An empire watching itself through daily reports across thousands of miles
Buried in the archives of Jaipur Fort and Kolkata's National Library, thousands of 17th-century Persian news dispatches from the Mughal court have waited centuries for a reader patient enough to hear what they say. Historian Munis Faruqui spent nearly two decades doing exactly that, and what emerged from more than 6,500 pages challenges the stories scholars and traditions have long told about Emperor Aurangzeb — his piety, his cruelty, and the women and eunuchs who quietly shaped his reign. These akhbarat, the daily newsletters of an empire that once governed a quarter of humanity, remind us that history is not only made by those who act, but preserved by those who write things down — and transformed by those who finally read them.
- Tens of thousands of pages of Mughal daily news reports sat largely untouched in archives across India and Britain for decades, known to historians but too vast and unindexed for most to attempt.
- The sheer density of the material — no index, no clear entry points, entries numbering in the tens of thousands — made the archive feel less like a resource and more like a labyrinth.
- Faruqui's two-decade immersion began dismantling assumptions one by one: little evidence of mass religious persecution, a politically formidable daughter hiding in plain sight, and a court far more networked and self-aware than the empire's reputation suggested.
- Zinat-un-Nisa, Aurangzeb's daughter, emerged not as a footnote but as a central political force in her father's vulnerable final years — a figure the record had always contained but scholarship had never fully seen.
- With known collections in at least four locations and likely more in private hands, historians now face not a shortage of evidence but an abundance of it — and the question of who will be patient enough to read what remains.
In the basement of Jaipur Fort, bundled in cool darkness, lay thousands of pages that would take a historian nearly two decades to understand. These were not royal decrees but something more revealing: the daily news dispatches of the Mughal empire, written in Persian by armies of scribes who formed one of the world's earliest information networks.
From the late 16th century onward, the Mughal court circulated akhbarat — brief accounts of court intrigue, military movements, appointments, and gossip — between imperial and provincial courts. Hundreds moved through the empire each day, read aloud before assembled officials. Yet for decades, tens of thousands of pages sat largely untouched in libraries across India and Britain. Historians knew they existed. Few had the patience to wade through them.
Munis Faruqui of UC Berkeley was different. Beginning in 2007, he spent nearly two decades working through more than 6,500 pages preserved in Kolkata's National Library — the Newsletters of the Exalted Court — tracking princes, courtiers, royal women, and imperial eunuchs across tens of thousands of entries. The result is a forthcoming history of Aurangzeb, the empire's last great expansionist emperor, offering a rare portrait of how one of the early modern world's great empires actually functioned.
Again and again, the reports upended what Faruqui thought he knew. He found little evidence of widespread religious persecution. The imperial harem proved far more politically influential than imagined. And one name surfaced repeatedly: Zinat-un-Nisa, Aurangzeb's daughter. Historians knew of her, but little had been written about her actual role. Page after page, she appeared — and within weeks, Faruqui understood she was no minor figure, but a powerful political force sustaining her aging father in his final, vulnerable years.
The archive poses a formidable challenge: no index, demanding patience across tens of thousands of entries. Yet the unexplored material is staggering. Administrative records, private correspondence, regional histories, European trading papers — the documentary trail of Aurangzeb's reign is vast. "Dozens of books, if not more, can be written," Faruqui says. His own work, he insists, explores only a fraction. There are many more discoveries waiting.
In the basement of Jaipur Fort, bundled in the cool darkness, lay thousands of pages that would take a historian nearly two decades to fully understand. These were not grand proclamations or royal decrees, but something far more revealing: the daily news reports of the Mughal empire, written in Persian on brittle paper by armies of scribes and agents who formed one of the world's earliest information networks.
From the late 16th century onward, the Mughal court operated a system of akhbarat—brief, hurried accounts of court intrigue, military movements, appointments, finances, and gossip—that circulated between imperial and provincial courts. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, moved through the empire each day, read aloud before assembled officials, carrying intelligence from the center to the distant edges of a realm that at its height ruled much of the Indian subcontinent and nearly a quarter of the world's population. Yet for decades, tens of thousands of pages sat largely untouched in libraries and archives across India and Britain. Historians knew they existed. Few had the patience to wade through them.
Munis D Faruqui, a historian at the University of California, Berkeley, was different. Beginning in 2007, he spent nearly two decades immersed in the Akhbarat-i Darbar-i Mualla—the Newsletters of the Exalted Court—working through more than 6,500 pages preserved in Kolkata's National Library. He followed princes, generals, courtiers, royal women, and imperial eunuchs through tens of thousands of entries, tracking patterns and names that repeated across the record. The result is a forthcoming history of Aurangzeb, the Mughal empire's last great expansionist emperor who ruled from 1658 to 1707, and it offers something rare: a portrait of how one of the early modern world's great empires actually functioned.
