Introduction
Mughal-e-Azam (1960) is a landmark of Indian cinema – an epic historical drama directed by K. Asif that blends a sweeping love story with themes of duty and power. Set in the 16th-century Mughal court of Emperor Akbar, the film recounts the forbidden romance between Prince Salim and the beautiful courtesan Anarkali (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Upon release, Mughal-e-Azam broke box-office records and became the highest-grossing Indian film of its time (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Even decades later, it remains widely regarded as one of Indian cinema’s greatest films, celebrated for its grandeur, poetic dialogue, opulent production design, and unforgettable music (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Below is a structured scene-by-scene recap of the film’s narrative, followed by an analysis of key character developments and themes of love, duty, and power. We also explore the movie’s historical context, unique production insights, cinematography, music, and its enduring impact on Indian cinema.
Scene-by-Scene Recap of the Story
Akbar’s Prayer and Salim’s Early Years
The film opens with Emperor Akbar (Prithviraj Kapoor) on a spiritual quest for an heir. Childless after years of marriage, Akbar visits the shrine of the Sufi saint Salim Chishti and prays for a son (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). His wish is granted when Empress Jodhabai (Durga Khote) gives birth to a boy, whom they name Salim in honor of the saint (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). The jubilant Akbar rewards a palace maid for bringing news of the birth, gifting her a ring and promising to fulfill one wish for her in the future (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Young Prince Salim, however, grows up spoiled and indulged amidst a bevy of attendants (even a comical appearance by a eunuch played by Johnny Walker) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). The prince’s reckless behavior – he is found drunk and misbehaving – alarms Akbar, who fears his heir will become a “toy of a rake prince” (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). Determined to instill discipline, Akbar sends Salim away to fight on the distant battlefronts of the Mughal empire for several years of military training (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)).
Fourteen years pass before Salim returns to the palace as a hardened and highly decorated soldier – no longer the frivolous boy he once was (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). His homecoming is marked by pomp and ceremony; even Jodhabai, a Hindu Rajput princess, thanks Lord Krishna for her son’s safe return (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). The prince, now portrayed by Dilip Kumar, is welcomed by his overjoyed mother in an almost childlike manner, illustrating the closeness of their bond (Jodhabai’s maternal affection verges on comic excess as she nearly tries to “suckle” her grown son in relief) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). But Salim quickly slips back into the luxuriant courtly lifestyle, donning ornate robes and resuming the pleasures of palace life (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa).
Salim Meets Anarkali – Love Blossoms in the Palace
(25 GRAND Frames of Mughal-E-Azam – Rediff.com movies) Anarkali (Madhubala) first appears disguised as a statue, captivating Prince Salim with her beauty (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa).
Upon Salim’s return, the stage is set for the fateful meeting of the lovers. Enter Nadira, a lowly but enchanting palace servant (played by Madhubala). In a grand palace hall, a talented sculptor is commissioned by an ambitious attendant, Bahar (Nigar Sultana), to create a statue symbolizing eros (love) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Nadira is chosen as the sculptor’s model. In a dramatic statue unveiling scene, Nadira impersonates the still-unfinished statue – standing perfectly still, draped in a veil – and then comes to life, stunning all in attendance (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Prince Salim is instantly mesmerized by her ethereal beauty, likening her to an angel descended into marble. The emperor himself is impressed and rewards Nadira, renaming her “Anarkali” (Pomegranate Blossom) and elevating her to serve in the Empress’s personal retinue (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). This moment is Madhubala’s iconic introduction in the film – the prince and palace literally open their hearts to her (25 GRAND Frames of Mughal-E-Azam – Rediff.com movies).
From this point, Salim and Anarkali fall deeply in love. They share secret rendezvous in the palace’s fragrant gardens and moonlit chambers, away from prying eyes. The romance is depicted through sumptuous, lyrical sequences. In one famous midnight scene, Salim brushes Anarkali’s face with a delicate white ostrich feather, an act of pure tenderness and sensuality (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). The camera lingers in intense close-ups as Anarkali’s eyes flutter with emotion – a scene often cited as one of Indian cinema’s most “sensitively portrayed erotic” moments (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Their clandestine courtship is further cemented by musical duets: for instance, at a mehfil (poetry gathering), Anarkali and Bahar engage in a lyrical duel “Teri Mehfil Mein” in Salim’s presence. Through song, Bahar extols heartless ambition while Anarkali sings of true love’s pain, highlighting their contrasting natures (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). By the end of this duel, Salim’s choice is clear – his heart belongs entirely to Anarkali, much to Bahar’s chagrin.
Salim, enraptured, vows that Anarkali will be his future queen (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). This open declaration of love startles Anarkali (who is keenly aware of the dangerous social gulf between them) and would scandalize the nobility if heard. Nonetheless, the lovers continue to meet, and their bond strengthens. Dilip Kumar and Madhubala’s on-screen chemistry in these scenes is electric and “so potent…witnessing it feels like trespassing” (25 GRAND Frames of Mughal-E-Azam – Rediff.com movies) – aided by the film’s luxurious sets and Naushad’s soulful music underscoring their every glance.
Forbidden Love Exposed – Akbar’s Wrath
Inevitably, word of the secret romance reaches others in the palace. The scheming Bahar, whose sole aspiration is to marry Salim and ascend to the throne (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram), grows jealous of Anarkali. After her own attempts to charm Salim fail, Bahar spies on the couple. She catches Salim and Anarkali during an intimate encounter (in one instance, Salim is so angered by Bahar’s intrusion that he nearly draws his sword on her) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Feeling spurned and humiliated, Bahar decides to betray the lovers. She informs Emperor Akbar of Salim’s affair with “a mere palace maid,” goading the Emperor’s outrage by highlighting the girl’s low status (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram).
Akbar is furious to learn his son has dared to love a commoner. The notion that “a beautiful maid might dance upon the throne of Hindustan” is intolerable to him (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). He sees Anarkali as an ambitious intruder who could disgrace the royal lineage. In a tense court confrontation, Akbar publicly denounces Anarkali as an “insolent slave girl” and accuses her of bewitching the prince for personal gain (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Anarkali, for her part, stands humble yet resolute, professing that her love is genuine and that she would never dishonor the prince (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). When Salim bravely pleads with his father to let him marry Anarkali, Akbar vehemently refuses – no slave will ever be Empress (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). The Emperor’s duty to preserve the honor (izzat) of the Mughal dynasty, in his mind, far outweighs a young man’s desires (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa).
As punishment, Akbar has Anarkali imprisoned in a dungeon for her audacity. In a harrowing scene, Anarkali is shown shackled in iron chains in a dark cell, yet she endures with dignity (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). (Notably, these scenes were acted with real chains on actress Madhubala to lend authenticity to her anguish (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia).) Akbar demands that Anarkali renounce Salim publicly to prove her submission. In a dramatic court gathering in the Sheesh Mahal (Palace of Mirrors), Akbar gives her one last chance to save herself by declaring she does not love the prince.
Instead, Anarkali chooses defiance in the film’s most celebrated sequence: “Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya” (“I have loved, so why should I fear?”). Anarkali, brought before the court, seizes the moment to voice her love through a bold, mesmerizing dance in the Sheesh Mahal (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Surrounded by hundreds of glittering mirrors, she sings directly to Salim – and indirectly to Akbar – that she is not afraid to love. The number is staged extravagantly: the camera glides above in an overhead shot and even shows a kaleidoscopic reflection of Anarkali twirling, emphasizing the spectacle (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). This Technicolor segment was one of only two sequences originally filmed in color, reserved by director Asif as a “trump card” for maximum impact (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). The result is breathtaking – “a mind-blowing epiphany” of sound and color in which Anarkali asserts that love is above fear and social constraint (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Akbar watches in simmering rage as Anarkali ends her song at the foot of the throne, gazing fearlessly at him and Salim. This public defiance seals her fate: an enraged Akbar claps Anarkali back in chains, declaring that no force on earth can change the destiny of Hindustan’s throne for his son’s whims (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)).
