Aurangzeb, The Ghosts Of History, And The Politics of Remembrance

As a nation, India often finds itself in a tug-of-war between the grandeur of its aspirations and the ghosts of its past. One would imagine that a country poised as a global power - boasting nuclear capabilities, a pioneering space programme, a "Tech Stack" that is the envy of the world and an ambitious bid for a permanent seat on the United Nations Security Council - has moved beyond debates over a Mughal emperor who breathed his last more than 300 years ago. Yet, here we are again.

The recent unrest in Nagpur over the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb is one more reminder that in India, debates over history are not confined to the distant past alone. The turmoil underscores the enduring potency of history as a political tool. Clashes erupted after Hindu nationalist protesters allied with the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) burned an effigy of Aurangzeb, the controversial Mughal emperor whose name evokes varying emotions across India's diverse spectrum. The protesters demanded the destruction of his unassuming grave, a move that enraged many Muslims and secular Hindus alike.

Matters That Still Matter

Why does Aurangzeb, who ruled the Mughal Empire from 1658 to 1707, continue to provoke such fervent reactions centuries after his demise? To his detractors, particularly within Hindu nationalist circles, Aurangzeb epitomises tyranny - accused of destroying temples, reimposing Islamic taxes on Hindus, executing Sikh spiritual leaders, and enforcing policies that suppressed Hindu traditions. To some Indian Muslims, however, he is remembered for his piety and military glory, having expanded the Mughal Empire to its zenith, encompassing regions from Kabul to Dhaka.

For secular historians, the case against demonising Aurangzeb lies in context. He was, after all, a product of his time, when religious intolerance and political violence were established norms. His record includes grants to some Hindu temples alongside the destruction of others - a paradox often overlooked in the discourse. Yet, the argument that India needs to "move on" from Aurangzeb faces formidable resistance in a country grappling with its identity.

Whereas conservatives, in the famous phrase, are ‘standing athwart history, yelling Stop', our Hindutva nationalists are yelling ‘turn back! Reverse!' Their reinvention of history is not anchored in a reverence for the past, but in their desire to shape the present by reinventing the past.

History As Politics

History has often been contested terrain in India, but its revival in the context of twenty-first century politics is a sobering sign that the past continues to have a hold over the Hindutva movement in the present. While the Mughals are being demonised as a way of delegitimising Indian Muslims (who are stigmatised as ‘Babur ke aulad', the sons of the invader Babur rather than of the Indian soil), Hindutva zealots want to rebuild the most prominent of the Hindu temples the Mughals allegedly destroyed. And some in Nagpur want to destroy a simple grave because of what its contents represent: a symbol of the humiliation of their ancestors centuries ago.

The ideological battle unfolding today - whether over Aurangzeb or the broader legacy of Islamic rule - reflects the interplay between history and nationalism. The renaming of Aurangabad to Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar and the replacement of Aurangzeb Road in New Delhi with a more palatable alternative are not isolated incidents. They fit neatly into a broader campaign to overwrite centuries of Islamic influence on Indian culture, names, and places. The ideal of inter-faith co-existence in harmony has been jettisoned; the marginalisation of Muslims from the national narrative marches on.

Not Just An Indian Problem

Of course, historical revisionism is not uniquely Indian. From the United States, where radical leftist movements sought to dismantle statues and monuments deemed symbols of white supremacy, to European debates over colonial-era relics, and black and brown Britons toppling statues of colonial oppressors, the impulse to wield history as a weapon in contemporary politics is universal. Still, there is surely a case for India reconciling with the past rather than seeking endlessly to undo it - for moderation over hysteria.

The problem lies in the unrelenting politicisation of history. If one faction tears down Aurangzeb's legacy, another rises to defend it. If one renames a city to honour a Hindu king (Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar) or a Hindu civilisational tradition (Prayagraj), another questions the relevance of doing so, asking whether there is no comfort to be had in the familiarity of place names established on our soil over centuries. The pendulum swings incessantly, with no resolution in sight.

India's path forward must embody a mature relationship with its past - one that neither erases nor glorifies, but contextualises. This journey requires empathy, introspection, and a willingness to transcend ideological boundaries. History, after all, should enlighten, not enchain.

The alternative is a nightmare. One day, the Muslims of India will resist. Once again, the violence will resume, spawning new hostages to history, ensuring that future generations would be taught new wrongs to set right. The fanatics and extremists are happy to use history as cannon fodder; but in their obsession with undoing the past, it is our future they are placing in peril.

(Shashi Tharoor has been a Member of Parliament from Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, since 2009. He is a published author and a former diplomat.)

Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author