AURANGZEB

The Life and Legacy of India’s Most Controversial King

By

AUDREY TRUSCHKE

 

Historians have the strangest ways of finding truth, especially of historical figures, more specially about ‘controversial figures’.  This book is about  Muslim emperor, who has been pilloried  in full measure in one country (India, a majority of whom are Hindu) and celebrated by large sections in another country (Pakistan, wholly Muslim). From the historian’s point of view, the reader himself is thrown into either of these two  camps or into the camp of the historian himself.

In his introductory chapter, Audrey Truschke sets out his aim and rationale for writing the book as follows, ”Of course, no one would contend that Aurangzeb was without faults. It is not difficult to identify specific actions taken by Aurangzeb that fail to meet modern democratic, egalitarian, and human rights standards.. Aurangzeb’s contemporaries included such kings as Charles II of England, Louis XIV of France, and the Ottoman Sultan Suleiman II. No one asserts that these historical figures were “good rulers” under present-day norms und because it makes little sense to assess the past by contemporary criteria. The aim of historical study is something else entirely. Historians seek to comprehend people on their own terms, as products of particular times and places, and explain their actions and impacts. We need not absolve our subjects of study of guilt, and we certainly do not need to like them. But we strive to hold back judgment long enough so that the myth of Aurangzeb can fade into the background and allow room for a more nuanced and compelling story to be told.”

 

How does the author live up to his stated aim and how he portrays the protagonist is another story.  Aurangzeb has been exposed to Persian translations of Sanskrit texts, such as the Hindu epics Mahabharata and Ramayana. These translations were sponsored by Aurangzeb’s great-grandfather, Akbar, and we know that Akbar recommended the Mahabharata to one of his sons as helpful for a princely education. Aurangzeb also spoke fluent Hindi from childhood and came from the fourth generation of the Mughal family to do so. Aurangzeb was versed in literary registers of Hindi, likely as part of his formal training, and there are even original compositions in Braj Bhasha, a literary register of pre modern Hindi, attributed to him. Mughal princely curriculum also involved practical instruction in swords, daggers, muskets, military strategy, and administrative skills.  Despite such rich education and legacy of knowing Hindu traditions, Aurangzeb surprisingly did not seem to have imbibed any of these traditions and the beliefs of Hindus.

The upbringing of the two sons of Shah Jahan, Dara Shukoh and Aurangzeb brings out their different leanings in stark contrast. A few years after Shah Jahan ascended the throne, he sent Aurangzeb, then only sixteen years old, away from court to help run the empire. For twenty-two long years, between 1635 and 1657, Aurangzeb shuttled across the reaches of the Mughal kingdom, fighting wars in Balkh, Bundelkhand, and Qandahar and administering Gujarat, Multan, and the Deccan.

Dara Shukoh leisured at  court. Shah Jahan’s eldest son was known for his philosophical interests and passed his days in erudite conversations with Hindu and Muslim ascetics. On paper Dara was always ahead of Aurangzeb. The elder brother held the higher rank in the Mughal mansab system, which encompassed all state officers, and he was widely understood as Shah Jahan’s choice to ascend the throne. But Dara lacked real-world experience beyond the rigidly controlled of the central court, which would prove a fatal liability. Popular memory of Dara Shukoh often extols him as the big “What If” of Indian history. What if “liberal” Dara had become the sixth Mughal king instead of “zealous” Aurangzeb? Would history have turned out differently? Some, , have even asked: Could King Dara have preemptively averted India’s brutal partition in 1947? Misplaced nostalgia aside, the reality is that Dara Shukoh was ill-prepared to either win or rule the Mughal kingdom. In the inevitable showdown between the four brothers for the crown of Hindustan, Dara’s favor with an ailing king could not counter Aurangzeb’s alliances, tactical skills, and the political acumen he had gained during his decades of traversing the Mughal Empire.

Aurangzeb Seized the World

Ya takht ya tabut (Either the throne or the grave) —A mantra of Mughal kingship

The rivalry between the four brothers to ascend the throne of Mughal Kingdom has been described extensively by the author.  As described earlier, Dara Shukoh was not suited to ascend the crown of Hindustan whereas, Aurangzeb with his experience of the kingdom over a period of twenty years by his frequent wandering, innate gathering of worldly wisdom and inborn deceitfulness was far superior to his brothers.  He showed his decisiveness in the battle against Dara, who was indecisive and ran from the battle to protect his life leaving behind his soldiers to themselves.

After the war, Aurangzeb did not show any mercy on the defeated brothers, Either killing  (Dara and Murad) or sending one to exile (Shuja to Persia, where he died).  While Aurangzeb’s murderous actions no doubt strike modern readers as harsh, his brothers would not have acted any differently. Manucci captured this dynamic when he reported that, on the day of his death, Dara Shukoh was asked by Aurangzeb what he would do if their roles were reversed. Seeing the writing on the wall, Dara sneered that he would have Aurangzeb’s body quartered and displayed on Delhi’s four main gates. While he shared his brother’s visceral hatred, Aurangzeb exercised restraint by comparison. Aurangzeb ordered Dara Shukoh’s corpse buried at Humayun’s tomb in Delhi.