Despite torture and threats, Anarkali refuses to betray her love – she will not falsely reject Salim even to save her own life (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Her unwavering loyalty only angers Akbar further, and he vows to permanently eliminate this threat to royal honor. Prince Salim, meanwhile, is heartbroken and furious at his father’s cruelty. When all his pleas fail, Salim decides to take matters into his own hands.
Salim’s Rebellion and the War with Akbar
Blinded by love and desperation, Salim raises the banner of rebellion against his father – an act with enormous stakes. The prince clandestinely frees Anarkali from her cell (with help from his trusted friends) and hides her safely away from the palace (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). He then rallies an army of disaffected nobles and soldiers loyal to him, intent on overthrowing Akbar’s authority if necessary to secure Anarkali’s freedom. This sets the stage for an epic father-son conflict culminating in civil war (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)).
Akbar, though anguished that his beloved son has become a traitor, does not hesitate to muster the imperial forces. The film’s scale dramatically expands in the battle sequences that follow. In a massive confrontation on a desert plain, Akbar leads the Mughal army against Salim’s rebel troops. The battle is a visual spectacle featuring thousands of men and animals: by one account around 8,000 soldiers, 2,000 camels, and 400 horses were used to stage the combat (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Clad in full armor under the scorching sun, Salim and Akbar even engage in personal combat amid the fray. The pyrotechnics and choreography of the war scene set new benchmarks for Indian cinema at the time (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) – flaming cannon blasts, clashing swords, and charging war-elephants fill the screen. Despite Salim’s courage, the imperial army’s experience and size prevail. Prince Salim’s forces are decimated, and he is captured unconscious on the battlefield, lying at his father’s feet in defeat.
In the aftermath, a sorrowful but resolute Akbar has to pass judgment on his only son. Salim is declared guilty of treason, an offense punishable by death. In a gripping scene, the defeated prince is brought in chains before Akbar’s darbar (court). Akbar, hiding his inner torment, pronounces the death sentence on Salim for waging war against the empire and defying the Emperor’s will. However, Akbar – still a father – offers a chilling conditional clemency: Salim’s life will be spared only if Anarkali is handed over to face execution in his stead (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)) (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). In other words, one of the two lovers must die. Salim is horrified and refuses to let Anarkali be harmed, but he is helpless as a prisoner. Akbar’s decree hangs in the air, awaiting Anarkali’s response in hiding.
Anarkali’s Sacrifice and the Emperor’s Mercy
When news of Salim’s imminent execution and Akbar’s ultimatum reaches Anarkali, she makes the ultimate sacrifice for love. Anarkali turns herself in to the guards, agreeing to give up her life so that Prince Salim may be spared (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). Her only request to the Emperor is heartbreakingly simple: she asks for a last night with Salim as his “make-believe” wife before her death (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). Touched by this plea (and perhaps in grudging admiration of her loyalty), Akbar grants Anarkali one final night with Salim. In a tender, sorrowful sequence, Anarkali, dressed as a bride, spends a few hours with a distraught Salim in a private chamber – their first and last night as a married couple in spirit. They exchange garlands and tears, knowing dawn will separate them forever. Unknown to Salim, Anarkali has also been ordered to drug him with a sleeping draught during this meeting (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). She does so, ensuring that when the guards come for her, Salim cannot fight back or intervene in her fate.
The next morning, as a groggy Salim awakens, Anarkali is taken away by soldiers. In a gut-wrenching parting, Salim, still dazed, reaches out for her while she is led off in chains (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). The lovers lock eyes one last time – Salim’s outstretched arm and Anarkali’s devastated face form one of the film’s most haunting images. True to Akbar’s decree, the method of execution is to be immurement: Anarkali is to be entombed alive. She is escorted to a brick wall being built in the palace dungeon. Salim, now fully conscious and frantic, rushes to save her but is restrained by guards; he can only watch in horror as bricks are laid one by one, gradually sealing Anarkali behind a growing wall.
However, Mughal-e-Azam offers a final poignant twist of fate. Just as Anarkali is about to be lost forever, Akbar’s conscience is stirred by a long-owed debt of gratitude. The maid who long ago brought news of Salim’s birth – Anarkali’s own mother – appears and desperately invokes the Emperor’s old promise to grant her any wish (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Her plea is for her daughter’s life. Akbar is reminded that he does owe this woman a boon, and his stern resolve wavers. He faces an agonizing dilemma: uphold absolute justice and royal honor by carrying out the execution, or show mercy and keep his word. In that moment, Akbar’s better nature prevails in a secret act of clemency. He orders that Anarkali be allowed to escape via a secret route. The film reveals that the brick wall has a hidden opening at its base – Anarkali is led through a tunnel to freedom outside the palace, where her mother waits (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). To satisfy royal “justice”, a coffin is paraded to feign Anarkali’s death, and Salim is told that Anarkali has been executed. In reality, Akbar spares her life on the condition that she and her mother go into permanent exile and live in obscurity, and that Salim must never learn she lives (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Akbar warns Anarkali that if the prince discovers the truth, both she and her mother will be put to death and “he will not let you die,” implying endless turmoil (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)) (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). Anarkali, out of love, agrees to vanish for Salim’s sake.
In the film’s bittersweet conclusion, Salim grieves for Anarkali, believing her entombed behind the very wall where he last saw her. Akbar, outwardly stoic as the Emperor and “Father of Hindustan,” has preserved the empire’s stability – but at the cost of his son’s happiness and an innocent girl’s freedom. The final shot shows a map of Hindustan (India) with a voiceover extolling Emperor Akbar’s devotion to his empire (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Yet, the audience’s last image is truly Anarkali’s fate: alive but dead to the world, paying the ultimate price so that duty and love could find a semblance of compromise. The lovers are forever separated, their story passing into legend and song – a tragic ending tempered only by the compassion that allowed Anarkali to survive in exile.
Character Developments and Performances
Prince Salim (Dilip Kumar)
Prince Salim undergoes a journey from pampered royalty to a matured warrior and finally a tormented lover. Initially, he’s a reckless youth whose entitlement prompts Akbar to send him to war for hardening (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). This harsh experience transforms Salim into a brave and competent commander, earning his father’s approval as a future emperor – until love derails these plans. When Salim falls for Anarkali, he evolves from a disciplined prince into a passionate rebel willing to stake his life and crown for love. He openly defies imperial authority, calling Akbar a tyrant to his face when Anarkali is condemned (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). This rebellion highlights Salim’s deep sense of justice and commitment, as he cannot accept that status should trump genuine love. Even in defeat, Salim remains dignified; he stoically faces execution rather than live without Anarkali.
Dilip Kumar’s performance captures Salim’s inner conflict – especially in scenes opposite Prithviraj Kapoor’s Akbar, where filial piety clashes with romantic ardor. Kumar, known for his subtle, method acting, brings intensity to Salim’s anguished moments (like the trembling rage when he finds Anarkali jailed, or his hollow-eyed despair at her “death”). Critics have noted that while Dilip had “intense moments,” he occasionally appeared uncomfortable in Salim’s regal role (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com), perhaps due to the character’s relatively straightforward arc compared to the more layered Akbar and Anarkali. Nevertheless, his portrayal in the love scenes – exuding tenderness and quiet passion – is iconic. The chemistry between Dilip Kumar and Madhubala is palpable, and all the more poignant given their rumored off-screen romance and breakup during production (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Salim’s character doesn’t have a traditional “happy” development; instead, his growth is reflected in the tragic maturity he gains in accepting personal loss for the greater good by the film’s end.
