History is not merely a record of bygone eras; it is the moral compass of a civilization. It shapes the consciousness of a people, informs their present, and influences their collective destiny. A society that forgets its heroes and glorifies its oppressors is not just misguided-it is complicit in cultural self-destruction. In modern India, this tragic distortion of memory is neither accidental nor subtle. On one hand, we celebrate the towering legacy of Chhatrapati Shivaji and his son Sambhaji-guardians of dharma, protectors of culture, and pioneers of Hindavi Swaraj. On the other, we witness an insidious campaign to whitewash the crimes of Aurangzeb, one of the most tyrannical, bigoted, and barbaric rulers to have ever walked the sacred soil of Bharat.
Aurangzeb, the sixth Mughal emperor, was neither a man of spiritual integrity nor a beacon of justice. He was intoxicated by power, blinded by fanaticism, and driven by a compulsive hatred for all that did not submit to his theological orthodoxy. Styling himself as Zil-e-Ilahi-the Shadow of God-he ruled not with divine mercy but with unrelenting cruelty. His empire was not modelled on administrative brilliance but built atop the bloodied bones of his family, his enemies, and the very soul of India. He imprisoned his father, Shah Jahan, murdered his brothers, and ascended the throne through a web of betrayal. To call him a religious ruler is an affront to the very concept of religion.
Aurangzeb's reign marked an era aimed at breaking the back of Bharatiya dharma. His rule was not merely politically oppressive but spiritually corrosive, embodying a zealous disdain for the pluralistic ethos that defined Indian civilization for millennia. As nationalist historian Jadunath Sarkar observed, "neither age nor experience of life softened Aurangzeb's bigotry... The orthodox measures of Aurangzeb were an insidious attempt to establish an Islamic state in India, which in effect implied the conversion of the entire population to Islam and the extinction of every form of dissent."
One of Aurangzeb's most sinister tools was the reimposition of the jizya tax in 1679-a humiliating levy on non-Muslims. This tax was not simply a fiscal burden; it was ideological warfare, branding Hindus as second-class citizens in their own land-kafirs to be subdued, humiliated, and controlled. It was part of a broader vision: to dismantle Sanatan Dharma and establish an Islamic empire on its ruins. Claims portraying Aurangzeb as a temple builder or an art patron are either tragically uninformed or deliberately deceitful. Such narratives are not mere historical inaccuracies-they are moral betrayals. Records of temple patronage attributed to Aurangzeb are often forged, exaggerated, or politically motivated actions. These isolated events pale in comparison to the documented destruction of hundreds of temples under Aurangzeb's explicit orders.
Aurangzeb's barbarity extended to executing Guru Tegh Bahadur, the ninth Sikh Guru, for refusing to convert to Islam, and killing Sambhaji Maharaj. He tortured his father and slaughtered his three brothers. Is such a ruthless figure deserving of admiration?
In his court documents and farmans, Aurangzeb issued explicit orders to destroy Hindu temples with a clear motive: to crush the spiritual resilience and cultural identity of Bharat. Eminent historians like R.C. Majumdar and Satish Chandra have affirmed that this destruction was not incidental but methodical. It was a state policy designed to instil fear and assert dominance through desecration. These were not the acts of a ruler devoted to art but of a bigot bent on erasing the past and enslaving the future. Equally farcical is the effort to portray Aurangzeb as a patron of music or a connoisseur of culture. The truth is starkly opposite. He banned classical music, closed down dance halls, and persecuted artists who refused to conform to his orthodox interpretation of Islam. The same Aurangzeb who is falsely remembered for playing veena is also the one who issued edicts against musical expression, branding it as un-Islamic. To romanticize him is to desecrate the memory of countless artists, scholars, and saints silenced under his rule.
In contrast to his tyranny stands the resplendent legacy of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, the luminous torchbearer of Hindavi Swaraj. Shivaji was not just a warrior king-he was a renaissance of Indian dignity, a revival of indigenous pride, and the embodiment of righteous governance. For him, Swaraj was not merely a political goal but a spiritual mission. His administration was rooted in dharma, justice, and decentralization. He established a state where governance was conducted in the local Marathi language, village councils flourished, and all communities, regardless of religion, were treated fairly. His profound moral clarity matched his military genius. That was the true spirit of Hindavi Swaraj-not communal hatred, but cultural self-respect; not conquest, but dharmic assertion.
No other figure exposes Aurangzeb's moral bankruptcy more than Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj. A scholar of Sanskrit, Persian, and politics, Sambhaji was a fearless leader and a custodian of civilizational pride. When Aurangzeb captured him, he was subjected to inhuman torture for refusing to convert to Islam. His skin was flayed, his eyes gouged, and his body mutilated-but his soul never surrendered. His last words before his martyrdom resonate through the annals of time: "I would rather die a Hindu than live as a coward." His sacrifice was not a solitary moment-it was the spark that lit the fire of resistance, which burned through generations, from Bajirao and Madhavrao to Rani Lakshmibai and Tatya Tope. Aurangzeb's death, in stark contrast, was an anticlimax. He died alone, unloved-surrounded not by the glory of his empire but by the shadows of his crimes. His grand ambitions left his empire fractured, overextended, and ripe for collapse. The very force he tried to annihilate-the spirit of dharma-outlived him, outshone him, and ultimately buried his legacy beneath the rubble of failed fanaticism.
The tragedy, however, lies not just in history but in its telling. Colonial historians, with their imperialist lenses, described Shivaji as a mountain rat and painted the Marathas as looters, while calling the Mughals great stabilizers. These distortions poison our textbooks, academic institutions, and public discourse. What greater absurdity than to find Aurangzeb depicted as a tolerant ruler while Shivaji is barely given a chapter?
We must now awaken from this induced amnesia. We must reclaim our past not as an act of vengeance but as an act of truth. Glorifying Aurangzeb is not merely a historical error but a moral crime. It insults the millions massacred under his rule, the thousands of temples defiled by his edicts, and the brave hearts who laid down their lives to defend the soul of Bharat. Hindavi Swaraj was not merely a regional revolt but a national resurgence. It was the assertion of civilizational dharma against imperialist dogma. Shivaji planted the seed, Sambhaji watered it with his blood, and its tree continues to shade the Indian spirit. It is not a memory-it is a mission. It is not a relic-it is a roaring flame.
As India enters the future, building digital highways, launching into space, and claiming its rightful place on the global stage, its most significant threat is not external but the erosion of historical clarity. In the age of memes and manipulated narratives, we must teach our children not just who ruled India but who preserved it. Not just who built empires but who protected their essence. Not just who wore a crown but who upheld dharma. Elevating Aurangzeb means bowing before darkness. To embrace Hindavi Swaraj is to walk toward the light. And that, above all, is the call of our times.
Views expressed are personal.
(Mr. Tuli is an Independent Columnist, and Dr. Barthwal teaches Political Science at the University of Delhi.)
