Latest / Aurangzeb: The Emperor Who Expanded and Broke the Mughal Empire — Fexingo History / Aurangzeb's Secret Weapon: The War of Letters and Propaganda
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked a lot about Aurangzeb's military campaigns and religious policies, but there's another front where he fought just as fiercely — and it's one that often gets overlooked: the war of letters and propaganda. Luna: Propaganda? In the 17th century? How did that work? Lucas: Pretty sophisticated, actually. Aurangzeb was a master of crafting his own image. He understood that to rule a vast, diverse empire, you couldn't just rely on swords and siege guns — you had to control the story. So he used letters, official histories, even public ceremonies to project an image of himself as a just, pious, and invincible emperor. Luna: Like a PR campaign. Lucas: Exactly. And one of the most important tools was his official correspondence. There's a collection called the 'Adab-i-Alamgiri' — the 'Conduct of Alamgir' — which contains hundreds of his letters. They were carefully written, sometimes by his own hand, to kings, nobles, and governors. Each letter was a performance. The paper, the ink, the seal, the way it was folded — all carried meaning. Luna: Wait, the paper and folding mattered? Lucas: Absolutely. In Mughal court culture, receiving a letter from the emperor was a huge deal. The messenger's approach, the way the letter was presented, the size of the paper — it all signaled the emperor's mood. Aurangzeb once sent a letter to a rebellious prince written on a tiny piece of paper, which was a deliberate insult. And his seals — they were engraved with Quranic verses and his titles, reinforcing his authority. Luna: That's incredible. So what did these letters actually say? Lucas: They're fascinating. In his letters to the Rajput kings, for instance, he often justified his actions like temple destructions by framing them as religious duty. He'd write something like, 'By the grace of God, we have uprooted the idols of infidelity,' and then assure the Rajput ruler that he was still a loyal subject. It was a way of saying, 'I'm not attacking you personally, I'm following God's law.' But the Marathas used their own propaganda. They circulated stories of Aurangzeb's cruelty, his broken promises, his defeats. Luna: So it was a battle of narratives. Lucas: Exactly. And one of the most vivid sources we have from the other side is the Italian traveler Niccolao Manucci. He lived in India for decades and wrote 'Storia do Mogor.' He's not always reliable, but he captures the gossip and rumors of the time. For example, he describes how Aurangzeb, after capturing the Maratha leader Sambhaji, had him paraded through the streets in a humiliating procession — a piece of psychological warfare meant to break Maratha morale. Luna: But that backfired, right? It made Sambhaji a martyr. Lucas: Precisely. That's the risk of propaganda. While Aurangzeb wanted to show his power, the Marathas turned it into a story of defiant resistance. They wrote their own chronicles, like the 'Bakhar' tradition, which celebrated Shivaji and Sambhaji as heroic defenders of the land. And these narratives circulated among local populations, far beyond the reach of Aurangzeb's official historians. Luna: Official historians — like who? Lucas: The main one was Muhammad Kazim, who wrote the 'Alamgirnama.' This was the official court history of Aurangzeb's reign. Kazim was a loyalist, so his account is heavily biased. He portrays Aurangzeb as a model Islamic ruler, wise and just. But interestingly, Aurangzeb himself didn't fully trust even his own historians. After Kazim's work was presented, Aurangzeb banned it from circulation — some say because it contained too much praise of his brother Dara Shikoh, others because Aurangzeb thought it had factual errors. So he suppressed his own propaganda! Luna: Wait, he banned his own official history? That seems counterproductive. Lucas: It does, but it shows how careful he was about controlling the narrative. He wanted a specific version of events, and if the history didn't match that, he'd rather it not exist at all. In fact, Aurangzeb himself wrote letters to his sons and officials that are surprisingly candid. In one letter to his son Azam, he complains about the burdens of rule, saying, 'I came alone, and I shall go alone. I have sinned, and I know not what punishment awaits me.' That's the private Aurangzeb — very different from the confident public image. Luna: That's humanizing. So the letters show his doubts? Lucas: Yes. And that's the power of this 'Adab-i-Alamgiri' collection. It gives us a window into his mind. But we have to be careful — even these letters were part of his self-fashioning. He might have intended them to be read by future generations. So we have to read between the lines. Luna: What about the ritual of sending and receiving letters? You mentioned the paper and folding. Lucas: Right. There was a whole protocol. The letter would be written on a specific size of paper — sometimes decorated with gold or colored borders. It would be folded in a particular way, then placed in an envelope called a 'kharita.' The seal was applied with red wax, and it would bear the emperor's name and titles. The messenger, or 'harkara,' would announce himself with a formal greeting. On receiving a letter, the recipient would stand, take it with both hands, and press it to his forehead as a sign of respect. Even the speed of delivery mattered — urgent letters were sent by mounted couriers who changed horses at posts. Luna: Wow. So every aspect was designed to reinforce hierarchy. Lucas: Exactly. And this wasn't just for show. By controlling how messages were sent and received, Aurangzeb reinforced his authority across the empire. A letter from the emperor was almost like a physical extension of his presence. And he used this to manage distant provinces, issue orders, and even conduct diplomacy. For example, he exchanged letters with the Safavid king of Persia, and with the Ottoman sultan. These were carefully crafted to assert Mughal prestige. Luna: Did the Marathas or other enemies have their own propaganda? Lucas: Oh yes. The Marathas were masters of counter-propaganda. They circulated stories of Aurangzeb's defeats, his old age, his declining health. One famous Maratha text, the 'Sabhasad Bakhar,' written shortly after Shivaji's death, portrays Shivaji as a divinely chosen leader who outwitted the Mughals at every turn. And they used poetry, folk songs, and temple inscriptions to spread their version of events. So you have this parallel universe of narratives — Mughal vs. Maratha, Persian vs. Marathi, courtly vs. popular. Luna: And which version ended up winning? I mean, how we remember Aurangzeb today? Lucas: That's a great question. For a long time, the Mughal official history dominated, but in the 19th and 20th centuries, nationalist historians in India turned to Maratha sources to build a narrative of resistance against tyranny. So today, Aurangzeb is often seen as a fanatical bigot — which is partly a result of Maratha propaganda! It's a reminder that history is written by the victors, but also by those who tell the best stories. Luna: So the war of letters continued long after the empire fell. Lucas: Exactly. And that's what makes studying propaganda in this period so fascinating. You're not just looking at events — you're looking at how people chose to remember and reshape those events. And Aurangzeb, for all his control, couldn't control that. Luna: That's a powerful thought to end on.