Latest / Aurangzeb: The Emperor Who Expanded and Broke the Mughal Empire — Fexingo History / Aurangzeb's Court Painters: The Artist Who Painted the Emperor
Transcript
- Lucas: You know, we've done episodes on Aurangzeb's letters, his Jain edicts, even his poetry. But I don't think we've ever looked at what was happening in his painting studios. And that's a shame, because it's one of the most revealing windows into his personality. Luna: Wait, Aurangzeb had painting studios? I thought he was famously anti-art. Lucas: That's the popular impression, but it's not the whole story. He did withdraw imperial patronage for large-scale illustrated manuscripts, the kind his father and grandfather loved. But he still kept a small atelier of painters, and they produced some of the most striking portraits of him we have. Lucas: One of those painters was a man named Bichitr. He was a master portraitist who worked under Jahangir, Shah Jahan, and then Aurangzeb — which is a remarkable career, surviving three very different emperors. Bichitr's most famous work is a portrait of Aurangzeb in old age, done around 1690. It's now in the Windsor Castle collection. Luna: So he painted the emperor as an old man? That's a bold move. Lucas: It is, and it's fascinating because Aurangzeb wasn't known for vanity. But Bichitr shows him with a long white beard, wearing a simple white tunic and a prayer cap, holding a scroll. The face is deeply lined — this is a man who's spent decades in the Deccan, fighting wars and fasting. It's a very human portrait, not idealised like the earlier emperors. Lucas: Bichitr's own story is incredible. He signed his paintings with a tiny self-portrait, often showing himself at the bottom of the scene. In one famous work from Jahangir's reign, he painted himself wearing a tiny European-style ruff collar, right next to a portrait of the English king James I. That's a little joke — it shows how Mughal artists were absorbing European prints and turning them into their own language. Luna: I love that — a painter sneaking himself into the royal portrait. What did Aurangzeb think of that? Lucas: We don't know, but he didn't forbid it. In fact, Aurangzeb's court chronicle, the maasir i alamgiri, mentions that he kept a few painters on the payroll. He even had a royal painter named Bichitr — perhaps the same man — who was granted a jagir, a land grant, for his services. So despite the austerity, he valued these artists. Lucas: But the big change was in patronage. Under Akbar, painters produced massive illustrated manuscripts like the Hamzanama, with over 1400 paintings. Under Jahangir, there was a shift to intimate albums of naturalistic studies — flowers, birds, portraits. Shah Jahan continued that, but Aurangzeb put the brakes on the big projects. He wasn't going to commission epic illustrated histories of his reign like Akbar's Akbarnama. Luna: So he was more about the individual portrait than the grand narrative? Lucas: Exactly. He preferred single-figure studies, often of himself or his nobles. And those portraits are surprisingly realistic. Look at the ones we have of him: they don't flatter. They show a thin, stooped figure with a heavy brow, not a heroic conqueror. That's a departure from the idealised images of his predecessors. Lucas: There's also a famous painting of Aurangzeb sitting with his son Bahadur Shah, both of them in simple white robes. It's attributed to Bichitr or his atelier and it's so intimate, like a family snapshot. That level of candour is unusual for royal portraiture, but it fits with Aurangzeb's public image of piety and humility. Luna: Hmm, but what happened to all the painters when he pulled back the patronage? Did they just disappear? Lucas: A lot of them left the imperial atelier and found work at regional courts. The Rajput kings, the Deccan sultanates, even the British East India Company later. That's actually one of the reasons we have such a rich tradition of provincial Mughal painting — the dispersal of these artists. It wasn't a death of art, it was a redistribution. Lucas: But there's a deeper point here. Aurangzeb's attitude to painting is often misunderstood because people look at his religious conservatism and assume he banned all representation. Actually, the Islamic tradition has a long history of figurative art in secular contexts, and the Mughals were never strictly aniconic. Aurangzeb didn't issue a prohibition on painting. He just stopped funding the big illustrated books. Luna: So it's more about austerity than iconoclasm. Lucas: Right. And that austerity is consistent with his personal style. He famously copied the Quran by hand to earn money for his own funeral, and he wore coarse