Anarkali (Madhubala)
Anarkali is the emotional fulcrum of Mughal-e-Azam. She begins as Nadira, a gentle and talented dancer of humble origin, and emerges as a symbol of undying love and sacrifice. Throughout the film, Anarkali displays remarkable strength of character beneath her delicate exterior (her name means “pomegranate blossom,” suggesting beauty with hidden resilience (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram)). When she captures Salim’s heart, Anarkali is fully aware of the peril – “she knew from the beginning their love was out of bounds” (Mughal-e-Azam | Meer). Yet, once in love, she remains steadfast and selfless. She endures public humiliation and abuse: Akbar subjects her to scorn, and she is even whipped and chained, but Anarkali never denounces Salim or apologizes for loving him (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Her defining moment of growth is the Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya sequence, where this once-retiring court dancer finds the courage to voice open defiance in front of the empire’s might – a testament to how empowering true love is for her.
As the crisis escalates, Anarkali’s unwavering loyalty is proven again when she offers her life in exchange for Salim’s (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). She even momentarily lies at Akbar’s behest (in some versions, Akbar forces her to pretend she never loved Salim to break the prince’s spirit (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram)), an act that devastates her but highlights her willingness to do anything to protect Salim’s honor (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). In the end, Anarkali’s character reaches almost saintly heights – she chooses exile and anonymity over a chance to reclaim her love, honoring the conditions of her pardon to ensure Salim’s safety. Her survival, bittersweet as it is, underscores her adaptability and enduring hope.
Madhubala’s performance as Anarkali is often lauded as the finest of her career (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com). She imbues Anarkali with grace, vulnerability, and quiet resolve. In the romantic scenes, Madhubala’s luminous expressions convey all of Anarkali’s bliss and fear – her eyes sparkle in love yet glisten with the foreboding of inevitable tragedy. In confrontations with Akbar, her measured delivery (in heavily Persianized Urdu) shows respect mingled with steely resolve, effectively holding her own opposite Prithviraj Kapoor’s booming voice. The sheer range Madhubala covers – from joyful dance in “Mohe Panghat Pe…”, to the heartrending sorrow of “Mohabbat ki Jhooti Kahani” (where Anarkali laments her cruel fate in prison) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram) – left audiences in awe. Film scholar comments often note that Madhubala “upstages the bombastic male leads”, making Anarkali the soul of the film (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Indeed, her final close-up – devastated yet dignified as she faces entombment – is unforgettable (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). It’s widely regarded as one of Hindi cinema’s all-time great performances (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com), and it earned Madhubala a Filmfare Best Actress nomination (losing controversially to another actress) (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com).
Emperor Akbar (Prithviraj Kapoor)
Emperor Jalaluddin Muhammad Akbar is portrayed as a complex figure balancing imperial duty with personal emotions. At the film’s start, we see Akbar’s humane side – a powerful ruler humbled in prayer for a son, and later a doting father cradling baby Salim. Akbar is historically remembered as a wise, tolerant ruler, and the film builds on this by showing him participating in both Islamic and Hindu rituals (joining Jodhabai in aarti for Lord Krishna, for example) to present him as a secular, fatherly figure of the nation (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). But when Salim’s love challenges the feudal social order, Akbar’s stern, absolutist side dominates. He believes preserving the Mughal empire’s “honor and principles” (usool) is paramount (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Thus, he becomes almost an antagonist in the lovers’ story – albeit a deeply conflicted one. Prithviraj Kapoor’s Akbar thunders with authority in court, intoning lines like “I cannot change the destiny of Hindustan for my son’s love!” (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)). He employs heavy-handed measures (imprisonment, war, death sentences) to enforce what he sees as royal duty.
Yet, the film ensures Akbar is not a one-note villain. In private moments, he is shown anguishing over Salim’s rebellion, and he calls the duty of punishing his son “the hardest trial of his life.” A large scales of justice is a recurring visual motif beside Akbar, symbolizing the weight of judgment he must mete out (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Throughout, Akbar refers to the welfare of “Hindustan”, positioning himself as the embodiment of the state, even above family (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). This national/fatherly dual role culminates in his final decision to secretly spare Anarkali – a moment of compassionate weakness or wisdom, depending on interpretation. By allowing her to live, Akbar reconciles (to a degree) his love as a father with his duty as a king, though Salim can never know.
Prithviraj Kapoor’s performance is grand and theatrical, fitting Akbar’s larger-than-life persona. He delivers Urdu dialogues laden with Persian phrases in a resounding baritone voice (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) that commands attention (indeed, his oratory is so imposing that it’s said even Amitabh Bachchan could envy it (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa)). Some critics note Kapoor went “over the top” at times (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com), given to emphatic gesturing and raised volume, but his regal bearing and intensity make Akbar unforgettable. He manages to convey Akbar’s inner suffering too – for instance, the flicker of pain in his eyes when pronouncing Salim’s death, or the relief-tinged sadness when he tells Anarkali to disappear. Older viewers of the film often cite Prithviraj’s Akbar as the definitive screen portrayal of the emperor (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com), thanks to his authoritative presence. Ultimately, Akbar’s character arc is a tragic one as well: he retains his empire and principles, but at the cost of personal heartbreak and a permanently estranged son.
Empress Jodhabai (Durga Khote)
Jodhabai, Salim’s mother and Akbar’s chief Rajput wife, represents the voice of compassion and the tension between familial love and royal duty. Throughout the film, Jodhabai is in an agonizing position – she adores her son and empathizes with his love, yet she is also the queen who must stand by the Emperor. Durga Khote portrays Jodha as gentle yet strong-willed. In several key scenes, Jodha pleads with Akbar to show mercy or to consider Salim’s happiness. For example, when Akbar initially condemns Anarkali, Jodha attempts to mediate, reminding Akbar of a father’s responsibility. Akbar sharply rebukes her, saying she is thinking like “only a mother” and forgetting her duty as queen (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Jodhabai fires back that Akbar is acting only as Emperor and forgetting his duty as a father (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). This captures her inner conflict: “On one end is my wifehood, on the other hand my motherhood,” she laments, as both husband and son force her to choose sides (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram).
In the war buildup, there is a powerful moment: Akbar comes to Jodha’s chambers for his sword (a pre-battle ritual seeking a blessing). Jodha, torn, initially refuses to hand him the sword – implicitly not blessing a war against her son (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Akbar reminds her that without it he cannot win. Jodha yields, but sorrowfully acknowledges “There is no victory for me in this. Either way, I lose – as a wife or as a mother.” (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). This line encapsulates Jodhabai’s tragic role. In the end, she dutifully sides with Akbar (her “professional obligation” as queen, so to speak, outweighs personal desire), giving him the sword and tacit approval to punish Salim (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Durga Khote’s dignified performance adds depth to Jodha, who could have been a minor character. We see the unspoken pain of a mother watching her husband and son battle to the death; Khote’s face in those scenes powerfully conveys that anguish (a modern viewer quipped: “My husband is about to kill my son. I am NOT having a good day,” capturing Jodha’s silent despair (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram)). Jodhabai ultimately acts as the dutiful empress, but her presence constantly reminds the audience of the personal costs of this conflict. She embodies the human cost of duty – a theme at the heart of the film.
