Tughlaq by Girish Karnad Summary
Tughlaq was originally written in Kannada by Girish Karnad in 1964 and first published the same year. It was Karnad’s second play, following Yayati. The play quickly became famous for its political and philosophical depth. It marked a turning point in modern Indian drama, first being produced in Kannada in 1965 and soon staged in Hindi by the National School of Drama. It was later performed in Bengali and Marathi, gaining national recognition.
At the suggestion of theatre director Alyque Padamsee, Karnad translated Tughlaq himself into English. This English version was first staged at Bhulabhai Auditorium, Bombay, in August 1970 by The Theatre Group, Bombay, under Padamsee’s direction. The English translation was later published by Oxford University Press in 1971, with Karnad’s “Author’s Note” dated from Dharwar, 1971.
Muhammad bin Tughlaq, the Sultan of Delhi, was a man of great learning and ambition. He envisioned an empire based on justice, equality, and unity among Hindus and Muslims. While his ideas were far ahead of his time, his actions were often harsh and impractical. Initially, he appeared wise and fair, even allowing a Hindu Brahmin to bring a case against him in court, accepting defeat gracefully. People admired his honesty, but it also revealed how easily his ideals could be misused. The Brahmin, in truth, was a cunning cheat named Aziz, who exploited the Sultan’s generosity.
Tughlaq’s downfall began with his decision to shift his capital from Delhi to Daulatabad. His intention was to make the empire’s administration more efficient and to unite north and south India. However, the forced migration became a nightmare. Thousands walked hundreds of miles through dust and heat, with many perishing along the way. What was meant to signify unity turned into a journey of suffering. Soon, famine, corruption, and rebellion spread, transforming his dream of progress into a story of despair.
To assist the poor, Tughlaq introduced copper coins that held the same value as silver. However, the populace began counterfeiting coins, leading to the collapse of the economy. Trade halted, and the treasury filled with worthless metal. His well-intentioned reforms shattered the remaining stability. The once-admired Sultan began to lose his peace of mind, becoming cruel and suspicious. Friends and advisors either betrayed him or faced execution. Najib, his most loyal minister, was murdered by his stepmother, who believed he had ruined the kingdom.
The Sultan was heartbroken and furious. In a fit of rage, he ordered his stepmother to be stoned to death in public. This act haunted him forever. He prayed for mercy, yet his heart was heavy with guilt. Sleepless nights and relentless fears isolated him, turning him into a shadow of his former self. He started as a visionary king but ended up living like a man possessed by his own failures.
Meanwhile, Aziz, the clever trickster, continued taking advantage of the chaos. He and his friend Aazam earned wealth through lies and deception. When Aziz learned that a holy man, said to be a descendant of the Khalif, was coming from Arabia, he murdered him and took his place. He went to meet Tughlaq, disguised as the saint Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid. Ironically, the Sultan, desperate for divine guidance, welcomed him with devotion and even fell at his feet.
Outside, the people of Daulatabad were starving and hopeless. A Hindu woman recognized Aziz as the same man who had once refused to help her dying child. Her cries of grief spread through the crowd, turning into angry riots. Inside the palace, Aazam became frightened and wanted to run away. But Aziz refused, too proud to give up his false identity. Soon after, Aazam was found murdered near a secret passage.
When the Sultan heard of Aazam’s death, he sent for the fake saint. During their meeting, Aziz boldly confessed his real identity. He admitted he was a washerman who had followed every one of the Sultan’s rules and ideas. He argued that he was Tughlaq’s true disciple because he had lived exactly by the Sultan’s own laws of equality and faith. The Sultan, shocked and humiliated, laughed helplessly. Instead of punishing him, he appointed Aziz to a post in his army — a final sign of his complete disillusionment and madness.
Barani, the historian, was horrified by the Sultan’s decision. He begged to leave the court, unable to bear any more of the cruelty and confusion. The Sultan, weak and tired, gave him permission and said he finally felt sleepy after years of restlessness. As Barani left, Tughlaq fell asleep on his throne for the first time in many years. A servant quietly placed a shawl around him. Outside, the call to prayer filled the air. When the servant came back, the Sultan was still sleeping. But as the muezzin’s voice faded, Tughlaq suddenly woke up, frightened and lost, as if he didn’t know where he was. The play ends with this haunting image — a brilliant, idealistic king destroyed by his own dreams, left alone in darkness, searching for peace that never came.
Tughlaq by Girish Karnad
Scene 1:
The play begins in the year 1327, in front of the Chief Court of Justice in Delhi. The place is crowded with common citizens — mostly Muslims, but a few Hindus are also present. The people are talking among themselves, waiting for a court case to be decided. Their topic of discussion is the new Sultan, Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq, whose behavior and decisions have puzzled everyone. Some people admire him for being a fair, just, and intelligent ruler, while others think he has gone mad. This mixture of confusion, admiration, and fear sets the tone for the entire play.
An old man starts by complaining about the state of the country. He says that in all his years, he has seen many kings, but never one like Tughlaq, whose actions are beyond understanding. A young man, full of enthusiasm, immediately defends the Sultan. He says that earlier rulers were distant and proud — they kept common people away from them. But Tughlaq, unlike them, behaves like a human being; he talks to his people, admits his mistakes, and doesn’t hide behind royal pride.
However, another third man mocks this idea, saying the Sultan doesn’t need to “show off” his humanity before everyone. The old man adds that Tughlaq has even allowed himself to be kicked by a Hindu (“an infidel”), calling it a great insult to Islam. The young man gets angry and accuses the old man of being a hypocrite — someone who never prayed before but now prays five times a day only because Tughlaq made it compulsory by law. He argues that the Sultan has made people more religious than ever before.
A Hindu man in the crowd joins the talk in a sarcastic way. He says that earlier, when the kings insulted Hindus and called them “dogs,” he felt safe, because he knew where he stood. But now, this new Sultan calls Hindus “human beings,” treats them kindly, and even talks about equality — and that makes him feel uneasy. He cannot trust such kindness. The old man then warns the young man not to believe in Hindu friendship too much, saying that if they get too close, they might mix up their religion with Islam and even start calling Prophet Muhammad one of their gods. This conversation shows the deep religious divide and suspicion between Hindus and Muslims during that period.
The discussion is interrupted by the loud beating of a drum. The royal announcer appears and reads an official proclamation. The crowd becomes silent, waiting eagerly to hear what it is about. The announcer declares that a Brahmin named Vishnu Prasad has filed a legal case against Sultan Tughlaq himself, claiming that his land was seized unlawfully by the Sultan’s officers. The Chief Kazi (judge) has carefully studied the case and has declared that the Brahmin’s complaint is true and just — the Sultan is indeed guilty of taking away the man’s land.
The people are shocked — they cannot believe that a common man, and that too a Hindu, has won a case against the Sultan. The announcer continues: the Kazi has ordered that the Brahmin should be paid five hundred silver dinars as compensation. The Sultan has accepted this judgment happily and, in addition, has offered the Brahmin a job in the Civil Service to provide him with a steady income. The crowd is astonished. Some think the Sultan is foolish; others believe there must be some hidden motive behind this strange act.
Then the announcer again beats his drum and formally introduces the Sultan: “The Warrior in the Path of God, the Defender of the Faith, His Merciful Majesty, Sultan Muhammad Tughlaq.” The Sultan enters with his court officials and soldiers. The people shout “Victory to the King!”
Tughlaq then addresses his subjects. He proudly says that the people have just witnessed how justice is carried out in his kingdom — fairly and fearlessly, without regard to power, religion, or wealth. He says that such justice is the foundation of the new age he wants to create — an age of peace, equality, progress, and a purposeful life. Then he makes an unexpected and shocking announcement: he has decided to shift the capital from Delhi to Daulatabad, a city in the South.
The crowd reacts with confusion and disbelief. Sensing their surprise, Tughlaq explains his reasons. He says that his empire is vast and stretches across both North and South India. Delhi is near the border and always in danger of foreign attacks, but Daulatabad lies in the center and is safer. Most importantly, he says, Daulatabad is a Hindu city, and by making it the capital, he hopes to bring Hindus and Muslims closer together. He wants the move to be a symbol of unity and brotherhood. Finally, he invites all his people to join him — but adds that it is only an invitation, not a command. “Only those who have faith in me,” he says, “may come with me.” With that, he exits, leaving the crowd speechless.
After the Sultan leaves, the crowd breaks into angry chatter. The old man says this is madness — moving the capital is an absurd idea. Another man calls it pure tyranny, saying that such things never happened under Tughlaq’s father, who was a good ruler. The young man becomes suspicious and asks what he means by that remark — does he mean that Tughlaq seized the throne by killing his father? The third man nervously says that everyone knows what happened; people saw it. The young man insists that it was an accident — an elephant went wild and knocked down the royal pavilion during a celebration. The old man laughs bitterly, calling it a “convenient” explanation. The crowd begins to murmur that Sheikh Imam-ud-din, a holy man, has openly accused the Sultan of murdering his father and brother.
They speak in awe of the Sheikh, saying he looks a little like the Sultan and that he is brave and outspoken. The scene shows how even though Tughlaq wants peace and harmony, his own people do not trust him and are full of doubt and rumors.
When the crowd leaves, only a man named Aazam remains. He is a pickpocket and small-time thief who earns his living from large gatherings like this. He tells the guard that he wants to see the Brahmin who won the case against the Sultan. The guard mocks him and calls the Brahmin an infidel, then leaves.
The Brahmin appears, but he behaves strangely — nervous and cautious. When Aazam follows him and touches him on the shoulder, the Brahmin quickly turns and pulls out a dagger. Aazam is shocked — Brahmins don’t usually carry daggers. Then suddenly, both recognize each other. The “Brahmin” is actually Aziz, a Muslim washerman (dhobi) and an old friend of Aazam. The two greet each other joyfully, but Aziz warns him to keep quiet because if anyone finds out who he really is, he will be executed.
Aazam is amazed and wants to know how Aziz managed to win a case against the Sultan himself. Aziz proudly explains his clever plan. He says that when Tughlaq announced that anyone could file a case against him for injustice, Aziz saw a golden opportunity. He was tired of his poor life as a washerman. He learned that a Brahmin named Vishnu Prasad had recently lost his land to the Sultan’s officers. Aziz approached the Brahmin, bought the land from him by signing the contract with an old date, shaved his head, disguised himself as the Brahmin, and filed the case in his name.
The trick worked perfectly. The Kazi believed him, and the Sultan, eager to prove his fairness and justice, immediately ruled in his favor. As a result, Aziz received 500 silver dinars and a government job. Aazam laughs and says Aziz could have easily lost his head instead of gaining money. But Aziz replies that he knew exactly what he was doing — a Muslim suing a Muslim Sultan would not have looked fair, but a Hindu suing a Muslim ruler fit the Sultan’s vision of equality. He used the Sultan’s own idealism as a weapon to deceive him.
Aziz then invites Aazam to join him in the new capital. He says he will help him get a post in the administration. Together, they can earn plenty before reaching Daulatabad. Aazam laughs and agrees half-heartedly. Aziz confidently declares that he does not plan to remain a Brahmin forever — he will soon change his disguise again when the time comes. The two friends walk away, joking about their future schemes.
The scene ends with deep irony. While Tughlaq dreams of creating a fair and just kingdom where everyone is treated equally, dishonest men like Aziz and Aazam are already exploiting that very dream for personal gain. The Sultan’s idealism, though noble, is too pure for a corrupt and cunning world. His vision of equality and justice turns into a tool for fraud. This is the first warning in the play that Tughlaq’s greatness will lead to his downfall.
Scene 2:
Scene Two begins inside Muhammad Tughlaq’s palace. The Sultan is sitting alone over a chessboard, completely absorbed in the game. He smiles with excitement as he solves a difficult problem that, according to him, even the greatest chess masters could not solve. At that moment, his stepmother enters. He greets her warmly and proudly tells her about his discovery. She listens without much interest and lightly jokes that he should share his joy with his old friend Ain-ul-Mulk. Her simple remark suddenly changes the mood of the scene.
Muhammad quietly tells her that Ain-ul-Mulk, his childhood friend and companion in chess, is now marching on Delhi with thirty thousand soldiers. The stepmother is shocked and asks why he would do such a thing. Muhammad says he has no idea. In his last letter, he had offered Ain-ul-Mulk the post of Governor of the Deccan because he needed a strong man there. He thought Ain-ul-Mulk would be happy, but instead, his friend has rebelled. His voice turns bitter. He admits he has only six thousand soldiers, not nearly enough to fight such a large army. His stepmother’s visit, meant to be affectionate, now turns into a scene of worry.
The stepmother explains that she came because she is troubled about his sleepless nights. She says he works endlessly and never rests. Muhammad answers calmly that he prays to God to save him from sleep. He says that during the day he has to carry the burden of the kingdom, but at night his spirit feels free. He talks like a poet, describing how he looks at the stars and thinks of ancient poets who saw beauty in everything. He dreams of uniting all people, Hindu and Muslim alike, in one large family without hatred or boundaries. He wishes to call out to them to share their joys and sorrows with him and to turn history itself into something pure and green. Yet, he stops and admits he cannot rise to the heavens when his roots are still weak on earth. His stepmother looks at him, touched but uneasy.
She calls him dramatic and asks him to stop speaking of death. But he goes on, saying that if he dies in battle against Ain-ul-Mulk, he would not mind. He worries only about his people. She calls him proud and self-important, but he defends himself, saying that other kings were weak and died early or were murdered. This last word makes her uncomfortable. He notices her reaction and suddenly grows cold. He accuses her of believing the rumor that he murdered his father and brother to take the throne. She denies it, but he mocks her and says that everyone — even his real mother — believes it. His anger and pain fill the room until the tension is broken by a knock on the door.
The doorkeeper enters and announces that Najib and Barani, two of Muhammad’s closest advisers, have come to meet him. The stepmother covers her face with a veil as the men enter. Muhammad greets them cheerfully and jokes about chess, saying Barani plays with the dead while Najib uses living pawns. Najib ignores the joke and gives grave news. Ain-ul-Mulk’s army is near, and the Sultan’s army is too small to fight. Then he adds that Sheikh Imam-ud-din, a famous saint, has reached Delhi and is preaching against the Sultan.
Muhammad pretends to take it lightly, saying they should take the Sheikh’s blessings before leaving for war. Najib answers sharply that they should instead “get rid of him.” Barani is shocked and calls it terrible to speak so about a holy man. Muhammad explains that Najib is upset because the Sheikh openly criticizes him and demands that he give up the throne. Najib insists that the Sheikh is more dangerous than they think — he supports the rebels and is the backbone of unrest. Muhammad asks Barani what the Sheikh says about him. Barani, looking nervous, admits that the Sheikh has called the Sultan a disgrace to Islam. Najib adds cruelly that the Sheikh also says Muhammad murdered his father and brother during prayer.
The words cut deeply. The stepmother and Barani are shocked, but Muhammad stays calm and quiet. He says it is not the gossip that hurts him but the people’s crooked minds. He says his own mother believes he is guilty because she loved his brother more. Now even his stepmother doubts him. The room falls silent. Najib breaks the silence by asking what should be done about the Sheikh. Muhammad says coldly that saints have the right to speak foolishly. Najib warns that the Sheikh is dangerous and may cause riots. Barani defends freedom of speech and says the Sultan should not go back on his promise to the people. Najib mocks Barani’s faith in ideals and calls it useless in politics. Their argument shows the growing division in the Sultan’s court — between Barani’s idealism and Najib’s cruelty.
Muhammad listens to both sides and then asks what should be done next. Barani says Najib wants the Sheikh killed, but Najib denies it and warns that killing him would make him a martyr. He suddenly reveals that Ain-ul-Mulk’s army is definitely approaching Delhi. Barani cannot believe it. He insists that Ain-ul-Mulk is loyal and that the problem must be a misunderstanding. Muhammad looks worried and says that this is the worst time for such confusion because he is busy planning the move to Daulatabad. Barani offers to go as an envoy and speak to Ain-ul-Mulk personally. Najib refuses, saying a traitor must be crushed, not talked to.
Najib then explains why he thinks Ain-ul-Mulk rebelled. He says that when Muhammad made him governor of Avadh, he had become very popular there. People loved and worshipped him. Then suddenly, the Sultan ordered him to leave his safe post and move to the Deccan. Naturally, he began to suspect a plot. Muhammad realizes this is true and blames himself for not seeing it. Barani angrily says Najib should have warned the Sultan earlier, but Najib replies that suspicion is his duty and he trusts no one — not even the Sultan. The stepmother repeats his words coldly, testing him, and Najib quietly agrees.
Muhammad asks Najib what he proposes. Najib replies that the Sheikh’s resemblance to the Sultan might be useful. Muhammad stares at him, realizing that Najib has a cunning plan in mind. He calls him a devil but says it’s an excellent idea. He decides to think about it later and orders preparations for the march to Kanauj. The stepmother asks who will take care of Delhi in his absence. Muhammad replies that Najib will stay in charge. She clearly dislikes this decision, but he does not notice. He also says that he has invited Prince Shihab-ud-din, son of an unfriendly noble, to stay in Delhi to improve relations. Barani looks puzzled but remains silent.
