…to Deogir on an expedition without the sultan’s permission, he left his fief in the charge of Ala-ul-Mulk, instructing him to keep supplying the sultan with periodical bulletins so as to allay any suspicion that might arise in his mind.”

Despite months of careful deception, rumours eventually reached the Delhi court. The Deccan chronicler ʿAbd al-Malik ʿIṣāmī — writing under the patronage of the Bahmani Sultanate, which was itself hostile to Delhi — describes the situation in his Futūḥ-us-Salāṭīn:

From Kara, Alauddin sent fraudulent reports to the court, hiding his grand army under the guise of loyalty… He had won over the hearts of the local troops with the gold of Devagiri, yet he wrote to the Sultan: ‘I am but a slave who fears the royal wrath; if the Sultan does not come to pardon me with his own lips, I shall consume poison and end my days.’

The Murder at Kara: 19 July 1296 CE

Alā-ud-Dīn was not merely Jalāl-ud-Dīn’s nephew; the Sultan had raised him from childhood and given him his own daughter in marriage. When the fearful letter arrived from Kara, the old Sultan saw not a schemer but the young man he had loved like a son. He could not sense the trap. And so he travelled to Kara to grant his forgiveness in person.

As the Sultan journeyed down the Ganges by boat, his army marched along the riverbank. Then, as Ziyā-ud-Dīn Baranī — who had deep ties to the Sultanate court — describes:

The Sultan arrived at Kara on the afternoon of the 17th Ramazan… ‘Ala-ud-din sent Almas Beg to the Sultan’s boat… to request that the men who were armed should leave their arms behind, lest ‘Ala-ud-din should see them and be frightened… The Sultan, on reaching the shore, said, ‘I have brought him up from infancy, how can I be afraid of him?’

It was 19 July 1296 CE — a fateful day in the history of Allahabad. The July humidity hung thick over the Ganges at Kara, the heavy river air smelling of silt, woodsmoke, and impending rain.

On the western bank, the elderly Sultan of Delhi stepped out of his royal barge, his feet sinking slightly into the wet alluvial mud. He was unarmed, unarmoured, and entirely defenceless — a deliberate display of paternal trust. Moving toward him from the shadows of the garrison walls came his nephew and son-in-law, Alā-ud-Dīn, the Governor of Kara.

Jalāl-ud-Dīn crossed the river and reached his nephew’s camp. He affectionately patted Alā-ud-Dīn’s cheek, reassuring him that his fears of royal retribution were entirely misplaced. Then, as Baranī records:

Ala-ud-din advanced and fell at the Sultan’s feet. The Sultan gently raised him, slapped him on the cheek… and said, ‘I have brought thee up with such love, how couldst thou be afraid of me?’ At this moment ‘Ala-ud-din made a sign to his men, and Mahmud Salim, a bad fellow of Samana, struck at the Sultan with his sword, but the blow fell short and wounded his own hand. He struck again and wounded the Sultan.

Bleeding and horrified, Jalāl-ud-Dīn turned and stumbled back toward his barge. But he could not outrun his fate. Baranī writes:

The Sultan ran towards his boat, crying out, ‘Ah! thou wretch ‘Ala-ud-din, what hast thou done?’ Another villain, Ikhtiyar-ud-din, ran after him, threw him down, cut off his head, and bore it to ‘Ala-ud-din… The head of the murdered Sultan was placed upon a spear and paraded through the camp, and was afterwards sent to Oudh… The white canopy was raised over the head of ‘Ala-ud-din, and he was proclaimed Sultan.

The Price of Treachery

To consolidate his hold over the army and the surrounding population, the new Sultan scattered the plunder of the Deccan lavishly among soldiers and citizens alike — buying silence, or at least acquiescence, for his act of regicide. The famous Moroccan traveller Ibn Baṭṭūṭa records in his Riḥla:

After the murder of his uncle on the river, ‘Ala ad-Din took possession of the gold and treasures of the Deccan. He began to scatter dinars and dirhams from catapults among the populace to make them forget the heinous crime he had committed in shedding the blood of his master.