Bahar, the Courtesan (Nigar Sultana) and Others
Bahar is the foil to Anarkali. As a fellow dancer in the palace, she is ambitious, shrewd, and unapologetic about using her charms to gain power. Unlike Anarkali’s genuine love, Bahar’s interest in Salim is purely opportunistic – she “is in love with the throne,” not the man (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Early on, she makes her intentions clear by secretly trying on the Empress’s crown and telling a confidante that “the crown does not sit on the heads of the afraid” (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). This line reveals Bahar’s boldness and hunger for status. She actively creates situations to discredit Anarkali, such as organizing the singing duel hoping to outshine her (which backfires) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). When Salim nearly kills her in rage, Bahar’s bitterness drives her to betray them. Even after Akbar knows the truth, Bahar continues plotting: on Anarkali’s last night, Bahar performs a song “Jab Raat Hai Aisi Matwali” with pointed lyrics (“If the night is so intoxicating, what will the dawn bring?”), taunting Anarkali about her doom by morning (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Nigar Sultana plays Bahar with flair – smiling sweetly while delivering barbed lines. Bahar is essentially the “venom in velvet” archetype, an antagonist who, despite causing the lovers’ suffering, is not depicted as purely evil. The narrative acknowledges that Bahar’s drive comes from being a woman with limited avenues to power in that era. The Aerogram article even suggests the film unfairly maligns Bahar for traits that would be admired in a man – ambition and assertiveness (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Still, Bahar’s machinations ensure the tragedy unfolds. In the end, she does not get what she wants; her schemes only result in heartbreak for all.
Among other characters, a few leave strong impressions despite limited screen time. Durjan Singh (Ajit) is Salim’s loyal friend, a military officer who stands by the prince even in rebellion – a model of fealty. The Sculptor (played by Kumar, a veteran actor) is a fascinating minor character: an artist who speaks truth to power through his art. In one scene, he remarks that the realistic statues he carves (depicting scenes like an execution) might offend princes and emperors because “they speak the truth” (25 GRAND Frames of Mughal-E-Azam – Rediff.com movies). This line subtly critiques the powerful for disliking criticism, and it aligns with the film’s motif of art as rebellion (Anarkali herself “brings the sculptor’s vision to life” and uses performance to challenge the Emperor (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa)). There is also the fortune-teller or spiritual figure who narrates the prologue and epilogue as the voice of Hindustan, framing Akbar’s reign in historical terms (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). And of course, the palace maid (Anarkali’s mother) who triggers the climax by invoking Akbar’s promise. Though we see her only briefly, her presence is crucial – representing the Emperor’s capacity for mercy when reminded of ordinary loyalty and goodness.
Each supporting role, no matter how brief, is well-etched and contributes to the film’s rich tapestry. Together, the characters personify the film’s central conflicts: parent vs child, king vs lover, ambition vs devotion, and ultimately, fate vs compassion.
Themes: Love, Duty, and Power
Love as Transcendent Yet Tragic
At its core, Mughal-e-Azam is a celebration of passionate, all-consuming love and its power to challenge entrenched norms. Salim and Anarkali’s romance is portrayed as pure and transformative – Salim changes from a complacent prince to a determined lover who will risk anything, while Anarkali finds the courage to assert her self-worth against an empire, all through love. The theme “pyar kiya to darna kya” (“if you’ve loved, why fear?”) is the film’s anthem (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Love, in this story, is fearless: Anarkali’s song in the mirror hall encapsulates that idea, openly confronting authority in the name of love. Their love is also depicted as spiritual and ennobling – note that Salim first sees Anarkali in a quasi-religious tableau (as an angelic statue), suggesting a destined, almost divine connection (25 GRAND Frames of Mughal-E-Azam – Rediff.com movies) (25 GRAND Frames of Mughal-E-Azam – Rediff.com movies). The visual of Salim writing letters from war in his own blood earlier (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa)is echoed by how he later would spill that blood for Anarkali – love and sacrifice are tightly entwined.
Yet, Mughal-e-Azam also underscores that such love in a rigid society courts tragedy. The film consciously invokes the archetype of star-crossed lovers (Salim-Anarkali are often compared to a desi Romeo and Juliet (Reliving the timeless romance of Mughal-e-Azam, 64 years later, with a musical – India Today)). No matter how intense their bond, external forces – class divide, parental opposition – crush their dreams. The theme of “love versus society” is pervasive: dialogues repeatedly contrast the softness of love with the harshness of law and duty. For example, in the lyrical duel, Anarkali’s verses speak of the pain lovers endure, whereas Bahar cynically sings that love only leads to ruin (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). This foreshadows that, indeed, the lovers will not have a conventional happy ending. The film’s ending, where love does not triumph openly, reinforces the tragic aspect: Salim and Anarkali’s love survives only in memory and legend, not in life. However, the final act of mercy by Akbar injects a nuanced twist: love doesn’t conquer all, but it leaves a lasting impact. Akbar’s grudging compassion is itself a victory for love – it softens the heart of the most powerful, showing that even kings are moved by the purity of love (he spares Anarkali because he finally recognizes her “purity of heart” despite calling her a social-climber earlier (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa)). Thus, love is shown as transcendent – powerful enough to challenge an empire and inspire sacrifice – but also tragic, as the lovers must part for the greater good. This duality gives the film its emotional resonance.
Duty and Honor vs Personal Happiness
The conflict between duty (particularly filial and sovereign duty) and personal happiness is the driving thematic tension in Mughal-e-Azam. On one side stands Emperor Akbar’s sense of duty to empire, tradition, and honor (izzat), and on the other side is Salim’s duty to his own heart and Anarkali’s duty to her love. This theme is explicitly discussed in the film’s dialogue. Akbar embodies the idea that a ruler’s duty to the state outweighs all else – he often refers to himself as “we” and “Father to my people,” subsuming his personal role as Salim’s father into the larger role of Emperor (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). The film’s prologue voiceover calling Akbar one of Hindustan’s greatest devotees sets this up clearly (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). When he discovers Salim’s disobedience, Akbar feels it’s his duty to enforce the law even at the expense of family – hence his severe actions. There’s a telling line when Akbar tries to break Anarkali’s will: he disparages her as a low-born intruder, whereas the audience knows she is innocent and true (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). This creates a moral tension – we see that Akbar’s rigid adherence to duty is actually unjust in this context, blinding him to truth. Salim, in turn, frames his rebellion as a matter of principle too: he accuses Akbar of being a tyrant who denies his own son the basic right to love, essentially calling out a father’s dereliction of duty in caring for his child’s happiness (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa).
The theme plays out in Jodhabai’s storyline as well, where motherhood clashes with queenly duty (she must choose which duty to uphold) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram) (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). Her quotes about losing either way highlight that duty often demands impossible choices. For Salim, the duty to follow his heart and be true to his love conflicts with his duty of obedience to his father and emperor. His famous line to Akbar – “Your throne of Hindustan may rule land and people, but not the hearts of your subjects” (paraphrased) – asserts that emotional truth is as important as political duty, a thoroughly modern sentiment placed in a historical context.
