Contrived Silences? A Study of Three Mughal Paintings from the Akbari to the Jahangiri Era

A group of courtiers chatter in hushed voices behind a screen of bushes; their emperor converses with a hermit, in his cave. The townsfolk and the king’s man have left their duties and gathered in front of a nondescript dwelling; a sufi sheikh, unfazed, dusts the courtyard. A young prince arrives post haste at the gates of his familial palace; he has just lost his father. What do all of these scenarios have in common? They are all taken from the autobiographies of Mughal Emperors and have been subsequently illustrated as a part of a muraqqa. The first two instances are found in the Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri, composed by the fourth Mughal Emperor Jahangir, whose keen artistic vision had a decided impact on the paintings produced during his reign. The other occurs in the Baburnama, composed by the progenitor of the Mughal Empire, Zahir ud-Din Muhammad Babur. 

Although these paintings do not focus explicitly on silence- it emerges as an overarching mood in all three paintings. This is unusual given that Mughal paintings are generally known for depicting the Empire’s grandeur and possessing a gem-like quality. The fact that the paintings belong to the memoirs of Mughal emperors lays bare the unsaid portions of some potentially challenging aspects of Mughal history. Hence in this paper, I will read these paintings in terms of the silences they depict, through a method which combines a close reading of the memoirs of the respective Emperors and a formal analysis of the paintings. 

Taymiya R. Zaman argued that auto/biographical writing in Mughal India played an instructive role, through the interconnectedness of Mughal lives. Zaman said that although one may apply the term ‘autobiography’ to works like the Baburnama, genre as a category is inherently unstable. Auto/biographical writings spanned across several genres and served to instruct princes, on matters like justice, social organisation, and comportment as these texts contained philosophical discussions, collections of correspondence and letters which embodied links between the past and the present. Texts like the Baburnama were not solely autobiographical as they contained the biographies of eminent men and women from Babur’s lifetime (Zaman 2011: 678). These texts were influenced by pre-existing works. Simultaneously they contained the written word of an illustrious forefather, whose thoughts and actions served a didactic purpose in the lives of the successors of the dynasty. This became especially apparent during the reign of Akbar when the Emperor issued orders that those who knew of the activities of Babur and Humayun commit them to paper. Out of this dictum was born Gulbadan Begum’s Ahval-i Humayun Padishah. Akbar in turn commissioned Abul Fazl to write a history of his reign- the Akbarnama (Ibid: 679, 682). Under Akbar’s reign, these works were copied and illustrated, thus setting into motion a tradition of imperial engagement with auto/biographical works composed by their predecessors. 

 The imperial cultural production primarily served to propagate a concept of empire that was accepting of all faiths and creeds, with the figure of the Mughal Emperor at the centre of this cultural project. The art historian Ebba Koch argued that assimilation had been a concern since the advent of the Mughal Empire, with Babur, who aimed to fuse his Central Asian Timurid heritage with the local customs that he found in Hindustan. With Humayun, the Mughals began to assimilate the cultures of Iran, Europe and even the distant past. This project of assimilation reached its height during the reign of Akbar, with the advent of sulh-i-kull (or perfect reconciliation). The aesthetic expression of this great experiment in cultural assimilation reached its maturity during the reigns of Jahangir and Shah Jahan (Koch 2017: 93-94). However, as grand and universalising as this project seemed to be, it was bound to be met with resistance, given the fact that the Mughal Emperor claimed lordship of cultures and people, who may not have readily consented to these momentous changes. Also, the figure of the Mughal Emperor as an infallible monarch could have only been manufactured in retrospect. These two caveats form the crux of the silences  I have read in the paintings discussed in this paper. Although there is no single cause for the silences depicted in the paintings, they are united in their function to discomfit the grand imperial project of assimilation, under the aegis of the Emperor. 

These silences create spaces for voices other than the imperial one to exist. The silences in the three main paintings discussed in this paper are influenced by three different factors. The first was the artist’s agency to visualise- which was diminished time and again by suppressing signs of authorship (Koch 2017: 97), the second is the ancient tradition of Sufism which functioned parallelly to the Mughal dynasty; the interactions between the Mughal Emperors and Sufi mystics has been extensively recorded. The third is humility, a quality often closely associated with Sufi mystics, but in this case, found in the painting of a Mughal emperor (“Prince Babur arriving at Andijan”). These three factors, sometimes together, and sometimes separately, function to complicate the silences observed in the painting. 