Yet public memory proved more durable than Alā-ud-Dīn’s gold. In another passage of the Riḥla, Ibn Baṭṭūṭa describes how the murder at Kara continued to haunt the collective imagination of the Sultanate’s subjects:

The people of India relate that no man who kills his sovereign or betrays his benefactor ever enjoys the fruits of his treason for long. They point to the fate of Ala ad-Din, who died in agony, and whose sons were blinded and slaughtered, as a warning example of the curse that follows the blood of Jalal ad-Din.

This pivotal event — which took place at Kara, in what is today Allahabad — altered the entire course of medieval Indian history. Though the seat of power remained in Delhi, Allahabad continued to shape events of national consequence.

The Governorship of Kara Under Alā-ud-Dīn

After Alā-ud-Dīn’s return to Delhi from Kara, the province’s administration passed through several hands, each chapter touching wider events in the Sultanate.

The first appointment went to Malik Alā-ul-Mulk, an uncle of Baranī himself, who had served as Alā-ud-Dīn’s trusted deputy in Kara during the Devagiri campaign. He did not hold the post long. In the second year of Alā-ud-Dīn’s reign, Baranī records that Alā-ul-Mulk “…was summoned from Karra, and came with the maliks and amirs and one elephant, bringing the treasure which ‘Alau-d din had left there. He was become exceedingly fat and inactive, but he was selected from among the nobles to be kotwal of the city [of Delhi].”

The governorship then passed to Nuṣrat Khān, one of the Sultan’s most trusted commanders. Nuṣrat Khān’s role in Kara would draw him directly into one of the most celebrated military campaigns of the reign — the siege of Ranthambore. Baranī records:

Aldu-d din now first resolved upon the capture of Rantambhor, which was near Dehli. This fort had been taken, and was held by Hamir Deo, grandson of Rai Pithaura of Dehli. Ulugh Khan, who held Bayana, was ordered to Rantambhor, and Nusrat Khan, who held Karra that year, was ordered to collect all the forces of Karra, and that part of Hindustan, and to march to the assistance of Ulugh Khan. They captured Jhain, and invested Rantambhor.

The initial campaign did not go as planned. Contrary to what Baranī suggests, the combined forces of Ulugh Khān and Nuṣrat Khān were actually beaten back by the Rajput defenders, forcing Sultan Alā-ud-Dīn to lead the siege in person. The governor of Kara paid for this campaign with his life. Baranī records: “One day Nusrat Khan approached the fort to direct the construction of a mound, and a redoubt. A stone discharged from a Maghribi in the fort struck him, and so wounded him that he died two or three days after.”

Following Nuṣrat Khān’s death, Joshi notes that “…the post [of governor of Kara] was given to his nephew, Malik Chajju [not to be confused with Malik Chajju of the Mamlūk period], who seems to have left the administration of the province to his deputies as he was constantly absent in the Deccan.” In 1303 CE, this Malik Chajju of Kara led a campaign against the Kākatīyas of Warangal but suffered a decisive defeat and returned to Kara empty-handed. The Kākatīyas would not be brought to heel until 1310 CE, when the Sultan’s formidable general Malik Kāfūr completed the task.

According to Joshi, the governorship subsequently passed to Naṣīr-ud-Dīn Sautalya around 1307–08 CE. Little else is known about this official; the contemporary chronicles offer virtually no information about his activities in the region.

The Decline of Alā-ud-Dīn and the End of the Khaljīs

In his final years, Alā-ud-Dīn fell entirely under the influence of his eunuch-slave-general Malik Kāfūr, who had risen to become the de facto ruler of the Sultanate after his appointment as viceroy. Kāfūr systematically eliminated his rivals: Alā-ud-Dīn removed experienced administrators, abolished the office of wazīr (prime minister), and executed the minister Sharaf Qā’ini — all, it appears, at Kāfūr’s instigation. Kāfūr further convinced Alā-ud-Dīn to have his eldest sons, Khizr Khān and Shādī Khān, blinded, and to order the killing of his brother-in-law Alp Khān, a powerful noble who posed a threat to Kāfūr’s supremacy.

