Between the years 1526 and 1857, the Mughals were the ones who defined the subcontinent, gave it shape, and instilled a character that at present still churns around us and is visible to our senses. You can still see the vestiges of the Empire through its monuments in all its once-glory (the Taj Mahal as one of them, of all the wonders), you can still hear their folklores and tales in history (their ways of administrating themselves and all the Namas the rulers had commissioned for themselves); you can still taste their rich flavors (from Niharis and Biryanis to using nuts and dried fruits), and you can also touch their walls, their artifacts, their scrolls and other remnants of their past that still levy itself into the present and the future. But what about the sense of smell? Can you smell the Mughal Empire? Can you access your olfactory regions and catch a whiff of their rich cultures, histories, and values? Is the subcontinent still laced with the scent of the Mughals and their traditions? If one puts their noses right in the right places, they might chance upon a version of Mughal history which can only be accessed through the olfactory nature of being. This smell in the nose marks a different substitute for how we witness history in the present — marking it as more of a history of the Mughal scents of India. 

In accessing these Mughal scents, this article travels through the use of smell as a sensory regime explores the Empire’s marks on the subcontinent, and reaches the Mughal Gardens itself. In the time of the Mughal reign, they were built by several rulers who all descended from Babur, where the style in which they were constructed often denoted a strive for pleasure and symbolized the sensory nature of their reign’s power and glory itself. For the Mughals, the gardens represented an earthly paradise where nature combined perfectly with human beings – creating a serene utopic balance.

The Scented Fingerprints of Mughal Rulers:

Bagh, baug, bageecha, or bagicha — the Mughals built many of them surrounding important buildings including their ruling places. Largely influenced by the concept of vatikas present in abundant myths of ancient India, which also means wooded ‘pleasure’ gardens, the gardens were filled with aromas of various kinds of flowers and herbs. This included in large quantities flowers like roses (gulab), the Indian lotus (kamal), jasmine (chameli/motia), lilies (Suraj Mukhi), marigold (genda), and herbs like mint (pudina), basil (tulsi), fenugreek (methi), rosemary, saffron (Kesari) among many others. They all contributed to the sensory richness of the Mughal Empire which came to depict status and power, all in the pleasure of churning a pastime. Indeed, it was an imperial pastime as tending to the gardens itself was extremely challenging if not very time-consuming where even though Jahangir as a ruler was known for his love of flowers, he did not build a garden of his own as such but still helped lay out the beautiful Shalimar Garden which still surrounds the northeast part of Dal Lake in Srinagar.

It was Babur who started this escapade of the scent-driven tradition of gardens, and who built gardens in areas like Lahore and Dholpur including the largest recorded garden, Gol Bagh which was filled with greenery up until the time of India’s Independence. It is noted that Babur, who began the Empire in its foundation, borrowed this very idea of a pleasure garden from the Timurid gardens in Central Asia which were an Islamic type of gardens in medieval times. Succeeding him and Humayun, Akbar built several of them too, in places like Delhi and Agra where the latter became his capital of residence and rule itself. 

Shah Jahan, the one behind the beauty of the Taj Mahal, had a distinct fascination with greenery and flowers. So much so, that besides the Taj Mahal which serves as a visual pleasure for the power of love — he also built the night garden (of many gardens) surrounding it called Mahtab Bagh. Filled with flowers that bloomed at night like jasmine, it sits across the Yamuna River at Agra. The pale flowers of the Bagh combined with the structural white beauty of the Taj become a large visual and olfactory delight to the visitors and tourists, even at night as it glows under the moonlight. The Mughal Emperors also chose these locations for their gardens carefully. The idea was to contribute to the expansive natural beauty — mountain slopes, high open green spots, and a natural water system that gushed out into the garden were the top priorities.

The Olfactory Legacy of Charbagh : 

These gardens served not only as a sensory ride of the smell but also helped symbolize the glory and power of the Empire. The gardens were laid out in the style of the Charbagh which was an Islamic style influenced by the Persian Gardens including the Timurid. Charbagh essentially meant a rectilinear layout with wall enclosures that were well-equipped with flowers and herbs. Between these boxes of layouts, a well-established water system flowed with features like pools, fountains, and canals, all inside the gardens’ walls. The gardens were also perfectly aligned, with a highly disciplined geometrical sense that added to its allurement. Administratively, they all enclosed significant places for the Empire denoting prestige and grandeur for the rulers and kings. From imperial palaces to public buildings, sacred structures to private buildings, they all were enclosed between the Mughal Gardens.

