Latest / Aurangzeb: The Emperor Who Expanded and Broke the Mughal Empire — Fexingo History / Aurangzeb's Silent Court: The Banning of Music
Transcript
- Lucas: When we think of Aurangzeb, we usually think of war, territory, and religious policy. But one of his most culturally decisive acts wasn't a battle or a tax — it was a ban on music. Luna: I've heard he banned music at court. Is that right? Lucas: Exactly. In 1668, Aurangzeb ordered that music be eliminated from the imperial court. He had the naqqaras — those big kettledrums that announced the emperor's presence — silenced. Court musicians were dismissed, their instruments confiscated or destroyed. Lucas: The maasir i alamgiri records this quite matter of factly. It says the emperor, quote, 'stopped the allowance of all singers and musicians.' Performers like the famed Gopala Naik and Ramdas had to leave the capital in search of work. Luna: That must have devastated the cultural life at court. Shah Jahan had patronised music lavishly, right? Lucas: Absolutely. Under Shah Jahan, the court was a centre for musicians from across Persia and India. The ban wasn't just a shift in taste — it was a deliberate rupture from his father's era. And it sent ripples throughout the subcontinent. Lucas: Many of those displaced musicians found refuge in the courts of Rajput kings, the Deccan sultanates — even in the Maratha kingdom. They carried their traditions with them, which in a way helped decentralise and diversify Hindustani classical music. Luna: So it wasn't a total eradication, but a redistribution? Lucas: In effect, yes. But the official ban had teeth. Some accounts say Aurangzeb personally oversaw the destruction of instruments. The French traveller François Bernier, who was in India at the time, wrote that the emperor even had the palace's musical instruments buried. Lucas: Now, this wasn't a blanket ban on all sound or melody. Aurangzeb permitted qawwali — the devotional Sufi music — because it was considered religious and not simply entertainment. So there was a distinction between sacred and profane. Luna: That makes sense. It was a moral clampdown rather than a total ban. Lucas: Exactly. Aurangzeb's reasoning was rooted in Hanafi jurisprudence, which generally considers instrumental music and non-religious song as haram. There's a famous letter he wrote to his son Bahadur Shah I where he says, 'Music is forbidden; it turns the heart away from God, and it is the companion of frivolity.' That letter survives in several manuscripts. Luna: We deliberately don't run ads on these conversations. If you want to support that choice, the link is buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. Lucas: Yeah, it's nice that we can just focus on the history. So where did those musicians go? We mentioned Rajput courts. Some ended up in Jaipur, where they helped develop the Jaipur gharana. Others went to the Deccan, to Hyderabad and Bijapur, mixing with local traditions. Lucas: The effect was that the Mughal court's loss became a gain for regional courts. In a way, Aurangzeb's ban contributed to the flourishing of diverse musical styles across India, even as it impoverished the imperial capital's cultural scene. Luna: Was there any pushback from the nobility? Lucas: Some nobles continued to patronise music privately, but openly defying the emperor was risky. There's a story about one of his own sons, Muazzam — later Bahadur Shah I — who was fond of music. Aurangzeb reportedly rebuked him and had his musicians expelled. Lucas: This was part of a broader pattern of enforcing orthodoxy. The ban on music coincided with the reimposition of jizya and the destruction of some temples. But we should be careful — not all historians agree on the extent of the ban. Some argue it was more symbolic than practical, targeting only courtly performances, not folk or private music. Luna: So it's a contested point, like so much of Aurangzeb's legacy. Lucas: Exactly. The maasir i alamgiri notes the ban but doesn't mention widespread enforcement. And we have evidence that later in his reign, music crept back into the court, especially during the last decades when his control weakened. Lucas: Nevertheless, the symbolic power of the ban was huge. It signalled that the emperor was willing to sacrifice cultural splendour for religious purity. And it cemented his image as a puritan — an image that both critics and admirers have since amplified. Luna: Did any musicians manage to stay? Lucas: A few did, by converting their art to religious forms. Some became qawwals. Others simply played in private gatherings. The famous musician Gopala Naik, though, left for the south and is said to have performed for the Maratha court. His story is a testament to the resilience of artists under pressure. Lucas: If we step back, the music ban is a fascinating lens on Aurangzeb's personality — his conviction, his willingness to court unpopularity, and his ability to impose his vision on a vast, pluralistic empire. It also shows how a single ruler's choices can reshape cultural landscapes long after they're gone. Luna: It's a reminder that history isn't just battles and treaties — it's also what people hear and feel. Lucas: Exactly. And that's why we keep exploring these corners of the past. Thanks for joining us.