AURANGZEB
Was Aurangzeb’s religious policy inspired by the zeal of a Muslim religious bigot? Did he
try to change his policy towards the close of his reign?
INTRODUCTION
Aurangzeb ruled the Mughal Empire for forty‑nine years, from 1658 to 1707, a period in which
the empire reached its greatest territorial extent yet also earned a reputation as one of the most
controversial reigns in Indian history. Many historians—among them S. R. Sharma in The
Religious Policy of the Mughal Emperors—portray him as a strict puritan who allowed
Muslim theology to dominate state policy. Drawing on Jadunath Sarkar, Sharma lists acts of
religious intolerance such as the re‑imposition of the jizya tax in 1679, which Sarkar believes
stirred non‑Muslim hostility and hastened the empire’s decline. The same line of interpretation
underlies A. N. Srivastava’s and Sarkar’s claim that Aurangzeb’s orthodoxy provoked
rebellions by Jats, Sikhs, Marathas, and Rajputs and fed an early perception, captured by
Athar Ali that “Islam was in danger.
Recent scholarship, however, approaches his religious policies through a more nuanced and
pragmatic lens. Farooqui and I. H. Qureshi argue that Aurangzeb’s orthodoxy was less a
cause of unrest than a response to deepening political and financial pressures. Likewise,
M. Athar Ali and Satish Chandra contend that although Aurangzeb was personally more
devout than his predecessors, he rarely let faith override political or economic realities.
Decisions such as reinforcing Islamic law, they maintain, were shaped by the practical
challenges of governing a vast and diverse empire. A full understanding of his reign therefore
demands attention to shifting fiscal burdens, court politics, and long‑running debates over the
Mughal state’s character. In this light, Aurangzeb’s rule emerges as a complex blend of
religious orthodoxy and political pragmatism—an interplay that continues to animate historical
debate today.
The Debates about Aurangzeb’s Orthodoxy: Conflicts of a Complex Reign (1658-1707)
The issues about Aurangzeb’s religious policies were first traced to the War of Succession
wherein he displaced Shah Jahan and his brother Dara Shikoh. Jadunath Sarkar considered
the War of Succession was a manifestation of the direct conflict between Dara’s syncretism
and Aurangzeb’s orthodoxy that sealed the fate of Mughal decline after Aurangzeb prevailed,
bringing an end to the composite state built by Akbar. But the War of Succession was more of
a political tussle than an ideological one, with both sides consisting of an adequate number of
Muslims, Hindus and other groups with their own loyalties. The main contrast drawn from this
War is that between two possible rulers with different religious outlooks.
While Aurangzeb was a devout orthodox Muslim with respect for sharia regulations, his
brother Dara was a devout believer in paganistic mysticism and often associated with figures
shunned by the Sunni orthodoxy like Sarmad Kashani, a Persian perennialist who believed in
Wahdat-ul-Wujud as a path to understand all faiths as one, with others like Qadiri Sufis
Mian Mir and Mullah Shah Badakshi as well as Sikh Guru Har Rai. Dara’s composite
religious outlook even extended to academia. He had translated the Upanishads into Persian as
‘Sirr-e-Akbar’ and even wrote a treatise on similarities of Islamic and Vedantic monotheistic
thought called ‘Majma-i-Bahrain’. Hence, Dara’s loss to Aurangzeb at the Battle of Samugarh
and execution in 1658 which allowed Aurangzeb’s accession is considered a major milestone
in Mughal religious policy.
The Role of Theologians (Ulama) in Governance
Right from his rise to power, Aurangzeb took several measures that appealed to the desires of
the ulema. According to Muhammad Sagi Mustaid Khan, an official historian, Aurangzeb
aimed to promote Islam and suppress infidel practices, citing Quranic injunctions as
justification. Isardas and Ali Muhammad Khan echo this view, emphasizing the role of the
ulama, who urged Aurangzeb to impose jizyah as a religious obligation under sharia. However,
this explanation is questionable since Aurangzeb, a scholar of Islam, delayed the reimposition
for 22 years despite the orthodox stance being well established.
