Latest / Aurangzeb: The Emperor Who Expanded and Broke the Mughal Empire — Fexingo History / Aurangzeb's Fatwa on Music: The Emperor Who Silenced the Court
Transcript
- Lucas: So, Luna, we've covered a lot about Aurangzeb's military campaigns and his religious policies — temple taxes, the wars in the Deccan, the crackdown on the Sikhs. But there's another side to his rule that's often overlooked: his war on music. Luna: Wait — he actually banned music? In the Mughal court? Lucas: He did. And I don't mean just toning down the festivities. I'm talking about a full, systematic suppression. In the 1660s, around the same time he imposed the jizya, Aurangzeb issued a series of orders that effectively purged music from the imperial court. He expelled the court musicians, banned musical performances at official functions, and even ordered the destruction of musical instruments. Lucas: The primary source for this is the Maasir-i-Alamgiri — the court history written by Muhammad Kazim. It records that in 1668, Aurangzeb issued a decree forbidding music and dancing at court. The musicians were given pensions and told to leave. Some were even dismissed with the phrase, 'Go, and may God provide for you.' Luna: That's brutal. But did it actually stick? I mean, the Mughal court had been synonymous with music for generations. Lucas: It did — to a surprising extent. Aurangzeb was famously strict in his personal piety. He didn't just ban music; he stopped listening to it himself. According to Manucci, the Italian traveler who spent years in the Mughal court, Aurangzeb would not even allow music at his own private gatherings. He considered it un-Islamic, a distraction from devotion. Lucas: But here's the thing: the ban was never total. It applied mainly to the imperial court. In the provinces, especially in the Deccan where Aurangzeb spent the last 25 years of his life, local governors and nobles continued to patronize musicians. And in the Hindu kingdoms — well, music flourished even more as a form of resistance. Luna: So the ban actually backfired in some ways? It pushed music out of the court and into the streets? Lucas: Exactly. The court had been the center of musical innovation — think of Tansen, the legendary musician in Akbar's court. His descendants were among those expelled. They took their art to regional courts and temples. That's one reason why, in the 18th century, you see an explosion of Hindu devotional music — bhajans, kirtans — and the rise of regional styles like Dhrupad and Khayal in places like Jaipur and Lucknow. Lucas: Manucci gives us a vivid picture of the aftermath. He writes about musicians wandering the streets, some destitute, others finding shelter in the homes of nobles who defied the ban. He also mentions that Aurangzeb's own son, Prince Muhammad Azam, secretly kept musicians in his household — a quiet act of rebellion. Luna: So even his own family didn't fully buy into it. Lucas: Right. And that's the tension. Aurangzeb's religious orthodoxy was genuine, but it also created a kind of cultural vacuum. The Fatwa-i-Alamgiri, the legal compendium he commissioned, justified the ban on music by citing certain Hadith traditions that frowned upon musical instruments. But it wasn't universally accepted among Islamic scholars — even in his own time. Lucas: There's a famous story — probably apocryphal, but telling — that after Aurangzeb's death, when his son Bahadur Shah I took the throne, the first thing he did was invite the musicians back. The story goes that the musicians demanded a formal apology from the emperor before they would play. Bahadur Shah supposedly agreed. Luna: Interesting. So the ban was seen as a kind of insult to the artists. Lucas: Absolutely. And it's a reminder that Aurangzeb's policies weren't just about religion or power — they reshaped the entire cultural landscape of India. The Mughal court never regained its musical glory. By the time the empire collapsed, the center of gravity for Indian classical music had shifted to the regional courts and, later, to the princely states. Lucas: So when we think about Aurangzeb's legacy, we usually focus on the wars, the taxes, the rebellions. But this cultural dimension — this silencing of the court — is just as important. It shows how one man's piety could alter the course of an entire artistic tradition. Luna: And it also shows that even in an absolute monarchy, there were limits to control. The music didn't die — it just moved. Lucas: Exactly. And that's the story we're telling today.