On a balmy, moonlit March night in 1519, a light breeze blew across a riverside camp, stirring up the fallen leaves. A man peeped out of his tent only to see an inebriated Babur on horseback, galloping back to camp with his attendants. An ordinary sight indeed.

Later, Babur recalled the night in his memoir, saying, “At midday, we rode off on an excursion, got on a boat and drank spirits… We drank on the boat until late that night. Left the boat roaring drunk, and got on our horses. I took a torch in my hand and, reeling to one side then the other, let the horse gallop free-reined along the riverbank all the way to camp. I must’ve been very drunk. The next morning, they told me… I didn’t remember a thing, except that when I got to my tent, I vomited a lot.”

Recreating this scene for the illustrated Baburnama, commissioned by his grandson Akbar in 1598, the court painter Farrukh Beg captured the intoxicating mood of the night precisely. Unique in its theme and innovative in its composition, the painting is a testament to Beg’s prodigious talent. He presents the emperor in a rather candid manner, however, not untrue or deviating from his own written account. The brilliance of this image is that it represents Babur —  not as the fearsome conqueror — but as the first drunk Mughal ruler. This was but one account of Babur’s many excursions in March 1519, held during the political negotiations with Sultan Ibrahim (r. 1517-1526) of the Delhi Sultanate.

A Tradition of Fighting and Feasting   

Babur, who lived as a nomadic king, was constantly moving from one battle to the next, from one encampment to another. Several accounts in his memoir chronicle feasts, drinking parties, and ma’jun (a preparation of cannabis) parties that lasted for days, often occurring alongside sieges and battles. Such celebratory interludes can be linked to Babur’s Persian lineage and cultural traditions, including the warring and feasting custom called “razm u bazm,” where razm (warfare) was held in conjunction with bazm (feasting).

The tradition first finds prominent mention in Firdawsi’s Shahnama and can be traced back to the Sassanian dynasty (226–651) in Iran. The theological idea of beauty and majesty — “jamaal” and “jalaal” —  too were intrinsically linked to razm u bazm. These concepts, collectively, articulated the central ideas around kingship and the “ideal” ruler in Perso-Iranian culture. Therefore, bazm was not limited to feasting but also meant seeking beauty and refinement by elevating oneself through wine, music, poetry, and pleasure while holding court. This customary form of celebration, in conjunction with warfare, was subsequently adopted by both the Safavids, and Mughals, making the consumption of alcohol in these courts ritualistically and politically significant. 

But, right before Babur, there was a shift in the role of alcohol. The Mongol invasion, and the subsequent dissolution to Abbasid caliphate in the mid-13th century, resulted in a restructuring of kingship. The renewed narrative drew on Prophet Mohammed as “a king from whom other kings derive authority.” Alcohol was stripped of its ritualistic import, serving only a convivial purpose — but it was still accepted enthusiastically as an earthly substance at lavish parties. 

Overall, there was an ambiguous attitude to alcohol during Babur’s time and the reign of his successors, Humayun and Jahangir. The medicinal properties of alcohol were well known, with Hanafi scholars of the Sunni sect allowing the consumption of alcoholic beverages, except grape wine, as long as the imbiber did not become visibly intoxicated. This practice is in line with the Quran, which strongly discourages intoxicants, blaming them for dulling the believer’s senses, but does not outrightly ban alcohol and other intoxicating substances. In fact, “Jannah,” (Paradise) described in the Quran, speaks of a garden, abundant and ever-flowing with streams of milk, honey, and wine. Here, wine becomes a gift from God — a sign of his forgiveness, which is not intoxicating. 

Bazm, or the celebratory parties in Babur’s nomadic court, were also held at beautifully constructed, paradisiacal gardens in his newly conquered territories of “Hindustan.” Bagh-e Vafa (The Garden of Fidelity) in Kabul was one of them, built by the emperor when he was yearning for a ‘taste’ of his homeland. Babur mentions the abundance of orange and pomegranate trees at the site, along with flowering plants, making it an ideal venue for him to host numerous wine and ma’jun parties. A double folio in the Baburnama, painted by Bishandas, shows the emperor overlooking the construction of the garden that clearly depicts its two main fruiting trees.

Describing one of his visits in September 1519, Babur writes: “It was a time of beauty in Bagh-e Vafa… the fruits on the trees were bright red, and the orange trees were green and fresh filled with innumerable oranges, although they were less yellow than one might wish. The pomegranates were quite good, but not as good as the best ones in our country…”

In a continuation of Babur’s Iranian traditions, feasts were multi-sensorial experiences where the garden became the site to enact the social life of a king. In Babur’s worldview, he was a protagonist embodying the narrative of an ideal king through the razm u bazm tradition. The following quote by Babur concisely and perfectly summarises his fondness for wine and the experience of being drunk. 

“Only a drinker knows the pleasure of wine. 

What enjoyment thereof can the sober have?” 

The artists (from Akbar’s atelier) represented these accounts in their artwork, further reifying the ‘intoxicating’ customs around the institution of Mughal kingship in India. 

Courting Excess

Surpassing even Babur’s appetite for alcohol was his great-grandson, Jahangir (r. 1605–1627). While tales of wine parties and feasts held under open skies were abundant in both courts, they fundamentally differed in their purpose. Under Babur, feasting and drinking were informal and inclusive events, where the emperor drank with his troops and social hierarchies were fluid. Drinking with the emperor or high ranking commanders was seen as a way for the troops to bond with their superiors, securing their loyalty in the process. There was, however, no compulsion to partake any substances. Recalling a wine party on a raft with his special retinue, Babur noted, “Darwesh-Muhammad was abstaining. From my childhood, it had been my rule not to force drink on anyone who did not drink. Darwesh-Muhammad was always at these parties and no coercion was exerted.”