Before leaving, Muhammad tells his mother politely that he must handle things in his own way. He and Najib exit together. The stepmother asks Barani to stay back for a few minutes. She speaks softly but anxiously. She says she knows her son is brilliant, hardworking, and sincere, but he is also restless and impulsive. He never sleeps or rests. She worries that he may make a rash decision under pressure. She asks Barani, whom she respects for his honesty, to stay close to the Sultan and guide him.
Barani, deeply moved, promises never to leave Muhammad, saying he loves him too much. The stepmother says that the rebellion of Ain-ul-Mulk and the influence of the Sheikh are troubling Muhammad greatly. She also confides that she does not trust Najib and fears his power over the Sultan. Her final words come out in anger and pain — she says if things continue as they are, she would not wish her son’s fate even on a dog. Her helplessness shows both love and despair.
The scene ends on a note of sadness and tension. Muhammad appears as a man of high ideals, but his brilliance is mixed with loneliness and suspicion. His court is divided — Barani stands for honesty and faith, while Najib represents cunning and manipulation. The stepmother’s fears show that the Sultan’s dream of an ideal empire is slowly being poisoned by mistrust, rebellion, and deceit.
Scene 3:
Scene Three takes place in the yard outside the Big Mosque in Delhi. It is almost empty, except for Sultan Muhammad Tughlaq, Sheikh Imam-ud-din, and a few servants. The silence is long and heavy until Muhammad suddenly breaks it, saying he cannot bear the emptiness any longer. He had expected people to attend the meeting he arranged between himself and the Sheikh, but no one has come. The Sheikh calmly says that the Sultan should be happy that the crowd has stayed away. Muhammad, however, feels disappointed and angry. He says he wanted the people to hear the Sheikh speak because he wants his citizens to think for themselves and not behave like dumb cattle. He claims that he is ready to learn from criticism and wants to listen with an open mind.
The Sheikh warns him that he will not soften his words even in the Sultan’s presence. Muhammad replies that he knows of the Sheikh’s courage and sincerity. He even says that he has arranged this meeting because he values the Sheikh’s opinions more than anyone else’s. Muhammad claps for a servant and orders that all the nobles and officers—Khans, Amirs, and Sardars—be brought immediately to hear the discussion. The Sheikh objects, saying he doesn’t want to talk to flattering courtiers. He wants to speak directly to the people who have the courage to act and bring change. The Sultan says he cannot go door to door calling people and regrets not giving orders earlier.
The royal announcer then appears and loudly declares that the Sultan himself has organized a public meeting in front of the mosque. The Sheikh, a holy man respected throughout India, will speak and point out where the Sultan’s rule has gone wrong. The announcement also says that the Sultan will humbly attend to learn from the Sheikh’s advice. The Sheikh listens, half amused and half annoyed, and says that if people do not come today, he will go to the market tomorrow and speak there. The Sultan silently signals his servant to go and make arrangements.
After the servant leaves, Muhammad turns to the Sheikh and asks if he would believe him when he says he has never intentionally acted against Islam. The Sheikh firmly replies that he cannot believe that. He says that the Sultan has committed many wrongs. If these acts were not deliberate, then they were the result of ignorance—and a man as learned as the Sultan cannot claim ignorance. He reminds him that instead of seeking advice from wise religious men, he imprisoned many of them under the excuse of justice. Muhammad answers that those scholars had started interfering in politics, and he could not allow religion to mix with administration. He adds that he has always respected the word of God, which gives him comfort in loneliness. His voice turns sad as he says that his kingdom has millions of people of different faiths—Muslims, Hindus, and Jains—and he cannot depend on God to solve man’s problems.
The Sheikh replies that only the voice of God can purify what man has corrupted. He urges the Sultan to remember how the Arabs fought for centuries to spread Islam and now are too weak to continue. He says that the work must go on, and God has chosen the Sultan, who has been blessed with power, knowledge, and talent, to lead this divine mission. He asks the Sultan to spread the Kingdom of Heaven on earth and serve God by leading mankind to the true path.
Muhammad listens quietly and then says that no one can go far by crawling on his knees. He says he has a long way to go and must move fast like a horse in gallop, not crawl in prayer. The Sheikh warns him that by trying to move forward without the guidance of the Quran, he is attempting to become another God, which is a greater sin than killing one’s own father. Muhammad replies calmly that he is only God’s slave, not His rival. The Sheikh sarcastically says that slaves often try to replace their masters. Muhammad responds with a bitter smile, saying that his grandfather was a slave who became a king, but that was in politics, not religion. The Sheikh tells him that separating religion and politics will destroy him, for those two parts will tear his soul apart.
Muhammad agrees that it is true. He recalls his youth when he studied the Greek philosophers like Socrates and Plato and was enchanted by their ideas. Their wisdom opened new worlds to him—different from the teachings of the Arabs and even the Quran. He says these influences have divided him from within, and to become whole again, he must destroy the part of him that belongs to them. In the same way, his kingdom, too, is divided by different visions that he cannot ignore. The Sheikh asks how he can expect the next rulers to maintain this delicate balance. He warns that one man might manage it, but not an entire line of kings. He asks where Muhammad’s successors are who will continue his dream.
Muhammad admits there is no one yet, but he has not lost hope. He says he will find young men and train them to think as he does. Right now, his people are like cattle, but he will turn some into real men of understanding. Then he mentions Kanpur, trying to change the topic, but before he can continue, the servant returns.
The Sheikh suddenly realizes that something is wrong. He asks if the “robes” are ready, understanding that the Sultan has planned something. Muhammad apologizes politely, saying he knew the Sheikh would not refuse to help. The Sheikh looks alarmed and asks if Ain-ul-Mulk will not suspect that he is being used as a spy. He points toward the empty courtyard, suggesting that people will know of this deception soon. Muhammad insists that Ain-ul-Mulk will not find out because there isn’t time. He says that Ain-ul-Mulk’s army has already started moving, and they must meet him near Kanauj before sunset.
The servant brings a golden tray with the robes of honor and a royal turban. Muhammad takes them and walks toward the Sheikh. The Sheikh tries to stop him and says that if he truly wants peace, it does not matter where he meets Ain-ul-Mulk. Muhammad replies that he does want peace but cannot leave anything to chance. He must be careful and keep his army safe in case negotiations fail. The Sheikh looks at him closely and says he now understands why people call the Sultan the cleverest man in the world. Muhammad smiles faintly and calls himself a fool, then asks the Sheikh to put on the robes.
The Sheikh obeys. Muhammad places the royal head-dress on him, and now both men look nearly identical. The resemblance becomes striking. Muhammad looks at him thoughtfully and says that he only wishes he could be more certain of his loyalty. The scene ends here, leaving the audience to sense that a hidden plan is about to unfold—one that will use the Sheikh’s resemblance to the Sultan for some dark purpose.
This scene shows Muhammad’s intelligence, restlessness, and growing cunning. His talk with the Sheikh reveals his divided mind — part scholar, part ruler, part visionary. He wants to unite religion and reason but fails to keep them balanced. The Sheikh’s honesty and faith clash with the Sultan’s pride and logic. Their meeting ends not in understanding but in deceit, as Muhammad prepares to use the Sheikh as a pawn in his political game.
Scene 4:
Scene Four takes place in the Sultan’s palace in Delhi. Shihab-ud-din, the young prince whom Sultan Muhammad Tughlaq left in charge of Delhi, is reading some papers. The doorkeeper enters and announces the Queen Mother, the Sultan’s stepmother. Shihab-ud-din quickly stands up and bows respectfully. The Queen Mother says she has come because she feels frightened and cannot bear the tension of waiting for news from the war. Shihab-ud-din gently tells her that there has been no new message for a week. She thanks him for taking care of everything and says that now she understands why the Sultan chose him instead of any local nobleman. She says he has done a good job.
Shihab-ud-din modestly replies that the real credit should go to Vizier Najib. The Queen Mother immediately says she dislikes Najib and is glad she did not have to deal with him, thanks to Shihab-ud-din’s help. Their talk is interrupted when the doorkeeper announces the arrival of Sardar Ratansingh. Shihab-ud-din becomes excited and says Ratansingh is his adopted brother. Ratansingh enters, and the two greet each other warmly. The Queen Mother quickly asks if he has news from the battlefield. Ratansingh says the Sultan has returned to Delhi just a few minutes ago. The Queen Mother is surprised and says she must go to see him right away. But Ratansingh tells her that the Sultan has gone to meet Najib first and will come to her soon. She looks unhappy and wonders why the Sultan returned so secretly without informing anyone.
Ratansingh explains that it was not meant to be a secret. He says the Sultan is upset because Sheikh Imam-ud-din has died in battle. The Queen Mother is shocked and asks how it happened. Before Ratansingh can answer, the doorkeeper announces the Sultan’s arrival. Muhammad enters with Najib and Barani. Everyone greets him with respect. The Sultan warmly thanks Shihab-ud-din for taking care of Delhi while he was away. The Queen Mother immediately asks about the Sheikh’s death. Muhammad becomes silent for a moment, then says slowly that it was a terrible sight. When he saw the Sheikh’s dead body, he felt as if he himself were dead and the Sheikh were alive. He says that he should have died instead.
Barani says the Sheikh’s death is a great loss to Islam. The Queen Mother angrily asks what happened to Ain-ul-Mulk, the rebel general. She hopes he has been killed. Muhammad calmly says that he let Ain-ul-Mulk go free. Everyone is shocked. Najib objects, saying this will create more trouble. Barani, however, praises the Sultan’s mercy and calls it an act of greatness. Muhammad explains why he forgave Ain-ul-Mulk. He says that when Ain-ul-Mulk was captured, he showed him a chess problem that he had solved earlier. Ain-ul-Mulk looked at it for a minute and pointed out a mistake in the solution that the Sultan himself had missed. The Sultan laughs and says that he had to forgive such a brilliant man. Barani praises his generosity, but Najib remains suspicious. Muhammad then orders Najib to declare a day of mourning for Sheikh Imam-ud-din and forbids any celebrations of victory. He says that when a great man like the Sheikh dies, it is a sin to rejoice.
The Sultan leaves the room with the Queen Mother, Najib, and Barani, thanking Shihab-ud-din before going. When they are gone, Ratansingh speaks bitterly. He says that the Sultan is an “honest scoundrel” who kills people and then enjoys feeling guilty about it. Shihab-ud-din is shocked and asks what he means. Ratansingh replies that the Sultan may act kind, but he is cruel. He reminds Shihab-ud-din of the heavy taxes in the Doab region, which caused famine and starvation among both Hindus and Muslims. He says this is the Sultan’s “impartial justice.”
Shihab-ud-din asks him again what this has to do with the Sheikh’s death. Ratansingh then tells him the truth about what really happened. He says that when he joined the Sultan’s army at Kanauj, the Sultan looked at him coldly and seemed displeased. The next day, he learned that the Sheikh was going as a peace messenger to Ain-ul-Mulk, wearing the Sultan’s royal clothes and riding the royal elephant. Ratansingh was placed in the front row of soldiers who went with him — a dangerous position where soldiers are usually the first to die.
The Sheikh was happy to serve the Sultan and looked grand in the royal robes and turban. He looked exactly like Muhammad himself. As they approached Ain-ul-Mulk’s army, the Sheikh stood up to speak, but suddenly the Sultan’s own trumpet sounded, signaling an attack. The Sheikh was shocked and shouted for them to stop, but arrows began flying. He was hit many times and fell from the elephant, covered in blood. Ratansingh says the Sheikh’s death was horrifying — his body was filled with arrows like a porcupine.
Then the enemy soldiers, believing that the Sultan himself had been killed, ran forward to attack. They walked right into a trap that the Sultan had planned. From behind the hills, Muhammad’s army suddenly appeared and slaughtered them all. The Sultan won the battle, but the victory was built on betrayal. The Sheikh had been sent to his death as bait in the trap. Ratansingh calls it cold-blooded murder. Shihab-ud-din is horrified and cries out in shock.
Ratansingh adds that there is more. He tells Shihab-ud-din that the nobles and important citizens of Delhi are secretly planning a meeting in the next few days. They are angry with the Sultan and are plotting something against him. Ratansingh says he has already been invited because everyone knows the Sultan tried to kill him by putting him in the front row during the battle. He says that Shihab-ud-din has also been invited because the nobles hope he will not stay silent about the Sultan’s cruelty. Ratansingh asks him to join the meeting. Shihab-ud-din remains silent and looks pale.
The scene ends in silence and tension. Shihab-ud-din realizes that the Sultan is not the noble man he pretends to be. The Sheikh’s death was not an accident but part of the Sultan’s clever plan. Now, hatred and rebellion are beginning to grow in Delhi. The Sultan’s cruelty and cunning are turning his own people against him, and his downfall has already begun.
Scene 5:
Scene Five takes place in a private house in Delhi where a secret meeting is being held. A group of nobles — Amirs, Sayyids, and others — have gathered to discuss their growing hatred of Sultan Muhammad Tughlaq. Shihab-ud-din and his adopted brother Ratansingh are also present, though Shihab-ud-din seems uncomfortable.
The nobles begin by asking Shihab-ud-din to lead them. He refuses and says clearly that he has nothing to do with politics in Delhi since he is an outsider. But the Amirs insist that this is exactly why they want him — because the Sultan would never suspect him of rebellion. Another Amir adds that the people of Delhi never trust one another, so only an outsider like Shihab-ud-din can unite them.
Shihab-ud-din asks what they want him to lead them in. One Amir says that they must stop the Sultan from forcing everyone to move to Daulatabad. He claims the Sultan’s real plan is to weaken the Amirs by taking them away from Delhi, their strong base, to a distant Hindu city where they will be powerless. Another noble complains that taxes have become unbearable — there are taxes on everything, even gambling, which makes it impossible for them to live in comfort.
Shihab-ud-din tries to defend the Sultan, saying that the money is being used for good purposes like schools, hospitals, and roads. But a Sayyid angrily says that the Sultan does not follow Islamic law, which allows only four kinds of taxes. He adds that instead of taxing Hindus through jiziya (a tax permitted by the Quran), the Sultan treats them as brothers. Shihab-ud-din gets angry and says this talk is shameful. He stands up to leave, saying they don’t deserve even to touch the edge of the Sultan’s robe. The others are offended, but Ratansingh calms him.
Then, an old man who has been quietly sitting in a corner steps forward. It is Sheikh Shams-ud-din Tajuddarfim, a respected holy man. He calls out to Shihab-ud-din and begs him to listen. Shihab-ud-din is surprised to see such a religious man among political rebels. The Sheikh explains that he never wanted to get involved in politics, but when tyranny crushes innocent people, even saints cannot stay silent. He says many religious leaders have already been punished — Sheikh Haidari is in jail, and Sheikh Hood has been sent into exile.
Shihab-ud-din answers that these men interfered too much in politics. The Sheikh replies sadly that it is not a crime to speak for the people. He asks if honesty and courage, like Sheikh Imam-ud-din’s, are now considered political crimes. Shihab-ud-din says that perhaps everyone in Delhi, not just the Sultan, is responsible for Imam-ud-din’s death because no one came to hear him speak that day. The Amirs look confused, and one of them asks what really happened in Delhi.
Shihab-ud-din angrily reminds them that when the Sheikh gave his public lecture, not one person came to support him. Everyone was too afraid. He says they have no right to blame the Sultan now. The others laugh mockingly. The Sheikh then reveals the shocking truth — the people of Delhi never refused to come; they were stopped by the Sultan’s soldiers, who went from house to house threatening to punish anyone who dared attend the Sheikh’s speech. To prove it, he opens his shirt and shows a wound on his shoulder, saying he was beaten for trying to reach the mosque.
Shihab-ud-din is horrified and asks if the Sultan knows this. The others laugh bitterly and tell him these were the Sultan’s own orders. Ratansingh then says that this explains why the Sultan invited Shihab-ud-din to take care of Delhi while he was away — to keep him busy and blind to what was happening.
The Sheikh now pleads with Shihab-ud-din to act. He says that as a strong and respected man, it is his duty to help the people who are too weak to fight back. He warns that more innocent people will die unless someone like Shihab-ud-din takes a stand. One of the Amirs adds that they must strike now, while the Sultan’s army is exhausted from war. If Shihab-ud-din does not want to join them, he should at least promise not to fight against them.
Shihab-ud-din says that he knows too much now to stay neutral. Ratansingh bursts out angrily, saying that even his “infidel blood” boils with rage over the Sheikh’s murder. He accuses Shihab-ud-din of cowardice for refusing to act while condemning others for silence. He shouts that it is time to face the truth and goes to the palace, saying the Sultan’s idea of justice no longer matters. The other Amirs beg Shihab-ud-din to lead them. The Sheikh too pleads with him, saying Islam itself needs his help.
Shihab-ud-din hesitates. He says they don’t need him but his father, who is stronger and feared even by the Sultan. Still, they are desperate, so he agrees to help. Ratansingh laughs and explains to everyone why Shihab-ud-din is so hesitant — his father had once killed Ratansingh’s father and taken his kingdom by treachery. Shihab-ud-din, feeling guilty for his father’s sins, always avoids deceit. Ratansingh says this is why he can’t bear treachery, though the Sultan himself murdered Sheikh Imam-ud-din in cold blood.