Moreover, the water system was an incredible fleet for the time that the Empire was in power: where it featured a highly developed irrigation channel that helped maintain the balance of nature and natural elements. This system also went on to hugely contribute to the Indian economy even in present times, where large gardens and green lands are equipped with the same water routes and channels, paying allegiance to the Mughals themselves. These water routes, which were inspired by the Persian and Timurid Gardens, worked as the central and connecting attributes for the gardens. The hydraulic system worked efficiently due to the structural integrity and beauty of Charbagh, which when divided into four quadrants comprised of water channels and pathways maintaining the greens, the flowers, and the herbs. The fountains, namely the Salsabil and Uyun, enclosed in these quadrants also represented the ‘life cycle’ for the Mughals as it symbolized time pouring into rains and onto the greens themselves. It is said that Shalimar Bagh alone had 450 fountains that poured the same rains but in a floral effect — the Mughals did love floral and artistic shenanigans when it came to their gardens. 

Fragrant Heavens: Mughal Gardens Today

For us mind-boggling, nose-smelling, scent-driven sensory chasers, at present, there are several ways we can catch the whiff of the Empire and relish an olfactory history of the Mughals and Mughal period. In India while there is a handful of them in the north, some surrounding the Humayun’s Tomb in Nizamuddin Delhi, multiple in the Taj Mahal in Agra, and even the famous Ram Bagh in Agra which is also rumored to be the first Charbagh and Shalimar Gardens in Kashmir among most others. Many gardens still can be found in Pakistan and Afghanistan, open to tourists and laid in flowers — all to reveal a whiff of the cultural and traditional history of the Mughals. In a way, history then is among us everywhere at any given moment. The point becomes how to see, hear, taste, touch, and smell it — the latter which as one witnesses in the case of Mughal Gardens is through the smell of its flowers and herbs which all convey the many scents of India itself. 

PS. Here’s a fun fact for the readers who might just be preparing their noses for an olfactory adventure of Mughal history. The Mughal Gardens in Delhi which were consciously renamed the Amrit Udyan and which hold a yearly welcome to people to witness the flowers and herbs in bloom — isn’t necessarily so Mughal as it is very British. Yes! The Mughals had nothing to do with those gardens. It was much later after their time that they were designed by Sir Edward Lutyens, the British architect responsible for constructing and designing much of New Delhi. So, while the Mughals weren’t the ones who put to commissioned the gardens, the British designed them in praise and inspired] them — churning a wheel of history from tradition to the present itself.

References:

Dickie, James (1985). “The Mughal Garden”. In Grabar, Oleg (ed.). Muqarnas: An Annual on Islamic Art and Architecture. Vol. 3. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ISBN 9004076115.

Crowe, Sylvia (2006). The gardens of Mughul India: a history and a guide. Jay Kay Book Shop. ISBN 978-8-187-22109-8.

Lehrman, Jonas Benzion (1980). Earthly paradise: garden and courtyard in Islam. University of California Press. ISBN 0-520-04363-4.

(2010). “Mughal Gardens in Kashmir”. https://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists/5580/#:~:text=The%20celebrated%20Mughal%20gardens%20of,of%20the%20traditional%20paradise%20gardens. 

Behera, Sonali (2022). “All About Mughal Gardens: History, Key Features, and Types”. In Krishi Jargan. https://krishijagran.com/agripedia/all-about-mughal-gardening-history-key-features-and-types/

Author’s note:

Charvi Bhatnagar

Charvi is a researcher in the humanities and loves connecting dots between stories, people, and their impressions of the world. While a typical day for her includes a lot of books and Word documents, she believes there’s always a gripping story hidden behind plain old facts. One could easily find her obsessing over trivia, solving random logical reasoning quizzes, and experimenting with poetry and the written word.

A single brushstroke on a canvas can tell stories of the entire era, capturing moments of history, culture, and identity. In colonial India, where two vastly different worlds—British and Indian—intersected, art became a powerful medium to reflect these encounters. One such piece of art, a Mughal-style painting of James Achilles Kirkpatrick, offers a fascinating glimpse into the complex relationships and cultural exchanges of the time. Far from being just a portrait, the painting serves as a lens through which we can explore the rich, often contradictory interactions between British colonizers and Indian society, highlighting the subtle ways in which these worlds blended and influenced each other.

