Latest / Aurangzeb: The Emperor Who Expanded and Broke the Mughal Empire — Fexingo History / Aurangzeb's Banning of Music and Dance
Transcript
- Lucas: For anyone coming with us through these conversations about South Asia, we’ve spent a lot of time looking at the swords and the taxes under Aurangzeb. But today, I want to talk about the silence he tried to impose. Luna: Silence? In the loud, vibrant courts of the Mughals? Lucas: Exactly. If you value this show, buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It helps keep these deep dives ad-free so we can focus on the details. Now, imagine walking into the diwan i khas in Delhi around 1670. Instead of the usual lutes and tabla, there was only the low murmur of prayer. Luna: That must have felt incredibly heavy for the courtiers. Lucas: It was jarring. Aurangzeb had banned musical performances and dancing at his own court, viewing them as distractions from devotion. He dismissed his lead musician, Ustad Muhammad Bin Ishaq, effectively silencing the artistic heartbeat of the empire. Luna: Did any of the nobles try to push back against this? Lucas: They did, though often quietly. Raja Jai Singh, one of the most powerful Rajput generals, reportedly continued hosting private gatherings where music played. The diaries of Bhimsen Saxena mention the discomfort many felt, describing a court stripped of its traditional joy. Luna: So the art didn't disappear, it just went underground. Lucas: Precisely. It moved from the imperial center to the homes of the nobility and the streets of Shahjahanabad. But the symbol was lost. The Charbagh gardens, once filled with song and poetry readings, began to feel more like austere retreats for contemplation rather than celebration. Luna: What about his own family? Did they suffer too? Lucas: His daughter Zeb-un-Nissa was a renowned poet herself. She wrote in both Persian and Hindi, but her patronage of the arts was heavily restricted. Aurangzeb saw her literary pursuits as frivolous, creating a tense distance between father and daughter that echoed through the palace walls. Luna: It seems like he was trying to erase the previous generation's legacy. Lucas: He was actively dismantling the aesthetic of his grandfather, Shah Jahan. Where Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal and decorated palaces with intricate pietra dura, Aurangzeb focused on building the Badshahi Mosque—grand, yes, but devoid of the same decorative excess. He wanted purity, not ornamentation. Luna: But couldn't he see how this affected the loyalty of his Hindu allies? Lucas: That was part of the problem. For centuries, the Mughal emperors had patronized Hindu festivals and temples alongside Islamic institutions. By shutting down music and enforcing strict Sharia interpretations, Aurangzeb alienated many of the Rajput and Maratha leaders who relied on that shared cultural space. Luna: So the ban wasn't just cultural; it was political. Lucas: Absolutely. When Chhatrapati Shivaji faced Aurangzeb, the cultural divide was already widening. The Emperor viewed Shivaji’s resistance partly through a lens of religious non-conformity, while Shivaji saw the Mughal court as increasingly hostile to Indian traditions. Luna: Did the common people care about what happened in the palace? Lucas: In the bazaars of Surat and Madras, the trade continued regardless. But in the cities, the public festivals became quieter. The festive atmosphere that defined Hindustan under Jahangir and Shah Jahan gave way to a more somber tone, especially during Ramadan and other holy months. Luna: Was there any attempt to justify this shift in writing? Lucas: Yes, through the fatawa e alamgiri. This massive legal code was compiled under his direction, reinforcing orthodox views that condemned music as haram. It provided the theological backbone for his policies, turning personal preference into state law. Luna: That must have made it very hard for historians to challenge him later. Lucas: The maasir i alamgiri chronicles recorded these changes, but they were written by officials who feared reprisal. They noted the silence in the court but rarely questioned the Emperor’s piety directly, leaving modern historians to read between the lines of duty. Luna: It feels like a tragedy of missed connections. Lucas: It was. Aurangzeb believed he was saving his soul and his empire from moral decay. But by cutting off the cultural veins of the society, he may have weakened the very bonds that held the diverse regions of India together. Luna: Did anyone ever bring music back into his presence? Lucas: There are rumors that late in his life, when confined to Burhanpur during the Deccan wars, he allowed small groups of scholars to recite poetry. But it was strictly devotional. The lively, secular music of his youth remained forbidden until long after his death. Luna: So the silence followed him to his grave. Lucas: He died in 1707, surrounded by prayers rather than songs. His mausoleum in Khuldabad is simple, reflecting the austerity he championed, standing in stark contrast to the marble dreams of Agra. Luna: A final act of consistency. Lucas: Perhaps. Or perhaps a failure to understand that an empire is held together not just by laws, but by the shared stories and songs that give people a sense of belonging. What do you think drove him to such extremes? Luna: Fear that without control, everything would fall apart. Lucas: That fear is human. But in trying to control every aspect of life, he lost the ability to listen to the voices around him. And that silence might have been louder than any war cry.