The discussion turns serious. They all know they must be careful, or the plan will fail. After some silence, Ratansingh suddenly says he has a perfect idea. He reminds them that the Sultan is very strict about offering prayers five times a day. During prayer time, no one is allowed to carry weapons, not even the guards. That means the whole palace becomes unarmed during prayer.
The Amirs are astonished by the simplicity of the plan. Ratansingh explains it clearly — next Tuesday, when the Amirs meet the Sultan in his royal court (Durbar-i-Khas), they should delay the meeting until the time for prayer. When the call for prayer begins, the Sultan and his guards will put down their weapons. At that exact moment, their hidden soldiers outside the palace will attack.
The Amirs are both excited and frightened. One says the plan is perfect; another worries that killing a man during prayer would be a sin. Ratansingh mocks them and says the Sultan himself killed his father during prayer, so they should not hesitate. Most of them agree that it is the only way. They start discussing how to smuggle weapons into the palace for the attack.
But the old Sheikh Shams-ud-din suddenly stands up and objects strongly. He says they cannot pollute the sacred time of prayer with bloodshed. Prayer is holy, and they cannot insult Islam by using it for murder. One Amir says they can ask for forgiveness later, but the Sheikh insists that killing during prayer would destroy the very faith they claim to defend.
Everyone turns to Shihab-ud-din, waiting for his decision. The Sheikh pleads with him not to agree. But Shihab-ud-din, torn between religion and justice, finally says bitterly, “Does your Islam work only at prayer?” He says that if the Sheikh himself has convinced him to fight for justice, then surely God will forgive an interrupted prayer. He agrees to join the plan and begins discussing the details. Then, suddenly, he turns to Ratansingh and asks helplessly, “Must we really do this, Ratan? Must we?”
The scene ends with that question — showing Shihab-ud-din’s inner conflict. He wants to do what is right, but he is being pushed into violence. Scene Five reveals how rebellion is spreading against Sultan Muhammad. Even good men like Shihab-ud-din are losing faith in the Sultan’s justice. It also shows the tragedy of religion being twisted to justify murder — the same moral confusion that defines Muhammad’s rule.
Scene 6:
Scene Six opens in the palace, filled with an uneasy silence. Muhammad Tughlaq, restless and agitated, walks up and down the hall while Najib and Barani stand quietly nearby. The tension is thick. The doorkeeper finally enters and announces that the Amirs have arrived for the Durbar-i-Khas, the royal private court. Muhammad tells him to bring them in.
The Amirs enter with Shihab-ud-din. Muhammad greets them warmly, pretending to be calm and friendly. He tells them that he wishes to finish the meeting quickly because he must attend prayers at the mosque soon. He invites them to raise any issues first, but they all remain silent. Muhammad then says that he himself has two announcements to make.
The first piece of news, he says, is that Ghiyas-ud-din Muhammad, a descendant of the holy Abbasi Khalifs, has accepted his invitation to visit the capital. The Amirs stare blankly, not understanding what this means. Barani calls it good news, saying that it shows respect for Islam. Shihab-ud-din politely praises the Sultan’s “wisdom.” Muhammad suddenly turns suspicious and asks why he used that word. Is it because he thinks Muhammad wants to impress the priests?
Muhammad then becomes thoughtful. He says that since Sheikh Imam-ud-din’s death, he has asked himself what gives him the right to be king. Is it birth, power, or confidence? None of these satisfy him, he says. He wants to find the true meaning of kingship. That is why he has invited the descendant of the Khalif — to bless his rule with spiritual authority.
One Amir says this holy man’s visit will purify Delhi, but Muhammad corrects him: the man will not come to Delhi at all. By then, the capital will have shifted to Daulatabad. Shihab-ud-din pleads with him not to move the capital, saying the people of Delhi are unhappy. Muhammad dismisses him sharply, saying they are blind to the future and must learn to understand his vision.
He then moves to his second announcement — the introduction of copper coins in the kingdom. He declares that the new copper coins will have the same value as silver dinars. The Amirs are confused and whisper that it is madness. Shihab-ud-din asks how copper can equal silver. Muhammad replies that it is all a matter of faith — the value lies not in the metal but in trust. He tells them that in China people use paper money successfully because they believe in the Emperor’s seal.
The Amirs whisper among themselves that the Sultan is insane. Muhammad overhears and asks them why they whisper. He pleads with them not to mistrust him, saying he needs their support to build a new future for India. His tone turns emotional and desperate. He says that he can order them to obey, but he cannot force them to trust him. Finally, he kneels before them, begging for faith. The Amirs are shocked and embarrassed. Shihab-ud-din tells him that a king should never beg — he must command.
Muhammad rises and asks whether they all agree with Shihab-ud-din. The Amirs quickly assure him that they do, and that they are loyal. Muhammad thanks them and picks up the Quran from the throne. He asks them to take an oath on it to support him. The room falls silent. Shihab-ud-din looks offended and asks if the Sultan really distrusts them so much. Muhammad’s face darkens with sudden rage, but he controls himself and replaces the Quran quietly.
Just then, the doorkeeper enters and announces that it is the hour of prayer. The Muezzin’s voice is heard calling out “Allaho Akbar.” Muhammad tells everyone they will pray there in the hall. He unbuckles his sword and places it on the throne. Servants bring water for ablution and prayer mats. The Sultan and the nobles wash and begin to pray, facing west. Muhammad leads the prayer with devotion and dignity.
As they kneel and bow, the Muezzin’s final call is heard from outside. At that very moment, Shihab-ud-din and the Amirs secretly draw their daggers. Their plan is to kill the Sultan during prayer — the time when all are unarmed. But before they can strike, a curtain near the throne opens suddenly. Twenty hidden Hindu soldiers rush in with spears, surround the Amirs, and trap them. Some try to run but are stopped. Terrified, they drop their weapons and are dragged away. Only Shihab-ud-din remains.
All this happens while Muhammad continues his prayer calmly, as if nothing has happened. Only after finishing does he turn to Shihab-ud-din. The hall falls silent. Shihab-ud-din asks how the Sultan guessed their plan. Muhammad replies that he received a strange letter — one not filled with abuse but signed with a name: Ratansingh. Shihab-ud-din laughs bitterly and says it’s a lie, a trick. Muhammad says quietly, “Why should I lie to a dead man?” and shows him the letter. Shihab-ud-din looks shaken.
Muhammad asks what wrong he had done to deserve betrayal. Shihab-ud-din replies that it doesn’t matter — the Sultan will never understand. Muhammad asks if even he doesn’t know the reason. Shihab-ud-din, growing desperate, shouts at him to get on with the killing. He warns that rebellion will not stop. He claims his father already knows everything and has written letters about it. Najib calmly reveals that Ratansingh had already intercepted those letters and handed them over.
In rage and terror, Shihab-ud-din screams that even if they kill him, the uprising will continue. Muhammad looks at him sadly and says, “I could have killed you with a word, but I like you too much.” Then, suddenly, he pulls out his dagger and stabs him — again and again — until he collapses. Barani cries out that Shihab-ud-din is dead. Muhammad stops and throws away the dagger, trembling with emotion.
He looks down at the body and cries, “Why must this happen, Barani? Why do all the people I trust become traitors?” He wonders aloud if his entire reign will be remembered only as a scream in the dark. Najib coldly steps forward and orders that all the captured conspirators be executed, their bodies stuffed with straw, and hung for the public to see. Muhammad agrees, saying every citizen must see what betrayal brings.
Najib warns that Shihab-ud-din’s father is powerful and will not take this quietly. Muhammad, regaining control, says they will announce publicly that the Amirs tried to assassinate him during prayer, and that Shihab-ud-din died heroically defending the Sultan. His funeral will be grand, and his father will be honored as the father of a loyal martyr. Barani groans in horror that even the dead are not safe from Muhammad’s lies.
Najib then suggests killing everyone who witnessed the event — even the loyal Hindu guards — to keep the secret. He says their deaths will make the story even more dramatic. Muhammad ignores the bloodshed and, consumed by anger, declares that he wants Delhi emptied. Within fifteen days, every person must move to Daulatabad. The city must become a silent graveyard — no lights, no smoke, no signs of life.
Barani, shocked, prays for divine protection. Muhammad, half-crazed, says even prayers have become corrupted. He bans prayer across the kingdom. Najib cunningly suggests a clever excuse — announce that prayers will stop only until the Khalif’s descendant, Ghiyas-ud-din, arrives. This will sound holy and prevent outrage. Muhammad says nothing. Najib leaves to carry out the orders.
Barani breaks down and tries to cover Shihab-ud-din’s body with a silk cloth, but Muhammad stops him. He says coldly, “Don’t cover him, Barani. I want my people to see his wounds.”
The scene ends with Muhammad staring at the dead body — the corpse of another friend turned enemy — while his kingdom moves closer to madness. His dream of justice and unity is drowned in blood and cruelty. He has become the very thing he once hated — a ruler who rules only through fear.
Scene 7:
The scene opens with the Announcer’s voice echoing across Delhi. He declares the Sultan’s new order — every citizen of Delhi must leave for Daulatabad within one month. No one is allowed to stay behind, and those who disobey will be punished severely. The announcer promises that the government will provide everything for the journey — food, clothing, and medicine. He says that all arrangements have been made for people’s comfort. It sounds polite, but behind the words lies terror and force.
Then the setting changes to a camp on the road between Delhi and Daulatabad, where thousands of people are marching and resting during the mass migration. Here we see Aziz, still disguised as a Brahmin, and his companion Aazam. They are working as camp officials, controlling the crowd and pretending to serve the Sultan’s orders.
A poor Hindu woman falls at Aziz’s feet, begging him to let her go see a doctor because her child is dying. Aziz refuses coldly, saying no one is allowed to leave the camp until they reach Daulatabad. The woman cries and pleads for mercy, swearing she will return. But Aziz only tells her to go to the hakim’s (doctor’s) tent — though he secretly hints that if she can bribe him, he might help. The woman says she has no money. Aziz becomes rude and orders her to stop crying and return to her tent. She leaves weeping.
Aazam, watching this, feels sorry for her. He asks Aziz why he won’t let her go. Aziz replies casually that the child is dying anyway and that spending money on a doctor would be useless. He even says he is doing her a favor by saving her money. He warns Aazam to be careful with money because soon it will become even more valuable.
Soon they hear footsteps — another family arrives: a man, his wife, and six children. Aziz keeps pretending to be busy, but finally looks up and scolds them for being late. The man apologizes and says there were two dead bodies on the road, and he buried them before coming.
Aziz sarcastically asks if he made sure they were Muslims before burying them. The man admits he didn’t check. Aziz pretends to be shocked and says that if they were Hindus, he might be punished for insulting their religion. The man explains humbly that he only wanted to help the dead find peace.
Aziz then asks what work he used to do in Delhi. The man replies that he was a kafir (a non-Muslim), and his job was to guard the bodies of people executed by the Sultan. He explains that he used to guard ten bodies at a time, sometimes for a week, and then take them to the canal outside the city. He also had to guard them from thieves because people would secretly come at night to take away the bodies of their relatives without paying the fine. He says the relatives of the dead had to pay bribes to take the bodies, but now no one pays, not even the rich. He calls it a terrible world full of thieves and liars.
Aziz laughs at this story, but Aazam looks disgusted. Aziz mocks the man but finally tells him that there’s a tent ready for his family. He adds cruelly that the Sultan will need many such people in Daulatabad — men who can handle corpses and follow orders without question. The man shyly mentions that he plans to get married first since he never had time in Delhi. Aazam groans in disgust and drives him away.
When the family leaves, Aazam says that the man was filthy and makes him feel sick. Aziz, however, praises him as a “real stoic,” a man who accepts everything without complaint.
But Aazam is still thinking about the poor Hindu woman. He says he wants to help her and is willing to collect money from rich travelers to pay the doctor. Aziz warns him not to try anything foolish or both of them will be punished. Aazam replies sadly that they are doomed anyway. He says one day he’ll get caught stealing, and then his hands or legs will be cut off — all that will remain for him will be a torn mat and a begging bowl.
Aziz calls him hopeless and stupid. He tells Aazam that he has learned something far greater in Delhi — the secret of politics. He says politics is a wonderful game full of money, power, and success, and yet the people in it are fools. He explains that when he was in his village, he used his clever tricks only to steal a few old clothes, but in Delhi he can use the same tricks to gain power and wealth — without even stealing! He laughs at how easily one can rise in this world if one knows how to play the game.
At that moment, the Hindu woman’s wailing is heard again. Her child has died. Aazam says bitterly that she will complain to the authorities, and warns Aziz that he will be punished for refusing to help her. Aziz remains calm and says, “Don’t call me Aziz — remember, I’m a Brahmin!” He explains that the woman will never complain against a Brahmin to a Muslim officer because that would send her soul to hell.
Then he reveals his next plan. He tells Aazam that he doesn’t intend to stay in the Sultan’s service for long. He has heard a rumor that the Sultan will soon introduce copper coins equal in value to silver coins. Aazam makes a face and says there’s no fun in stealing copper. Aziz grins and tells him to stop thinking like a thief. He says they won’t steal — they’ll make the coins themselves. They will start making counterfeit currency and become rich. He says if Aazam’s fingers are itching for work, he should use them to mint fake coins instead of stealing clothes.
They hear another group of travelers approaching. Aziz hurriedly bends over his account books and pretends to be working as the scene ends.
Scene 8:
The scene takes place in A.D. 1332, five years after the mass migration from Delhi to Daulatabad. The new capital stands silent and lifeless inside its huge fort. Two watchmen are on duty at night — one young and talkative, the other old and tired. The night is deep and still.
The young guard asks what time it is. The old man says it must be just past midnight. The young one complains that time moves too slowly now. When he was in the army, night used to pass quickly, but now it feels endless. The old man wisely says that time stands still only when you are waiting for morning — a good sentry, he says, should forget that morning even exists.
The young guard looks down the steep cliffs of the fort and admires it, calling it magnificent and strong. He points to a thin, white line far below and asks if it is the road to Delhi. The old man confirms it. The young guard says he has heard it is the widest road in the world, but from this height, it looks like a tiny snake. The old man replies bitterly that four years ago, that “snake” bit Delhi to death — meaning the forced migration that destroyed the city.
The young guard praises the fort’s strength. The old man says grimly that if this fort ever falls, it will not be because of an enemy’s attack — it will crumble from within. The young guard realizes the old man doesn’t love this place. The old man admits he doesn’t. He says he’s a man of the plains and can’t breathe easily in this mountain fortress.
When the young man asks if he is from Delhi, the old man says yes. The young guard asks if the journey to Daulatabad was hard. The old man says he survived — but his family wasn’t so lucky. They all died on the way. His old father, who had lived in Delhi all his life, died of heartbreak. His little son, Ismail, who was only six, suffocated in the dust-filled air of the journey. After that, his wife also died. The old man speaks calmly, but his words are full of pain. The young man feels ashamed and falls silent.
To change the topic, he asks about a strange secret passage inside the fort. The old man says yes, there is such a passage — long, dark, and twisted like a huge python coiled inside the belly of the fort. Then he adds bitterly that he wishes that python would come alive and swallow everyone — men, women, children, and animals — to end their misery.
Suddenly, they hear footsteps. The young man raises his spear and calls out. A calm voice answers, “Muhammad.” The young man asks, “What Muhammad?” The old man immediately scolds him — it’s the Sultan himself, Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq.
Muhammad walks in slowly, lost in thought, almost like a man in a trance. He tells the old man to fetch Barani. The old man bows and leaves. The young guard apologizes for not recognizing him. Muhammad tells him not to worry and even praises him for doing his duty.
Muhammad walks to the edge of the fort and looks down. The guard nervously warns him not to go too close — it’s a very steep fall. Muhammad smiles and says the man must be new here. The guard says yes, he joined only yesterday after serving in the army. He apologizes again if he said anything wrong. Muhammad tells him not to keep apologizing, saying that soon enough, he will learn how to flatter and fear everyone in power — that’s how people survive here.
Muhammad asks his age. “Nineteen,” the young man says. Muhammad remembers that he was twenty-one when he first came to Daulatabad and built this fort. He recalls how he had dreamed of building his own history, brick by brick, just like the fort itself.
Then he describes a mystical memory — one night, when he stood on the ramparts beside a torch and a half-built gate. The sky, the fire, and the stones seemed to melt into him. For one brief moment, he felt united with the whole universe — the earth, the grass, the smoke, and the sky all flowed in his veins. But then, when a sentry called “Attention!” that magical moment broke. Since then, he says, he has searched all his life for that same feeling — but never found it again.
He looks at the young man sadly and says, “Don’t envy me, and don’t be proud of your youth. You still have all your suffering ahead.” He tells him that twenty years later, when the guard is as old as he is now, he might remember this night.
The young man is too frightened and confused to reply. When Muhammad asks why he is silent, the man says trembling, “I don’t understand what Your Majesty is saying.”
Muhammad suddenly loses his temper, shouting, “You don’t understand! Why do you live then?” But he quickly calms down and apologizes, realizing that the guard is just another ordinary man — one of the many who cannot understand his troubled, restless mind.
