Never trust her at any time, when the calm sea shows her false alluring smile. – Lucretius
History is witness to countless power struggles. Long before medieval Europe became known for its brutal successions, wars were routinely fought within families for the imperial throne, for land, money, and the simple desire to rule. The hunger for power, often referred to today as the real “Game of Thrones,” is a pervasive, cruel, and universal theme. To understand its true cost, we must look beyond fiction and delve into the complicated lives of historical figures, starting with those who stood at the absolute zenith of power. The pursuit of the imperial throne often begins with bloodshed. Emperor Ashoka’s ascent is perhaps the most ruthless example: he is known to have killed all his siblings to secure the throne, a succession his father was too ill to prevent.
Buddhist accounts later paint him as an evil person early in life, detailing horrifying acts like beheading five hundred ministers, burning five hundred concubines as punishment, and creating a prison known as Ashoka’s Hell, where torture was routine beneath a pleasant exterior. The story goes that the Kalinga War, with its unparalleled slaughter, finally broke him. Disillusioned with unnecessary killing, Ashoka had a change of heart and famously converted to Buddhism. Yet, some sources suggest his “evil past” is metaphorical, fabricated by Buddhist missionaries to dramatically justify his later goodness and, by extension, the strength of the faith. This raises a foundational question: are we seeing a true transformation, or a convenient historical reinterpretation?
Throughout history, the throne is seen as both desirable and respected, leaving indelible, controversial legacies. While the Hindu epic Mahabharata featured a war for succession, the Kurukshetra conflict was primarily centered on the concept of righteousness. A more fitting case study in political ruthlessness is the Mughal succession war, chiefly between Emperor Aurangzeb and his brother, Dara Shikoh. I often wonder how the Mughal rule would look to us today if he had succeeded Shah Jahan instead of Aurangzeb.
Dara was a liberal-minded and unorthodox prince, favored by his father. When Shah Jahan’s health deteriorated, the fight began. Aurangzeb and Dara were the strongest contenders, yet they were polar opposites. Aurangzeb was a devout, orthodox Muslim who banned many forms of art and lived a minimalistic life according to Qur’anic principles. Dara Shikoh, on the other hand, was deeply engaged in arts, attracted to Sufism and metaphysics. He famously sought to draw similarities between Islam and the Upanishads, translating Hindu scriptures into Persian, an effort that fostered significant interfaith dialogue. After repeated defeats, Dara was arrested, publicly humiliated by being paraded on an elephant while bound in chains, and finally executed by Aurangzeb’s men in front of his terrified son. The cruelty did not end there: Dara’s head was preserved, packed in a gift box, and delivered to his father, Shah Jahan, who was imprisoned by Aurangzeb. Shah Jahan, horrified, fell unconscious upon opening the box. If these historical accounts are true, Aurangzeb was indeed one of the cruelest emperors India has ever had.
Though we cannot judge emperors by today’s standards, Aurangzeb’s legacy remains controversial, particularly his role in destroying Hindu temples. While he undeniably destroyed temples, was it solely fueled by religious hatred? It doesn’t appear so; this is often an oversimplified and one-sided narrative. In the era of imperialism, an emperor’s strength was measured by his influence over vast regions, and campaigns were constant.
The flip side of the coin is often buried. In Aurangzeb’s Benares farman (order) to Abdul Hasan in 1659, he explicitly writes:
“It has been decided according to our Canon Law that long standing temples should not be demolished, but no new temple allowed to be built… you must see that nobody unlawfully disturbs the Brahmins or other Hindus of that region, so that they might remain in their traditional place and pray for the continuance of the Empire.”
This pragmatic, contradictory policy suggests that policy was often driven by imperial necessity, rivalry, and politics, not simple religious animosity.
Furthermore, Aurangzeb’s own words in his final days suggest immense regret. In old age, he longed for spirituality, writing to his son, Prince Shah Azam Shah:
“I came a stranger into this world, and a stranger I depart. I know nothing of myself, what I am, and for what I am destined. The instant which passed in power, has left only sorrow behind it. I have not been the guardian and protector of the empire. My valuable time has been passed vainly…. …I have a dread for my salvation, and with what torments I may be punished.”
This is the man who won the game, yet he died in spiritual torment, carrying, as he writes to another son, “this stupendous caravan of sin.”
The complexity extends to his rivals, such as Sambhaji Maharaj. Aurangzeb’s long campaign against the Marathas led to the horrific torture and slaughter of Sambhaji. Yet, earlier historical accounts suggest Sambhaji was indulged in sensual pleasures, a narrative that conflicts with the modern, heroic portrayal often linked to state propaganda.
Even nationalist writers have struggled with this complexity. Veer Savarkar, while acknowledging Sambhaji’s alleged vices, defended him, arguing: “If Sambhaji had been a drunkard and a womaniser as we read in history, I don’t think he would have shown this courage.” Conversely, M.S. Golwalkar claimed Sambhaji’s addiction to women once drove a woman to end her life to save her chastity.
The historical record is a battlefield in itself. Ultimately, history is not a collection of immutable facts but a continuous cycle of fabrication, interpretation, and presentation, shaped by the values and belief systems of the writer in modern times. The fight for the throne, be it in Westeros, ancient Pataliputra, or Mughal Delhi, is pervasive. Yet, what defines history is not the cruelty itself, but the challenge of finding the full truth behind the winner and the loser, the saint and the sinner.
Notice – This article is a chapter from Glimpses of My Worldview (2025). It is being republished here on my blog as part of a complete serialization of the work.