The artist’s work then takes place across two registers- the first and more general of the two is the act of visualising a text or a portion of a text, into an image. The philosopher Nelson Goodman uses the terms “differentiated” and “undifferentiated systems” for text and image respectively. A differentiated system like text, works on breaks and gaps, where a character is distinguishable from every other character. Such a system also depends on the transferability of a character, where the letter ‘a’ would be read as such, regardless of the context in which it was placed. On the other hand, an ‘undifferentiated system’ operates by obliterating such differences. In an image, no mark can be isolated, as every line, curve or dab of paint can convey meaning. Goodman distinguishes images from other systems like a graph or an ungraduated thermometer, by identifying the greater density of an image. (Mitchell 1987: 75-76) In the case of the paintings discussed in the paper and for any other painting which has been illustrated from the word, one may say that the artist conducts a transference of meaning from a differentiated system to an undifferentiated system. In this process, the artist also creates density and in the creation of such density, the artist plays an authorial role. By filling in the gaps, a richer, more potent outcome emerges. 

 The second part of the artist’s work is concerned with defining a broad theme, in the creation of a painting. This theme depends on the passage being illustrated. Here one is tempted to apply rasa theory, in understanding such themes. Ananda Coomaraswamy argued that although rasa was first applied to the arts of the stage, it can be readily applied to all other kinds of art. B. N Goswamy surmised that although rasa would have been more familiar to the persons of the Hindu-Buddhist-Jain tradition, it would not have been entirely unknown in the Islamic context, (Goswamy 2016: 20-21). The first eight rasas– shringara (love in union and separation), hasya (humor), karuna (pathos, sorrow), raudra (anger, wrath), vira (heroism), bhayanaka (fear/panic), bibhatsa (distaste/recoil/disgust) and adbhuta (wonderment/surprise)- are mentioned in Bharata’s Natyashrastra (2nd BCE- 2nd CE). The ninth rasa- shanta (peace/tranquility/enlightened repose)- was added in the eighth century CE. An enduring rasa may not be applicable to the first two paintings, however “Prince Babur arriving at Andijan” can be easily identified with the karuna rasa. 

Saints and Emperors:

The sannyasin Jadrup or Gosain Jadrup- as he is referred to in the Tuzuk- is seen conversing with Jahangir in a cave, situated in a forested tract. The skyline of a town can be seen in the distance, framed by the large tree on the upper-right corner of the painting. A sandy barren path separates the conversing duo from Jahangir’s retinue of courtiers and attendants, tucked away, behind a screen of bushes. 

The golden glow of Jahangir’s halo illuminates his figure. His orange turban and viridian sarpech are so delineated that the Emperor’s face emerges as a focal point in the upper two-thirds of the painting. Jadrup’s frail figure, clad in nothing but a loincloth, is in stark contrast to Jahangir’s. It is as if the artist has emphasised the sanyasin’s humility, by making him blend into his ochre surroundings. 

The upper two-thirds of this painting represents a theme- an enlightening conversation between a philosopher and a king. An early instance of this theme within the Mughal canon would be the painting “Alexander Visits the Sage Plato in his Mountain Cave”, a folio from an illustrated Khamsa of Amir Khusrau Dihlavi. The painting is dated between 1597-98 and is attributed to the artist Basawan. Of Akbari vintage, the painting depicts Plato and Alexander immersed in conversation, inside a cave situated in a Persian-style landscape, with the skyline of a city atmospherically rendered in the background. The dramatis personae are surrounded by the members of Alexander’s camp- a cook, page boys, gamekeepers etc.- and different species of birds and mountain goats. In a similar vein, a later painting composed after Jahangir had ascended the throne- is “Emperor Akbar and Gosain Jadrup”, from the St. Petersburg Muraqqa, dated from 1625-1630. Jadrup is in conversation in front of his hermitage with the aged Akbar. Three attendants wait upon the emperor; the one nearest to Akbar has a hawk perched on his arm. It is important to note that Akbar had his meeting with Jadrup recorded in the Akbarnama, which was later illustrated by Jahangir. Thus it is evident that Jahangir aimed to locate himself in the trope of the philosopher and the king, but how his attendants are positioned colours the familiar trope in a different light.