Alā-ud-Dīn died on the night of 4 January 1316 CE. Baranī records that “some people” believed Kāfūr had murdered him. The following day, Kāfūr installed Alā-ud-Dīn’s young son Shihāb-ud-Dīn as a puppet monarch. But Kāfūr’s own end came swiftly: he was killed shortly afterward, and Alā-ud-Dīn’s elder son Mubārak Khān seized power, ruling from 1316 to 1320 CE.

During Mubārak Khān’s reign, the governorship of Kara was held by Malik Talbagha Yaghda, a prominent noble. Like his father before him, Mubārak Khān proved susceptible to the malign influence of a favourite — in this case his homosexual partner, Khusrū Khān. When nobles like Malik Talbagha Yaghda attempted to warn the Sultan, the consequences were severe. Baranī notes that Malik Talbagha Yaghda, “… who had spoken more plainly about the plans of the traitor, was deprived of sight, beaten on the mouth, stripped of his offices, territories, and retainers, and put in prison.”

On the night of 9 July 1320, Khusrū Khān and his co-conspirators killed Sultan Mubārak Khān. To eliminate every possible claimant to the throne, they killed Alā-ud-Dīn’s two eldest surviving sons — Farīd Khān, aged fifteen, and Abū Bakr Khān, aged fourteen — along with Mubārak Khān’s mother. Three other sons of Alā-ud-Dīn were blinded: Bahā-ud-Dīn Khān (aged eight), ʿAlī Khān (aged eight), and ʿUthmān Khān (aged five). Numerous nobles, officials, bodyguards, and servants were also put to death.

Thus perished the family of Alā-ud-Dīn — the man who had defiled the sacred waters of the Ganges at Kara with his uncle’s blood. With them died the Khaljī Dynasty of the Delhi Sultanate.

Khusrū Khān briefly claimed the throne, but his reign lasted barely two months. On 6 September 1320 CE, he was overthrown and killed by Ghiyās-ud-Dīn Tughluq, who founded the third dynasty of the Delhi Sultanate — the Tughluq Dynasty — which we shall examine in our next article.

A Light Born in Allahabad: Swāmī Rāmānanda and the Bhakti Movement

Before we close this chapter, one more significant event from Allahabad during the Khaljī period demands attention — one that belongs not to the world of swords and thrones, but to the realm of the spirit.

The Bhakti Movement stands as one of the most transformative spiritual and social movements in Indian history. It reshaped the religious and social landscape of the subcontinent so profoundly that its influence remains clearly visible today. Saint-poets like Kabīr and Ravidas — also known as Rāidās — are still quoted and revered by millions. In the twenty-first century, Ravidas in particular became a central figure of Dalit liberation movements across North India. Both Kabīr and Ravidas were disciples of Swāmī Rāmānanda — who was born in Allahabad around 1300 CE.

Traditional sources place his birth on the seventh day of the Kṛṣṇa Pakṣa of the Māgha month in Vikram Saṃvat 1356, corresponding to 1299 or 1300 CE. However, this date runs into serious difficulties. Rāmānanda is believed to have died around 1448 or 1470 CE, which would make his lifespan roughly 150 years — a biological impossibility. Moreover, given that his most celebrated disciples, Kabīr and Ravidas, flourished in the late fourteenth to mid-fifteenth centuries, it is difficult to reconcile the idea of Rāmānanda as their teacher with a birth date of 1300 CE. Modern scholarship therefore places his birth somewhere between 1360 and 1380 CE.

Whatever the debates surrounding the year of his birth, there is no disagreement about where he was born. Both traditional sources — including the Bhaktamāl of Nābhādās — and modern scholarship agree that Rāmānanda was born in Prayāg (Allahabad) to a Kānyakubja Brāhmaṇa family. He spent his early childhood there before journeying to Vārāṇasī, which became the main centre of his spiritual teachings and of the Bhakti movement in northern India.

It is a remarkable irony of history that the same city which bore witness to one of medieval India’s most cynical acts of political treachery was also the birthplace of one of its most luminous voices of devotion and human equality.

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