The way was now clear before him. He seized on Delhi and Agra without, apparently, much bloodshed, and immediately distributed the treasures gained amongst his followers, only reserving sufficient for the State to send a silver coin to every living soul in Kâbul, bond or free, and to pay the army and the Government. He kept nothing for himself; he was not of those to whom gold brings pleasure. Yet in Hindustan he found few things for which he cared. There can be no question that it was a disappointment to him. "It is a country," he writes, "that has few pleasures to recommend it. It is extremely ugly. All its towers and its lands have a uniform look. Its gardens have no walls; the greater part of it is level plain. And the people are not handsome. They have no idea of the charms of friendly society. They have no good horses, no good flesh, no good grapes, or musk-melons, no ice or cold water, no good food or bread in their bazaars, no baths or colleges, no candles or torches--_never even a candlestick!_" Poor Babar! It was now the hottest of the hot weather, and the heat in the summer of 1526 "chanced to be unusually oppressive." Hitherto these northern invaders had sought relief from discomfort in return to their cooler climes; but Babar had other aims. He wished to establish himself Emperor of India, and all around him in Mêwar, in Mârwar, in Gwalîor, everywhere save in the line of his victorious march, lay enemies. He determined to remain, but had to meet as determined an opposition on the part of his troops. It irritated even his placid good-temper. "Where is the sense of decency," he writes, "of eternally dinning the same tale into the ears of one who had seen the facts with his own eyes, and formed a calm and fixed resolve in regard to the business in hand? What use was there in the whole army, down to the very dregs, giving me their stupid, uninformed opinions?" What indeed! He gave them his in return at a full review. "Are we to turn back from all we have accomplished and fly to Kâbul like men who have been discomfited! Let no man who calls himself my friend ever again moot such a thing, but if there be any of you who cannot bring himself to stay, let him go!" Needless to say, this appeal to personal friendship was effectual, though apparently pleasantry passed between the comrades-in-arms. One wrote on the walls of the fort:-- "Could I but cross the river Sind, Damned if I would return to Hind." To which Babar sent the following reply:-- "Babar thanks God who gave him Sind and Ind, Heat of the plains, chill of the mountain cold. Does not the scorch of Delhi bring to his mind Bitter bite of frost in Ghuzni of old?" He was always writing verses; always, as he puts it, "wandering into these follies. For God's sake, do not think amiss of me for them."