clothes. He didn't want to spend state funds on lavish books that might be seen as vanity. But he still understood the political value of a portrait — to project his authority to his court and to foreign visitors. Lucas: Take the portrait we mentioned, the one at Windsor. It was sent to England, actually — as a diplomatic gift to James II or William III. So Aurangzeb's image was part of his international relations, even if he didn't advertise it. The painting is a fascinating piece of soft power. Luna: Oh, that's a nice bridge. So his image was doing work for him abroad, even as at home he was more retiring. Lucas: Exactly. And that's the kind of nuance we often miss when we reduce Aurangzeb to a single dimension. He was a complex ruler — severe in his religion, but pragmatic in his politics. He could fund a portrait and also write a legal code, the fatawa e alamgiri, that banned some forms of music but said nothing about painting. Lucas: One of the most striking things is how his portrait changed over time. In the early years, he's shown with a trimmed beard and a young face, often wearing a jeweled turban. By the 1680s, he's older, greyer, and the clothing becomes simpler. It's like watching him age in real time through the work of his court artists. Luna: That's like a visual biography. I'd love to see those side by side. Lucas: There's actually a well-known portrait of him as a young prince, before he became emperor, hunting with his father Shah Jahan. That one is attributed to the painter Payag, and it's full of vibrant colour and action. But as emperor, the scenes become more solemn. The artists had to change their style to match his mood. Lucas: And we have to mention Govardhan and Balchand, two other masters who worked in his atelier. Govardhan was famous for his sensitive portraits of holy men and ascetics — which fits Aurangzeb's interest in Sufism. Balchand did some of the finest equestrian portraits, including one of Aurangzeb on a horse, though that might be from earlier in his reign. Luna: So even in a shrinking studio, there was still a range of talent. Lucas: Absolutely. And the quality didn't drop. Some art historians argue that Mughal portraiture reached its peak under Aurangzeb precisely because the focus narrowed. With less money for big books, artists put all their skill into single portraits, and they became incredibly refined. The brushwork on those later works is astonishing. Lucas: There's also the fascinating influence of European prints. Under Jahangir and Shah Jahan, Mughal artists had copies of European engravings — Christian religious scenes, Dutch landscapes, portraits of English monarchs. They borrowed techniques like shading and perspective, but they always kept their own flat, decorative style. That fusion is one of the most beautiful things about Mughal art. Luna: It's like they were quietly absorbing the world's art while their emperor was busy conquering the Deccan. Lucas: Ha, exactly. And that's the thing — Aurangzeb's empire was vast, but his artistic world was connected to a wider early modern network. Painters in his court were aware of Safavid Persian trends, of European styles, even of Chinese landscape motifs. So it's not a story of isolation, even in his most austere years. Lucas: Which brings me to something I think is worth saying. If today gave you a new way to see Aurangzeb — not just as a conqueror or a tyrant, but as a patron who shaped the visual culture of his time — then that's the kind of thing we love to explore here. And if you find these conversations genuinely useful, the reason we can keep making them ad-free is listener support. You can help by buying us a coffee at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It's a small gesture that keeps the episodes open to everyone. Luna: Yeah, and it really does help us keep going. We've had so many listeners tell us they appreciate the deep dives, and that support matters. Lucas: So, back to the paintings. One last thought — when Aurangzeb died in 1707, the imperial atelier essentially dissolved. The next emperor, Bahadur Shah, didn't revive it on the same scale, and many artists moved to places like Jaipur, Udaipur, or the Sikh court of the Punjab. That's how a Punjabi miniature style emerged, with its own distinct look. So Aurangzeb's austerity indirectly gave birth to a whole new chapter of South Asian art. Luna: Huh, I never would have connected those dots. So his anti-patronage kind of redistributed the talent. Lucas: Exactly. And it's a reminder that even an emperor known for breaking things — temples, rebellions, hearts — also reshaped an art world in ways we still see today. It's a different kind of legacy, but a real one.