Latest / Aurangzeb: The Emperor Who Expanded and Broke the Mughal Empire — Fexingo History / Aurangzeb's Coinage: The Emperor Who Minted His Own Image
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked a lot about Aurangzeb's policies, his wars, his architecture — but there's one everyday object that reveals a whole other side of him, something almost everyone in the Mughal Empire would have handled at some point: coins. Luna: Coins? Lucas: Yeah, Mughal coinage. And not just any coins — Aurangzeb did something that his predecessors had largely avoided. He put his own portrait on them. Now, that might not sound radical, but in an Islamic empire, figurative art on currency was a big deal. Akbar, for instance, never put his face on a coin. Shah Jahan did occasionally, but it was rare. Aurangzeb, the famously pious emperor, actually issued a whole series of gold mohurs and silver rupees with his crowned likeness on one side. Luna: Wait — the same Aurangzeb who banned music and destroyed temples? He put his face on money? Lucas: Exactly the contradiction. And it wasn't just a minor issue — there were debates among the ulema about whether this was even permissible. But Aurangzeb went ahead anyway. He minted these portrait coins from mints across the empire: Lahore, Delhi, Ahmedabad, Aurangabad, even in the Deccan. And the design was quite deliberate — he's shown wearing a crown with a plume, very much in the Persianate tradition, similar to Safavid and Ottoman coinage. It was a statement of sovereignty. Luna: So he was projecting power, not just piety. Lucas: Exactly. And the coins themselves were incredibly high quality. The silver rupee, called the Alamgiri rupee, became a standard for centuries. The French traveler Jean-Baptiste Tavernier visited the Lahore mint in the 1660s and wrote about the process. He was impressed by the purity — the silver was 98% fine, which was exceptional. The mint master, the daroga i zarb, was a trusted official, and each coin was carefully weighed and stamped. The maasir i alamgiri records that Aurangzeb personally inspected coin samples to ensure quality. Luna: He micromanaged the mints too? Lucas: He didn't miss much. But here's the thing — earlier in his reign, Aurangzeb had actually stopped putting the kalima, the Islamic declaration of faith, on coins, because he felt it was disrespectful for people to handle it in daily transactions. So he replaced it with his own name and titles, and then later with his portrait. That was a big shift. It moved the coin from being a religious token to a royal propaganda tool. And it worked — his portrait coins circulated for decades after his death. Luna: That reminds me — didn't Sher Shah Suri introduce the rupee? How did Aurangzeb's coins compare? Lucas: Great point. Sher Shah's rupee, introduced around 1540, was the first standardized silver coin across North India. It weighed about 11.5 grams. Akbar kept that standard, and so did Jahangir and Shah Jahan. Aurangzeb maintained the same weight but changed the design. His rupees usually had the mint name, the regnal year, and either his titles or his portrait. The calligraphy was exquisite — usually in naskh script. And the mints themselves were spread across the empire; the maasir i alamgiri lists over forty mints operating during his reign. Luna: Forty mints — that's a huge network. How did they prevent counterfeiting? Lucas: They had strict controls. Each mint had a chief assayer, and the coins were tested by weight and purity. The dies were carefully guarded. Counterfeiting was punishable by death. And Aurangzeb also introduced a new denomination — the gold mohur, worth about 16 silver rupees. These were mostly used for large transactions and gifts. Some of his gold mohurs are incredibly rare today, especially the ones with his portrait, because they were often melted down by later rulers who didn't want his image. Luna: So the portrait coins were controversial even after he died? Lucas: Absolutely. After Aurangzeb, Mughal coinage went back to mostly calligraphic designs. Very few later emperors used portraits. So his coinage is really a unique window into his personality — a man who was deeply religious but also acutely aware of his own image. And it's a reminder that history isn't always consistent. The same emperor who banned music and persecuted Shias was also minting coins with his own face. That tension is what makes studying him so fascinating. Luna: And something as simple as a coin can tell us all that. Lucas: Exactly. And you know, speaking of the stories that everyday objects can tell — if you've been coming with us through these conversations, episode by episode, you might have noticed that we don't run ads. That's intentional. We want the show to be a place where you can just listen to two people talk about history without interruption. And the only reason that's possible is because listeners like you support us. If you'd like to help keep the show ad-free, you can buy us a coffee — just go to buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It's a simple way to say you value what we're doing. And it makes a real difference. Luna: It really does, and we're grateful to everyone who has. Now, back to those coins — one detail I love is that Aurangzeb also minted coins in the name of his wife, didn't he? Lucas: He did! That's a great catch. He issued coins in the name of his chief wife, Dilras Banu Begum, under her title rabia ud daurani. That was a rare honor. It shows that even in his later years, Aurangzeb maintained a personal side. But those coins are even rarer than his portrait ones, because they were minted only in the first few years of his reign, before he became more austere. So coinage really does trace the arc of his life — from a young emperor eager to legitimize his rule, to an aging ascetic obsessed with orthodoxy. Luna: It's like a timeline in metal. Lucas: Exactly. And that's what I love about numismatics — it connects you directly to the past. You hold a coin that someone used to buy bread in 1670s Delhi, and you have a tangible link. Aurangzeb's coins, in particular, tell a story of power, piety, and paradox. They're a reminder that history is never as simple as we think.