This logic is as sturdy as a house of cards in a windstorm. If cruelty is a necessary trait for rulers, why bother defending Aurangzeb’s specific acts? Just say, “He was a product of his time!” and move on. Instead, Sharma tries to have it both ways: cruelty was required, but Aurangzeb’s brand of it was somehow misunderstood. She cites examples like his piety or his efforts to consolidate power as mitigating factors, as if a devout prayer schedule or a knack for bureaucracy erases the bloodstains. It’s a bit like saying, “Sure, he burned the village, but he did it with such style.” This contradiction sets the stage for our comparison, as it raises the question: if cruelty is just “ruler behavior,” why does Hitler get universal scorn while Aurangzeb gets apologists like Sharma, and Stalin and Lenin get selective cheers?
Aurangzeb vs. Hitler: A Tale of Two Tyrants
Let’s dive into the grim task of comparing Aurangzeb’s and Hitler’s cruelties, with Sharma’s defense as our dubious compass. Both men wielded power with a heavy hand, but their contexts, methods, and legacies differ in scale, intent, and impact. Yet, Sharma’s attempt to normalize Aurangzeb’s cruelty invites scrutiny of whether such normalization could ever apply to Hitler—or why it doesn’t for some other historical baddies.
Aurangzeb’s Cruelty: Mughal Might with a Side of Zeal
Aurangzeb, ruling the Mughal Empire from 1658 to 1707, was no stranger to blood. To secure his throne, he didn’t just play chess with his siblings—he played guillotine. He had his elder brother Dara Shikoh, a potential rival, executed and his head presented to their father, Shah Jahan, whom Aurangzeb had imprisoned in Agra Fort with minimal food and water. This wasn’t just family drama; it was a calculated power grab. His other brothers, Murad and Shuja, met similarly grim fates, ensuring no one challenged his rule. Sharma might argue this was just “ruler necessity,” but it’s hard to see beheading your kin as a mere job requirement.
Aurangzeb’s cruelty extended beyond family. His religious policies were a lightning rod for controversy. He reimposed the jizya tax on non-Muslims, destroyed Hindu temples (estimates suggest dozens, possibly hundreds), and cracked down on Sikh and Hindu communities, notably executing the ninth Sikh Guru, Tegh Bahadur, for refusing to convert to Islam. These acts weren’t just administrative; they were ideological, driven by his orthodox Sunni zeal. Sharma might spin this as Aurangzeb maintaining order in a diverse empire, but alienating millions of subjects by targeting their faith seems less like governance and more like a vendetta. His wars, like the 27-year campaign against the Marathas, drained the empire’s coffers and left a trail of destruction, contributing to its eventual decline. Cruel? Sure, but Sharma would have us believe it was just “tough love” for the greater good.
Hitler’s Cruelty: Industrial-Scale Horror
Adolf Hitler, the Führer of Nazi Germany from 1933 to 1945, takes cruelty to a level that makes Aurangzeb’s actions look almost quaint by comparison. The Holocaust, where six million Jews and millions of others (Roma, disabled, political dissidents) were systematically murdered, was a genocide engineered with chilling efficiency. Gas chambers, concentration camps like Auschwitz, and mass shootings turned extermination into an industry. Hitler’s ideology of racial purity wasn’t just oppressive; it was apocalyptic, aiming to erase entire populations. His aggression sparked World War II, leading to an estimated 70-85 million deaths globally. This wasn’t just cruelty—it was a deliberate, mechanized assault on humanity.
Hitler’s domestic policies were equally brutal. He crushed dissent through the Gestapo, silenced free speech, and turned Germany into a totalitarian nightmare. His propaganda machine dehumanized entire groups, paving the way for atrocities. Unlike Aurangzeb, whose cruelty was often personal or religiously motivated, Hitler’s was ideological and universal, targeting “undesirables” on a scale unprecedented in history. Sharma’s logic of “rulers must be cruel” falls apart here—Hitler’s actions weren’t just about consolidating power; they were about reshaping the world through annihilation.
