to connive at illegal extortion or the oppression of the poor; and his native Indian talents for craft and dissimulation, which aided him in his intrigues for the throne, and form a tradition in all Indian native government, were probably discounted by his fellow countrymen. Europeans are always apt to exaggerate the success of oriental guile, which may indeed deceive the plain man of the west, but is comparatively innocuous among brothers of the craft.
Indeed, Aurangzíb’s habit of mind did not lend itself to trusting his officials and ministers overmuch, whether they were efficient or corrupt. As has been seen, he was no believer in delegated authority; and the lessons in treachery which the history of his dynasty afforded, and in which he had himself borne a part during the war of succession, sank deep into a mind naturally prone to suspicion. His father, Sháh-Jahán, said of him that, able as he was in war and in counsel, in action and administration, Aurangzìb 'was too full of subtle suspicion, and never likely to find anyone whom he could trust.' The prophecy came only too true. Aurangzíb never trusted a soul. That he lived in dread of poison is only what many Mughal princes endured: he had of course a taster – some say his daughter – to test the wholesomeness of his food, and if he took medicine his physician had to 'lead the way, take pill for pill, dose for dose,' that he might see their operation upon the body of the doctor before he ventured upon it himself[1]. His father had done
- ↑ Ovington, p. 209.
