In 1679, the Mughal court issued a decision that reverberated across the subcontinent. Emperor Aurangzeb reinstated the jizya—a tax levied on non-Muslim subjects—signalling a decisive ideological shift in imperial governance. In an age when resistance was most often measured in armies and sieges, the response from the Deccan took a different form. Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj chose ink over arms.
News travelled slowly in the seventeenth century, but its implications were unmistakable. The reimposition of the jizya sharpened religious distinctions within the Mughal Empire and unsettled a period of relative accommodation. When the decree reached Shivaji’s court, there was no immediate call to battle. Instead, a carefully argued letter was drafted and sent to the Mughal emperor—measured in tone, yet firm in principle.
A Political Argument, Not a Provocation
Shivaji’s letter questioned the logic and consequences of taxation based on faith. Framed not as rebellion but as counsel, it argued that a ruler’s legitimacy flowed from the protection of all subjects, regardless of belief. Governance, he suggested, was weakened—not strengthened—when policy privileged one community over another.
This episode is most rigorously examined by historian Jadunath Sarkar in Shivaji and His Times. Drawing on Persian records and archival sources, Sarkar translated and analysed the correspondence, presenting it as a documented act of political dissent rather than later romanticised legend.
The Ethics of Rule
The jizya had precedent in Islamic administration, yet its revival after years of pragmatic flexibility carried clear political implications. Shivaji’s objection, as preserved in historical accounts, was grounded less in theology than in statecraft. Differential taxation, he warned, risked alienating loyal subjects and undermining social stability. It was an argument about governance, equity, and the durability of power.
From the imperial perspective, the policy is recorded in Maasir-i-Alamgiri, authored by Saqi Mustaid Khan. Though written to document Aurangzeb’s reign, the chronicle confirms the administrative intent behind the decree and situates it firmly within Mughal policy. Together, these sources anchor Shivaji’s letter in verifiable history.
Beyond the Warrior-King
Popular memory often celebrates Shivaji for his military brilliance—fortress campaigns, swift cavalry raids, and strategic audacity. Yet this correspondence reveals another dimension of his leadership. Marathi chronicles such as the Sabhasad Bakhar consistently portray him as a ruler deeply attentive to justice and public welfare. The 1679 letter aligns with this image: a sovereign conscious of moral authority as much as territorial ambition.
The letter did not overturn imperial policy. The jizya remained in force. But the act of writing it mattered. It demonstrated that opposition could be articulated through reasoned dissent, not only through force.
Ink as Statecraft
By choosing dialogue before confrontation, Shivaji displayed a sophisticated understanding of power. Military strength was one instrument of rule; legitimacy was another. His message implied that empires endure not merely by coercion, but by securing the consent—or at least the accommodation—of diverse populations. Discriminatory taxation, he argued, threatened that fragile balance.
History often remembers the clash of swords more readily than the exchange of letters. Yet in 1679, amid imperial authority and regional resistance, one letter stands as evidence that governance was contested not only on battlefields, but on paper.