In the paintings of Alexander and Akbar discussed above, the other figures in the mise-en-scene either freely move about the landscape or stand near the conversing duo; an atmosphere of easy serenity graces the occasion. Most of all one imagines the attendants free to listen to the conversation. Moreover one imagines the soundscapes of these two paintings to be anything but silent. Especially with the presence of non-human life, untoward noises in the middle of an august conversation could hardly have been avoided. 

The passage in the Tuzuk, which discusses Jahangir’s meeting with Jadrup is confined to the emperor’s thoughts on the hermit. It begins with his desire to see Jadrup one last time before he leaves Mathura. Jahangir enumerates the many noble attributes of this great sage. Finally, he quotes a few lines of poetry by Hakim Sinai-a twelfth-century Persian poet-, “Luqman’s cell was small and narrow to boot, / Like the throat of a pipe, or the breast of a lute. / A foolish one said to the grand old man-/ What house is this – three feet and six span? / With tears and emotion the sage made reply-/ Ample for him whose task is to die.” This passage gives little away in terms of the location of their meeting, or the size and nature of Jahangir’s entourage. However, we find that these elements have been included in the painting. B.N Goswamy briefly touched on interpreting text to image in The Spirit of Indian Painting. He was of the opinion that the artist was advised on philosophical and religious matters by a learned individual before the process of visualisation began. The inclusion of Jahangir’s entourage in the painting is a completely novel addition, although it is not out of place by the conventions of mature Jahangiri painting. However, it remains unclear whether the artist- Govardhan’s- intervention was solely responsible for the present image.

Jahangir’s meeting with Jadrup is marked by a morass of silence. The golden sandy road may look easy to traverse, but it appears as if the courtiers and attendants have been herded behind bushes like cattle, on the orders of their king. Silence- visualised as a sandy road- separates Jahangir and Jadrup from the rest of the party. One may argue that the road marks a separation between the metaphysical and more worldly matters. The state of the entourage adds an element of humour to the painting. The people appear to be cramped into the limited space behind the bushes. Some converse, others exchange meaningful glances, and others take shelter under the emperor’s umbrella. It is as if they are waiting impatiently while Jahangir converses with Jadrup. By including the entourage in the painting, the artist adds his commentary to Jahangir’s words.

The second painting discussed in this paper is “Sheikh Phul in His Hermitage”, attributed to Bishandas. The painting is dated 1610- five years after Jahangir ascended the throne. It depicts Sheikh Phul- a renowned Sufi saint- engrossed in domestic labour in front of his hermitage in Agra. The other figures in the painting are composed in a manner which creates a circle of negative space around the figure of the Sheikh. People from various walks of life have gathered at the Sheikh’s threshold. A group of men approach the Sheikh to pay their respects, while a few women demurely converse among themselves. 

Bishandas- who Jahangir referred to as, “unequalled in his age at taking likenesses”- crafts a masterful composition, which does not possess the  schematic composition, faithful naturalism and crowded placement of figures of the previously discussed painting. The artist’s economical use of colour and skill in depicting groups of people creates an atmosphere of quiet piety (Das 1998: 119)- at the centre of which lies the Sheikh. His spiritual energy forms an aureole around him, which makes the townsfolk wary of approaching him; except for the child who unabashedly is about to place a plate of food beside the Sheikh.