James Achilles Kirkpatrick, a British officer and diplomat, served in the court of the Nizam of Hyderabad from 1798 to 1805. Born in 1764 at Fort St. George in Madras to a British family, Kirkpatrick was more than just a lieutenant colonel; his life in India became a story of cultural integration. One of the most intriguing, yet often overlooked, aspects of his life is his love for and marriage to Khair-un-Nissa, an Indian Muslim noblewoman and the niece of Hyderabad’s prime minister.

The exact circumstances of their meeting and the nature of their relationship remain shrouded in mystery, but the painting offers a glimpse into their world. Its careful examination is crucial to understanding not only Kirkpatrick’s personal life but also the broader interactions between Indian Islamic society and Victorian England in 18th-century Hyderabad. The portrait serves as both a declaration of affection for Indo-Islamic customs and a reflection of Kirkpatrick’s efforts to navigate the complexities of the Nizam’s court.

Painted by Tajalli Ali Shah, a favored artist of the Nizam, the artwork showcases the fusion of cultures in personal and professional settings. Kirkpatrick is depicted in Indo-Persian attire, a reflection of his deep engagement with the local customs. In the portrait, he holds a small object, perhaps a flower or jewel, while his side profile is captured in a manner characteristic of Mughal portraiture. The solid blue backdrop enhances the subject’s prominence, a traditional feature of Mughal art that contrasts the figure against a minimalist background. Unfortunately, the current whereabouts of this painting remain unknown, adding an element of mystery to the story.

Kirkpatrick’s adoption of local dress, and possibly other customs, speaks to his efforts to integrate into Hyderabadi society—a common choice for British officers who sought to build trust and alliances. It is believed that he wore such attire to his wedding with Khair-un-Nissa, a significant gesture of his cultural assimilation. For historians, this is a rare case that offers insights into how British men interacted with, and sometimes adopted, Indian traditions during the colonial era.

There are competing interpretations of Kirkpatrick’s motivations. One school of thought suggests that his adoption of Indo-Islamic customs was a strategic move, reflecting a desire to gain favor with the Nizam and assert dominance by emulating the practices of Indian elites. This would align with the idea that colonial officers used cultural assimilation as a means of asserting power and authority in a foreign land. Another perspective, however, emphasizes Kirkpatrick’s genuine appreciation for the local culture. Growing up in India, he spoke Tamil as his first language and was well-versed in Urdu, Persian, and Hindustani. His familiarity with Indian society suggests that his actions may have stemmed from personal reverence rather than political calculation.

The truth likely lies somewhere in between. Kirkpatrick’s life reflects the fluidity of cultural boundaries in colonial India, where identities were shaped by both strategic necessity and personal experience. His case illustrates the complexity of British-Indian relations, where the lines between colonizer and colonized were not always clearly defined.

Kirkpatrick’s linguistic abilities and deep understanding of Indian customs challenge the stereotypical narrative of British disdain for the “other.” While many British officials harbored prejudices, especially those educated in Victorian England, individuals like Kirkpatrick, born and raised on Indian soil, often developed a more nuanced view. Surrounded by Indian culture from a young age, they were influenced by their environment in ways that transcended racial or colonial hierarchies.

However, such instances of cultural blending were not universal. The British population in India, particularly those from privileged backgrounds, often clung to their own customs and maintained a sense of superiority over the local population. But stories like this tell us that the socio-cultural world was not so black-and-white between different racial and ethnic groups.

Ultimately, this single painting—a seemingly random portrait of a British diplomat—provides a window into the multifaceted nature of colonial interactions. It captures a moment in time when two worlds collided, merged, and created something new. Kirkpatrick’s life, as seen through this artistic lens, reveals the intricate dance of cultural fusion that defined the colonial experience, reminding us that history is often more nuanced than we might imagine.

References

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/18SDBJqWwgc7VLDM7MhGK2S/a-love-story-that-broke-the-conventional-boundaries-of-empire

https://web.archive.org/web/20050305080540/http://www.hindu.com/mag/2005/02/27/stories/2005022700420700.htm

White Mughal: love and betrayal in eighteenth-century India (2004) by William Dalrymple.ss

Author’s note:

 Subiksha Sivakumar

An amateur storyteller with a budding passion for both fiction and non-fiction, she finds her days fueled by curiosity and an insatiable quest for knowledge. Accompanied by her trusty cup of coffee and the comforting sound of typing, she immerses herself in the joy of crafting narratives. Each story becomes a doorway to exploration, reflecting her love for the art of storytelling.