The surviving collections exist in at least four known locations—London, Bikaner, Sitamau, and Kolkata—though historians suspect others may remain in private hands. The richest cache sits in Kolkata, comprising 21 volumes devoted entirely to Aurangzeb's reign, once part of the personal library of Sir Jadunath Sarkar, the pioneering Indian historian who shaped how Aurangzeb was understood for generations. Coverage of the emperor's first two decades is patchy, but from the early 1680s onward, the material becomes extraordinary: an almost daily flow of reports for years on end, illuminating roughly a third of his nearly fifty-year reign.
At first glance, the reports seem crushingly mundane—appointments, disputes, military movements, gifts, illnesses, administrative detail piled upon administrative detail. Yet taken together, they amount to something rare: a near-continuous record of an empire watching itself. The density of information suggests that by pre-modern standards, the Mughal state possessed a remarkably sophisticated grasp of its sprawling territory. Faruqui believes its ability to act on that information varied, but its reach affected—sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse—the lives of tens of millions of people.
Again and again, the reports upended what Faruqui thought he knew. He found little evidence of the widespread religious conversions often associated with Aurangzeb's court. The imperial harem and the eunuchate proved far more politically influential than anyone had imagined. The emperor appeared less distant and austere than expected. The reports contained far fewer hostile references to groups such as the Sikhs than Faruqui had anticipated, contrasting sharply with a long-standing Sikh tradition that, by as early as 1711, held Aurangzeb responsible for persecuting their spiritual leaders.
Some discoveries emerged not from dramatic revelations but through sheer repetition. One name appeared again and again: Zinat-un-Nisa, Aurangzeb's daughter. Historians knew of her, but little had been written about her actual role at court. Yet page after page, she surfaced in the record. Within weeks, Faruqui realized this was no minor royal figure. She was a powerful political actor, an extraordinarily influential and important political bulwark for her aging and politically vulnerable father toward the end of his life. Each discovery forced a rethink. "Many of the stories I had been telling myself since the 1990s required rethinking," Faruqui says.
Why have historians largely avoided these archives? Faruqui understands the hesitation. The akhbarat pose a formidable challenge: no index, tens of thousands of entries, demanding patience and stamina to search for patterns across page after page. "Searching for anything in it is like hunting for a needle in a haystack," he says. Yet the material that remains unexplored is staggering. While the evidentiary record for the early Mughal emperors is relatively sparse, by Aurangzeb's reign the documentary trail explodes: administrative archives, private correspondence, regional histories, biographical dictionaries, poetry, European trading company papers, and travelers' accounts. "Dozens of books, if not more, can be written based on all the materials that are out there waiting for intrepid historians to come along and utilise them," Faruqui says. His own work, he insists, explores only a fraction of what the akhbarat contain. There are many, many others waiting to be discovered.
Notable Quotes
My whole experience of working with the akhbarat has been one big eureka moment after another. It never ceases to amaze me how the density of the informational ecosystem was at the time.— Munis D Faruqui, historian at UC Berkeley
Many of the stories I had been telling myself since the 1990s required rethinking.— Munis D Faruqui
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did it take so long for someone to seriously engage with these reports? They sound like a historian's dream.
The sheer volume is paralyzing. Tens of thousands of entries with no index, no finding aids. You're reading page after page in Persian, looking for patterns that might not emerge for months. Most historians hit that wall and walk away.
But Faruqui didn't. What kept him going?
Curiosity, partly. But also the moment he realized what he was holding—a daily record of an empire's nervous system. Once you see that, you can't unsee it. Every name that repeats, every administrative detail, it's telling you something about how power actually moved.
The discovery about Aurangzeb's daughter seems to have shifted everything. How does one person change the entire historical picture?
Because she wasn't supposed to be there. The narratives said the harem was decorative, peripheral. But the reports show her making decisions, advising the emperor, wielding real authority. When you find that pattern repeated across years, you realize the entire framework historians built was incomplete.
Does this mean everything we thought we knew about Aurangzeb is wrong?
Not wrong, exactly. More like partial. The reports don't erase what came before—they add texture, complexity. They show an emperor less austere, a court less religiously rigid, a political structure more intricate than the simplified versions we inherited.
What happens now? Does Faruqui's work close the book on Aurangzeb?
The opposite. He's opened a door. He's only explored a fraction of what's there. Other historians will come, ask different questions, find different patterns. The archive is still mostly unread.