Then Barani enters. Muhammad sends the guards away. He says he couldn’t bear being inside the palace anymore and needed someone to talk to. Barani says he was awake, reading a book by Imam Abu Hanifa. Muhammad envies him, saying he himself cannot read or sleep anymore. He says that five years ago, he used to pray that God would not give him sleep — now he prays for sleep and peace but finds none.
Barani gently suggests that Muhammad should see a doctor. Muhammad dismisses the idea. He says only a historian like Barani can prescribe a cure for a disease like his — the disease of a dying kingdom. He tells Barani about all the new troubles: Fakr-ud-din has rebelled in Bengal, Ehsanshah has declared himself king in Ma’bar, and Bahal-ud-din Gashtasp is raising an army against him. There’s a drought in Doab, people are starving, and everywhere people are making fake copper coins. He says bitterly that the only industry that flourishes in his kingdom is counterfeiting. He adds that there are only two men he can still trust — Ain-ul-Mulk and Shihab-ud-din’s father.
He turns to Barani and asks helplessly, “What should I do? Every cure I try only makes another disease worse.”
Barani replies softly that he is only a historian, not a ruler. But if the Sultan really wants advice, he should leave politics and return to learning and knowledge. He reminds Muhammad that he is famous for his intellect, poetry, and philosophy, not for ruling. He says, “You belong among the scholars, not among corpses.”
Muhammad laughs bitterly, asking if Barani is suggesting that he give up his throne. He says he has often thought of abdicating and going to Mecca to find peace near the Kaaba, but he cannot. The kingdom is like a dying patient, and he cannot abandon it. He says, “The only way I can abdicate is by killing myself.”
He asks in despair why fate and people are against him — why vengeance seems to chase him everywhere. He says people call him “Mad Muhammad” now, and he asks Barani, “How can I become wise again?”
Barani pleads with him to stop the cruelty and the bloodshed. He says that once Muhammad had faith, love, and hope — now he has turned his empire into a nightmare. Barani says, “Please stop the killing, and something better will grow out of it.”
But Muhammad refuses. He says that would mean admitting he had been wrong all these years, and he knows he is not wrong. He says he still has something great to teach humanity — if only people would listen before it’s too late.
Just then, the old guard rushes in, breathless. He cries, “Your Majesty, a calamity! The Nayab Vizier has sent word — Vizier Muhammad Najib is dead! His body was found in his bed. They say it is murder!”
The scene ends abruptly with this shocking news, leaving the audience feeling the full weight of betrayal, chaos, and the tragic downfall of Muhammad’s dreams.
Scene 9:
The scene opens in a hide-out in the hills. The two small-time crooks, Aziz and Aazam, are lying lazily on the ground. They are hiding after years of trickery and theft.
Aazam complains bitterly that life is too hot, too boring, and too painful — he is tired of everything. Aziz, with his usual sharp tongue, tells him to go commit suicide. Aazam says he actually tried once — he jumped into a well, but the cold water felt so nice that he started swimming and forgot all about dying. Aziz mocks him, saying he never does anything properly.
Aazam wonders why they became thieves. Why can’t they live like normal people — with a home, land, and peaceful life? Aziz replies that everyone must commit a crime once in life; only then do people recognize your “virtue.” He jokes that when you are good, nobody praises you, but when you sin, people suddenly remember how “good” you used to be. He says: first you steal, and they say “Poor boy, he was good once!” Then you kill, and they say “He never hurt anyone before!” And when you rape, they call you “a saint gone astray.”
Aazam laughs and says Aziz has already robbed and killed, so the only thing left to make him a saint is rape. Aziz jokes back that he’ll do it one day, but not for lust — only when he has the power to do it. That, he says, is real authority.
Aazam laughs and asks, “So you want to be a Sultan now?” Aziz replies that he might as well, because kings also rob — only they call it ruling.
Aazam is satisfied with their hideout and easy life, but Aziz says he’s tired of running and hiding. He dreams of power — of robbing people openly and punishing them for being robbed. “That’s class,” he says, “that’s being a real king.” Aazam jokes that he’d like to serve in Aziz’s court as a “court thief,” and Aziz bursts out laughing, calling it a brilliant idea.
Just then, their partner Karim enters, dragging a bound and gagged man. Aziz had paid him to bring a rich Turkish merchant. But when they untie the man, Aziz is horrified — it’s the wrong person.
The captive shouts angrily that he warned Karim of his mistake but was ignored. He says he is a descendant of the Abbasid Khalifs, named Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid, a Guest of Honour of Sultan Muhammad himself.
Aziz and Aazam fall flat on the ground in fear. The man rages that this insult will be punished. Aziz apologizes humbly, saying it was a terrible mistake. To calm him, Aziz and Aazam offer to serve him as guides and slaves till he reaches Daulatabad. Ghiyas-ud-din arrogantly agrees — he needs helpers because the countryside is full of thieves.
He sits proudly while Aazam spreads a mat and offers him fruit. Aziz pretends to be respectful and warns him that the Sultan is in a suspicious mood and has been punishing people harshly. He adds that the Sultan once killed a man just for claiming to be from the Prophet’s family.
Ghiyas-ud-din proudly says he has the Sultan’s letter and ring as proof of his identity. He shows the ring — simple and without jewels, so as not to attract thieves. Aziz, pretending to admire his wisdom, asks more questions. Ghiyas-ud-din grows irritated and orders him to keep quiet.
Then, suddenly, Aziz starts laughing. Ghiyas-ud-din becomes uneasy. Aziz jumps up, laughing loudly, and tells Aazam that this is the real opportunity they’ve been waiting for. He says the Sultan has chosen this fool from Arabia for some purpose, but no one will even notice if he dies — there are plenty of “descendants” of the Khalifs in the world. He declares that he himself will take Ghiyas-ud-din’s place!
Ghiyas-ud-din panics, begging for his life. He says he’s poor and will give them whatever he has — the letters, the ring, anything — if they just let him go. Aazam too begs Aziz not to kill him. Aziz coldly tells Aazam to leave.
Ghiyas-ud-din falls to his knees, clutching Aziz’s legs, weeping, promising to go back to Arabia. Aziz refuses to listen. Ghiyas-ud-din gives him a sudden push and runs. Aziz yells for Aazam to stop him. There’s a sound of struggle offstage — Ghiyas-ud-din screams, then silence.
Aazam returns trembling, covered in blood, terrified at what they’ve done. Aziz strolls in wearing the dead man’s turban and robe. He mocks Aazam for crying, saying he has seen corpses all his life — so why weep now? Aazam sobs that he should have let the man go. Aziz ignores him and admires himself, boasting, “How do I look — the great-grandson of the Khalif!”
He tells Aazam to laugh and celebrate, shouting that the palace doors are opening for them. He begins to dance wildly and sing:
“Grandson of the Khalif!
Great-grandson of the Khalif!
Great-great-great-grandson of the Khalif!”
Aazam watches him, horrified, then slowly begins to laugh too, drawn into Aziz’s mad excitement.
Scene 10:
Muhammad is standing by a palace window, looking out silently. His step-mother rushes in, deeply worried about the situation outside.
She asks him anxiously if he knows what’s happening. He replies calmly that he does. She pleads with him to stop it, asking why he’s doing such a thing. Muhammad says there’s no other choice — he had announced that the new copper coins would have the same value as silver dinars, and now he must stand by his own word.
She calls it madness. The Vizier has reported that five hundred carts are standing outside the palace, all loaded with fake copper coins. Is he really going to exchange all that for silver? Muhammad accepts that it’s his own fault for not foreseeing this. If he refuses now, he says, the entire economy will collapse.
His step-mother grows more desperate. “You are legalizing robbery,” she cries. Muhammad says it’s their money — the people’s money — and he cannot destroy them to save himself. She asks what good a treasury full of counterfeit coins will do. Muhammad replies quietly that the coins won’t go into the treasury at all — they will all be dumped in the new rose garden.
She is shocked. That garden was his dream, his personal creation. She reminds him that he spent years planning it. Muhammad says he built it because he wanted to make it a living symbol of Saadi’s poetry — every rose representing beauty and every thorn awakening the senses. But now, he says bitterly, he doesn’t need such beauty anymore. “A funeral,” he adds, “does not need flowers.”
The step-mother pleads with him to stop the funeral — to stop the endless stream of deaths. She warns him that the Amirs and Khans are growing restless because he keeps questioning them about the murder of Najib. Muhammad answers that he’s not persecuting them — he only wants to know who killed his trusted adviser.
She says she has heard that five Amirs have run away. Muhammad corrects her: only four fled; the fifth, Amir Jalal-ud-din, committed suicide. He explains that Jalal-ud-din had told his wife he knew who killed Najib, and a servant overheard it.
The step-mother pleads again. “Najib is dead,” she says. “Let it go.” Muhammad insists he must find the truth. He says it’s strange that an Amir would kill himself to protect the murderer — it means the murderer is someone very important.
At this point, she suddenly blurts out that she is glad Najib is dead. She says he destroyed Muhammad’s peace, turning everyone — the nobles, the clergy, and the people — against him. “It’s all his work,” she cries, “I’m glad he’s gone.”
Muhammad quietly says Najib was never loyal to him as a person but to the throne itself. He had always respected Najib for that. Then, to her horror, she confesses — “I had him poisoned.”
Muhammad is shocked and thinks she’s joking. He tells her not to torture him with such words. But she insists she’s serious. “It was easier,” she says coldly, “than killing a father or a brother. Better than killing Sheikh Imam-ud-din.”
Muhammad shouts that he killed those men — his father, his brother, and the Sheikh — but he did it for a higher ideal, not for selfish gain. He has paid the price, he says, suffering their curses every day. Even his mother won’t speak to him, and he can’t look in a mirror without seeing their faces. He reminds her that he had only three true friends in the world — her, Najib, and Barani — and now even she has betrayed him.
She pleads that she only wanted to save him, not to hurt him. She tells him how glorious he was when he first came to the throne — full of dreams, courage, and ideals. “Now,” she says sadly, “your kingdom has become a kitchen of death. I couldn’t bear it any longer.”
Muhammad listens, then reveals something she didn’t know — Najib had actually been advising him to stop the violence and to govern with restraint. “He was the one who wanted peace,” Muhammad says.
She answers bitterly, “Then why didn’t you let him finish you instead?”
Muhammad replies, “Because I couldn’t.” He remembers the first man he killed with his own hands — Shihab-ud-din — and says he learned then that only the sword can keep his faith in his mission alive. Still, he wonders aloud why Najib had to die.
His step-mother answers quietly, “You have had your share of deaths. This one is mine.”
Muhammad shouts that his killings were not futile — they gave him strength and power to act. “What did your murder give you?” he cries.
He suddenly freezes, realizing something. He looks at her sharply and accuses her: “So you are also one of them! You wanted control, didn’t you? Like my mother — she couldn’t control me, and now you tried the same game. You got rid of Najib so that you could rule through me.”
She denies it, saying she only cares for him, not power. But Muhammad, half-crazed, says she thought he would never punish her because he loved her too much. “That was the price of your love!” he cries in pain.
She tries to comfort him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He jerks away and shouts, “Don’t touch me! There’s only one punishment for treachery — death!” He claps for the guards.
She pleads with him to stop, saying that her death will only add another ghost to his haunted life. But Muhammad is firm. “The others died unjustly,” he says, “but you deserve to die.”
Two soldiers enter. Muhammad tells them she is worse than an adulteress. Then, coldly, he orders, “Take her to prison. Tell the Nayab Vizier she is to be stoned to death publicly tomorrow morning.”
His step-mother is horrified. She begs for mercy, sobbing, “Not that, Muhammad, not that!” He answers harshly, “That is how an adulteress dies. Take her away.”
The soldiers drag her off, screaming. Muhammad stands frozen for a moment, then falls to his knees, shaking.
He breaks down in prayer, calling out to God in agony. His body and soul are soaked in blood — his own and others’. “I started on Your path, Lord,” he cries, “but now I wander lost in a desert. I am like a pig rolling in mud. Please lift me up, clean me, cover me with Your mercy. I have no one left but You.”
At that moment, Barani enters. He stops at the door, stunned by the sight. Muhammad looks up and says with desperate relief, “Come in, Barani. You’ve come at the right time. You’ve saved me from treachery.”
Scene 11:
The scene takes place outside the fort at Daulatabad, several years after Sultan Muhammad’s decision to shift the capital from Delhi. The plain is full of hungry, angry, and desperate citizens.
The people are suffering terribly. There is no food anywhere, only announcements about prayers. The first man mocks the idea of prayer: “Who needs prayer now? We need food!” The second man adds that only the palace has food while the common people are starving. The Amirs, the nobles, still eat well, while the poor are left to die.
Another man mentions that the Sultan’s granary has been opened, but there is not even a grain of rice inside — nothing left to eat. The people are furious.
A third man tries to compare their condition to that of villagers in Doab. He says things are worse there: people are paying twenty silver grains for a handful of wheat. On the roads, he saw skeletons of people who died of hunger. He tells how people are eating tree bark and even skins of dead horses to survive.
His stories become unbearable. Another man, angry and heartbroken, attacks him and beats him while crying. This short fight shows how misery has made the people lose their humanity.
Then the royal announcers enter from two opposite sides of the stage, both shouting grand, exaggerated titles:
One announces Sultan Muhammad Tughlaq as the “Slave of the Lord, Upholder of the Prophet’s Word.”
The other announces Ghiyas-ud-din Muhammad, the “Descendant of the Holy Khalif.”
At this moment, two processions enter from opposite sides — one led by Muhammad, the other by Aziz, now disguised as Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid, the supposed descendant of the Khalif. Aziz’s friend Aazam follows him. The real Khalif, whom Aziz murdered earlier, is gone — and now the impostor stands before the Sultan.
The atmosphere is tense and confused. The crowd falls silent as Muhammad and Aziz come face to face. For a moment, Muhammad seems uncertain — as if he senses something is wrong.
Among the onlookers is the Hindu woman from Scene Seven — the same woman whose dying child Aziz had refused to help. She recognizes him instantly, though he is dressed in royal robes. She stares in shock, whispering, “It’s him!”
But before anyone else can react, Muhammad steps forward and embraces Aziz warmly. He addresses him as “Your Holiness” and welcomes him with deep reverence. He tells Aziz that he and his kingdom have waited for years for this moment — for the arrival of a holy man who could bless and purify the land.
Muhammad, full of emotion, kneels and says that only the dust from Aziz’s feet can cleanse his sins and his people’s suffering. The crowd gasps in surprise at seeing their Sultan bow before this so-called saint. Everyone else kneels as well.
Aziz, the fake Khalif, simply raises his hand and says “Amen”, pretending to bless the Sultan. The two then embrace again and depart together, with the royal announcements echoing around them.
After they leave, the Hindu woman can no longer control herself. She screams, crying out that the man Muhammad has just worshipped killed her child. The people around her become restless. Confusion spreads. Someone asks what she said — another replies, “She says someone killed her child.” Someone else mutters, “Probably the Sultan!”
The crowd’s anger explodes. One man shouts that his own daughter died of hunger and that the Sultan has murdered them all by starvation. Another yells that they don’t want prayers anymore — only food.
Soon, the cries spread through the crowd:
“We want food — not prayer!”
“Kill us quickly, don’t starve us to death!”
A soldier tries to quiet them, but the mob turns violent. They attack him, and chaos breaks out. More soldiers rush in and begin beating the citizens brutally. The scene ends in complete confusion and rioting, symbolizing the total collapse of Muhammad’s rule.
Scene 12:
The scene takes place inside the palace at Daulatabad, now a place of fear and madness. The kingdom is falling apart, the people outside are rioting, and the city is filled with death.
Aziz, still disguised as Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid, sits comfortably inside the palace, eating fruit as if nothing is wrong. His friend Aazam rushes in, terrified and restless.
Aazam calls out to him, but Aziz snaps angrily: “Don’t call me by that name!” He insists that even his own friend must not forget his royal disguise.
Aazam ignores the warning and blurts out that he is leaving. Aziz is shocked — “Leaving? Where?” Aazam says he doesn’t know exactly where to go, but he’s bribed two palace servants to bring horses. They’ll arrive in half an hour, and he wants Aziz to hurry and escape with him.
Aziz laughs at his fear. He warns Aazam that bribing the servants was foolish — they might betray him to the Sultan. He insists that the palace is the safest place to be right now.
But Aazam, trembling, insists otherwise. He says the city has turned into hell. He has secretly gone out twice through a hidden passage he discovered when they first arrived. Outside, he says, the streets are filled with dead bodies and flies, and the air stinks of decay and blood. People have been fighting, killing, and burning houses for a week. The whole city looks like a graveyard. Today there’s a short calm, he explains, only because people are busy burying the dead.
Aziz listens coldly, not moved by Aazam’s horror. He mocks him for being scared. Aazam, frustrated, calls the Sultan mad and warns that no one is safe near such a man. “He slaughters people for nothing,” Aazam says. “How can you trust him?”
