The tomb of Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb, located in Khuldabad, Maharashtra, was built in 1707, the year of his death. It stands as a simple yet historically significant monument, marking the final resting place of one of the most controversial rulers in Indian history. For years, the site remained largely untouched by significant debate, even during the Maratha Confederacy (1674–1818), when the Marathas, despite their political and cultural rivalry with the Mughals, showed respect toward Mughal monuments. Notably, Chhatrapati Shahu I, the fifth ruler of the Maratha Empire, visited Aurangzeb’s tomb to pay his respects.
However, recent developments have reignited tensions surrounding the tomb. A Hindi film, Chhava, has sparked renewed emotional reactions against Aurangzeb, with Hindu organisations now demanding the removal of the tomb. These calls for its demolition are in stark contrast to the historical context in which the monument was largely left undisturbed, even after India gained independence. The shift in sentiment is further fuelled by the visits of controversial figures such as Akbaruddin Owaisi, who has paid homage to the emperor, a man widely reviled for his oppressive actions, particularly toward Hindus.
Aurangzeb, often depicted as a religious zealot, is criticised for his policies of religious persecution, including the execution of Sambhaji Maharaj, the son of Shivaji Maharaj, and for enforcing Islamic law across much of India. His reign is viewed by many as one of intolerance and brutality, which led to significant suffering among Hindus. These actions have contributed to his status as one of the most hated figures in Indian history. His legacy has come to symbolise a period of division and conflict that ultimately played a role in shaping the religious dynamics of South Asia.
The calls for the destruction of Aurangzeb’s tomb are part of a larger political and cultural debate. Hindu organisations such as Bajrang Dal have warned of a “Babri Masjid-like fate” for the tomb if the state government does not act on their demands. This has led to heightened security around the site in Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar (formerly Aurangabad), where the number of visitors to the tomb has significantly dropped—from about 2,500 to 3,000 daily visitors before the controversy to just 200 to 400 visitors now.
Aurangzeb’s strict religious views and ascetic lifestyle earned him titles such as “Zinda Pir” (living saint) and “Darvesh” (ascetic), reflecting his devotion to Islam. His reign, which lasted nearly 50 years, is considered by many to be the last effective period of the Mughal Empire, but his legacy is marred by the heavy-handedness of his rule, which included the destruction of Hindu temples and the forced conversion of Hindus to Islam.
The debate over whether to preserve or demolish Aurangzeb’s tomb raises broader questions about how we engage with history. Why, some argue, are the tombs of Mughal emperors like Aurangzeb well-maintained while the memorials to figures such as Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj are sometimes neglected? The answer lies in complex cultural, historical, and political factors, but there is also a deeper, more philosophical question at play.
While the revulsion many feel toward Aurangzeb’s actions is understandable, it is crucial to consider the ethical implications of erasing historical sites. History, however painful, is a part of our collective heritage. As a culture, India has largely adhered to the belief that even those who caused harm should be treated with respect in death. This is reflected in the example set by Shivaji Maharaj, who, despite defeating Afzal Khan and having his body beheaded, admonished his soldiers for mocking the dead. This cultural respect for the deceased, regardless of their actions in life, is a key aspect of Indian tradition.
While the anger toward Aurangzeb is justified in many respects, the desecration or destruction of his tomb would represent a troubling shift in how we approach our history. Such an act would be an attempt to erase the past rather than learn from it. History, even the parts we find difficult to accept, must be preserved for future generations. The tomb of Aurangzeb, like any historical site, should be seen as an opportunity to reflect on the past, acknowledge its complexities, and learn valuable lessons from it.
In the end, the tomb of Aurangzeb should not be destroyed. Rather than erase this reminder of India’s tumultuous history, it should be preserved as a historical monument. Its continued existence can serve as a lesson about the dangers of intolerance and the consequences of absolute power. The tomb, while a symbol of a painful past, should remain a part of India’s heritage, not as an endorsement of Aurangzeb’s actions but as a tool for reflection and learning.