European observers offer a different perspective. Thomas Roll, an English factory president in
Surat, and Niccolao Manucci, a Venetian traveler, argue that jizyah was a means to fill the
imperial treasury and pressure Hindus to convert to Islam. However, historical evidence does
not support large-scale conversions due to jizyah, as Hindus had long resisted such pressures
under earlier Muslim rulers.
There was a ban on all sijda prostration, jharoka darshan and tuladan ceremonies since the
Emperor was no longer seen as a divine sovereign, but a simple temporal ruler subservient to
God, ending Akbar’s divine kingship norms. The use of the kalima on coins was stopped
since coinage would often be defiled by being stamped under people’s feet. Royal celebrations
of non-Muslim festivals like Nauroz, Diwali and Holi were banned. Special muhtasib
officials were assigned to oversee implementation of sharia norms by preventing consumption
of alcohol, intoxicants or any instances of gambling and prostitution.
By 1669, even court music was banned, but the naubat (royal band) and instrumental music
was allowed to continue. To highlight the fact that Aurangzeb was neither an orthodox
hardliner nor hateful towards music, historians like Katherine Butler Brown highlighted his
personal skill in the veena and Hindustani music. Other arts like painting and history writing
were banned, but despite the religious colour often given to these bans, K.B. Brown argued
that the financial crisis was more responsible for such changes.
Jizyah
Modern scholarship stresses that Aurangzeb’s approach to Hindu temples cannot be reduced to
blanket bigotry. Jadunath Sarkar saw every demolition as proof of zealotry, yet Satish Chandra
situates most well‑attested cases in political or military crises—Rathor, Jat, and Maratha
strongholds were treated as rebel bastions first and religious sites second, a pattern visible even
in Mustaʿid Khan’s Maʾāsir‑i ʿĀlamgīrī. Contemporary observer Bhimsen likewise records
that many great shrines at Bijapur, Hyderabad, Kanchipuram, and Tirupati were left
untouched, although individual commanders such as Abdur Rahim Khan and
Hamid‑ud‑din Khan did raze specific structures in the late Deccan wars.
The re‑imposition of jizya in 1679 reveals the same mix of principle and pragmatism. Court
chroniclers Muhammad Sagi Mustaʿid Khan, Isardas, and ʿAlī Muḥammad Khan describe
pressure from the ʿulamāʾ, who framed the tax as a Qurʾānic duty; yet Aurangzeb—a trained
jurist—had resisted such advice for 22 years. European merchants Thomas Roe (in Surat) and
Niccolao Manucci viewed the levy as fiscal coercion, but there is no evidence of mass
conversion. Later estimates by Shivadas Lakhnawī (≈ Rs 40 million a year) and Jagjiwandas
(17th‑century revenue lists) make jizya only a modest share of imperial income.
Nigar Nāmā‑i‑Munshī and Khāfī Khan show that the tax bit hardest in commercial towns,
provoking organised Hindu‑merchant petitions.
Aurangzeb’s cultural edicts followed the same dual logic of piety and penury. He abolished
sijda, jharokha darshan, and tulādān to repudiate Akbar’s quasi‑divine monarchy; banned
public court celebrations of Nauroz, Dīwālī, and Holī; stopped stamping the kalima on coins
lest they be trodden underfoot; and in 1669 prohibited vocal music at court (the naubat and
instrumental ensembles survived). Musicologist Katherine Butler Brown notes that Aurangzeb
himself played the vīnā, arguing that the ban stemmed as much from a mounting
deficit—continuous wars had outpaced revenue for twelve years—as from moral scruple.
Aurangzeb’s Religious Policy in the Later Part of His Reign: A Historiographical
Re-evaluation
Aurangzeb’s re-imposition of the jizya tax in 1679 has long been viewed as the most defining
element of his religious policy, signaling a sharp departure from Akbar’s syncretic framework.
This tax, abolished by Akbar in 1564, was revived amidst political and financial pressures, but
scholars remain divided on the motivation behind it. While some, like I.A. Khan interprets it
as a move to consolidate support among the orthodox Muslim ulema, others like Satish
Chandra argue it was politically opportunistic, coinciding with a time of increasing unrest and
economic strain.
