Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 9th November 2024–5th May 2025 

A once-in-a-lifetime event, this exhibition spans the century of the greatest grandeur enjoyed by the Mughal Empire, from 1560 to 1660. One of the largest centralised states in Early Modern history, it encompassed most of subcontinental India, far outstripping in size and resources both the contemporary Islamic empires of the Safavids and Ottomans, and in global terms it was rivalled only by Ming China. Although its history is long and complex – the first emperor, Babur, a descendant of Timur and Genghis Khan, ascended the throne in 1526, and the last, Bahadur Shah Zafar, was deposed by the British more than three centuries later – the exhibition concentrates only on its so-called ‘golden age’ under three emperors: Akbar (reg.1556–1605), Jahangir (reg.1605–27) and Shah Jahan (reg.1628– 58). Drawing on the holdings of the Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A) and on loans from more than thirty other collections, it encompasses some two hundred superlative examples of artistic production in a wide range of material and media, from paper to porcelain and arms to architecture, in an extended immersive experience of visual delight. Susan Stronge, Senior Curator of the Asia Department at the V&A, has both curated the exhibition and edited the richly illustrated catalogue.[1] 

The exhibition begins with a modest jade tankard (Gulbenkian Museum, Lisbon; cat. no.131). Its simplicity is deceptive, as closer inspection reveals a composite artefact of the utmost significance. Its body appears to have been crafted in Samarkand for Timur’s illustrious grandson Sultan Ulugh Beg (reg.1417– 49), whose name is inscribed around its neck, whereas the zoomorphic handle attached to it with gold pins was added two centuries later, in the Mughal world. On the basis of the handle’s design and enamel decoration, as well as the content and calligraphy of the inscriptions, which are later, this addition is attributed to Sa‘ida Gilani, a calligrapher, goldsmith and jadeworker patronised by Jahangir. The tankard appears to have been inherited by Jahangir’s successor, Shah Jahan, and was inscribed with his name, evidence of a sustained Mughal interest in reinforcing their Timurid ancestry. As well as such political implications, other ideas represented by the tankard that extend throughout the exhibition include the characterisation of the individual reigns in terms of their preferred motifs, artists and craft techniques, the mobility of objects, artistic techniques and craftspeople across the late medieval and Early Modern world, and the ability of seemingly humble artefacts to tell significant transcultural tales. 

The exhibition progresses chronologically through the three reigns, the galleries for each distinguished by a different colour scheme and sound design. Comprehension is also aided by family trees that accompany certain wall texts, which help to locate the dramatis personae within the entanglements of the Mughal imperial family, and by simple labels that draw attention to the sociopolitical context of the objects’ production. True to V&A tradition, the exhibits are grouped largely by material and medium, although the way they are interpreted ensures that the movement of motifs between media creates a narrative that is tightly knit and persuasively cross-referenced. A good example is the appearance of the motif of a fight between elephants and the mythical hybrid animal known as gajasinha across paintings, textiles and a teak altar frontal inlaid with ivory and bone (c.1600; V&A; no.42). It simultaneously demonstrates the Indo-Persian synthesis of the subject, underscores both a uniquely Mughal approach to carpet weaving and highlights the consumption of Mughal objects by European users. Similarly, metalwork divination rings and braziers are heralded by their presence in paintings before the objects themselves are encountered; the design of a spectacularly preserved velvet canopy (c.1610–15; private collection; no.143) is echoed in the gallery by a light projection that approximates the flooring pattern in the Itimad al-Daula mausoleum, hinting at dialogues between disparate craft workshops; and the proliferation of birds and beasts in not only illuminated manuscripts but also weapons and textiles made for hunting attests to the widespread interest in animal forms in a culture frequently presumed to be nonfigurative. This curatorial approach forefronts the makers and gives the narrative a cyclical nature, both aspects that are reflected in an extraordinary spinel displayed at the end of the exhibition (no.163; Fig.6). Not only was it engraved with the names of its Mughal owners – Jahangir and Shah Jahan – by the same Sa‘ida Gilani associated with the jade tankard that opened the exhibition but, as an older inscription reveals, the gem was once owned by Ulugh Beg. 

