Aurangzeb
From Kandhar to Kamrup, from the saffron meadows
Of Pompore to the rocky escarpments
Of the Deccan, it was a large country
And he had ruled over it all his life.
He had fought and campaigned everywhere.
And the desert of Rajputana in summer.
Taken the field when he was almost eighty
To campaingn against the Jats and the Santamis.
His piety was legendary, his soldiers
Believed his name alone would act as a talisman
Against the infidel armies and wore it as amulet.
In his spare time he stitched caps
And wrote out religious verses in his own hand;
Which were sold to defray his personal expenses.
The imperial treasury of Hindustan spent not a pie
Oh him. Yet after fifty years of masterful rule
With the end coming, he knew he had failed.
The state was bankrupt, unable to pay
For the endless campaigns that he had fought.
His sons were incompetent and debauched-
Intriguing against each other in the usual fashion.
The Rajputs were untrustworthy, the Pathans
Rebellious and the Sikhs making trouble
As always. Even as far as Assam
His harassed generals knew no peace.
He had been a good Mussulman, reimposed
The jaziya on the infidels, broken up
Many temples, kept the ulema
In good humor, but to what effect.
Now that he lay dying in Aurangabad
With only his faithful Udaipuri Begum
By his side; he was lonely. He hoped
God would forgive him. He knew
History would not.