In the end, duty ostensibly “wins” – Akbar’s standpoint prevails externally (Salim submits; Anarkali vanishes; the empire’s order is intact). But the film’s resolution also questions the cost of such a victory. The final shot of Hindustan’s map and a voice praising Akbar as an ideal ruler is juxtaposed with our knowledge of the personal tragedy that unfolded (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). It’s a subtle critique: the preservation of patriarchal principles often demands painful sacrifices from individuals (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). As the University of Iowa analysis notes, the audience is left realizing that the “decrees of absolutist authority…are not always just” (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Akbar’s final act – secretly sparing Anarkali – is a nod to “Compassionate Paternalism” (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa), hinting that a just ruler must temper duty with mercy. Thus, the film richly explores the duty vs. love theme, suggesting that neither can exist in a pure form without human consequences. The ideal would be a balance, but in the world of Mughal-e-Azam, that balance is almost impossible, making the collision of duties and desires tragic and thought-provoking.
Power, Class, and Authority
Mughal-e-Azam is also a meditation on power and its uses/abuses. Emperor Akbar represents absolute monarchical power – his word is law, with the power over life and death. The film shows how this power is exercised in personal realms: Akbar believes he can control even the private lives of his family, exemplifying patriarchy at its zenith. The class divide between Salim and Anarkali is fundamentally a power imbalance. Akbar’s fury at the idea of a commoner becoming royalty is about preserving the power hierarchy. The film doesn’t shy from portraying the cruelty that often accompanies such power: Akbar has no qualms calling for a living tomb for Anarkali, a stark image of the oppression of the powerless. Anarkali, as a symbol, stands for the voiceless subjects under a feudal system – normally, she’d be crushed without recourse. Her only weapon is her art and love, which she uses daringly. In the Sheesh Mahal scene, when she sings “Pyar Kiya…” she is effectively seizing power, albeit briefly – the lyrics taunt that love grants a power that defies kings. Indeed, that scene shows an interesting dynamic: the courtiers are stunned, Salim is emboldened, and Akbar – for all his imperial might – is rendered momentarily powerless to stop a song. It’s a cinematic high point where the power of love and art momentarily outranks temporal power.
Power is also examined through Bahar’s subplot. Bahar is keenly aware she lacks power due to birth, so she schemes to attain it. Her character highlights the limited avenues for women to gain authority in that era – basically through the favor of powerful men (hence her pursuit of Salim). Bahar’s comment about fear and crowns (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram) speaks to the ruthlessness often required in power games. Yet, ironically, her machinations only serve the existing power structure (by eliminating Anarkali, she actually helps Akbar’s stance). In a broader sense, the film contrasts Akbar’s autocratic power with Salim’s youthful idealism and rebellion. Salim’s revolt, though personal in motive, can be seen as a challenge to unjust authority. He labels Akbar’s rule as oppressive when it intrudes on his private rights (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). Some analysts have read this as a subtle commentary on contemporary issues (the film was made in a newly independent India, and there’s a whiff of democratic spirit in Salim’s challenge to absolutism).
Visually, the film emphasizes power with grand sets (the throne room, the scale of justice prop, the gigantic Mughal insignia) and costuming (Akbar’s regalia vs. Anarkali’s simple attire). But it also uses these to underscore the imbalance: in the throne room scenes, Anarkali is often shot at a lower level or behind bars/shadows, whereas Akbar is elevated on a throne dais, literally looking down – a clear depiction of who holds power. However, Mughal-e-Azam suggests that true justice is not always aligned with power. By the end, Akbar’s exercise of power is only redeemed when tempered with mercy. The large justice scales seen in the film tip in favor of mercy in the final act, indicating a moral that wielding power calls for compassion and wisdom, not just strength. It’s a subtle but progressive message for a historical film: even the Great Mughal must learn that absolute power must yield to humanity at times.
Historical Context and Production Insights
Historical and Cultural Context
Mughal-e-Azam is set in the late 16th century during the reign of Emperor Akbar (r. 1556–1605), a period often regarded as the high point of the Mughal Empire in India. Historically, Akbar is known for expanding the empire and for policies of religious tolerance and integration – he included Rajput Hindu princesses (like Jodhabai) in his family and abolished certain discriminatory taxes (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). The film leverages this historical backdrop to add depth to its story. The character of Akbar is written not just as a father, but as a figurehead of a unified Hindustan. Notably, the film opens and closes with a map of India and a voiceover declaring, “I am Hindustan” and praising Akbar’s devotion to the nation (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). This framing casts the story as more than a personal saga – it’s tied to the idea of India’s identity. Given that the film was released in 1960, just 13 years after India’s independence and partition, this nationalistic tone is significant. Director K. Asif, a Muslim filmmaker in post-Partition India, seems to have been careful to present Akbar as an exemplary secular ruler, emphasizing Hindu-Muslim amity (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). This likely aimed to resonate with contemporary audiences, reinforcing unity in a country healing from communal divides.
The Salim-Anarkali love story itself is drawn from popular legend rather than documented history. Historicity vs. folklore is an interesting context here: there is no conclusive evidence that Anarkali existed or that Salim (later Emperor Jahangir) had such a lover entombed – the tale comes from poetry and myth. Yet the story endured in Indian cultural memory as a symbol of love’s rebellion against authority. The film acknowledges history (Salim will become Jahangir, who indeed married someone else) by ultimately aligning with the known record – Anarkali doesn’t become queen. Scholars have pointed out that because history didn’t record a happy ending for them, the filmmakers had to give victory to Akbar (the father/state), but found a “face-saving twist” by letting Anarkali live in secret (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). This compromise both respects historical “fact” and satisfies the audience’s emotional investment to an extent.
Culturally, Mughal-e-Azam came at a time when Hindi cinema was mastering the period epic genre. Prior films had depicted Mughal characters (there were earlier movies named Anarkali as well), but Asif’s version was by far the most grand and definitive. Its portrayal of Mughal courtly life – the opulence, etiquette, language – has since influenced how popular culture imagines that era. The film’s dialogues are in high-flown Urdu filled with poetic flourishes and archaic terms, reflecting the sophistication of the Mughal darbār. This was deliberate and added authenticity (Urdu was the language of the Mughal court). For instance, Akbar’s lines include many Persian-origin words, lending gravity (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). The film essentially set the template for the “Bollywood historical drama” – a blend of fact and fiction, spectacle and intimacy, often with an implicit commentary on present-day values like secularism, honor, and love.
It’s also worth noting the allegorical undertones some critics find: Akbar’s conflict between state and son can symbolize the conflict between an older generation’s imposed authority and a younger generation’s individual desires – a theme that is evergreen and was particularly relevant in a new democracy. Additionally, some see Akbar as representing a Nehruvian ideal of India – secular, paternalistic, forging unity – while Salim and Anarkali’s struggle hints at the need for personal freedom within that framework (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). All these contextual layers enrich the viewing of Mughal-e-Azam beyond its immediate story.
The Making of Mughal-e-Azam: Production Insights
The production of Mughal-e-Azam is almost as legendary as the film’s story itself. It was a monumental project that spanned over 15 years from conception to completion (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Director K. Asif first envisioned it in the mid-1940s after reading a 1922 play Anarkali (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Principal photography eventually began in the early 1950s, but numerous delays – including a change of financiers and an entirely new cast – plagued the film (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Originally, renowned actors Chandramohan, D.K. Sapru, and Nargis were to play Akbar, Salim, and Anarkali (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia), but by 1950 those plans fell through (Chandramohan died, Nargis left, etc.). Asif recast with Prithviraj Kapoor, Dilip Kumar, and Madhubala – choices that in hindsight seem perfect. The production stretched so long that its backstory is full of drama: during filming, Dilip Kumar and Madhubala’s real-life romance ended sourly, yet they had to continue performing intense love scenes (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Asif even married Dilip Kumar’s sister during the shoot, causing some personal tension (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). At one point, massive cost overruns and logistic hurdles prompted Asif to consider abandoning the project (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia), but he persisted with unwavering ambition.