The exhibition’s focus on both patrons and craftspeople is evident from the outset. In the section dedicated to Akbar, a workshop soundscape of hammering, metallic tinkling and low murmurs permeates mostly on calligraphy and illustrated manuscripts. A superb selection of folios from mostly sixteenth-century imperial manuscripts of the Qur’an, Hamza-Nama, Akbar-Nama and Ramayana lines the walls, accompanied by texts that draw attention to both Akbar’s library and his workshop dedicated to the art of the book. Single openings of a Khamsa (1593–95; British Library, London; no.11), Golestan (1582–83; Royal Asiatic Society, London; no.8) and Anvar-e Soheyli (1570; School of Oriental and African Studies, London; nos.30a–c) are presented as well, demonstrating how the detached folios were originally meant to be seen, as well as the visual challenges of displaying such manuscripts in museums. Whereas the diversity of this selection of manuscripts celebrates the culture of tolerance and hybridisation that characterised Akbar’s reign, the emphasis on its Persian connections is somewhat overstated in both the exhibition and the catalogue, creating the impression that until the arrival of the Mughals there was an artistic vacuum in the region and that indigenous traditions contributed little to Mughal productions. 

This section also includes numerous mother-of-pearl and ivory-inlaid objects, almost all from Gujarat. As every Mughal province had expertise in crafts, this emphasis on just one province initially appears inexplicable. It can perhaps be understood in the light of the map of the Mughal empire provided at the outset of the exhibition. The map shows that the empire stretched to the east far enough to include even present-day Bangladesh. However, the only outpost shown east of Delhi and Agra is Allahabad, and although routes connecting the heartlands to the ports on the Arabian Sea via Surat, or to the central Asian road system via Kabul, are evident, the corridor to the ports of the Bay of Bengal is not. The emphasis on Gujarat is therefore best explained by the fact that it was through its ports that western travellers usually entered the Mughal world, a spatial and intellectual dimension of access that the exhibition has chosen to emphasise. This is perhaps a reasonable choice for a European audience, but it does downplay the links that the Mughals maintained with their eastern neighbours. Gujarat provides a context for the development of narratives regarding Mughal contact with the Italians and Portuguese, as established by objects such as a mother-of pearl inlaid shield prized by the Medici (c.1580–90; Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence; no.85) and references to the arrival of the first Jesuit mission at Akbar’s court in 1580 that brought with it the Polyglot Bible, whose engravings would be referenced extensively thereafter by Mughal painters. 

The themes of multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism are further expanded in the presentation of the reign of Jahangir, the most elaborate section of the exhibition. It is divided into two subsections, the first dedicated to the emperor’s life at court and the second to his famously peripatetic lifestyle and interest in nature. In addition to Portuguese and Italian connections, these two sections demonstrate synergies with the English by means of references to Thomas Roe, ambassador to the Mughal court in 1615–19; with the French by a court workshop painting of Jahangir on a throne designed for him by a goldsmith from Bordeaux, Augustin Hiriart (c.1618–20; private collection; no.92); and with the Flemish by one of Adriaen Collaert’s botanical engravings (c.1600; V&A; no.115) and examples of the way these were adapted in the Mughal world to serve decorative purposes. The Mughals’s rivalries and admiration closer to home are also revealed here. Competition with the Deccan sultanates is explored on the basis of portraits by Hashem of the army commander Malik Ambar of Ahmadnagar, who successfully countered attacks from both Akbar and Jahangir, and the Sultan Qutb Shah of Golconda, whose kingdom Shah Jahan sought to conquer (both c.1622–23; V&A; nos.112–13). Relations with China are highlighted by a Mughal collection of white, blue and imperial yellow porcelain, and with the Safavid and Armenian world by decorative metal objects. These include copper and bronze pieces of Safavid-style metalwork from a Lahori workshop, which are particularly remarkable not only for their unprecedented shapes but also as objects that have stimulated new research on this most neglected Mughal art form. 

