For nearly a half century, the Mughal empire was ruled by one of the most complex and controversial figures in Indian history. ‘Alamgir’s character was defined by many qualities, some of them contradictory. From an early age he showed remarkable courage, which was repeatedly displayed on battlefields. A steely sense of duty and self-discipline translated into a lifelong commitment to administrative detail, if not minutiae; in modern times he might be called a workaholic. His court historian Muhammad Kazim records that he slept only three hours a night.118 The Italian traveller Manucci corroborates this observation, adding that he sat up until midnight ‘unceasingly occupied’ with official business.119 Yet his devotion to work also prevented him from delegating authority to others and led to meddling in the affairs of his officers and his sons. ‘I came to know’, he wrote disapprovingly to his second son Mu‘azzam, ‘that you disregard the soldiers and care more for the highly paid servants.’ Or again, to the same son, ‘I came to know from a letter of a dear friend that you attend the court with a saffron-like turban on your head.’120
In the end, one is left with perhaps the greatest enigma of ‘Alamgir’s long reign: why did he spend a quarter-century relentlessly pursuing two Deccan sultanates and the Marathas – a futile enterprise that even contemporaries such as Bhimsen knew was running the empire into the ground? One answer lies in his obsessively industrious character. It was due to his focus, dedication, discipline and tenacity that the emperor held court twice daily, micro-managing nearly everything, personally reviewing and signing off on the most routine documents. But the virtue of tenacity could also become the defect of stubbornness, as seen in his refusal to change policy paths or his inability to discern larger geopolitical patterns. ‘Alamgir’s indefatigable industriousness might have served him well had he been a clerk or middle-level functionary in the Mughals’ vast bureaucracy.121 But good political leadership requires vision, imagination and flexibility, which were not ‘Alamgir’s strengths. For twenty-five ruinous years he remained trapped in a quagmire of his own making, constitutionally unable to imagine a way forwards beyond his Sisyphean task of doggedly pursuing the Marathas, fort by fort.
Another possible answer to the enigma of ‘Alamgir is hinted at by the Italian traveller Giovanni Careri, who in 1695 was granted a private audience with the emperor at one of his Deccan camps. The foreigner afterwards reflected on the underlying reasons for the emperor’s long and fruitless Deccan campaign:
fearing with much reason the perverse Inclination of his Sons, he had continu’d in Arms in the Field for 15 Years; and particularly four Years at Galgala [Galgali, on the Krishna], after defeating [Prince] Akbar. He said his Father Sciah-Gehan [Shah Jahan] had not so much discretion; for he might have learnt by many years’ Experience, that the Kings of Indostan when they grow Old, must keep at the head of Powerful Armies, to defend themselves against their Sons.122
Haunted by the fear that his sons might do to him what he had done to his own father, ‘Alamgir felt compelled constantly to remain in the field, ever at the helm of the army, warily watching them and his grandsons.
John Dryden could hardly have foreseen the morass of the emperor’s protracted Deccan campaign, since he wrote his play Aureng-zebe: A Tragedy in 1675, five years before that campaign began. Yet he does give his protagonist the telling lines, ‘I know my fortune in extremes does lie: The Sons of Indostan must Reign, or die’. The extremes Dryden had in mind were those needed to gain the throne. But gaining the throne, as it turned out, was the easier part of ‘Alamgir’s lifelong struggle. In order to retain the throne, especially after his sons and even grandsons had reached maturity, he had to resort to extremes of another sort – of remaining constantly engaged in war, personally leading his army while vigilantly watching his own offspring, keeping them in check.
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Eighteenth-century Transitions