Aurangzeb’s early reign saw no immediate imposition of jizya, despite his known piety and
orthodoxy. This delay, spanning over two decades, suggests that political pragmatism
initially outweighed ideological commitment. He maintained a broad base of loyal
non-Muslim allies, such as Jai Singh and Jaswant Singh, and made no overt moves to
polarize on religious grounds. The financial strain from ongoing Deccan campaigns,
particularly against the Marathas, only became severe in his 13th regnal year, offering some
context to the eventual fiscal rationale for jizya. Yet, even this justification appears
partial—jizya revenue was not funneled into general coffers but deposited in a separate
religious treasury, the khazana-i-jizya, limiting its utility for funding warfare.
Contemporaries like Manucci attributed Aurangzeb’s revival of the jizya to financial reasons,
but later scholars such as Satish Chandra argue that this view is overly simplistic. Chandra
offers a more nuanced interpretation, suggesting that the tax was reintroduced not merely for
economic gain but to reaffirm Aurangzeb’s Islamic identity in the face of growing dissent from
groups like the Jats, Satnamis, Sikhs, and Rathores. In this reading, the jizya served as a
political tool to consolidate ideological legitimacy, reflecting a response to challenges to
imperial authority rather than a purely theological or fiscal move.
Aurangzeb’s religious policy took a sharper turn after his conquests of Bijapur and Golkonda
in 1687. He began to emphasize Islamic symbolism more strongly, appointed muhtasibs
(moral censors) to enforce public piety, and selectively sanctioned temple
destructions—particularly where temples served as political or military centers. Notable
examples include the destruction of temples in Bijapur (1698) and during the anti-Maratha
campaign in Maharashtra.
Yet, even in the Deccan, his approach was inconsistent. Temples such as those at Ellora
remained untouched, and Hindu officials like Pam Nayak were not only pardoned but also
absorbed into the Mughal administration. This uneven application of policy underscores
Aurangzeb’s reliance on political pragmatism rather than ideological rigidity—temple
destruction was used strategically, not uniformly or doctrinally.
Historians like Athar Ali have also challenged the idea of a strictly exclusionary regime. His
quantitative analysis showed that Hindu participation in the mansabdari system actually
increased under Aurangzeb—from 22.4% under Shah Jahan to 31.6% by 1707. However, the
demographic shift from Rajput to Maratha nobility suggests that this inclusion was driven
more by imperial expansion than by commitment to a composite polity.
The image of Aurangzeb as a religious zealot has been perpetuated by historians such as
Jadunath Sarkar, who described his reign as theocratic and intolerant. But modern
historiography contests this monolithic view. While Aurangzeb certainly projected himself
as an Islamic ruler—copying Qurans by hand, rejecting courtly luxuries, and expressing guilt
over bloodshed in his final letters—such actions were deeply personal and did not always
translate into systemic policy. As Will Durant argues, his contradictions make him
comparable to figures like Augustus or Stalin—intelligent, politically astute, yet morally
conflicted.
In his final years, Aurangzeb’s policies reflected a combination of religious orthodoxy and
realpolitik. His decision-making was neither driven entirely by ideology nor devoid of it.
While his reign marked a departure from the liberalism of Akbar, it did not represent a full
dismantling of the Mughal composite state. Non-Muslim elites remained integral to the
empire, and rebellion or secession in the 18th century stemmed more from economic and
administrative pressures—such as the jagirdari crisis, Deccan overreach, and weak
succession mechanisms—than from religious intolerance.
Ultimately, the religious policies of Aurangzeb—particularly the reimposition of jizya—must
be understood as products of his specific political context, rather than as evidence of an
unbending theocratic agenda. His reign underscores the tensions between ideology and
governance, and the limits of religious policy as a tool for imperial consolidation.
Financial Crisis
Aurangzeb’s financial policies reflected a strict adherence to Islamic law, which led to the
banning of all extra taxes and levies not sanctioned by Shariah—including profitable ones like
the rahdari (transit tolls) and pandari (market stall) duties. This move is considered a
significant factor contributing to the empire’s financial losses by Aurangzeb’s 13th regnal year,
as documented in Mustaid Khan’s Maasir-i-Alamgiri. Trade duties for Muslims were also
reduced to 2.5%, and the state issued directives favoring the appointment of Muslim officials
for clerical and administrative positions over non-Muslims. Aurangzeb even compiled the
Fatawa-i-Alamgiri, a comprehensive Hanafi legal code, intended to serve as the foundation of
state law.