Aurangzeb’s approach to religion was hardly puritanical. On the contrary, he consulted with prominent Hindu religious figures throughout his life, as had earlier Mughal kings. For example, in the 1680s Aurangzeb conducted a religious discussion with the Bairagi Hindu Shiv Mangaldas Maharaj and showered the saint with gifts. The king had strong links with Islamic Sufi communities, another time-honored Mughal tradition, as evidenced by his burial at a Chishti shrine in Maharashtra. An image of Aurangzeb depicts his visit, along with two of his sons, to the shrine of Muinuddin Chishti (d. 1236) in Ajmer, Rajasthan, probably around 1680 (fig. 5). Aurangzeb’s interpretation of Islam also included many talismanic aspects. For instance, he once wrote out prayers and had them sewn to banners and standards that were carried into battle against enemies of the state.

A European traveler a few decades later opined that Aurangzeb’s “rigorous abstinence,” including from alcohol, was the king’s penance for his earlier sins against his father. Whether this precise connection is accurate, being branded an illegitimate Muslim monarch likely prompted Aurangzeb to become more devout. Many of his more obvious pious pursuits, such as memorizing and copying the Quran, began in earnest after his ascension. Here, Aurangzeb’s religiosity did not shape state policy so much as his kingly experiences inspired changes in his religious life.

Over the course of his reign numerous other clashes arose between Islamic religious ideals and Mughal state interests. Aurangzeb privileged the latter almost invariably. For instance, during the assault on Bijapur in 1686, a delegation of Bijapuri theologians pleaded with Aurangzeb to end the siege on the grounds that warring against fellow Muslims was unjust. Aurangzeb remained unmoved and persisted with his brutal tactics until Bijapur fell. The emperor then ordered some Bijapuri palace wall paintings wiped out, perhaps as a limp attempt to reassert the theological righteousness of the Mughal state by adhering to the hardline view that images are idolatrous.

The  author immediately makes an Uturn and arrives at an opposite conclusion when he says, “When he thought it served imperial interests, Aurangzeb even compromised Islamic principles he had earlier endorsed.”  It seems Aurangzeb was no better than modern day Indian politicians who throw all convictions and principles to the winds to achieve their narrow aims and what is surprising is that authors like Audrey Truschke have got time to gloss over many crimes committed by the ruler when they ruled over millions to come forward with justifications four hundred years later.

Mughal rulers in general allowed their subjects great leeway—shockingly so compared to the draconian measures instituted by many European sovereigns of the era—to follow their own religious ideas and inclinations. Nonetheless, state interests constrained religious freedom in Mughal India, and Aurangzeb did not hesitate to strike hard against religious institutions and leaders that he deemed seditious or immoral. But absent such concerns, Aurangzeb’s vision of himself as an evenhanded ruler of all Indians prompted him to extend state security to temples. It is the absence of a firm ground to either stand by his religious belief or on imperial interest that makes Aurangzeb comparable to modern day Indian politicians.

The idea that religious institutions could be subject to politically motivated destructions makes many modern people see red, but premodern Indians did not draw such a firm line between religion and politics. On the contrary, temples were widely understood—by both Hindus and Muslims—as linked with political action. The Sanskrit Brihatsamhita, written perhaps in the sixth century, warns, “If a Shiva linga, image, or temple breaks apart, moves, sweats, cries, speaks, or otherwise acts with no apparent cause, this warns of the destruction of the king and his territory.” Acting on this premise that religious images held political power, Hindu kings targeted one another’s temples beginning in the seventh century, regularly  looting and defiling images of Durga, Ganesha, Vishnu, and so forth. They also periodically destroyed each other’s temples. Some Hindu kings even commissioned Sanskrit poetry to celebrate and memorialize such actions. Indo-Muslim rulers, such as Aurangzeb, followed suit in considering Hindu temples legitimate targets of punitive state action.  This is hardly a justification for vandalizing or destroying temples and killing Hindu priests, which had definitely psychologically wounded the Hindus and earned Aurangzeb the names of “Killer of Hindus.”

Jat uprisings in the region in 1669 and 1670 dealt the Mughals heavy casualties. In subsequent years Aurangzeb ordered temples demolished in Jodhpur, Khandela, and elsewhere for similar reasons. Mosques were erected on the former of both the Vishvanatha and Keshava Deva Temples, although they were built under different circumstances. The Gyanvapi Masjid still stands today in Benares with part of the ruined temple’s wall incorporated into the building. This reuse may have been a religiously clothed statement about the dire consequences of opposing Mughal authority.

Muslim writers commonly fell back on jihad or some other religious-based concept in their narrations of temple destructions. This Islamic proclivity was perhaps rooted in the idea that government interests do not justify harming religious institutions under Islamic law, whereas such acts were arguably permissible for spreading Islam. This logic was culturally appropriate, but it is not historically persuasive for explainining temple demolitions in Aurangzeb’s India.

 

It offers little insight to condemn Aurangzeb according to modern standards concerning state violence, individual liberties, and tolerance. Even though the predecessor Mughal emperors were no lesser oppressors – often taking recourse to either Islamic precepts or Muhal traditions or Regal compulsions – Aurangzeb distinguished himself by his complete absence of precepts bordering on these qualities of tolerance of other religious beliefs, oppression of people of native religion (Hindu, Jain and Sikh).