Comparing the Two: Scale, Intent, and Context
Aurangzeb’s cruelty was rooted in a 17th-century imperial context where dynastic struggles and religious orthodoxy were par for the course. His actions—executing rivals, imposing discriminatory taxes, destroying temples—were brutal but not genocidal in the modern sense. He aimed to strengthen his rule and enforce his vision of Islamic governance, not to eradicate entire peoples. His body count, while significant (thousands died in his wars and purges), pales next to Hitler’s millions. Aurangzeb’s cruelty was personal and political; Hitler’s was systematic and existential.
Yet Sharma’s defense of Aurangzeb as “not cruel” because it was “necessary” invites a dangerous parallel. Could one argue Hitler’s cruelty was “necessary” to achieve his vision of a “pure” Aryan state? Of course not—such a claim would be rightly condemned as monstrous. So why does Sharma think Aurangzeb gets a pass? Her logic seems to rely on cultural relativism: Aurangzeb’s time was different, so we shouldn’t judge him harshly. But this ignores the human cost—families torn apart, communities oppressed, an empire weakened. If we excuse Aurangzeb because “everyone was cruel,” why not excuse Hitler? The answer is obvious: scale and intent matter. Hitler’s industrial genocide and global war dwarf Aurangzeb’s localized atrocities. Sharma’s attempt to normalize Aurangzeb’s cruelty trivializes suffering and risks whitewashing history.
Stalin and Lenin: The Curious Double Standard
Now, why do some who vilify Hitler give Stalin and Lenin a pass? Joseph Stalin, responsible for the deaths of millions through purges, forced famines (like the Holodomor), and the Gulag system, and Vladimir Lenin, who laid the groundwork for Soviet terror with his Red Terror campaign, are often lionized by certain leftist circles as revolutionary heroes. Their body counts rival or exceed Hitler’s—Stalin’s policies may have killed 10-20 million, Lenin’s terror thousands. Yet, their “cruelty” is often framed as a means to a utopian end: a classless society. Hitler’s utopian vision of racial purity is rightly reviled, but Stalin and Lenin’s class-based purges get a nod from some as “necessary evils.” It’s a hypocrisy so blatant it could star in its own sitcom.
Sharma’s defense of Aurangzeb mirrors this selective outrage. Just as some excuse Stalin and Lenin because their cruelty served a “greater cause” (socialism), Sharma argues Aurangzeb’s cruelty served his empire’s stability or religious ideals. The pattern is clear: if the cause aligns with certain ideological sympathies—be it religious orthodoxy for Aurangzeb or class revolution for Stalin—cruelty gets a makeover as “tough leadership.” Hitler, with his universally condemned ideology, gets no such leniency. The irony? Sharma’s logic could be stretched to defend any tyrant if the context is “right.” It’s a slippery slope to historical amnesia.
Exposing Sharma’s Nonsense: A Sarcastic Finale
Ruchika Sharma’s argument is a historical sleight of hand, a dazzling attempt to make Aurangzeb’s cruelty vanish in a puff of contextual smoke. “He had to be cruel!” she cries, as if chopping off heads and torching temples was just Mughal middle management. Then, in the same breath, she insists he wasn’t that cruel, because… reasons? Maybe he wrote nice poetry or tipped his executioners well. It’s a contradiction so blatant it deserves its own TED Talk on cognitive dissonance. By her logic, any ruler’s atrocities can be excused if they’re “necessary” for the times-sorry, Dara Shikoh, your head was just collateral damage for empire-building.
This reasoning doesn’t just fail; it collapses under the weight of its own absurdity. If cruelty is a ruler’s job, why bother defending Aurangzeb’s specific acts? Just admit he was a product of a brutal era and move on. Instead, Sharma dances around the bloodstains, hoping we’ll focus on his administrative spreadsheets. Comparing Aurangzeb to Hitler shows her logic’s fatal flaw: cruelty isn’t a free pass just because it’s “necessary.” Hitler’s genocide, Stalin’s purges, Lenin’s terror, and Aurangzeb’s executions all share a common thread—human suffering. Excusing one while condemning another reveals more about the apologist’s biases than the historical record. Sharma’s defense isn’t just nonsense; it’s a masterclass in missing the point, wrapped in a bow of selective storytelling. Maybe next she’ll tell us Genghis Khan was just misunderstood.