The film was, for its time, the most expensive Indian movie ever made (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). The final budget was around ₹15 million (about $3 million in 1960) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) – an astronomical sum then, earning it the label of a “magnum opus.” The lavish spending is evident on screen. The art direction under M.K. Syed was meticulous and grand. Some sets took six weeks to build and entire soundstages were transformed into Mughal palaces (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). The most famous set is the Sheesh Mahal (Palace of Mirrors) built for the pivotal song sequence. This set was a marvel: a scale replica of the Sheesh Mahal in Lahore Fort, measuring 150 feet long, 80 feet wide, and 35 feet high (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). It was adorned with thousands of small mirrors made of Belgian glass, handcrafted by artisans from Firozabad (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). The set alone cost ₹1.5 million – more than an entire film budget in those days (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Financiers feared bankruptcy over this, but Asif’s vision prevailed. Shooting the Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya scene in the Sheesh Mahal was a technical nightmare due to mirror reflections and lighting. The cinematographer, R.D. Mathur, took on the challenge by innovating: they used 500 truck headlights and 100 reflectors to illuminate the set and then coated the mirrors with a thin layer of wax to reduce glare (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Even acclaimed British director David Lean, visiting the set, had advised Asif to scrap the idea, thinking it impossible to film under such conditions (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). But Asif persisted, and Mathur’s ingenuity (including using cloth to bounce light softly) made the dazzling scene possible (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Mathur reportedly spent eight hours to light a single shot in some cases (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia), showing the level of detail.
The battle scenes were another massive undertaking. They were filmed in Rajasthan with the cooperation of the Indian Army. The production employed 2,000 camels, 400 horses, and thousands of soldiers (mainly from the Jaipur Cavalry regiment) to stage the war (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Dilip Kumar recalled the intense heat of the desert and the weight of the armor during these shoots (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Over 500 shooting days were required in total (versus ~100 days for a typical film then) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia), and about one million feet of film negative was exposed in the process (Mughal-e-Azam clocks 60 years: Stills from a film that is forever etched in the minds of the audience | Mumbai Mirror ). Scenes were filmed simultaneously in multiple languages: Asif ambitiously shot each take in Hindi/Urdu, then in Tamil, and even planned an English version (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). The Tamil dub (Akbar, 1961) did release, but flopped, leading them to cancel the English version (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). This trilingual approach meant many key scenes were acted and recorded three times, contributing to the long production.
The dedication of the cast and crew was enormous. Dilip Kumar later said that no one found the delays “tiresome” because they all recognized the project’s “overwhelming craftsmanship” and were willing to endure strenuous schedules for its sake (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Indeed, the film’s team included specialists from all over India: embroiderers from Surat for intricate zardozi work on costumes, goldsmiths from Hyderabad for jewelry, tailors from Delhi, armorers from Rajasthan, etc., ensuring authenticity in every detail (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). One oft-cited anecdote: for a scene where Jodhabai prays to Lord Krishna, an idol of Krishna was cast in pure gold (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) – an example of expense for authenticity. Another: when Anarkali is imprisoned, the production used real iron chains on Madhubala to ensure her discomfort and tears were real (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Naushad’s music recording was also lavish; for the song “Ae Mohabbat Zindabad,” he assembled a chorus of 100 singers to get a majestic sound (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com).
All this extravagance was risky, but it paid off. When Mughal-e-Azam premiered on August 5, 1960, it had an unprecedented release across 150 theaters simultaneously (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) (in an era of single-screen cinemas). Special “royal invite” scrolls in Urdu were sent out for the premiere (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). Crowds thronged theaters; it’s said people queued from dawn to get tickets (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). The film quickly broke box office records, becoming the highest-grossing Indian film and holding that title for the next 15 years (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia).
The production saga has since become part of Bollywood folklore – a benchmark for dedication. The film’s success vindicated Asif’s vision and showed that Indian filmmakers could mount epics on the scale of a Cecil B. DeMille or David Lean. Sadly, K. Asif did not direct another film of this magnitude; Mughal-e-Azam remained his crowning achievement. Over the years, the making-of stories (the 10+ year shoot, the perfectionism, the cost overruns, the real-life love story on set) have contributed to the film’s mystique, making it a legend in its own right in Indian cinema history (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa).
Cinematography and Visual Grandeur
Visually, Mughal-e-Azam is a feast – every frame exudes opulence and careful craft. Cinematographer R.D. Mathur played a crucial role in bringing Asif’s grand vision to life. One striking aspect is the film’s mix of black-and-white and Technicolor. Most of the 197-minute film is in sumptuous black-and-white, with rich contrast lighting highlighting the elaborate sets and costumes. Then, at two climactic moments, the film bursts into color (notably, during “Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya” and the subsequent sequence in the Sheesh Mahal) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). This deliberate choice made those scenes stand out like jewels. Audiences in 1960, used to mostly monochrome films, were astonished by the sudden appearance of vibrant color – it truly delivered an epiphany as Asif intended (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). The color footage showcases the intricate mirror work, the dazzling costumes (Anarkali’s red and gold lehenga in that song is now iconic), and the set’s scale in a way B&W could not. Mathur won the Filmfare Award for Best Cinematography for his work (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com), a testament to how well the visuals were executed.
The cinematography style is often operatic. Mathur uses a lot of wide shots to capture the full grandeur of the Mughal court – for instance, the camera glides over rows of courtiers in the throne room, emphasizing the scale of Akbar’s empire. In contrast, for intimate moments, Mathur isn’t afraid of extreme close-ups: the famous feather scene is mostly shown in tight close shots of Salim’s and Anarkali’s faces (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa), creating a sensual, immersive feel. He also employs creative angles: the overhead shot in the mirror dance and a brief kaleidoscope effect of the mirrors reflecting Anarkali were innovative for their time (Mughal-E-Azam (1960)).
Lighting was an art in this film. Many indoor scenes simulate the soft glow of candles or torches, adding to the historical ambiance. The clandestine night meetings between the lovers are usually bathed in moody, dim light with strong shadows, evoking secrecy and romance. Conversely, the outdoor battle scenes are brightly lit under the desert sun, making the dust, armor, and thousands of moving figures clearly visible – an impressive feat for clarity in chaos. Mathur’s use of deep focus in the war sequences allows one to see far into the background, capturing the vast scope of the conflict (inspired perhaps by Hollywood epics and the films of Eisenstein, which Asif admired (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa)).
The production design and cinematography work hand-in-hand. The film’s set pieces – the fountains, the gardens, the pillars of the palace – all serve as dramatic backdrops that Mathur frames like paintings. The aesthetic draws from Mughal miniature paintings and grand paintings alike: some compositions show symmetry and depth reminiscent of Mughal art (e.g., Akbar often positioned centrally under a filigreed arch, signifying his central authority). Others evoke a more Western tableau style, especially the war scenes (critics noted the choreography of extras resembled scenes from the epics of directors like Fritz Lang or Eisenstein (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa)). The Sheesh Mahal interior was a nightmare to shoot, but Mathur’s solution of diffused lighting turned it into a visual wonder – the mirrors gleam without blinding, and one can see reflections of dancers multiply without ever spotting a camera reflection (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). This sequence is often studied for its technical brilliance.
