Portrait by Bichitr, c. 1660. Source: Wikipedia
Past Tense, Present Lessons
By Vidyadhar Date*
It is imperative to resist the Hindutva campaign to demolish Aurangzeb’s tomb, the Mughal emperor whose legacy remains contentious. However, some individuals veer to the opposite extreme, glorifying Aurangzeb and inadvertently fueling the Hindutva narrative.
Aurangzeb’s model of orthodoxy and sectarianism, mirrored in Pakistan, has caused significant harm, a reality now widely acknowledged there. Post-Partition, Pakistani historians aligned with the two-nation theory reshaped historical narratives, scrutinizing emperors like Akbar and Aurangzeb. I.H. Qureshi vilified Akbar, blaming his inclusive religious policies for alienating Muslims and causing the Mughal Empire’s decline. In contrast, he elevated Aurangzeb, whose policies were celebrated through events like ‘Alamgir Day’ on May 3, 1965.
Pakistan’s Islamization intensified under General Zia-ul-Haq, who exploited religion for legitimacy, much like Aurangzeb. Where Aurangzeb sanctioned murders, Zia orchestrated the judicial hanging of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. Later historians, such as Mubarak Ali, critiqued Aurangzeb’s legacy sharply. In a 2015 Dawn article, Ali argued that Aurangzeb manipulated religion for political gain, citing the execution of Dara Shikoh—not as a rival but as an apostate, backed by a convenient ulema fatwa. Zia’s Islamization, like Aurangzeb’s, failed to reform society, plunging Pakistan into disorder when rigid ideologies clashed with modern needs.
Emulating Aurangzeb stifles enlightenment and progress. Societies thrive on tolerance and pluralism, not intolerance and extremism. As Mubarak Ali noted, nations err when they misread history’s lessons. More recently, Prof. Muqtedar Khan of Delaware University labeled Aurangzeb a hypocrite, arguing his executions violated Islamic principles, rendering his devout image hollow. Khan likens him to Zia-ul-Haq, a ruler who cloaked power grabs in Islamization to secure legitimacy denied in his early reign. Aurangzeb’s character, Khan asserts, was fundamentally unIslamic.
Marxist historian Irfan Habib critiques the Mughal system’s exploitative surplus extraction, noting that Aurangzeb is “not everyone’s cup of tea, certainly not mine.” Yet, some in India portray Aurangzeb as an ascetic saint, almost a Gandhian trustee of the people, despite his own deathbed self-condemnation.
Claims that India’s GDP under Aurangzeb surpassed England’s hold some truth, but GDP alone doesn’t reflect the common people’s welfare. A more telling contrast lies in England’s democratic spirit during Aurangzeb’s era. Despite its monarchy—still present in diluted form—England’s people executed King Charles I in 1649, within Aurangzeb’s lifetime, after a civil war between Parliamentarians and royalists. Poet John Milton celebrated this act in Tenure of Kings and Magistrates, praising the people for ousting a “wicked king” and reclaiming their liberties. Meanwhile, Aurangzeb beheaded his brother Dara Shikoh in his quest for power.
The recent controversy over the Hindi film Chhava, which highlights Aurangzeb’s cruelty toward Sambhaji, Shivaji’s son, has spurred Hindutva attacks on Muslims. This campaign demands opposition, but secular thinkers must avoid the trap of reflexively defending Aurangzeb as “the enemy of our enemy.” A balanced perspective is essential.
American scholar Audrey Truschke, author of Aurangzeb: The Man and the Myth, has sought to soften his negative image, often playing the victim when challenged by Hindu fundamentalists—all while gaining sympathy from some in India. Yet her approach raises questions. In lectures and interviews, Truschke’s defense of Aurangzeb’s atrocities—dismissing them as era-typical—feels dismissive, lacking the sensitivity her public persona projects. She condemns other historical figures by modern standards but shields Aurangzeb from similar scrutiny, revealing a troubling inconsistency. Her work draws parallels to Lady Macbeth, who in Shakespeare’s tragedy scorns the “milk of human kindness” to spur murder for ambition. Unlike Lady Macbeth, who grapples with guilt, Truschke shows no such introspection, brushing aside Aurangzeb’s dark deeds with unsettling ease.
Few understand Mughal history like Professor Shireen Moosvi of Aligarh Muslim University, whose measured scholarship avoids Truschke’s zealous advocacy. At academic forums, I’ve heard Moosvi critique Mughal policies without idealizing Aurangzeb. Truschke, by contrast, omits a chapter on Shivaji in the Indian edition of her book, dodging controversy while courting it elsewhere—a move critics, including her peers, call attention-seeking. Some argue her top-down approach to history feels outdated. The need now is for histories “from below,” centering ordinary people’s lives over kings and queens.
*Senior journalist
