“Wish my father was this courteous. I’d still be a prince,” Jalaluddin thinks as Sultan Iltutmish of Delhi politely dismisses his plea. Once the commander of legions, the prince now petitions for asylum.

It is 1220 A.D. Jalaluddin is on the run.

A year ago, his father, Muhammad, mocked envoys from a rising Mongol Khan. Strange! All that the Khan respectfully sought was cooperation to revive the lucrative Silk Route to Europe. With shared profits, of course.

Master of the sprawling Khwarizm Empire stretching from Afghanistan to Turkey, Muhammad maintained a massive army. Drunk on power, Muhammad personally beheaded one envoy. Sent back two with shaven heads, the worst among Mongol insults.

The die is cast.

For the Khan Muhammad scorns is, lo and behold, Genghis Khan. The Scourge of God!

In the very first brush with the Mongol advance guard, Muhammad loses heart and runs. So much for his bluster.

Having tasted blood, lightning-quick Mongol horsemen rain arrows with blinding speed, leaving a deadly trail. Vibrant cities of Bukhara, Samarkand, Urgench turn into slaughterhouses, slave markets. Muhammad loses his lands.

Paralyzed by terror, his once dreaded force surrenders without resistance. Fear gallops faster than the marauding Mongols. Muhammad loses his armies.

Hunted and broken, Muhammad dies.

And Jalaluddin? Exiled. As the Delhi gates close down on him, blocking out the last rays of hope, the irony unleashed by fate is merciless. The father mindlessly destroyed emissaries; the son survives by mindfully begging like one.

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This is a work of fiction based on a historical event.

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