In contrast, Jahangir’s parties were private affairs and restricted to his close circles of nobles and elites. Attendees were expected, even obligated to consume alcohol and opium. Court hierarchies and etiquettes became more defined post-Babur; hence, consumption of alcohol and intoxicants too, became a private affair. The Mughal empire revolved around the central and presiding figure of the emperor. Therefore, the emperor’s behaviour and public identity set a precedent for their close nobles. This was true for the use of intoxicants as well. For instance, at Akbar’s court, there was no stigma around the regular use of opium, as Akbar himself ordered daily doses of opiates to be set aside for his use. However, his disfavour of alcohol, as is evident in the Akbarnama, attached a general negative tone to the consumption of alcohol at his court. 

However, the classic pairing of intoxicants and fruits stayed consistent in all three courts. Jahangir even mentions his favourite party essentials — melons, mangoes, cherries, apricots, and pineapples. Consumption of intoxicants and fruits in courts, post-Babur, were seen as displays of refinement performed through multi-sensorial affairs. Indulging in substances became a distinguishing marker of Mughal aristocracy — linked to the notion of the inherent good taste and breeding of a mirza (nobleman). The emperor [Jahangir], above all, was regarded as the ultimate aesthete. Practices and ingredients of the imperial kitchen were imitated by the courtiers, leading to what we now identify as a distinct Mughal “cuisine.” In her book, Cultures of Food and Gastronomy in Mughal and post-Mughal India (2015), scholar Divya Narayanan refers to this as the “formalisation of a shared understanding of taste.”

The gastronomical discourse at Jahangir’s court, like that of art, was intrinsically connected to the idea of expert taste and discerning judgment; and Jahangir was not only the supreme mirza, he was also a refined gastronome. Jahangir’s fondness for alcohol, especially wine, is well documented in his autobiographical accounts, travelogues of emissaries to the court and even portraits. Like Babur, he too, describes a variety of fruits and flowers found in “Hindustan.” Throughout the Jahangirnama, he describes his fondness for mangoes, cherries, grapes and melons. He claims, mangoes of the Indian region were superior in taste, whereas cherries and melons from Kabul had no comparison. These fruits featured in many paintings of celebrations and merry-making, especially as accompaniments to wine. The naturalistic style of his atelier even made it possible to distinguish one fruit from another. 

Several portraits of Jahangir holding wine cups made specially for his regular use are far more complex than a cursory glance reveals. Like most paintings produced at his atelier, they were often allegorical and laden with symbolism. In them, wine symbolised the elixir of life, while the wine cup was a stand-in for the world. By drinking wine, Jahangir was asserting his divinity as the Shah, the world conqueror.

Aware of his problem with alcohol addiction, Jahangir often wrote about his struggles. Unable to completely quit his (ab)use of alcohol, he did ultimately reduce his intake towards the end of his life — but only to substitute it with opiates. While addiction to intoxicants was typical in the Mughal court, at Jahangir’s court, the social aspect of these intoxicants entwined with pleasure, and the figure of the emperor anchored this culture of excess. Jahangirnama records numerous deaths due to overdoses, the most graphic and notable one being that of Inayat Khan. In March 1618, Jahangir recounts Khan’s condition caused due to excessive use of intoxicants and alcohol. He exclaims, “He looked incredibly weak and thin. Skin stretched over bone. Even his bones had begun to disintegrate. Whereas painters employ great exaggeration when they depict skinny people, nothing remotely resembling him had ever been seen. Good God! How can a human being remain alive in this state… It was so strange, I ordered the artists to draw his likeness.” 

Inayat Khan’s portrait is an especially rare example of Mughal art because of its unsettlingly realistic depiction — a deviation from the generally favoured idealism in Mughal court paintings. Two versions exist — both attributed to Balchand — that depict Khan, emaciated and propped up with the support of high bolsters. Khan died the day after Balchand had forever memorialised him as The Dying Inayat Khan.

‘Fruitful’ Encounters

In addition to his drunken accounts, Jahangir was also infamous for his sensuous nature with a harem of over three hundred women. Operating at the heart of his domestic space was the pleasure principle, or the fundamental instinct of seeking pleasure to satisfy both physical and psychological needs, thus avoiding pain. Aphrodisiacs and intoxicants in the harem played the function of increasing libido and intensifying feelings of relaxation and pleasure.

Paintings depicting these amorous encounters often included wine, paan, and fruits, which complemented the erotic setting. Sweetness, by its very nature, was associated with pleasure and sensual gratification in Jahangir’s court. In this context, fruits and other sweet delicacies functioned as symbolic extensions of desire and its fulfilment within these paintings. One such illustration, attributed to Govardhan, depicts Jahangir embracing a woman, most likely his favourite wife Nur Jahan, in a garden. Using a snapshot effect, the painting clearly depicts Jahangir’s impatience as he wraps his arms around Nur Jahan, while still holding a goblet in one hand. Two attendants stand waiting, one holding a wine decanter and the other a tray of red-coloured fruits, possibly cherries. The symbolic use of wine, exotic fruits, and paan by the atelier did not escape the notice of Mughal courtiers who saw these commodities as complementary to their lifestyle as aesthetes — as devoted to pleasure and fine living as their emperor. 

Mughal paintings reveal how deeply intoxicants were intertwined with kingship practices, especially in the courts of Babur and Jahangir, which, in turn, shaped Mughal courtly culture. While Babur’s convivial gatherings projected authority of the ideal warrior-king through sociability, Jahangir’s private indulgences transformed intoxication into a spectacle of desire and private excess.

Kratika Khatri is a researcher and writer exploring the relationships between objects, histories, and their evolving narratives. Her work spans visual culture, food studies, museum interpretation, and contemporary curatorial practices.