The Peacock Throne, an enduring emblem of imperial splendor, has long fascinated those who cherish India’s rich historical tapestry. Commissioned by Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan in 1628 and completed over seven years, this throne was a breathtaking testament to Mughal artistry, adorned with gold, silver, and an array of precious stones—including the famed Koh-i-Noor diamond, the Darya-i-Noor, and the Timur Ruby. Its canopy, supported by twelve emerald-encrusted pillars and topped with two peacock figures, gave it its iconic name. Yet, this masterpiece met a dramatic end in 1739 when Persian ruler Nader Shah sacked Delhi, carting the throne back to Iran as a trophy of his conquest. Today, voices in India—particularly from Hindutva groups—call for its return, casting it as a mission to reclaim national heritage. But the throne’s journey and current status reveal a tale far more intricate than a simple demand can address.
A Throne Lost to History
The original Peacock Throne’s fate after Nader Shah’s plunder is a subject of speculation among historians. Following his assassination in 1747, chaos engulfed his empire, and the throne reportedly suffered a grim end. Some accounts suggest it was broken apart by looters, its gems pried loose and sold or hoarded by successors like Ahmad Shah Durrani, who founded modern Afghanistan. The Koh-i-Noor, for instance, passed through Afghan hands before landing in the possession of Maharaja Ranjit Singh in Punjab, only to be surrendered to the British in 1849 after the Second Anglo-Sikh War. Today, it sits in the British Crown Jewels, a stark reminder of the throne’s fragmented legacy.
What remains in Iran, often misidentified as the Peacock Throne, is the Takht-e Tavous, or "Throne of the Peacock," housed in the Central Bank of Iran’s National Treasury in Tehran. Crafted between 1805 and 1815 for Qajar ruler Fath Ali Shah, this throne features intricate gold work, enamel, and jewel inlays, with a design inspired by Persian mythology rather than Mughal aesthetics. Its nickname stems from its regal splendor, not a direct link to Shah Jahan’s creation. Historians agree: the original Peacock Throne no longer exists intact, its remnants scattered across centuries of war and trade.
For advocates of its return, particularly Hindutva groups, the throne symbolizes a golden era of Indian sovereignty, stolen by foreign hands. They envision its repatriation as a triumph over historical wrongs, a restoration of pride rooted in the subcontinent’s precolonial past. Yet, the absence of the original artifact and the distinct identity of Iran’s throne undermine the feasibility of such a claim.
The Politics of Reclamation
Beyond historical ambiguity, the demand for the Peacock Throne’s return faces steep political and diplomatic obstacles. India and Iran maintain a delicate partnership, forged through mutual interests like the Chabahar Port, a strategic counterweight to Pakistan’s Gwadar Port in the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor. Bilateral trade, including India’s oil imports from Iran (though reduced under U.S. sanctions pressure), adds further weight to this relationship. Raising the throne issue could be seen as an unnecessary provocation, especially given Iran’s prickly stance toward external demands and its view of the Takht-e Tavous as a cornerstone of Persian heritage.
The domestic angle is equally complex. Hindutva ideology, with its focus on reviving a Hindu-centric vision of India, often casts the Mughal era as a period of foreign domination. Shah Jahan, a Muslim ruler, built the throne during a time of Islamic ascendancy, which sits uneasily with narratives glorifying pre-Islamic Hindu kingdoms like those of the Mauryas or Guptas. To champion the Peacock Throne, Hindutva groups might need to recast it as a broader symbol of Indian craftsmanship and sovereignty, sidestepping its Mughal roots—a rhetorical tightrope that could invite criticism from both secularists and purists within their own ranks.
Symbolism vs. Substance
The emotional pull of the Peacock Throne is undeniable. Its creation cost twice the amount of the Taj Mahal, an estimated 10 million rupees in the 17th century (equivalent to billions today), making it one of history’s most extravagant artifacts. For many Indians, its loss evokes a visceral sense of violation—a cultural heist by an outsider who ravaged Delhi, leaving behind a weakened empire. The call for its return, led by patriotic fervor, could galvanize public sentiment, much like campaigns for the Koh-i-Noor’s repatriation have done intermittently.
Yet, the practical outlook remains bleak. With no intact Mughal throne to reclaim, and Iran’s Qajar-era throne entrenched in its own national story, the demand risks devolving into a symbolic gesture rather than a viable pursuit. Even if diplomatic pressure were applied, Iran’s government—already wary of Western influence and regional rivals—would likely dismiss such a request as baseless, citing the lack of evidence tying their throne to Shah Jahan’s. At home, the issue might fuel debates and rallies, but without a tangible target, it’s unlikely to yield more than fleeting headlines.
A Legacy Beyond Reach
The Peacock Throne’s saga is a poignant reminder of history’s impermanence—where empires rise and fall, and their treasures slip through time’s grasp. For India, it remains a glittering memory of a bygone age, its allure magnified by its absence. For Iran, the Takht-e Tavous stands as a proud relic of Qajar resilience, unburdened by Mughal ghosts. As Hindutva groups and patriots dream of its return, they confront a paradox: the throne they seek is both everywhere—in the Koh-i-Noor, in tales of Nader Shah’s plunder—and nowhere, lost to the winds of history. Perhaps its true value lies not in possession, but in the stories it inspires, a jewel-encrusted mirror reflecting the complexities of identity, loss, and pride.
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