Latest / Aurangzeb: The Emperor Who Expanded and Broke the Mughal Empire — Fexingo History / Aurangzeb's Persian Letters: The Emperor's Private Voice
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked a lot about Aurangzeb's policies, his wars, his architecture. But there is one source that gives us his own voice — his personal letters. They were collected in a volume called the ruqaat i alamgiri. Luna: The ruqaat i alamgiri — I've heard of that. Are these like official state documents, or actual private letters? Lucas: They're a mix. Some are administrative orders, but many are genuinely personal — to his sons, his sister, his old tutor. And they were preserved primarily because Persian letter-writing, or insha, was a high art in the Mughal world. A well-turned phrase could earn a clerk a promotion. So a collection of the emperor's letters became a model for style. Luna: So they were studied as literature. That's interesting. Lucas: Exactly. The ruqaat i alamgiri was compiled after Aurangzeb's death, probably by a scholar named Mirza Muhammad Hasan Qatil. But the letters themselves were written between the 1650s and the 1700s. They span almost his entire reign. And what's remarkable is how unguarded some of them are — or at least, they seem unguarded. Luna: What do you mean by 'seem'? Lucas: Well, Aurangzeb was a master of political theatre. Every public act was calculated. But in a letter to his son Bahadur Shah, for instance, he writes: 'The world is a place of deceit. Do not trust its glories. The throne is a temptation — sit on it as if it were a borrowed bench.' That sounds like genuine piety, but it's also a father instructing a future emperor on how to project humility while wielding absolute power. Luna: It's ambiguous. And that makes it more human. Lucas: Precisely. And there is a famous letter he wrote to his former tutor, Mulla Jivani, after the execution of Sambhaji. In it, Aurangzeb says: 'I have done what I thought was necessary, but my heart is not at ease. The blood of kings leaves a stain that water cannot wash away.' Now, whether he actually felt remorse or was performing remorse for a religious teacher — we can't know. But the fact that he would even write such a thing tells us that he expected his letters to be kept private, not published. Luna: Wait — he didn't expect these to be collected? Lucas: No. The compilation happened after his death. So these were real letters, not destined for a public audience. And that is what makes them so valuable. In another letter, to his son Azam Shah, he warns: 'Beware of the courtiers. They will flatter you to your face and curse you behind your back. I have seen it all. The court is a bazaar of lies.' That is a tired, cynical old emperor speaking, not the official chronicle. Luna: So the chronicles like the maasir i alamgiri paint a different picture than the letters. Luna: That's surprisingly bleak. Did he write to anyone besides family? Lucas: Yes, to scholars and saints. There is a letter to the Naqshbandi saint Khwaja Muhammad Ma'sum, where Aurangzeb asks for spiritual advice. He writes: 'My kingdom is vast, but my heart is narrow. Guide me towards the path of contentment.' And the saint's reply, which also survives, is a gentle sermon on detachment. So the letters give us a window into his religious life that goes beyond the policies we've discussed. Luna: How were these letters physically produced? Was it all his handwriting? Lucas: That's a great question. Most were dictated to a scribe, but Aurangzeb did write some in his own hand — he was known for his fine naskh script. The letters were sent on high-quality paper, sometimes with gold-flecked borders, sealed with his personal seal. The ink was made from lampblack and gum arabic, and the pen — the qalam — was a reed cut to a precise nib. The whole process was an art form. Luna: So the physical object itself was a statement. Lucas: Exactly. And the language — the Persian is elegant, but not overly ornate. Aurangzeb avoided the flowery metaphors that other Mughal princes loved. He preferred directness. In one letter to his general Zulfikar Khan, he writes: 'Do not send me reports of victories that are not yours. Send me the heads of my enemies, or send me your own.' That is brutal, but efficient. Luna: It's almost bureaucratic in its violence. Lucas: Yes. And that efficiency extended to his advice on governance. In a letter to his son Bahadur Shah, he gives a list of dos and don'ts: 'Do not raise taxes beyond what the land can bear. Do not trust a single minister with all power. Do not let the army grow lazy in peacetime.' It reads like a manual for kingship. Luna: So these letters are kind of like a mirror for princes, but written by a prince himself. Lucas: Exactly. And that brings us to a central tension in understanding Aurangzeb. The public emperor enforced Islamic law, destroyed temples, and waged endless war. The private emperor wrote about humility, regret, and the search for God. Which one is real? Probably both. Luna: And that complexity is what makes him so fascinating. Lucas: If today was actually useful to you, the reason these conversations stay ad-free is listener support. If you'd like to help keep that going, you can at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. No pressure, just a way to say this matters. Luna: Yeah, it's a small way to keep the history alive. Lucas: So back to the letters. One last thing that strikes me — in his final letter to Bahadur Shah, written from his deathbed in Khuldabad, Aurangzeb says: 'I have committed many sins, but I have also tried to be just. Now I go to meet my maker with empty hands. Take nothing from this world but good deeds.' It's a remarkable final word from a man who controlled an empire stretching from Kabul to the Carnatic. Luna: It makes you wonder what he really thought, in the end, about all those years of war. Lucas: The letters don't give us a simple answer. But they do give us a voice — an emperor who could be tender, ruthless, pious, and cynical, sometimes in the same paragraph. And that is as close as we can get to the man behind the throne.