Better known, yet seldom seen, is the material attesting to Jahangir’s identity as a naturalist. These include the large Ilchester Carpet (first half of the seventeenth century; private collection; no.137), which depicts a field of animal combats, a hunting coat displayed to show the complexity of its embroidery and construction (1610–20; V&A; no.146) and an enigmatic painting, Squirrels in a plane tree (no.97; Fig.7), a collaboration between two of the greatest painters of Jahangir’s time, Abu’l-Hasan and Mansur. A number of carved, enamelled and bejewelled daggers (no.89; Fig.5) scattered through the exhibition are linked to a dedicated display of arms and armour in this section – a reflection of the fact that for the Mughals hunting was frequently a preparatory form of warfare. Although these objects are exceptionally beautiful, with ornate hilts and calligraphed blades, they are a sober reminder of the violence on which the success of empires rested and on which in turn the collection of such luxurious works is contingent. 

The exhibition culminates in the next section, on the reign of Shah Jahan, popularly considered the apogee of the Mughal arts. Unexpectedly, this is where it falters. To be sure, it includes examples of the highly formalised courtly portraits emblematic of the period, some breathtaking jewels and hardstone vessels, such as Shah Jahan’s famous wine cup (no.167; Fig.8), and important references to the role of Mughal women in the arts, with a manuscript compiled and written by Shah Jahan’s daughter Princess Jahanara (1640; British Library; no.170) and a portrait of Shah Tahmasp of Iran by Sahifa Banu (c.1600–05; V&A; no.109). But with Shah Jahan being best known as the patron of the Taj Mahal, inclusion of the building within the narrative appears to have been an imperative, and attempting to convey its monumentality with video projections, models and drawings is overly ambitious. Indeed the exhibition never quite delivers on the architecture promised in its title. With the exception of one thoughtfully installed panel from a pierced marble screen (c.1640; V&A; no.156) that demonstrates the unidirectional viewing it was intended to enable, the values of most of the architectural elements exhibited – glazed earthenware tiles, inlaid friezes and carved water chutes – are vastly reduced because their presentation confuses architecture with twodimensional and decontextualised decorative detail. 

As the conclusion of the exhibition, this section also feels abrupt and incomplete. It includes objects that date from well after Shah Jahan’s reign and are presumably intended to illustrate the continuity of Mughal crafts. However, the finesse they demonstrate compounds a postcolonial concern to which the exhibition gives rise – the notion of a golden age that rationalises its scope, even at the cost of implying darkness and decline thereafter. This is a particularly problematic position to adopt with respect to the Mughals, as it aligns with an orientalist trope that has in the past been used to justify colonial interests in South Asian opulence, notably by the British, whose empire replaced the Mughal’s. In addition, the decision to exclude Alamgir I (reg.1658–1707) from the exhibition’s narrative of the Great Mughals is disappointing, and the factual error regarding his birth order (one of the final wall panels refers to him as Shah Jahan’s second son when he was in fact the third) is demonstrative of the limited interest taken in him. Given his persistent vilification by the Hindu fundamentalist discourses that currently dominate India, an opportunity has been lost to resist such attempts, which more broadly aim to erase Mughal history itself. A final concern on the political front is the exhibition’s failure to address questions about the provenance of objects. Such questions are inevitable: they arise from not only the history of colonial looting but also from the fact that none of these outstanding samples of Mughal material culture has been lent from South Asia. With the exception of some relatively new Middle Eastern collections, they have been sourced entirely from European and North American institutions. 

However, such apprehensions do not ultimately detract from the sheer beauty of the objects on show, and the exhibition is successful in capturing the imaginations and cultivating the interests of those encountering the Mughals for the first time. It also provides for audiences more familiar with Mughal history a welcome opportunity to appreciate, first-hand and in one place, a wealth of objects that are otherwise dispersed around the world and are rarely on such spectacular display.

[1] Catalogue: The Great Mughals: Art, Architecture and Opulence. Edited by Susan Stronge. 304 pp. incl. 234 col. ills. (V&A Publishing, London, 2024), £40. ISBN 978–1–83851–036–7.