Published By: Sayan Paul

What If Dara Shikoh, Not Aurangzeb, Had Been the Mughal Emperor? The Lost Secular India That Almost Was

Dara was a liberal and unorthodox Muslim, in contrast to the orthodox and conservative Aurangzeb.

The summer of 1658 was a turning point in India's history. Emperor Shah Jahan lay ill in Agra, and his sons were circling the throne like hawks. And among them stood Dara Shikoh, who was a scholar and the emperor’s favored heir. Dara carried the weight of a gentler future, as he was a believer in the shared truths of Islam and Hinduism, and sought to bridge faiths rather than divide them. But that future never came. He lost the war of succession to his brother Aurangzeb, who was an orthodox ruler who silenced music, erased dissent, and tightened the grip of religious absolutism.

So, what if history had turned the other way? What if it had chosen Dara, the dreamer, instead of Aurangzeb, the enforcer? This isn’t idle speculation. Rather, it’s a glimpse into a lost India, which could have been shaped by tolerance, not tyranny.

Dara Shikoh’s Vision: A Bridge Between Faiths

Born in Ajmer in 1615 (home to the esteemed Sufi saint Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti), Dara Shikoh grew up under close paternal guidance, unlike his brothers, who were frequently shuttled across the empire as governors. Drawn to mysticism, he became a disciple of the Qadiri Sufi saint Mian Mir and developed friendships with Hindu sages such as Baba Lal Das.

Perhaps his most daring work was Majma-ul‑Bahrain (“Confluence of the Two Seas”), written around 1654–55. In this Persian treatise, Dara argued that the mystical underpinnings of Sufi Islam and Vedantic Hinduism shared deep unity. He went a step further by translating fifty Upanishads into Persian—Sirr‑i‑Akbar (“The Greatest Mystery”)—and controversially suggested they were the “hidden book” (Kitab al‑maknun) mentioned in the Quran. These ideas ruffled feathers, especially among conservative clerics.

(Credit: indianhistorypics) 

His respect for all faiths showed in more than words. Dara commissioned Persian translations of the Yoga Vasistha, built the graceful Pari Mahal in Srinagar, and designed the tomb of his wife, Nadira Begum, in Lahore, among others. His court buzzed with poets, scholars, and artists, signaling an empire driven by cultural synthesis rather than division.

Aurangzeb’s Rule: Orthodoxy and Empire

Aurangzeb’s reign (1658–1707) starkly diverged from Dara’s inclusive vision. He reinstated the jizya tax on non-Muslims, banned court music, and ordered the demolition of certain temples... though studies suggest he protected many temples and retained a high percentage of Hindu officials, even more than his grandfather Akbar.

Yet his enforcement of strict Sharia laws alienated vast swaths of his subjects. His relentless campaigns in the Deccan, particularly against the Marathas, drained the empire’s wealth. By his death, rebellions had weakened the empire, making it vulnerable to regional uprisings and European colonizers. 

Modern historians argue that Aurangzeb wasn’t driven solely by religious zeal. Audrey Truschke paints him as a practical ruler who used violence against any threat, whether Hindu, Sikh, or Muslim. Satish Chandra says his orthodoxy stemmed, in part, from the need to secure Muslim noble loyalty amid rapid demographic change. Still, deep communal fissures grew under his watch, intensifying conflicts like Shivaji’s uprising and Sikh resistance under Guru Gobind Singh.

A Different India Under Dara?

Could Dara’s rule have turned the tide? Historian Abraham Eraly believed so: “India was at a crossroads in the mid-seventeenth century; it had the potential of moving forward with Dara Shikoh, or of turning back to medievalism with Aurangzeb”. Dara’s approach could have solidified alliances with Rajput and Hindu rulers, denying the rebellions that bled Aurangzeb. Inspired by Akbar’s Sulh‑i‑Kul (“peace with all”), Dara might have sparked a cultural renaissance, like Persian poets working alongside Sanskrit scholars, temples and mosques standing in balance.

The ripple effects of Majma-ul‑Bahrain (with its call for shared spiritual truths) could have influenced policies promoting communal harmony, perhaps blunting the rise of rigid communal identities that later fed the Two-Nation Theory. His translations introduced European academics to Indian spiritual concepts, hinting at an early global intellectual exchange.

(Credit: John McCafferty) 

Yet, his path would not have been smooth. Dara faced stiff opposition from orthodox Muslim elites. Venetian traveler Niccolao Manucci called Dara’s progressive stance “his biggest weakness.” Though he might have been as ruthless as his brother (some claim he plotted against his own siblings), his military inexperience (his first campaign came at age 40) would have posed a challenge governing a sprawling empire.

A Lost Fork in the Road

The crown nearly rested on Dara’s head. Shah Jahan’s support and Dara’s popularity with the army and court seemed decisive. But Aurangzeb’s political maneuvering and alliances sealed the outcome at Samugarh. Dara fled, only to be betrayed and captured in June 1659 by Sindh’s Malik Jiwan.

He was hauled to Delhi, shackled on a filthy elephant, stripped of royal finery (a humiliation so shocking that crowds wept openly). Aurangzeb convened a council of nobles and clerics, labeling Dara a public threat and apostate. On the night of August 30, 1659 (September 9, Gregorian), Dara was executed before his son, with his body later buried in an unmarked grave within Humayun’s Tomb complex.

As William Dalrymple writes in The Last Mughal, Dara was “an erudite champion of mystical religious speculation.” His fall marked a pivot away from pluralism toward sectarian rigidity. Today, archaeologists and historians search for his tomb... not to worship, but to recover a lost chapter in India’s pluralist heritage.

This story is of a choice between syncretic idealism and sectarian division. If Dara had ruled, the Mughal Empire might have blossomed into a cultural crucible. Yet power comes at a cost, and even dreams require strength and strategy. Dara’s vision endures, not in the fate of empires, but in history’s unanswered question: "What might India have become?"