Then Aazam tells Aziz about something strange he saw from his window one night. Outside in the palace garden there are piles of counterfeit copper coins — the fake money that Aziz and Aazam had once helped to make. On that night, Aazam saw the Sultan himself wandering among those heaps. The Sultan stood silently for a long time, then began to dig into the coins, letting the metal trickle through his fingers again and again. He does this every night, Aazam says, as if possessed. It’s like witchcraft.
But Aziz remains calm. He says mockingly, “So you’re running away because the Sultan can’t sleep?” He reminds Aazam that they have gained wealth and power, and that their position is secure. If Aazam disappears now, it will look suspicious — how will the “holy” Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid (Aziz) explain where his disciple has gone?
Aazam begs him to come too. He says he’s packed up all the gifts and treasures they’ve received — a huge bundle that will last them a lifetime. He admits that he’s foolish and weak, but he trusts Aziz’s cleverness. He just wants to escape the terror of Daulatabad and live in peace somewhere far away.
Aziz, still arrogant, orders him to stay. “I order you to stay, Aazam!” But Aazam can’t. He says he’ll die of fear if he stays another night in this haunted place.
Aziz grows angry and calls him a traitor. Aazam pleads once more — “Please come with me, Aziz! We’ll forget all this wealth, these courts, and this false luxury. Let’s live simply and peacefully.” He even says he will kiss Aziz’s feet if he agrees.
But Aziz stays silent.
Finally, with a heavy heart, Aazam says goodbye and walks out quietly into the darkness. Aziz mutters after him, “Idiot!” — but behind his words is a strange emptiness.
Scene 13:
The last scene of Tughlaq takes place in the palace at Daulatabad, and it is one of the most powerful and emotional moments of the play. It shows the final stage of Sultan Muhammad’s downfall — when even his dreams, his faith, and his sanity begin to crumble completely.
Muhammad sits in the palace with Barani, who looks sad and disturbed. Muhammad gently asks him why he wants to leave. Barani explains that he has received a letter from his hometown, Baran, saying that his mother has died. He couldn’t be with her when she died, and now he wishes to attend her funeral.
Muhammad asks softly, “Do you know what she died of?” Barani replies that the letter did not say. The Sultan then pauses and says quietly that he already knows. She must have died in the riots, when his soldiers killed people mercilessly — old men, women, and even children. He admits that he is partly responsible for that massacre, but he feels hurt that even Barani — his closest companion — has lied to him.
Barani, almost weeping, says he doesn’t know what to say and begs the Sultan not to ask further. There is silence — a silence heavy with guilt and sorrow.
Suddenly, a soldier rushes in, gasping for breath. He announces terrible news: Aazam Jahan, the close friend of the holy man Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid, has been found dead near the secret tunnel of the palace. Muhammad questions him calmly but with growing tension.
The soldier explains that he heard a scream near the tunnel and found Aazam lying in a pool of blood. Before dying, Aazam seemed to be laughing — a strange, unsettling laugh that haunts the soldier.
Muhammad listens in shock but quickly controls his emotions. He orders the soldier not to tell anyone — not even “His Holiness” Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid. No one must know that Aazam is dead.
After the soldier leaves, Muhammad turns to Barani and says bitterly, “Isn’t it ironic that a man who came all the way from Arabia prefers to wander the bloody streets instead of staying in my palace?” Barani is confused and frightened. He doesn’t understand what the Sultan means. Muhammad tells him to wait — soon he will see “history taking shape” before his eyes.
Barani tries to explain that he is not leaving out of hatred or disappointment. He thanks the Sultan for letting him witness history up close. But Muhammad cuts him short impatiently. “Must there be a farewell speech before you go? You want to go — go.”
Then Barani suddenly remembers the public prayer, the first in five years, scheduled to begin soon. He says it would not be right to hold the prayer when the palace is mourning Aazam’s death. But Muhammad insists that the prayer must go on. It is being held to honour the arrival of Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid, the holy man — the very man who, unknown to everyone, is Aziz in disguise.
The Sultan even laughs bitterly, saying that if his old friend Najib were alive, he would have enjoyed this strange drama.
At that moment, Aziz enters, dressed like the holy man Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid, with soldiers following him. He bows grandly and blesses the Sultan. Muhammad greets him with forced warmth and courtesy, but soon his tone becomes cold and dangerous.
He tells Aziz that there is tragic news: his companion Aazam Jahan has been found murdered. Aziz pretends to be shocked and mournful. “May Allah save our souls,” he says dramatically. “What has the world come to when even the innocent are not spared?”
Muhammad suddenly interrupts him, his voice like a blade: “Who are you?”
There is silence. Aziz is frightened. Muhammad repeats the question, this time more threateningly: “Who are you? How long did you hope to fool me?”
Finally, Aziz confesses: “I am a dhobi (washerman) from Shiknar. My first name was Aziz — there have been many others since.”
Barani gasps in horror. Muhammad’s face hardens. He asks if Aziz knows the punishment for killing a holy man and deceiving the Sultan. But Aziz, recovering his boldness, says calmly that it would be unfair to punish him — because he has always followed the Sultan’s teachings faithfully.
Aziz then begins his brilliant and dangerous speech. He says that he has carefully studied all of Muhammad’s ideas and tried to live by them. He reminds the Sultan that he had once declared the brotherhood of all religions and the equality of all men. “Surely,” he says, “Your Majesty has never believed that greatness depends on birth or family.”
Barani warns Muhammad not to listen to him, calling Aziz a devil. But Aziz keeps talking cleverly, twisting the Sultan’s own words to his advantage. He reminds Muhammad of how he once appeared before him disguised as a Brahmin (in the earlier scene), how he used the Sultan’s copper coins, and how every act of his life has been inspired by the Sultan’s policies.
Aziz admits openly that he killed Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid, but he claims it was an act of faith — a reflection of Muhammad’s own ways. “I am your true disciple,” he says, “because I have lived exactly according to your teachings.”
Muhammad explodes with rage, calling him a fool and a liar. But Aziz stays calm and replies with sharp wit:
“What if I am a dhobi, Your Majesty? When it comes to washing away filth, no saint is a match for a dhobi.”
This sentence shocks everyone. Muhammad stares at him for a moment — and then, suddenly, he bursts into loud, almost hysterical laughter. He shouts, “Checkmate! Checkmate!” as if playing a final game of chess.
Then something unexpected happens. Instead of ordering Aziz’s death, Muhammad asks him what punishment he thinks he deserves. Aziz boldly replies, “Make me an officer in your State.”
Barani is stunned with disbelief. But Muhammad, tired and broken, strangely agrees. “Perhaps that would be the best punishment,” he says. He tells Aziz to go to the Deccan with a letter to Khusrau Malik, who will appoint him as an officer.
Aziz bows and pretends to thank him humbly. Muhammad reminds him that he must still act as Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid and lead the public prayer. Aziz leaves triumphantly, once again deceiving the world.
Barani turns to the Sultan, horrified. “Why?” he cries. “Why did you let him go? He’s a murderer and a cheat!”
Muhammad answers sadly, “All your life you wait for someone who understands you… and when you find him, you punish him. It’s the punishment for wanting too much.” He sees in Aziz a reflection of his own madness and ambition.
Barani tries to warn him again, but Muhammad seems beyond reason. He speaks of the famine, the rebellions, and the betrayal of friends. Then he says he has decided to return to Delhi.
Barani cannot understand him. He begs the Sultan to stop destroying himself and his people. Muhammad only smiles bitterly and says he no longer believes in logic or justice. “All I need now,” he says, “is myself and my madness. But I am not alone anymore — I have God with me.”
Barani, terrified and broken, says he must leave before he too is consumed by madness. Muhammad nods faintly and says, “Go, Barani. But before you go — pray for us.”
Barani leaves with tears in his eyes. Muhammad leans back on his throne, closing his eyes. For the first time in five years, he feels sleepy.
A servant enters quietly and sees him asleep. The servant covers him with a shawl. The call to prayer (Azaan) echoes through the air — “Allahu Akbar, La ilaha illallah…”
The servant hesitates to wake the Sultan, then quietly leaves.
As the Azaan fades, Muhammad suddenly opens his eyes. He looks around in confusion, frightened, as though he doesn’t know where he is.
The curtain slowly falls.
Character Sketch of Tughlaq by Girish Karnad
Sultan Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq, the ruler of Delhi, is the central figure and the tragic hero of the play. Girish Karnad portrays him as a man of extraordinary intellect, immense ambition, and deep contradictions. He is a philosopher-king who dreams of uniting India under one rule where justice, equality, and religion coexist harmoniously. His reforms — shifting the capital from Delhi to Daulatabad and introducing copper currency — show his visionary mind and modern ideas.
However, Tughlaq’s brilliance is overshadowed by his impulsiveness and cruelty. He cannot tolerate opposition, and his idealism turns into tyranny. He kills his father and brother for power, executes loyal followers like Sheikh Imam-ud-din and Shihab-ud-din, and ends up losing the trust of his people. As the play progresses, he becomes isolated, suspicious, and mentally unstable.
In the end, Tughlaq stands as a broken man — a symbol of the failure of idealism when it is unbalanced by compassion. He is both admirable and pitiable — “the most intelligent and the most tragic of kings,” whose downfall is caused by his own dreams.
Barani is a scholar, historian, and one of the Sultan’s most loyal and sincere followers. He represents wisdom, learning, and moral conscience in the play. At first, Barani admires the Sultan’s intelligence and visionary ideas. However, as Tughlaq’s rule becomes cruel and chaotic, Barani’s faith begins to weaken.
He often tries to guide the Sultan with honesty and humility but fails to change his master’s course. His conversations with Muhammad reveal the difference between reason and passion, between theory and practice. While Barani believes in religion and moral order, the Sultan believes in logic and absolute power.
By the end, Barani grows disillusioned and decides to leave the Sultan’s service, realizing that knowledge and ethics cannot survive in a corrupt regime. His departure symbolizes the exit of wisdom from the kingdom. He stands for integrity and the helplessness of the intellectual class in the face of political madness.
Sheikh Imam-ud-din is a revered religious leader known for his honesty, simplicity, and courage. He openly criticizes Tughlaq’s un-Islamic actions and his misuse of power. The Sultan, pretending to respect his criticism, invites him to speak before the court. But instead, he cleverly manipulates the Sheikh for his political purpose.
Tughlaq makes Imam-ud-din dress like the Sultan and sends him to meet Ain-ul-Mulk, leading to the Sheikh’s murder. His death is one of the most shocking acts of treachery in the play. Through Imam-ud-din’s character, Karnad shows the death of faith and morality in the face of political ambition.
He represents true religion — humble, sincere, and just — which is destroyed by false logic and lust for power. His murder marks the beginning of the Sultan’s moral downfall.
Najib is the Sultan’s Vizier (chief minister) and his most cunning political advisor. He is ambitious, practical, and entirely self-serving. He flatters Muhammad constantly and encourages his violent actions in the name of efficiency. He supports the Sultan’s harsh policies and manipulates situations for his own gain.
Through Najib, Karnad portrays the opportunistic bureaucrats who destroy honest rulers by feeding their ego. Although Najib is clever, his overconfidence and deceitful nature lead to his death — he is poisoned by the Step-Mother. His murder triggers suspicion and chaos in the palace, symbolizing the decay of trust in Tughlaq’s administration.
Najib represents political corruption and manipulation — a man who believes that ends justify the means.
Aziz is one of the most dynamic and symbolic characters in Tughlaq. A washerman (dhobi) by birth, he is poor but extremely intelligent and cunning. He uses disguises and tricks to survive and exploit the Sultan’s policies. He first appears as a Brahmin who sues the Sultan and wins, taking advantage of Tughlaq’s law of equality among religions. Later, he becomes a fake saint and finally murders Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid to impersonate him.
Aziz’s cleverness exposes the flaws in Tughlaq’s idealistic reforms. While the Sultan tries to rule through intellect and justice, Aziz manipulates the same ideals for personal gain. Ironically, by the end, Aziz becomes a reflection of Tughlaq himself — both are dreamers corrupted by deceit.
When the Sultan forgives Aziz and even offers him a post, it shows the complete collapse of morality and logic in the empire. Aziz symbolizes the common man who learns to survive through cunning in a corrupt world. He also represents the comic yet tragic irony of power — a dhobi becoming equal to a king.
Aazam is Aziz’s companion and partner in crime. He is good-natured but cowardly and superstitious. Unlike Aziz, he lacks ambition and intelligence. His main concern is safety and comfort, while Aziz dreams of power. Aazam’s loyalty to Aziz is touching, but he is constantly afraid of being caught or punished.
He often serves as comic relief in the play, softening its tragic and political tone. However, his death is symbolic — he is killed while trying to escape from the palace, representing the destruction of innocence and loyalty in Tughlaq’s corrupt world.
Through Aazam, Karnad shows how even small, harmless people suffer in the chaos created by great men’s ambitions.
The Step-Mother is one of the few emotional characters in the play. She deeply loves Muhammad but is tormented by his cruelty and political madness. She serves as his emotional anchor, pleading with him to stop the killings and restore peace. Her love for him is maternal, protective, and selfless.
However, when she realizes that Najib is corrupting her son, she poisons the vizier. Her confession shocks Muhammad, who, in his fury, orders her to be stoned to death as an adulteress. Her tragic end shows the complete loss of humanity in Tughlaq’s world.
She represents affection, compassion, and emotional sanity — the qualities that Tughlaq desperately needs but ultimately destroys. Her death leaves him utterly alone and marks the point of no return in his downfall.
Shihab-ud-din is one of the nobles in the Sultan’s court. Initially loyal and respectful, he gradually turns against Muhammad due to the ruler’s increasing cruelty and injustice. He joins the conspiracy to assassinate the Sultan during prayer.
However, the plot fails, and Shihab-ud-din is killed brutally by Tughlaq’s own hands. His murder while praying symbolizes the destruction of faith and devotion under Tughlaq’s corrupt logic.
Shihab-ud-din’s character reflects the disillusionment of the nobles who once admired Tughlaq’s vision but later see his tyranny. His death reveals how power isolates the ruler from all forms of loyalty and love.
Ratan Singh is an important character in Girish Karnad’s Tughlaq. He is the adopted brother of Shihab-ud-din and one of the nobles in the Sultan’s court. He is brave, intelligent, and practical, but also deeply affected by the cruelty and corruption around him. His father was once killed by Shihab-ud-din’s father, which creates a hidden tension between the two brothers, though they remain close.
Ratan Singh loses faith in Sultan Muhammad Tughlaq because of the Sultan’s cruel policies — such as the heavy taxes, the killing of Sheikh Imam-ud-din, and the forced move from Delhi to Daulatabad. He openly criticizes Tughlaq and calls him an “honest scoundrel,” showing his courage and his hatred for hypocrisy.
Later, Ratan Singh becomes one of the main leaders of the secret plan to kill the Sultan. He cleverly suggests attacking Tughlaq during prayer, knowing that the Sultan’s rule forbids carrying weapons at that time. His plan shows his sharp mind and deep frustration with the Sultan’s false justice.
However, in the end, Ratan Singh betrays the rebels by revealing their plan to the Sultan. His betrayal leads to the capture and death of Shihab-ud-din and other conspirators. This act makes him a tragic figure — a man caught between fear, revenge, and survival.
Ratan Singh’s character represents the ordinary man destroyed by Tughlaq’s madness. He starts as a brave rebel seeking justice but ends as a frightened traitor, showing how tyranny corrupts even those who begin with good intentions.
Ain-ul-Mulk is the Sultan’s foster brother and governor of a distant province. He is wise, experienced, and politically mature. When he rebels against Muhammad, it is not out of ambition but because he believes the Sultan has lost touch with justice and faith.
Even in rebellion, Ain-ul-Mulk shows nobility and restraint. Tughlaq respects him, calling him “a man of honour,” though he cannot forgive him. Ain-ul-Mulk represents balanced judgment — the kind of leadership that Muhammad lacks. He is the moral contrast to the Sultan’s impulsive and violent temperament.
Sheikh Shams-ud-din is one of the Muslim clerics who conspire against Tughlaq. He pretends to be religious and righteous, but in reality, he uses faith for political purposes. He symbolizes religious hypocrisy — men who twist religion for personal advantage.
Through him, Karnad criticizes the misuse of religion in politics, showing that both the Sultan and the clerics are corrupt in their own ways. While Tughlaq uses logic to destroy religion, the clerics use religion to destroy logic.
Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid is introduced as a descendant of the Khalif of Baghdad. Tughlaq invites him to India to legitimize his rule in the eyes of the Muslim world. Abbasid is simple, naïve, and unaware of court intrigues. His arrival gives hope for moral revival, but his murder by Aziz crushes that hope completely.
His death symbolizes the loss of true faith and purity in Tughlaq’s world. The fact that a fake saint replaces him shows how truth and deception become indistinguishable in the Sultan’s empire.
The crowd in Tughlaq — the citizens, refugees, and soldiers — are not just background figures. They represent the suffering soul of the kingdom. They starve, riot, and finally rebel against the Sultan’s unfulfilled promises. Their shifting mood — from admiration to hatred — mirrors the journey of Tughlaq’s rule.
Through their voices, Karnad shows the social cost of political ambition. The people become victims of the Sultan’s dreams, losing food, homes, and faith. They are the true sufferers of the chaos that intellect without compassion can create.