The film also uses visuals symbolically. The giant scales of justice that appear in Akbar’s court scenes are not just props; Mathur frequently cuts to them when Akbar is making a fateful decision, a reminder of the moral weight and theme of justice vs mercy (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). During Salim and Akbar’s showdown, lightning flashes through a window as father and son confront each other – a classic visual metaphor for the raging conflict. When Anarkali is being bricked in, the camera lingers on her eyes between the rising bricks, then shifts to Salim’s despairing face – visually connecting the lovers even as a wall divides them. Such imagery amplifies the emotional core.
In summary, the cinematography of Mughal-e-Azam achieves the rare combination of spectacle and intimacy. It overwhelms with scale when needed, yet it sensitively captures the nuances of the actors’ performances in quieter moments. The film’s visual grandeur – the “sumptuous splendour of the Mughal court” and the “breathtaking battle scenes” – has arguably never been surpassed in Hindi cinema for its time (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com). Decades later, when the film was fully colorized and re-released in 2004, a new generation could appreciate the detailed art direction and cinematography anew (25 GRAND Frames of Mughal-E-Azam – Rediff.com movies) (25 GRAND Frames of Mughal-E-Azam – Rediff.com movies). But even in its partial-color original form, Mughal-e-Azam remains a visual masterpiece that set standards for historical epics in India.
Music and Soundtrack
Music is the beating heart of Mughal-e-Azam, elevating its drama to a truly operatic level. Composer Naushad created a soundtrack that is often cited as one of the finest in Hindi film history (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). The songs blend classical Indian music with accessible melodies, mirroring the film’s mix of grandeur and intimacy. There are 12 songs in total (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia), each carefully placed to enhance the narrative:
- “Mohe Panghat Pe Nandlal” – A joyous, semi-classical number performed in Krishna’s honor at court. Sung by Lata Mangeshkar, this song introduces adult Salim to Anarkali (who dances in the role of a gopi or milkmaid teasing Lord Krishna). The number’s playful devotion parallels Anarkali’s own pending devotion to Salim. It features traditional Kathak dance and showcases the vibrant court culture. Visually, it’s rich with dancers and costumes, setting a celebratory mood before the storm.
- “Teri Mehfil Mein Qismat Azmaake” – The musical duel between Anarkali (Lata Mangeshkar) and Bahar (Shamshad Begum). This qawwali-style song has two alternating choruses, one led by each woman, debating whether love brings joy or pain. It’s essentially a singing debate on their philosophies of love. The lyrics by Shakeel Badayuni are poetic: Bahar’s lines suggest love ends in betrayal and tears, while Anarkali’s verses argue that love’s pain is still sweeter than a life without love (The Women of ‘Mughal-e-Azam’ – The Aerogram). The song not only is aurally beautiful with its tabla and sitar accompaniments, but it also advances the plot – Salim’s reactions during the song make it clear whose sentiments resonate with him (Anarkali’s).
- “Prem Jogan Ban Ke” – A rare gem sung by Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, a renowned classical vocalist, who lent his voice for a hefty fee (legend has it, Naushad convinced him to sing for ₹25,000, an enormous amount then, but resulting in pure magic). This song is set to Raga Sohni and plays during a moonlit night sequence where Salim visits Anarkali. Khan’s mellifluous, deeply emotive voice provides a soulful backdrop as Salim, in disguise, gazes at a sleeping Anarkali and brushes the feather across her face. The song’s ethereal quality underlines the almost divine intensity of Salim’s love. It’s said that this classical thumri was used to lend emotional gravitas – even if viewers didn’t understand the Urdu lyrics, the feeling in Khan’s voice conveys longing and surrender. (Another song by Khan, “Shubh Din Aayo”, celebrating Salim’s return, is heard briefly – also adding classical heft (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com).)
- “Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya” – The showstopper. Composed in Raga Gara, this song became an anthem of fearless love. Lata Mangeshkar’s voice echoes in the acoustics of the Sheesh Mahal set, giving it a slightly hollow, grand sound as if truly in a marble palace. The song’s crescendo line – “Jab pyar kiya to darna kya, pyar kiya koi chori nahin ki, chhup chhup aahen bharna kya” (“I have loved, so why should I fear? I have loved, not committed a crime; why hide and sigh in secret?”) – elicited applause in theaters, as it encapsulated the film’s spirit. Naushad’s orchestration here is notable for its Mughal flavor: he uses the pakhawaj (barrel drum) and santoor, and the chorus of maidens that joins Lata gives it a grand, operatic scale. This song also features a unique echo effect on the word “Anarkali” toward the end, as if the halls themselves are calling her name – a haunting touch. It’s a testament to Naushad and Lata’s genius that this rebellious love song is still instantly recognizable to many Indians today, decades later.
- “Bekas Pe Karam kijiye” – A heartfelt plea sung by Lata, picturized on Anarkali when she is in despair (likely in prison). It is in the form of a prayerful ghazal, asking God (or the Emperor metaphorically) for mercy on the helpless. The slow, desolate melody and Lata’s anguished voice deepen the audience’s sympathy for Anarkali’s plight.
- “Mohabbat Ki Jhooti Kahani” – Another sorrowful melody by Lata, literally meaning “The false story of love for which I weep.” This is sung by Anarkali during her forced separation from Salim (at Akbar’s command to lie). The lyrics speak of the “lie” that she never loved, and how that lie is breaking her. It’s a moment where the soundtrack voices Anarkali’s inner truth, even as she is compelled to speak falsehood publicly. The high notes of Lata’s singing here are piercing and tragic.
- “Ae Mohabbat Zindabad” – A rousing chorus number led by Mohammed Rafi at a critical juncture – when Salim is marching to war or being led to the execution, depending on interpretation. The phrase means “Long live love!” This might seem ironic (singing praise of love in a moment of potential doom), but it serves as a battle cry for Salim’s cause. Indeed, it’s reportedly sung by the sculptor character with a chorus of soldiers (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa), effectively uniting them under the banner of love versus tyranny. Naushad used a 100-person chorus to give it a full-throated, martial quality (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com). Rafi’s voice hits some powerful high notes, symbolizing the unwavering spirit of the lovers even in face of death (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com). This song in the film has a visual of Salim being dragged to the execution ground, yet defiantly smiling – the music amplifies that defiance.
- Other songs include “Humen Kash Tumse Mohabbat Na Hoti” (Lata) – a wistful tune that translates to “I wish I had not fallen in love with you,” likely expressing Anarkali’s bittersweet regret not for loving, but for the suffering it brings Salim. There is also a playful song “Taqdeer se bigadi hui” by Lata (often not as highlighted), and a couple of background folk melodies to enrich the ambience. The soundtrack album is carefully curated so that each song either pushes the story forward or delves deeper into a character’s emotional state.
Naushad’s music drew from Indian classical ragas and folk styles (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia), aligning with the 16th-century setting. Yet it was accessible enough to top music charts of the time. The background score (the instrumental music between songs) also deserves mention – it uses grand orchestral swells for dramatic moments and soft santoor/flute motifs for tender scenes, effectively underscoring the mood without ever jarring.
The playback singers gave some of their career-best performances. Lata Mangeshkar, the nightingale of India, dominates the album, voice-crafting the personas of both Anarkali and the other female characters. Critics often single out that Mughal-e-Azam contains some of Lata’s most sublime singing (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) – from the light classical nuances of “Panghat” to the power of “Pyar Kiya…”. Mohammed Rafi shines in “Zindabad” and a poignant verse in “Pyar Kiya…” (he provides the male chorus voice echo in the latter). Shamshad Begum’s earthy voice as Bahar in the duet was a perfect foil to Lata. And of course, having Bade Ghulam Ali Khan for two songs was an extraordinary coup; it lent the film a seal of classical credibility.