When compared to paintings like that of a hermit, attributed to the artist Abu’l Hasan (c. 1618-1620) and another painting of the Sufi saint Sharf ‘Bu Ali’ Qalandar, from c. 1750, this painting of Sheikh Phul is more realist in tone. The first two paintings depict the figures in idealised settings, without a trace of human existence. In the painting of the hermit, the figure is placed against a pallour of black and blue, with a sole shrub in bloom, near his feet. The painting of Bu Ali Qalandar, is similarly set against a blue-grey backdrop, with only a suggestion of the material world in the form of a tree, a grassy bank and a water body. These images can even be conceived of as objects of reverence.  Hence the silence in these paintings is unmitigated and directly linked to the presence of the Sufi saint. In the more realist rendering by Bishandas, the mundane location tempers the otherwise austere presence of Sheikh Phul. A prince and his scholar companion, tradespeople and some women hesitantly linger outside the Sheikh’s hermitage. When compared to the painting of Jahangir and Jadrup, one is sure to be struck by the fluidity of the composition. Instead of a stark segregation between the figures of Jadrup and Jahangir, and the rest of the royal entourage, in the painting of Sheikh Phul, the figures are composed in clusters around the sheikh’s hermitage. Bishandas succeeds in capturing the moment just before the townsfolk are able to shed their apprehension and approach the enigmatic sheikh. Such fluidity suggests a stark departure from the orderliness of imperial presence and depicts the precise moment when the silence breaks and the spiritual and the quotidian spheres merge. One can also argue that the fluidity marks an intermediate phase between the Akbari style, characterised by energetic diagonals, figures in motion and brilliant colour palettes, and the Jahangiri style, which is more subdued. 

The third and final painting discussed in this paper is entitled “Prince Babur Arriving at Andijan”, a folio of the Baburnama (c. 1590), attributed to Bishandas. It is an illustration of the very first passage of the Baburnama, where Babur says, “In the month of Ramadan in the year 899 (June 1494), in the province of Fergana, in my twelfth year I became king.” This a simple proclamation by Babur, yet layered with the grief of a fatherless son, who is unsure of his place in the world and will shortly embark on a campaign that will change the course of South Asian history. Umar Sheikh Mirza’s death is discussed in more detail further in.  Insightfully, the artist chooses to depict a moment of hesitation, as the young Babur is about to cross the threshold of the namazgah and confront the grim truth of his father’s death. 

Unlike the two previous paintings, there is no religious figure as a physical marker of spirituality. However, the thin colouring of the painting, that Asok Kumar Das refers to in his paper, also lends it an atmosphere of spirituality. The prince and the retainers are grieved at the death of Umar Shaikh Mirza. Bishandas’ relatively recent entry to the Akbari atelier is apparent in the painting with the exaggerated expressions of Babur’s companions and the awkward rendering of the Andijan skyline in the background. Yet, due to a certain measure of artlessness, the painting successfully conveys an atmosphere of painful silence. A solemn Babur surrounded by his attendants and courtiers arrives at the gates of the Andijan and hesitates. The yak-tail standards have been lowered and the retainers have huddled around the young prince, soon to be king. The deference of his retainers suggests a deep fondness and a concern for young Babur. Yet this moment of silence, laden with grief, encapsulates the potential to change the course of South Asian history.

Conclusion:

Through my comparison of the three paintings, silence emerges as a fleeting quality of Mughal paintings. Period-specific qualities in all three paintings were influenced by the establishment of the Mughal Empire and the changing tastes of the patrons of the kitabkhanas. These formal conventions have played a significant role in the portrayal of silence in these paintings. It thus falls upon the artist to fill in the gaps left by the author. How these gaps are filled changes significantly from the early work of Bishandas to the work of Govardhan. The Akbari visual language- most prominent in “Prince Babur Arriving at Andijan”- diffuses silence, tinged with grief and uncertainty, throughout the visual field. Bishandas’ later work “Sheikh Phul in His Hermitage,” creates pockets of moderate noise, in a field otherwise subdued by the presence of the Sheikh. In “Jahangir Converses with Gosain Jadrup,” Govardhan- in keeping with Jahangiri conventions distributes silence across the field between those who are forced to be silent and he who commands them. The tension between Jahangir and his entourage is visualised in a path so pristine, it appears that none have ever crossed it. This expanse of negative space in the form of a path is the most subtle depiction of silence in the series of paintings discussed in this essay. It is a silence not mediated by faith- as in the case of “Sheikh Phul”- or by grief, as in  “Prince Babur arriving at Andijan”.

Thus the visual language observed in “Jahangir Converses with Gosain Jadrup” is the result of several years of refinement, driven by the project of assimilation, where the Mughal Emperor occupies the central position. The intimate atmosphere of Andijan has been long forgotten for the pageantry of the court of Hindustan. The silence which signified solidarity in Babur’s court morphed into a convention during Jahangir’s reign. 

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