However, Aurangzeb’s relationship with the religious scholars (ulema) was not always
smooth. Some policies—like the lower trade duties for Muslims and preference in official
appointments—had to be rolled back due to widespread misuse and resistance from the large
non-Muslim majority. At times, even the ulema opposed Aurangzeb’s decisions; for example,
Qazi Shaikhul Islam refused to issue a fatwa supporting Aurangzeb’s war against the Deccan
Sultanates, which were Muslim states, as this conflicted with Shariah principles.
Secret accounts from Khafi Khan’s Muntakhab-ul-Lubab suggest some dissent within the
ulema, with reports that the chief Qazi, Shaikh Abdul Wahab, often drank alcohol in private,
contradicting his orthodox image. Meanwhile, many Sunni scholars benefited from
Aurangzeb’s patronage through generous grants (madad-i-maash), even though some funds
were extended beyond orthodox boundaries, including to the Nāthapanthi yogis of Vrindavan
and the Sikh preacher Ram Rai. Despite these anomalies, the ulema largely formed part of
Aurangzeb’s political support base.
Aurangzeb’s financial retrenchment went further: lucrative levies like the rahdari tolls and
pandari fees were abolished, departments were consolidated, and new appointments were
frozen to reduce expenditure. His legal codification through the Fatawa-i-Alamgiri aimed to
standardize justice throughout the empire. Still, even seemingly Muslim-favorable policies like
reduced customs duties or hiring preferences had to be revoked due to abuse and opposition
from non-Muslim majorities.
The relationship with the religious establishment was complex and ambivalent. Some ulema,
such as Qazi Shaikh-ul-Islam, refused to endorse Aurangzeb’s campaigns against fellow
Muslim states in the Deccan. Khafi Khan also reported scandalous behavior among the
religious elite. At the same time, patronage flowed not only to Sunni seminaries but also
crossed confessional lines, benefiting non-Muslim religious groups as well.
Revisionist historians like Audrey Truschke highlight that Aurangzeb’s bans on court
chroniclers, astrologers, and extravagant rituals, his refusal to elevate himself to divine status,
and his opposition to sacred inscriptions on coins, reflect a conscious ideal of Islamic modesty
rather than a blanket cultural crackdown. Viewed alongside Satish Chandra’s fiscal data and
Butler Brown’s cultural studies, Aurangzeb emerges less as a one-dimensional zealot and
more as a pragmatic ruler balancing religious law, military demands, and a chronically strained
treasury.
Aurangzeb’s financial strain was exacerbated by ongoing wars in the Deccan, the northeast,
and conflicts with Rajputs and Afghans. By 1676, a review showed that expenditures had
exceeded income for twelve years. In response, he abolished non-Islamic cesses, but this faced
resistance from nobles who demanded compensation—something the state could not afford.
While some suggest that reimposing jizya was intended as a revenue measure, evidence for
this is scant.
Exact figures for jizya revenue under Aurangzeb are lacking, but 18th-century writer
Shivadas Lakhnawi estimated it brought in about 40 million rupees annually, roughly 15% of
total revenue. Another estimate by Jagjiwandas (1708-09) put total state revenue at 260
million rupees, implying that full jizya collection could potentially double the income.
The Nigar Nama-i-Munshi records that the initial jizya rate was set at 4%, with exemptions
for crop failures. Urban centers were assessed separately, with jizya collection substantial
enough to provoke merchant opposition. For instance, Khafi Khan notes that Burhanpur
collected Rs. 26,000 in a single year and Rs. 108,000 in just three months from half the city’s
wards. Towns like Badshahpur contributed up to 72% of their revenue through jizya. European
traders, however, paid a lower 1.5% import duty instead of jizya.
Mughal-Sikh Relations
Mughal-Sikh relations during Aurangzeb’s reign were complex and evolved over time.
Initially, relations were strained—court tensions existed between Aurangzeb and Guru Har
Rai over territorial issues in Punjab. However, the situation softened when the young Guru
Har Krishan was allowed peaceful entry into Delhi and residence at Mirza Raja Jai Singh’s
mansion. This mansion was temporarily converted into a hospital to treat victims of a smallpox
epidemic. Later, in the 18th century during Baghel Singh’s invasion of Delhi under Shah Alam
II, this site was transformed into the famous Bangla Sahib Gurudwara.