The songs are intricately woven into the screenplay, not mere interludes. Many dialogues segue into songs or vice versa. For example, after “Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya,” Akbar has a line acknowledging Anarkali’s challenge. After “Teri Mehfil,” the outcome influences Bahar’s next move. This tight integration means the music is not extraneous; it’s part of the storytelling (a hallmark of Indian musicals, executed exceptionally here).
Upon release, the music of Mughal-e-Azam was a colossal hit. It is said that people went to the theater multiple times just to re-experience the songs. The soundtrack won Naushad the admiration of critics and audiences alike (though surprisingly he lost the Filmfare Award to another film that year, which is now viewed as an injustice (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com) (Mughal-e-Azam – Upperstall.com)). Over the decades, these songs have become evergreen. “Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya” especially has achieved legendary status – often recreated or paid homage to in later films, stage shows, and even flash mobs (as recently as 2023, dancers performed it in Times Square, New York, showcasing its international resonance) (प्यार किया तो डरना क्या | Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya – HD Video – YouTube) (प्यार किया तो डरना क्या | Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya – HD Video – YouTube). The music and dances of Mughal-e-Azam thus not only enriched the film but have seeped into the cultural fabric, symbolizing the height of cinematic musical expression in Bollywood.
Impact and Legacy on Indian Cinema
The impact of Mughal-e-Azam on Indian cinema and popular culture is monumental. Upon its release in 1960, it set a new benchmark for what could be achieved in filmmaking in terms of scale, quality, and popularity. The film smashed commercial records – it became the highest-grossing Indian film ever at that time (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia), a record it held for 15 years until the advent of another epic (Sholay in 1975). It ran for hundreds of days in theaters, with some cinemas reportedly playing it daily for over a year to meet audience demand. This demonstrated that audiences would embrace a nearly 3.5-hour long historical drama if it was made compelling.
Critically, it was lauded as a milestone of Indian cinema. It won the National Film Award (for Best Feature Film in Hindi, 1960) and multiple Filmfare Awards (including Best Film) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). The performances, especially Madhubala’s and Prithviraj Kapoor’s, were universally praised, as were Naushad’s music and Mathur’s cinematography. Over the years, Mughal-e-Azam regularly appears on lists of “Top 10 Bollywood Films of All Time” (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa). It has achieved a cult classic status wherein lines of dialogue are instantly recognizable. For example, Akbar’s commanding “Anarkali, khaaamosh!” (“Silence, Anarkali!”) or “Salim, Anarkali ko deewaron mein chunwa do” (“Salim, have Anarkali walled up!”) are quoted in pop culture, sometimes in jest, indicating how deeply ingrained the film is in the public mind.
One of the film’s significant legacies is how it defined the visual language of historical dramas in India. Subsequent films about royals or historical figures often drew inspiration from Mughal-e-Azam’s set designs, costumes, and even scene constructions. For instance, the portrayal of opulent darbars (courts) with grand dialogues became a Bollywood staple largely due to this film’s influence. The success of Mughal-e-Azam emboldened other filmmakers to attempt big-budget period films, though few could match its success or lavishness. In a way, it stood unmatched for decades; it wasn’t until the 21st century with movies like Jodha Akbar (2008) or Bajirao Mastani (2015) that similar levels of grandeur were approached, and even those often gave a nod to Asif’s classic (for example, Jodha Akbar directly deals with Akbar and Jodhabai’s story and inevitably invites comparisons).
Another aspect of its legacy is the music. The songs have been covered, remixed, and sung by generations of singers. Lata Mangeshkar’s voice in “Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya” is so iconic that decades later, when a colorized version was released, the song found new fans and topped charts again. The film’s music is studied as a prime example of how to blend classical music into film for dramatic effect. It also solidified Lata Mangeshkar’s status as the premier playback singer of the era (if that wasn’t already the case).
In terms of technology and preservation, Mughal-e-Azam made history again in 2004 when it became the first Indian film to be digitally colorized and theatrically re-released (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). The colorization process took painstaking effort to authentically tint each frame, and when released, it introduced the film to a whole new generation (while some purists prefer the original, many enjoyed seeing the entire movie in color). The color re-release was also a box office success (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia) (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia), proving the timeless appeal of the story. It was like a revival – suddenly the 45-year-old film was being discussed anew, with audiences marveling at how it still felt grand and engaging. This also spurred interest in restoring old classics.
The film’s dialogues and scenes have been parodied and paid homage to in numerous later films and TV shows – a sign of flattery and cultural penetration. For instance, a modern rom-com might have characters jokingly reenact the feather scene, or a comedy show might do a skit with an overbearing father modeled on Akbar. The imagery of Madhubala twirling in the Sheesh Mahal is often used in documentaries or retrospectives about Indian cinema’s golden age; it has become a representative icon of that era.
Beyond cinema, Mughal-e-Azam’s story has transcended into other media. It has inspired stage adaptations – most notably, a Broadway-style musical stage play “Mughal-e-Azam: The Musical” was launched by director Feroz Abbas Khan in 2016 (Mughal-e-Azam – Wikipedia). This lavish stage production, with live singing and dancing, has toured internationally, showing how the narrative still captivates audiences in a live format. The stage show recreates many of the film’s set-pieces (including a replica of the Sheesh Mahal on stage) (Mughal-e-Azam the play. – Swati’s Blog) (Reliving the timeless romance of Mughal-e-Azam, 64 years later, with a musical – India Today) and uses the original songs, introducing them to theatre-goers who may never have seen the movie. Its success is directly owed to the film’s enduring popularity.
The film also had a subtle impact on language and fashion. The Urdu used in Mughal-e-Azam, despite being very flowery, popularized some phrases; many Indians got a taste of high-court Urdu through this film, and some words entered colloquial use (for example, “shahenshah” for emperor, or “anan-e-shahi” for royal orders). In terms of fashion, the Anarkali-style churidar suits (a form of attire Madhubala wears in the film) periodically come back in vogue; in fact, that style of dress – a frock-like kurta tight at the waist and flaring out – is named “Anarkali suit” after this character, showing direct influence. Jewelry and makeup looks from the film (like Madhubala’s winged eyeliner and elaborate hair ornaments) have inspired bridal looks in South Asia.
In the context of film industry development, Mughal-e-Azam showed Indian producers that investments in high production values and strong content could yield huge returns and longevity. It paved the way for other epic filmmakers. It’s often compared to “Gone with the Wind” in terms of impact – a film that defines an era of filmmaking and remains a touchstone for costume dramas. Even within the film’s own production house, its success was singular – there wasn’t another film like it for a long time.
The film’s legacy is also guarded in archives: it has been preserved and restored carefully. In 2013, on the centenary of Indian cinema, Mughal-e-Azam was commemorated by screenings and special events, emphasizing that it stands as an enduring piece of art.
In conclusion, the legacy of Mughal-e-Azam can be felt every time Bollywood attempts a historical or whenever a love story is described as “epic.” It demonstrated the potent combination of a compelling narrative, strong performances, magnificent visuals, and melodious music. It’s a film that “transcends time”, still capable of captivating audiences with its timeless tale of love versus duty. As a result, Mughal-e-Azam isn’t just a movie in India; it’s a cultural monument – a reference point for cinematic excellence against which other epics are measured, and a beloved classic that continues to be rediscovered by each new generation of film lovers (Mughal-e-Azam | Indian Cinema – The University of Iowa) (Reliving the timeless romance of Mughal-e-Azam, 64 years later, with a musical – India Today).