Girish Karnad
Early Life and Education
Girish Raghunath Karnad was born on May 19, 1938, in Matheran, Maharashtra, into a Konkani-speaking Saraswat Brahmin family. His father, Dr. Raghunath Karnad, was a medical officer, and his mother, Krishna Bai (Krishnabai Mankeekar), was a nurse and later a social worker. He grew up in Sirsi and Dharwad in Karnataka, where he developed a deep love for Kannada literature, music, and traditional performing arts like Yakshagana and Bayalata, which later influenced his dramatic imagination.
He studied at Karnatak College, Dharwad, and graduated in Mathematics and Statistics in 1958. The same year, he was selected as a Rhodes Scholar to study at Oxford University, where he earned a Master’s degree in Philosophy, Politics, and Economics (PPE) from Magdalen College. At Oxford, Karnad was exposed to modern Western playwrights such as Bertolt Brecht, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Henrik Ibsen, whose ideas of realism, symbolism, and existentialism left a strong impact on him.
Beginning of a Literary Journey
After returning to India, Karnad joined Oxford University Press in Madras (Chennai) as an editor. During this time, he began writing plays in Kannada, which later became landmarks in Indian literature. His first play, Yayati (1961), reinterpreted a myth from the Mahabharata, exploring the moral and psychological struggles of man’s desires and responsibilities. The play won the Karnataka Sahitya Akademi Award and established him as a major new voice in Kannada theatre.
Rise to Fame – Tughlaq and National Recognition
Karnad’s second play, Tughlaq (1964), made him a national name. The play tells the story of Muhammad bin Tughlaq, a 14th-century Sultan of Delhi whose reign began with high ideals but ended in chaos and disillusionment. The play reflects the collapse of political idealism in post-independence India, often compared to the failed dreams of Nehru’s India.
Tughlaq was first performed in Kannada in 1965 and later translated into Hindi and English. Karnad’s own English translation, directed by Alyque Padamsee at Bhulabhai Auditorium, Bombay, in 1970, brought him wide fame. The play was published by Oxford University Press in 1971, earning critical praise for its depth, symbolism, and timeless political message.
Other Major Plays
Karnad continued to write several brilliant plays combining myth, folklore, and modern thought.
Some of his most notable works include:
Hayavadana (1971): A philosophical play exploring identity and human completeness, inspired by The Transposed Heads by Thomas Mann.
Nagamandala (1988): Based on Kannada folk tales, it focuses on love, imagination, and women’s repression in a patriarchal world.
Taledanda (1990): A historical play about the 12th-century social reform movement of Basavanna in Karnataka.
The Fire and the Rain (1995): A reworking of a story from the Mahabharata exploring ambition and spiritual emptiness.
Boiled Beans on Toast (1995): A social satire depicting the urbanization and moral decay of modern Bangalore.
His plays have been translated into several Indian and foreign languages and have been staged widely in India and abroad. Karnad’s use of history and mythology to address modern issues made him one of India’s most intellectually daring dramatists.
Film Career: Acting, Direction, and Screenwriting
Apart from theatre, Girish Karnad made a lasting impact on Indian cinema as an actor, screenwriter, and director. His film career began with the classic Kannada film Samskara (1970), based on U. R. Ananthamurthy’s novel. The film, directed by Pattabhirama Reddy, won the President’s Gold Medal for Best Feature Film, and Karnad’s performance received immense acclaim.
He went on to act in and direct several award-winning Kannada films, including:
Vamsha Vriksha (1971) – which he co-directed with B. V. Karanth and won the National Film Award for Best Direction.
Kaadu (1973) and Tabbaliyu Neenade Magane (1977) – both exploring complex human emotions and rural life.
In Hindi cinema, Karnad acted in several critically acclaimed films such as Manthan (1976), Swami (1977), Nishant (1975), Utsav (1984), and later in popular films like Iqbal (2005), Dor (2006), Ek Tha Tiger (2012), and Tiger Zinda Hai (2017).
He was also a talented screenwriter, contributing to landmark films such as Bhumika (1977) and Godhuli (1977). His ability to merge cinematic realism with philosophical ideas reflected the same intellectual sharpness found in his plays.
Public Life and Contributions
Girish Karnad also served in various important cultural and educational roles. He was:
Director of the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII), Pune (1974–1975)
Chairman of the Sangeet Natak Akademi, New Delhi (1988–1993)
President of the Karnataka Sahitya Academy
He was known for his outspoken views on secularism, rationalism, and artistic freedom. Karnad often used his public platform to speak against intolerance and social injustice. Despite controversies, he remained a respected moral and intellectual voice in Indian society.
Awards and Achievements
Girish Karnad received numerous national and international honours for his contribution to literature, theatre, and cinema:
Padma Shri – 1974
Sangeet Natak Akademi Award – 1972
Padma Bhushan – 1992
Jnanpith Award – 1998 (India’s highest literary honour)
Kalidas Samman – 1998
Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award (South) – 2011
National Film Awards for acting, direction, and screenplay in several films
He was also honoured with fellowships and doctorates from many universities for his outstanding literary and artistic achievements.
Later Life and Death
Even in his later years, Karnad continued to write, act, and participate in theatre and cinema. He remained intellectually active and continued to express his views on politics, art, and society through public speeches and writings.
Girish Karnad passed away on June 10, 2019, in Bangalore, Karnataka, after suffering from a prolonged illness. He was 81 years old. His death was widely mourned across India, with tributes pouring in from writers, artists, filmmakers, and political leaders.
Legacy
Girish Karnad’s contribution to Indian literature, theatre, and cinema is immense and enduring. He redefined modern Indian drama by blending myth, history, and folklore with contemporary psychological and political insights. His plays challenged moral conventions, questioned authority, and reflected the tensions between tradition and modernity, faith and reason, idealism and corruption.
As a playwright, filmmaker, and thinker, Karnad remains a towering figure who bridged India’s past with its present. His works continue to be performed and studied across the world, ensuring that his voice—rational, poetic, and profoundly human—remains alive in Indian culture.
Themes
Idealism vs. Reality
One of the central themes of Tughlaq is the clash between high ideals and harsh realities. Sultan Muhammad Tughlaq begins his rule with noble dreams — he wants to unite Hindus and Muslims, create a just administration, and rule through reason instead of religion. His vision is centuries ahead of his time, making him a symbol of modernity in a medieval world. However, his people are not ready for such rapid change. His idealistic reforms — like shifting the capital from Delhi to Daulatabad and introducing copper currency — collapse in practice because of human greed and ignorance. Karnad shows how Tughlaq’s lofty vision becomes his downfall, proving that wisdom without practicality leads to destruction. The theme reflects the tragic distance between what should be and what is.
Religion and Politics
The play explores the dangerous relationship between religion and politics. Tughlaq begins his rule by declaring equality among all religions, hoping to create a secular state. But as chaos spreads, religion becomes a tool of control and manipulation. Tughlaq himself uses religious symbols for political ends, such as inviting a holy man like Sheikh Imam-ud-din to Daulatabad only to have him killed. His failure lies in confusing faith with strategy — trying to use religion to gain power instead of peace. Karnad uses this theme to comment on how rulers throughout history, including in modern India, have used religion to strengthen authority while destroying humanity. In Tughlaq, religion becomes both a mask for politics and a mirror of corruption.
Power and Corruption
Power is portrayed in Tughlaq as a corrupting and isolating force. The Sultan begins as a philosopher-king, confident in his moral and intellectual strength. But once he gains absolute power, he becomes arrogant, suspicious, and cruel. His good intentions are destroyed by his thirst for control and his fear of betrayal. Tughlaq’s power isolates him completely — he loses his friends, his mother, and finally his sanity. Through his tragic transformation, Karnad suggests that power without moral restraint leads to tyranny. The theme is timeless — showing how even the most intelligent leaders can turn into dictators when they believe they alone know what is right.
Madness and Alienation
Throughout the play, Tughlaq’s character oscillates between genius and madness. His actions, though logical to him, seem irrational to others. The forced migration to Daulatabad, the killing of his allies, and his night walks among counterfeit coins all show his descent into psychological chaos. Karnad presents madness as a metaphor for the alienation of the modern mind — a ruler too intelligent for his people, too moral to be practical, and too proud to admit mistakes. His loneliness deepens as his vision crumbles, and by the end, he is completely alienated from God, his people, and himself. The theme of madness reflects the tragedy of intellect without empathy, showing how brilliance can become a curse.
The Irony of History
Another powerful theme in Tughlaq is historical irony — the contrast between Tughlaq’s dream of a perfect empire and the bloody reality that follows. The play is set in the 14th century, but its problems — corruption, misuse of religion, failed leadership, and disillusionment — mirror modern India after Independence. Karnad uses historical irony to show how history repeats itself: rulers rise with noble ideals and fall because of human weakness. The audience is left to question whether progress and justice are truly possible in any political system. In this sense, Tughlaq becomes not just a historical drama, but a universal political tragedy, where the failure of one king reflects the failure of humanity itself.
Style
Girish Karnad’s Tughlaq is written in a historical yet modern dramatic style, where medieval events are used to reflect contemporary issues. The play is based on the real-life reign of Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq, the 14th-century Sultan of Delhi, but Karnad transforms history into a psychological and political tragedy that mirrors the disillusionment of post-Independence India. The language, tone, and dramatic structure make it one of the most sophisticated examples of modern Indian theatre in English.
Blend of History and Imagination
One of the most striking features of Karnad’s style is his ability to blend fact and fiction. While the historical details — like the shifting of the capital from Delhi to Daulatabad and the introduction of copper currency — are true, the dialogues, conflicts, and personal emotions of the Sultan are imaginative creations. This mixture of historical realism and artistic invention gives the play both authenticity and universality. Karnad does not simply retell history; he uses it as a mirror to explore timeless political and moral questions.
Dramatic Irony and Symbolism
Karnad’s style is rich in dramatic irony — where the audience knows more than the characters. For example, when Tughlaq speaks of peace and justice, the audience sees the bloodshed that follows. This irony deepens the tragedy and highlights the gap between vision and reality. The play also employs powerful symbols — like the migration to Daulatabad symbolizing uprootedness, the counterfeit coins representing moral corruption, and the call to prayer at the end symbolizing spiritual emptiness. Each symbol deepens the psychological and political dimensions of the play.
Language and Dialogue
The language of Tughlaq is simple yet poetic, intellectual yet emotional. Karnad uses English, but the rhythm and tone reflect the flavor of Indian speech, giving it a natural dramatic flow. The dialogues often move between philosophical reflection and political debate, especially in Tughlaq’s speeches, which sound like meditations on truth, justice, and failure. The rhythm of his language mirrors his shifting moods — calm and thoughtful at first, later intense and fragmented as madness takes over.
Structure and Form
Tughlaq follows a classical tragic structure, with thirteen scenes that chart the Sultan’s rise and fall. The play begins with hope and ends in despair, following a pattern similar to Shakespearean tragedy. The scenes move rapidly between public and private spaces — the court, the streets, the fort, the palace — showing both the political and personal dimensions of Tughlaq’s life. This alternating structure helps the audience see how the failure of the individual ruler becomes the failure of the whole system.
Realism and Theatricality
Karnad’s theatre combines realistic situations with stylized presentation. The dialogues, costumes, and settings reflect 14th-century life, but the emotions and conflicts are strikingly modern. He also draws upon elements of Indian folk theatre — such as direct addresses to the audience, quick scene changes, and a rhythmic, almost musical flow of action. This combination of realism and theatricality makes Tughlaq deeply engaging and visually powerful on stage.
Tone and Mood
The tone of the play shifts gradually from idealistic optimism to tragic disillusionment. The early scenes are filled with light, hope, and reason, while the later ones descend into darkness, confusion, and death. This changing tone mirrors Tughlaq’s mental transformation from a philosopher-king to a paranoid tyrant. The overall mood is one of moral decay and human helplessness, evoking both pity and fear — the true marks of classical tragedy.
In short, Girish Karnad’s Tughlaq stands out for its fusion of historical narrative, psychological insight, and modern theatrical techniques. Its style is poetic yet political, simple yet profound, and deeply rooted in Indian tradition while speaking to universal human concerns. Through rich symbolism, dramatic irony, and vivid characterization, Karnad turns a medieval story into a timeless reflection on power, faith, and failure, making Tughlaq a masterpiece of modern Indian drama.
Symbolism
Girish Karnad’s Tughlaq is not just a historical play — it is a symbolic political and spiritual allegory. Almost every action, object, and event in the play has a deeper meaning that reflects the conflict between idealism and reality, faith and reason, and power and corruption. Through the use of vivid symbols, Karnad shows how Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq’s dream of an ideal state collapses into chaos and madness.
The Shift from Delhi to Daulatabad
One of the most powerful symbols in the play is the transfer of the capital from Delhi to Daulatabad. Historically, Tughlaq made this move to control the empire more effectively, but in the play it becomes a symbol of uprootedness and dislocation. It represents how Tughlaq’s idealistic plans tear his own people from their roots and destroy their lives. The forced migration symbolizes the breakdown of harmony between ruler and subjects, mind and heart, dream and reality. Delhi and Daulatabad thus become two ends of Tughlaq’s divided personality — Delhi stands for idealism, and Daulatabad for disillusionment.
The Copper Coins
The copper currency introduced by Tughlaq is another major symbol. It represents his dream of equality and progress, where all citizens would be treated alike. However, the experiment fails miserably as people begin minting counterfeit coins, turning Tughlaq’s ideal into a disaster. The copper coins symbolize the corruption of idealism, the loss of faith, and the decay of moral values in the kingdom. What was meant to unite society ends up exposing its greed and deceit. The counterfeit money becomes a mirror of Tughlaq’s counterfeit rule — shining on the surface, hollow within.
Prayer and Religion
Prayer in Tughlaq is a recurring symbol that represents faith, hypocrisy, and spiritual emptiness. In the beginning, Tughlaq appears as a deeply religious man who wants to rule according to God’s will. But as the play progresses, his faith turns into a tool of manipulation. When he orders prayers to be stopped, it symbolizes the death of faith and morality in his empire. In the final scene, when the call to prayer is heard as Tughlaq falls asleep, it symbolizes his spiritual exhaustion and alienation from God. The prayer becomes an echo of his lost soul, a reminder of how far he has strayed from his ideals.
The Dead Bodies and the Graveyard
Throughout the play, dead bodies and graves are used as symbols of the decay of the kingdom. Delhi becomes a “graveyard of Delhi,” filled with corpses of rebels, innocents, and victims of Tughlaq’s rule. These corpses symbolize not only physical death but also the death of justice, hope, and humanity. The image of the city as a graveyard reflects the emptiness of Tughlaq’s vision — a city without life or prayer, where silence replaces faith.
The Call to Prayer (Azaan)
The Muezzin’s call to prayer, which opens and closes the play, serves as a powerful symbolic frame. At first, it represents Tughlaq’s idealism — his hope to build a divine and just state. But by the end, when the same call is heard as he drifts into a sleep of despair, it becomes the symbol of his failure and spiritual death. The repetition of the Azaan suggests the cycle of history — that human beings continue to repeat the same mistakes in the name of God and power.
The Game of Chess
Tughlaq’s frequent references to chess symbolize his strategic mind and obsession with control. He treats politics like a game of moves and counter-moves, where human lives are just pawns. However, his own arrogance and overconfidence trap him in his own game. When he says “Checkmate” at the end of the play, it becomes a bitterly ironic symbol of his downfall — a victory that feels like defeat.
The Roses and the Rose Garden
Tughlaq’s dream of building a rose garden is another symbol of his idealism. He wants every rose to represent a poem, every thorn a thought — a perfect harmony of beauty and intellect. But as chaos spreads, the same rose garden is filled with heaps of counterfeit coins, turning beauty into corruption. The garden thus becomes a symbol of lost innocence and the destruction of dreams.
The Character of Aziz
Aziz, the dhobi who becomes a fake saint, is a living symbol of Tughlaq’s failure. He imitates the Sultan’s ideas — deceit, ambition, manipulation — and succeeds through lies. Aziz’s rise from a washerman to a respected holy man reflects the moral inversion of Tughlaq’s kingdom, where truth and falsehood change places. He symbolizes the hypocrisy and chaos created by Tughlaq’s misguided rule.
The Figure of Tughlaq Himself
Tughlaq as a character is a symbol of modern man’s conflict between intellect and emotion, faith and reason. He is a visionary who dreams of building an ideal state but becomes a tyrant in the process. His journey from brilliance to madness represents the tragic fall of human idealism when it loses touch with humanity and compassion.
The entire play Tughlaq is built on layers of symbolism, where every event, image, and character reflects the moral, political, and spiritual collapse of a society. Through these symbols, Girish Karnad presents not only the downfall of a medieval king but also the universal tragedy of human ambition — how the search for perfection often leads to destruction. In the end, Tughlaq’s empire becomes a symbolic mirror of the modern world — brilliant in vision, broken in reality.
Historical Context
Girish Karnad’s Tughlaq, written in 1964, is set in 14th-century India during the reign of Sultan Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq (1325–1351). The play uses real historical events and characters but interprets them symbolically to comment on the political and moral state of modern India, especially the early years after Independence. The historical background gives the play its richness and realism, while its political undertones make it timeless and universal.
Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq: The Historical Figure
Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq, the ruler of the Delhi Sultanate, was one of the most controversial kings in Indian history. He was the son of Ghiyas-ud-din Tughlaq, the founder of the Tughlaq dynasty. When Muhammad came to the throne in 1325, he was only twenty-one years old — young, ambitious, and highly intelligent. He was known for his brilliance, education, and reformist vision. He could speak Arabic and Persian fluently, had deep knowledge of philosophy, mathematics, astronomy, and theology, and was admired for his progressive ideas. However, despite his genius, he became infamous for his impractical decisions, harsh punishments, and eventual tyranny.
Major Historical Events in His Reign
Several major events from Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq’s reign are directly represented in Karnad’s play. The most famous among them is the shifting of the capital from Delhi to Daulatabad (in the Deccan). Historically, Tughlaq believed that Daulatabad was a more central location for his vast empire and would help unite the north and south. However, the forced migration of the entire population caused untold suffering, and thousands died on the way. Karnad turns this event into a symbol of Tughlaq’s failed idealism and the collapse of his vision.
Another historical episode included in the play is the introduction of token currency — the use of copper coins alongside silver dinars. Tughlaq’s intention was noble: to increase trade and make money accessible to everyone. But since there was no control over minting, people started producing fake coins, leading to complete economic chaos. This reform, too, turned against the Sultan and exposed the gap between his intellectual brilliance and practical judgment.
Karnad also refers to Tughlaq’s religious tolerance, which was rare in medieval rulers. He tried to bring Hindus and Muslims under one law, abolishing religious privilege and promoting secular rule. However, his vision of equality and unity backfired because orthodox Muslims and conservative Hindus alike distrusted him. His ideal of secularism was too advanced for his time, making him appear heretical and inconsistent.
Tughlaq’s Downfall
Over time, Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq’s reign turned into a nightmare. His army revolted, nobles rebelled, famine and drought devastated the land, and his own people lost faith in him. The Sultan, once seen as a visionary reformer, became known as a cruel, suspicious, and insane ruler. His last years were marked by bloodshed and loneliness, and his death in 1351 symbolized the tragic end of a ruler destroyed by his own dreams.
Karnad takes these historical facts and transforms them into a powerful psychological tragedy. He portrays Tughlaq as a man torn between his idealism and his ruthlessness, a thinker trapped in the contradictions of his own vision.
The Modern Parallel: India after Independence
When Girish Karnad wrote Tughlaq in the 1960s, India was going through political unrest and disillusionment with the Nehruvian era. Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, like Tughlaq, was an idealist who dreamed of building a just, secular, and rational nation. However, after Nehru’s death, India was facing corruption, communal conflicts, and economic struggles. Karnad used Tughlaq’s historical story to reflect this modern political irony — how high ideals can turn into oppression and failure when confronted with the realities of power.
Thus, Tughlaq becomes both a historical drama and a political allegory. The medieval Sultan’s downfall mirrors the frustrations of modern India, where dreams of unity and progress often clash with human weakness, greed, and hypocrisy.
Cultural and Religious Setting
The play also captures the cultural diversity of 14th-century India, where Hindus, Muslims, and other communities lived together under a single ruler. Tughlaq’s attempt to create a secular, rational state was revolutionary but misunderstood. The conflict between religious orthodoxy and progressive reform, between faith and reason, defines both his era and ours. Karnad uses this historical context to show how these tensions are not limited to any one period — they are part of the human condition.
Very Short Answer Questions
Who wrote the play Tughlaq?
Girish Karnad.
When was Tughlaq written?
In 1964.
Who is the main character of the play?
Sultan Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq.
What is the setting of the play?
14th-century Delhi and Daulatabad.
What is Tughlaq’s full name in history?
Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq.
What is the main theme of the play?
The conflict between idealism and reality.
What does Tughlaq shift from Delhi to Daulatabad?
His capital city.
Why does Tughlaq shift his capital?
To unite North and South India.
What new currency did Tughlaq introduce?
Copper coins equal in value to silver dinars.
What was the result of introducing copper coins?
People made fake coins, causing economic chaos.
What religion does Tughlaq belong to?
Islam.
What kind of ruler is Tughlaq shown as?
Intelligent but impractical and cruel.
Who is Najib in the play?
Tughlaq’s trusted advisor and vizier.
Who is Barani?
A historian and the moral voice in the play.
Who is Sheikh Imam-ud-din?
A religious leader who opposes Tughlaq.
Who kills Sheikh Imam-ud-din?
He is killed under Tughlaq’s plan during a public meeting.
What does the character Aziz represent?
Corruption, cunning, and hypocrisy in society.
What is Aziz’s profession at the beginning?
A dhobi (washerman).
Who is Aazam?
Aziz’s friend and companion in crime.
Who is Shihab-ud-din?
A nobleman who initially supports but later betrays Tughlaq.
Who is Ratansingh?
A Hindu noble and friend of Shihab-ud-din.
Who kills Najib?
The Step-Mother confesses to killing him.
What punishment does Tughlaq give his Step-Mother?
He orders her to be stoned to death.
Who disguises himself as Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid?
Aziz.
What happens to Aazam?
He is murdered while trying to escape.
What does Tughlaq represent symbolically?
The failure of idealism and the tragedy of power.
Who is the author comparing Tughlaq to in modern times?
Jawaharlal Nehru (as a modern idealist ruler).
How does the play end?
Tughlaq falls asleep as the call to prayer is heard.
What is the tone of the ending?
Tragic and ironic.
What kind of play is Tughlaq?
A historical and political allegory.
Short Answer Questions
Describe the character of Sultan Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq.
Sultan Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq is the central character of the play — an intelligent, educated, and idealistic ruler who dreams of a united, just, and secular India. He is deeply interested in philosophy, logic, and religion. However, his idealism often clashes with reality, leading to disastrous results. His reforms, such as shifting the capital and introducing copper currency, fail miserably. Gradually, his faith in humanity weakens, and he becomes cruel, suspicious, and isolated. His life ends as a tragic example of a visionary destroyed by his own brilliance and impracticality.
What is the significance of the title Tughlaq?
The title Tughlaq directly refers to the Sultan, Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq, who symbolizes the contradictions of power and vision. The name has become synonymous with confusion and madness in Indian history, reflecting his failed reforms and erratic decisions. Girish Karnad chose this title to explore the tragic irony of an idealist ruler who becomes a symbol of tyranny. The title also captures the dual nature of the man — a philosopher-king and a ruthless dictator. Thus, Tughlaq is both the story of a man and a metaphor for failed leadership.
Why did Tughlaq shift his capital from Delhi to Daulatabad?
Tughlaq wanted to move his capital to Daulatabad because it was centrally located and, according to him, would help unite North and South India. He believed this would strengthen his empire and create better communication across regions. However, he forced the people of Delhi to migrate, which caused immense suffering, starvation, and death. The plan, though visionary, turned into a disaster. This event symbolizes the gap between Tughlaq’s noble dreams and their harsh consequences in reality.
Discuss the theme of idealism versus reality in the play.
Tughlaq is built around the clash between the Sultan’s high ideals and the corrupt, unresponsive society around him. He dreams of justice, equality, and unity between religions. Yet, every reform he introduces fails because people exploit his vision for personal gain. His attempt to create an ideal state only leads to chaos and bloodshed. The play shows that pure idealism, when not balanced with practicality, turns destructive. Tughlaq’s downfall becomes a lesson on how visionary dreams can collapse in the face of human weakness and political realities.
Who is Barani, and what role does he play in the drama?
Barani is a historian, scholar, and one of Tughlaq’s closest associates. He represents reason, morality, and the voice of conscience in the play. Unlike the corrupt courtiers, Barani is honest and loyal, yet he feels helpless as he watches Tughlaq’s downfall. He often warns the Sultan against violence and tyranny but is ignored. Through Barani, Karnad presents the dilemma of intellectuals who understand both the ideal and the real but can change neither. His departure in the end symbolizes the failure of truth and wisdom in Tughlaq’s empire.
Explain the role of Aziz in the play.
Aziz is a clever, opportunistic dhobi who disguises himself in many roles — a Brahmin, a saint, and even the holy man Ghiyas-ud-din Abbasid. He represents corruption, cunning, and hypocrisy in society. Through deceit, he rises from a washerman to a man of power, mocking Tughlaq’s ideals of equality and justice. Ironically, Tughlaq is fascinated by his wit and pardons him in the end. Aziz’s rise shows how the Sultan’s noble reforms only benefited the dishonest, turning his vision into a cruel joke.
How does Girish Karnad use irony in Tughlaq?
Irony is central to the play’s structure and meaning. Tughlaq begins as an idealist who dreams of justice and peace but ends as a murderer and tyrant. His reforms — meant for progress — bring ruin. His belief in equality allows a common thief like Aziz to impersonate a saint. Even religion, which should guide people, becomes a tool for deceit and violence. The final scene, where Tughlaq prays for divine mercy, while chaos rules outside, is deeply ironic — showing a ruler destroyed by his own contradictions.
What is the significance of religion in the play?
Religion plays a major role in Tughlaq. The Sultan tries to create harmony between Hindus and Muslims by treating them equally under law. However, this secular approach angers both communities. The religious leaders (the Ulema) turn against him, while his people accuse him of blasphemy. In contrast, characters like Sheikh Imam-ud-din represent true faith, and Aziz uses religion for trickery. Karnad uses religion to explore themes of hypocrisy, faith, and the misuse of spiritual authority in politics.
How does the play portray the downfall of Tughlaq?
The downfall of Tughlaq is gradual and tragic. His good intentions — like moving the capital and introducing copper coins — are destroyed by human greed and ignorance. Betrayals by friends like Shihab-ud-din and the death of his mother deepen his despair. He becomes paranoid, kills blindly, and loses control over his empire. By the end, he is left completely alone, haunted by guilt and madness. His fall reflects how power and intellect, without compassion, lead to self-destruction.
What message does Girish Karnad convey through Tughlaq?
Through Tughlaq, Girish Karnad presents a timeless message about the dangers of mixing idealism with tyranny. He shows how even noble visions can fail when leaders lose touch with the common people. The play also comments on corruption, misuse of religion, and political hypocrisy — issues still relevant today. It warns that leadership without wisdom and empathy leads to chaos. Tughlaq’s tragic story reminds us that intellect and power must serve humanity, not crush it.
Long Answer Questions
Discuss Girish Karnad’s portrayal of Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq as a tragic hero.
Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq is one of the most complex tragic figures in modern Indian drama. Girish Karnad portrays him as a brilliant, visionary, and intellectually gifted ruler who wants to create an ideal empire based on justice, equality, and unity. Tughlaq dreams of a secular India where Hindus and Muslims coexist peacefully, and every act of his rule begins with good intentions. He introduces radical reforms such as moving the capital from Delhi to Daulatabad and introducing copper currency equal in value to silver coins. However, his idealism collides with the greed, ignorance, and corruption of his people, turning his vision into disaster.
As the play progresses, Tughlaq’s great intellect becomes the cause of his downfall. His inability to balance reason with emotion, and ideas with human limitations, makes him increasingly cruel and suspicious. He becomes isolated, kills his friends and mother, and surrounds himself with flatterers. Karnad shows him as a man who loses touch with reality because he expects perfection in an imperfect world. The ruler who once stood for peace and brotherhood turns into a symbol of tyranny and bloodshed.
Tughlaq’s tragedy lies in his loneliness. Like a Shakespearean tragic hero, he is destroyed not merely by external forces but by his own inner conflict. He recognizes his errors but cannot escape them. By the end, he is a broken man, haunted by guilt and longing for divine forgiveness. His life becomes a moral lesson about the futility of intellect without compassion and idealism without understanding. Through Tughlaq, Karnad explores how the finest minds can become victims of their own brilliance when they fail to see the limits of human nature.
Examine the theme of religion and politics in Tughlaq.
Religion and politics form one of the central themes of Tughlaq. The play opens with the Sultan’s speech where he announces his secular vision, declaring that Hindus and Muslims are equal citizens of his empire. He removes the religious tax (jiziya) on Hindus and invites scholars of different faiths to his court. In doing so, Tughlaq dreams of a rational and harmonious society where politics is guided by reason, not religion. However, this progressive vision becomes the very source of his downfall because the people of his time cannot understand or accept such revolutionary ideas.
Tughlaq’s efforts to separate religion from politics are constantly resisted by the orthodox leaders. Religious figures like Sheikh Imam-ud-din oppose his policies and accuse him of impiety. The masses, unable to grasp his modern vision, brand him as a heretic. This conflict between faith and reason mirrors the eternal struggle in human history—between blind belief and rational thought. As the play unfolds, Tughlaq’s secular ideals are slowly consumed by the religious chaos and moral decay around him.
Karnad uses Tughlaq’s tragedy to comment on the dangers of mixing religion and politics. The Sultan’s attempt to unite both religions ironically ends in bloodshed, and his empire becomes a symbol of spiritual and political confusion. By showing how power manipulates faith and how faith distorts reason, Karnad exposes the hypocrisy that arises when religion becomes a political weapon. The play’s message is universal and timeless—true leadership cannot exist where religion is used to justify cruelty and corruption.
How does Girish Karnad use irony to develop the play’s tragic vision?
Irony is the most striking element of Tughlaq and gives the play its deep tragic tone. From the very beginning, Karnad builds irony into the structure of the story. The Sultan, who is praised for his intelligence and vision, becomes the cause of chaos and suffering. His progressive reforms—intended to bring unity and justice—lead instead to division and destruction. He abolishes religious taxes to win Hindu loyalty but earns Muslim hatred. He introduces copper currency to make life easier for the poor, but the coins flood the market with counterfeits, destroying the economy.
The greatest irony lies in Tughlaq’s belief in reason and morality. His intellect, which should have guided him, isolates him from his people. He wants to create heaven on earth but ends up creating hell. Every noble intention turns into its opposite—his idealism becomes cruelty, and his reforms become disasters. Even his decision to move the capital to Daulatabad, meant to unite the country, causes mass death and suffering. By the end, the Sultan who once preached tolerance kills his own mother and prays to God for mercy, realizing too late that his ideals have turned to dust.
Karnad uses irony not just for criticism but for tragedy. The real tragedy is not that Tughlaq fails, but that he fails while trying to achieve something great. His dreams are destroyed by the very people he tries to save. The irony that a visionary must become a tyrant to enforce his ideals makes the play deeply human and moving. Tughlaq thus becomes a mirror of human contradictions—where the highest intelligence leads to madness and the purest ideals end in ruin.
Discuss the historical and political relevance of Tughlaq in modern times.
Although Tughlaq is set in the 14th century, it reflects the political realities of modern India. Girish Karnad wrote the play in 1964, during a time when India was struggling with the challenges of democracy, corruption, and loss of faith in leadership. Many critics see parallels between Tughlaq and Jawaharlal Nehru—both visionary leaders who dreamt of a modern, united India but faced disappointment in realizing their ideals. Through history, Karnad comments on the fate of idealism in politics and how noble visions often collapse under the weight of human greed and failure.
The play also captures the tension between religion and secularism that continues to shape Indian politics. Tughlaq’s dream of harmony between Hindus and Muslims reflects the secular vision of post-independence India, but like Tughlaq, modern leaders too face resistance from fanaticism and corruption. The administrative chaos, political conspiracies, and disillusionment among the people in the play resemble the conditions of modern governance.
By turning history into a political allegory, Karnad shows that power and idealism are inseparable yet destructive when not grounded in reality. Tughlaq thus speaks beyond its time—it is a timeless warning against arrogance in leadership, blind faith in reason, and the dangers of ignoring the common man’s needs. The play remains relevant as long as leaders repeat the mistakes of Tughlaq—mistaking dreams for destiny and losing sight of human compassion in the pursuit of perfection.
Analyze Girish Karnad’s use of symbolism in Tughlaq.
Symbolism plays a vital role in making Tughlaq a profound and multi-layered play. Every major event and image in the drama carries a symbolic meaning. The most powerful symbol is Tughlaq’s decision to shift his capital from Delhi to Daulatabad. This journey symbolizes his attempt to create an ideal world, but also his moral and political downfall. The long march becomes a metaphor for human suffering caused by misguided ambition. Similarly, the copper coins symbolize equality in theory but corruption in practice—they reflect the gap between idealism and reality.
Another recurring symbol is prayer. In Islam, prayer represents peace and submission to God, but in Tughlaq, it becomes an ironic act. A murder takes place during prayer time, symbolizing the loss of spirituality and the distortion of faith in the Sultan’s reign. The graves, corpses, and desert imagery throughout the play represent decay, death, and the emptiness of human power. Even the moonlight and darkness serve as metaphors for Tughlaq’s divided soul—his brilliance and madness coexisting side by side.
Through these symbols, Karnad transforms historical events into universal reflections on human existence. The play’s imagery gives emotional depth to political ideas and turns Tughlaq’s story into a poetic exploration of human ambition, faith, and despair. In the end, the ruined kingdom and sleepless Sultan become one single symbol—the symbol of man’s eternal struggle between vision and reality, knowledge and faith, power and downfall.