One of the most contentious episodes in Mughal-Sikh relations was the execution of the ninth
Sikh Guru, Guru Tegh Bahadur, in 1675. Traditional Sikh accounts portray this as a
martyrdom: Guru Tegh Bahadur sacrificed his life to protect the religious freedom of Kashmiri
Pandits who were threatened with forced conversion to Islam. In contrast, Persian sources
describe him as a dissident rebel leader. Though Aurangzeb was absent from Delhi at the time,
the execution likely had imperial approval. This event deeply alienated the Sikh community
and intensified their opposition to Mughal rule.
Following the example of Guru Hargobind, who had earlier militarized Sikhism after the
execution of Guru Arjan Dev, Guru Gobind Singh undertook a similar transformation by
founding the Khalsa Panth in 1699, a martial order committed to defending Sikhism and
justice. This period saw several key battles, notably the Battle of Chamkaur, remembered in
Sikh tradition for the martyrdom of Guru Gobind Singh’s young sons.
Despite these conflicts, by 1706-1707, Aurangzeb and Guru Gobind Singh had re-established
personal communication. The Guru sent Aurangzeb the Zafarnama (“Epistle of Victory”), a
Persian letter seeking to restore peace between the Sikhs and the Mughal empire. Aurangzeb
invited the Guru to the Deccan for diplomatic talks, but Aurangzeb’s death in 1707 at
Ahmednagar ended any prospects of reconciliation.
The Sikh uprising led by Banda Singh Bahadur, a loyal Rajput ascetic discovered by Guru
Gobind Singh at Nanded (formerly Madho Das), later posed a significant challenge to
Aurangzeb’s successors, including Bahadur Shah. Banda Singh Bahadur’s rebellion in Punjab
was partly a response to the execution of Sikh leaders and continuing Mughal oppression,
marking a critical chapter in the Sikh struggle against imperial authority.
Theological Context
The rise of religious orthodoxy during Aurangzeb’s reign is often linked to revivalist
movements such as the Naqshbandi Sufi order. Scholar S.A.A. Rizvi argued that
Aurangzeb’s ideology was influenced by Khwaja Muhammad Ma’sum, son of the prominent
reformer Sheikh Ahmad Sirhindi. However, historians like Satish Chandra and Irfan Habib
challenge this view, pointing out that there is little evidence that such revivalist figures held
sustained influence at the Mughal court. In fact, Sirhindi himself was considered a heretic by
some Islamic scholars and was imprisoned. Eventually, his teachings were banned within the
empire after concerns were raised by the Sheriff of Mecca around 1682–83.
Despite the apparent rise in theological scholarship under Aurangzeb, Sufism continued to
flourish in various forms. The Chishti order, known for its more liberal and mystical
approach, saw a revival, and spiritual eclecticism remained vibrant. Poets like Kahimullah
even described Aurangzeb as a “living saint,” reflecting his complex identity as both a devout
ruler and a spiritual seeker.
Aurangzeb’s policies should therefore be understood not just through a theological lens but
also as responses to administrative needs, political legitimacy, and the survival of the
empire. He inherited a state already strained by financial difficulties and regional unrest. His
strict religious stance was as much a means of centralizing power and maintaining control as it
was an expression of personal faith. Modern scholars caution against simplistic labels like
“tolerant” or “intolerant,” urging instead a recognition of the intricate challenges involved in
governing a vast and diverse empire such as the Mughal realm.
CONCLUSION
Aurangzeb’s religious policy cannot be simply called the work of a religious bigot. While his
rule was different from Akbar’s more tolerant approach, Aurangzeb’s decisions were
influenced by political, military, and financial reasons as well. For example, bringing back the
jizya tax, destroying some temples, and banning certain royal customs were not just about
religion. These actions also helped raise money, strengthen his control, and deal with
rebellions.
Although Aurangzeb was very religious personally, he also had to rule a large and diverse
empire. Because of this, his policies showed practical thinking and some flexibility. Toward
the end of his reign, instead of changing his religious policy, he seemed to reflect more on his
choices and continued to balance strict religious ideas with the needs of running the empire.