Critical Analysis of Tughlaq by Girish Karnad
Introduction
Girish Karnad’s Tughlaq (1964) is one of the most celebrated plays in modern Indian theatre. Written originally in Kannada and translated into English by Karnad himself, it established him as a leading dramatist of post-independence India. The play tells the tragic story of Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq, the 14th-century Sultan of Delhi, known both for his brilliance and his disastrous policies. Karnad uses this historical figure to explore the conflict between lofty ideals and harsh realities, a problem that continues to trouble modern India. The play’s relevance goes beyond its medieval setting — it mirrors the disillusionment of the Nehruvian era, when the dreams of a just and secular India began to fade under corruption and political confusion.
Tughlaq is a political tragedy, a philosophical exploration, and a psychological study all at once. Through the downfall of an idealist ruler, Karnad exposes the dangers of excessive ambition, misuse of power, and loss of faith. The play combines history with timeless moral questions, making it both realistic and symbolic, political and deeply human.
Central Idea
The central idea of Tughlaq lies in the failure of idealism when it is detached from practicality and compassion. Muhammad Tughlaq is portrayed as a man of vision who dreams of creating a secular and just empire where Hindus and Muslims live in harmony. He believes in reason, logic, and equality rather than blind faith or tradition. However, his visionary policies, such as introducing copper currency and shifting the capital from Delhi to Daulatabad, collapse because the people are not ready for such radical change. His attempt to enforce reform through force and cruelty turns his dream into a nightmare.
In the end, the Sultan becomes a victim of his own vision. His ideals, which once inspired him, gradually destroy him. The play suggests that intelligence without empathy, logic without love, and power without morality lead to self-destruction. Tughlaq’s tragedy is that he cannot reconcile the divine in man with the human in himself.
Plot Summary
The play opens with the announcement that Tughlaq has decided to move his capital from Delhi to Daulatabad, a plan meant to unite the Hindus and Muslims under one rule. His decision shocks everyone but he insists that it is necessary for administrative and religious unity. His second major reform is the introduction of copper coins, declared equal in value to silver dinars. However, this idealistic move backfires as counterfeit coins flood the market and the economy collapses.
As the play progresses, Tughlaq becomes increasingly paranoid and violent. His loyal subjects, his stepmother, and his trusted advisor Najib all die tragically as a result of his growing suspicion and madness. Amid the political turmoil, two opportunists — Aziz and Aazam — rise to power through deception and disguise, symbolizing the moral decay of the state. Aziz’s final impersonation of a saint and his clever manipulation of the Sultan reveal the irony that the ruler himself has created a world where falsehood thrives.
The final scene shows Tughlaq exhausted and alone. His ministers have left him, his subjects rebel against him, and he prays for mercy. The call to prayer echoes as he falls asleep, a broken man. The play ends with an image of tragic stillness — the great visionary reduced to helpless solitude, symbolizing the eternal fall of those who dream too far beyond their times.
Themes
1. Idealism vs Reality
Tughlaq dreams of creating a just and united kingdom where reason and equality rule. But his ideas fail because the people cannot understand his vision. His noble plans, like shifting the capital and introducing copper coins, turn into disasters. The play shows how idealism without practicality leads to destruction.
2. Religion and Politics
Tughlaq tries to separate religion from politics and promote harmony between Hindus and Muslims. However, both groups misunderstand him. Karnad explores how difficult it is to keep religion out of politics in a deeply religious society.
3. Power and Corruption
Power changes Tughlaq from a wise and just ruler into a cruel dictator. He becomes suspicious and violent. His trusted officers cheat him, and corruption spreads everywhere. The play suggests that absolute power destroys both the ruler and the ruled.
4. Loneliness and Alienation
Tughlaq is intelligent but lonely. No one, not even Barani or his stepmother, truly understands him. His isolation leads to emotional suffering and madness. His loneliness represents the fate of great thinkers who are misunderstood by society.
5. Madness and Fall of Leadership
As the play progresses, Tughlaq’s logic turns into madness. His plans fail, his people rebel, and his mind loses balance. His downfall shows how genius can become self-destructive when power and idealism go out of control.
Characters
Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq
The Sultan is brilliant, educated, and ambitious but also impulsive and cruel. His dream of a perfect empire fails due to his pride and impractical ideas. He becomes a tragic hero destroyed by his own vision.
Barani
Barani is the historian and the moral voice of the play. He respects Tughlaq’s intelligence but fears his growing cruelty. He represents reason, truth, and conscience in a world gone mad.
Sheikh Imam-ud-din
The Sheikh is a religious leader who opposes Tughlaq’s secular policies. His death marks the beginning of the Sultan’s moral fall.
Najib
Najib is the cunning vizier who manipulates Tughlaq for his own benefit. His death deepens the Sultan’s suspicion and despair.
The Step-Mother
She loves Tughlaq deeply but kills Najib to protect him. Her execution by the Sultan shows his complete loss of humanity and emotional balance.
Aziz
Aziz, a washerman turned trickster, uses disguise and deceit to survive. He mirrors Tughlaq’s hypocrisy and cleverness. In the end, his success shows that in a corrupt world, cunning wins over idealism.
Aazam
Aziz’s companion, weak and fearful, adds humor and pity to the story. His death shows the destruction of innocence.
Structure and Style
The play is divided into thirteen scenes, each marking a step in the Sultan’s psychological and political downfall. The structure is dramatic and tightly woven, moving from optimism to despair. Karnad’s use of historical realism blends with symbolic imagery — the shifting capital, copper coins, and call to prayer are not just political events but symbols of spiritual and moral decay.
Karnad’s language is poetic yet accessible, full of irony and rhythm. He combines medieval grandeur with modern simplicity, allowing the play to feel both ancient and contemporary. The dialogues are sharp, reflective, and layered with multiple meanings. His use of dramatic irony, especially through Aziz’s cunning, gives the play its tragic irony — the idealist Sultan is finally fooled by his own reflection.
Historical Context
The play is based on the reign of Muhammad-bin-Tughlaq (1325–1351), one of the most controversial rulers of medieval India. Historically, Tughlaq was known for his intellectual brilliance, administrative reforms, and disastrous experiments — such as shifting the capital and introducing token currency. Karnad draws on these events but uses them allegorically to comment on modern Indian politics, particularly the early years of independence under Nehru. Just as Nehru’s noble ideals faced disillusionment after his death, Tughlaq’s dreams also end in chaos. The historical past thus becomes a mirror for the modern age, suggesting that the failures of leadership and the clash between vision and reality are universal and timeless.
Critical Commentary
Tughlaq has been widely praised for its psychological depth and political insight. Critics see it as a modern political allegory that uses the past to question the present. The play’s power lies in its ability to humanize a historical figure and turn his reign into a tragic meditation on the nature of power, leadership, and moral failure.
Karnad’s Tughlaq is often compared to Shakespearean tragic heroes like Hamlet and Macbeth, whose greatness leads them to ruin. The play’s blend of history, irony, and philosophical reflection gives it a universal appeal.
Through his brilliant structure and language, Karnad also revived the Indian stage by fusing traditional elements with Western dramatic form. The character of Tughlaq continues to be seen as a symbol of the intellectual idealist destroyed by his own vision, making the play an enduring masterpiece of Indian literature.
Conclusion
In conclusion, Tughlaq is a timeless tragedy of a ruler who tries to build a kingdom of reason but ends up lost in the wilderness of his own ideals. Girish Karnad uses history to ask deep moral and political questions: Can power ever serve idealism? Can faith and reason truly coexist? The play’s haunting ending, with Tughlaq praying for mercy as the call to prayer echoes, leaves the audience with both pity and awe.
Tughlaq is not just the story of one king — it is the story of every visionary who dreams too far beyond his age. It stands as a powerful warning that without wisdom, compassion, and understanding of human nature, even the noblest dream becomes a tragedy.
Famous Quotes
1. “My beloved people! You are free to follow any religion you please.”
– Muhammad Tughlaq
This quote appears early in the play, during Tughlaq’s royal address to his subjects. It shows his deep desire for religious harmony and his belief in equality among Hindus and Muslims. He wanted to build a kingdom guided by reason, not by blind faith or caste. His words sound noble and modern, but the irony is that his people misuse this freedom, leading to chaos. Karnad uses this line to reveal how idealism without understanding society’s limitations can become destructive. Tughlaq’s dream of secular unity turns into disillusionment, symbolizing the tragic gap between vision and reality.
2. “History is full of traitors because it is made by kings who have the power to betray.”
– Tughlaq
Here Tughlaq reflects bitterly on the nature of power. The statement exposes his growing cynicism and his realization that betrayal is inseparable from kingship. Those in power often twist truth and morality to justify their actions, and history glorifies their deceit as wisdom. This line foreshadows Tughlaq’s own downfall — a man who becomes exactly what he condemns. It also shows his philosophical depth, as he recognizes the moral corruption that comes with absolute authority. In this moment, Karnad portrays him as an intellectual trapped in political darkness.
3. “What is this kingdom of ours but a vast prison?”
– Tughlaq
This metaphor captures the stifling atmosphere of fear and control in Tughlaq’s rule. Once the symbol of reason and progress, his kingdom becomes a place where even free men live as prisoners. Ironically, the king himself feels trapped by his own laws, ambitions, and guilt. The line reflects Tughlaq’s inner torment — he has built a political system that enslaves both the ruler and the ruled. It shows how his pursuit of perfection leads to total control, making him a prisoner of his own power and vision.
4. “I have grown old in just two years, Barani.”
– Tughlaq
Tughlaq says this to Barani in a rare moment of emotional honesty. It reveals his psychological exhaustion and the burden of failure. Once a passionate reformer, he now feels defeated and aged by the weight of his own mistakes. This simple line conveys the cost of leadership and the loneliness of a ruler whose dreams have turned to ashes. It shows Tughlaq not as a monster but as a deeply human figure, worn out by his struggle between idealism and reality. The king who once challenged fate is now broken by it.
5. “Are all those I trust condemned to go down in history as traitors?”
– Tughlaq
This line expresses the depth of Tughlaq’s paranoia and despair. After a series of betrayals — real and imagined — he begins to see treachery everywhere. His loneliness isolates him completely, and every act of trust turns into tragedy. The question is not only political but also spiritual — Tughlaq wonders if faith itself is doomed in a corrupt world. The line reflects his crumbling faith in humanity, which mirrors the collapse of his empire. Karnad makes us pity the ruler who can no longer tell loyalty from deceit.
6. “The other day I heard that in China they have paper currency—and yet it works because the people accept it.”
– Tughlaq
This statement shows Tughlaq’s forward-thinking and rational intellect. He wants to modernize India by introducing a copper currency that equals the value of silver coins. However, his people are not ready for such innovation. They misuse his policy by minting counterfeit coins, leading to economic collapse. This quote highlights one of the play’s main themes: the failure of intellect without emotional wisdom. Tughlaq’s admiration for reason and progress is admirable, but his inability to understand people’s psychology makes his rule a disaster.
7. “I could have killed you with a word. But I like you too much.”
– Tughlaq to Shihab-ud-din
Spoken before Tughlaq murders Shihab-ud-din, this line blends affection with cruelty. It shows the disturbing duality in Tughlaq’s character — he can feel love and compassion, yet commit murder in the same breath. His rationality is poisoned by emotion and guilt. The statement also reveals the perverted logic of a tyrant, who confuses power with justice. In this moment, Tughlaq’s tragedy becomes personal — he destroys those he cares about, driven by fear and suspicion.
8. “Why must this happen, Barani? Are all those I trust condemned to go down in history as traitors?”
– Tughlaq**
This repetition of his earlier question shows that Tughlaq’s paranoia has become an obsession. Each betrayal deepens his madness. The line’s repetition acts like an echo of guilt that haunts him throughout the play. His isolation grows absolute — even his conscience has turned into an enemy. The line marks the emotional climax of his loneliness, showing a man trapped between his ideals and his crimes, unable to forgive others or himself.
9. “What gives me the right to call myself a king?”
– Tughlaq**
This is one of the most philosophical and self-reflective questions in the play. Tughlaq wonders what truly legitimizes kingship — birth, strength, intellect, or moral right. He feels unworthy because his actions contradict his ideals. The line captures his existential crisis as a ruler and as a human being. In questioning his authority, he questions the entire moral foundation of power. It reveals that beneath his arrogance lies a man desperate for meaning and redemption.
10. “I started in search of You. Why have I become a pig rolling in this gory mud?”
– Tughlaq
This prayer-like confession marks the spiritual downfall of Tughlaq. He once sought divine truth and knowledge, but his journey has led him into sin and violence. The imagery of “a pig rolling in mud” shows his disgust with himself and his loss of purity. Karnad uses this moment to show the collapse of faith and idealism into guilt and madness. It is the turning point where Tughlaq realizes that his ambition to reach God has only made him more human — weak and sinful.
11. “My skin drips with blood and I don’t know how much of it is mine and how much of others.”
– Tughlaq
This powerful line represents Tughlaq’s psychological torment. He is haunted by the countless deaths caused by his policies and executions. The blurring of his own blood with that of his victims symbolizes his guilt and the loss of moral boundaries. The line reflects his inner disintegration — he no longer knows where his identity ends and his crimes begin. It is one of the most poetic expressions of guilt in modern Indian drama.
12. “When it comes to washing away filth, no saint is a match for a dhobi.”
– Aziz
Aziz, the cunning impostor, delivers this line with biting irony. He mocks the idea of holiness by suggesting that even a washerman like him can cleanse the dirt of the world better than saints. His words expose the moral hypocrisy of Tughlaq’s society, where sin and virtue are indistinguishable. The line also reflects Karnad’s dark humor — a comment on how corruption wears the mask of righteousness, and how impostors thrive in an age of confusion.
13. “All your life you wait for someone who understands you, and then—you punish him.”
– Tughlaq
This is one of the most heartbreaking lines of the play. Tughlaq speaks it after meeting Aziz, the only person who truly mirrors his intelligence and cunning. Yet instead of embracing him, Tughlaq must punish him because society demands it. The line captures the tragedy of human isolation — the pain of finding understanding only to destroy it. It also reflects Tughlaq’s self-destructive nature: he cannot tolerate his own reflection in another person.
14. “You can love a city like a woman.”
– The Old Man
This simple yet emotional line describes the deep attachment people have to Delhi, their home. During the forced migration to Daulatabad, an old man compares the loss of the city to losing a beloved woman. His words express the suffering of common people who bear the cost of the Sultan’s grand experiments. It humanizes the tragedy and reminds the audience that beneath Tughlaq’s political failures lie the shattered lives of ordinary men and women.
15. “The merciful Sultan has declared that every citizen must leave for Daulatabad.”
– The Announcer
This line is filled with bitter irony. The use of the word “merciful” makes it even more tragic, as the forced migration kills thousands. The official announcement represents the cold, bureaucratic voice of tyranny. It highlights how Tughlaq’s rational reforms become instruments of cruelty when divorced from compassion. The line captures the absurdity of power — where oppression is justified in the name of mercy.
16. “A man must commit a crime at least once in his lifetime. Only then will his virtue be recognized.”
– Aziz
Aziz delivers this line humorously, but it carries deep social irony. He exposes society’s tendency to glorify goodness only when it is lost. His words reflect the moral corruption and hypocrisy of the time. In a world where saints and sinners look alike, crime becomes a way to attract attention. This line also mirrors Tughlaq’s fate — his noble acts are remembered only because they ended in tragedy.
17. “You think your tongue is so light and swift that you can trap me by your stupid clowning?”
– Tughlaq to Aziz
Tughlaq says this in anger when he realizes Aziz’s deceit. It shows his wounded pride — he is furious that a common man has outwitted him. The line reveals the irony of the play: the intellectual king is defeated by a trickster. It also shows that Tughlaq’s pride and insecurity are his true enemies, not Aziz. The confrontation between the two becomes symbolic — reason versus cunning, idealism versus practicality.
18. “You are worse than an adulteress. But I can’t think of a worse punishment for you.”
– Tughlaq to his Stepmother
This line is both cruel and tragic. Tughlaq accuses his stepmother of killing Najib, his advisor, and condemns her to death by stoning. His words show his hatred mixed with love, and his inability to separate justice from vengeance. The line reveals how personal betrayal has destroyed his balance. Once a rational ruler, he now acts out of emotional rage. It symbolizes the complete moral collapse of his rule.
19. “It’s criminals like him that deserve to die. Death would be too simple a punishment for him.”
– Barani
Barani’s outburst about Aziz ironically mirrors Tughlaq’s own cruelty. His words show how even moral people become violent in a corrupt system. Karnad uses this moment to show how violence infects everyone, not just the ruler. The historian who once believed in justice now speaks like a fanatic. The line emphasizes the play’s theme that evil spreads through imitation and fear.
20. “When you pass your final judgment on me, don’t forget Him.”
– Tughlaq
These are Tughlaq’s final words in the play. They express resignation, guilt, and faith all at once. He accepts his madness but reminds everyone that God shares in human fate. It is a plea for understanding — not just for himself, but for all flawed human beings. The line gives the play a powerful, spiritual ending, turning Tughlaq from a tyrant into a tragic seeker. Karnad leaves us with a haunting question: was Tughlaq’s failure human or divine?
