Scarlet pavilions once stood as vivid symbols of medieval kingship, where the color red signified royal power and ancient traditions. Dive into the story of how these iconic tents shaped and reflected the authority of Afghan rulers in a medieval world.
By Timur Khan
It was winter in northern India, 1170 of the Islamic Hijri calendar (1757 by Christian reckoning). Outside the great city of Farrukhabad, one could find the city’s ruler, Ahmad Khan Bangash, riding in stately fashion to a red tent. If one was important enough to see inside the tent, they would find Ahmad Khan raising a letter to his head, and having it read solemnly aloud. This performance was repeated over a few days.
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It was no ordinary letter. At that time, the Afghan emperor Ahmad Shah Durrani had invaded northern India and seized Delhi. Ahmad Khan had received summons from the emperor, expressed in no uncertain terms. If he did not appear before the court, the letter threatened that an army “will seize thee […] and drag thee to the Exalted Camp.” More than just sheets of paper, the summons were tantamount to the royal presence itself, and the nervous Ahmad Khan knew the correct protocol.
He received Ahmad Shah’s letters in a “tent of scarlet cloth. […] Every day [he] mounted and went out to receive [the letters] and bring them to the Tent of Honour” to touch them respectfully to his head and have them read out. What tradition lay behind the reverence and meaning given to the scarlet tent?
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The Significance of Red Tents in Royalty
Ahmad Shah Durrani would have been well aware of the significance of the red tent his letters were received in that winter of 1757. In justifying the Afghan invasion of Lahore in 1748, Mahmud al-Husayni, Ahmad Shah’s court historian, wrote chidingly that the Mughal governor there was using the “glorious items of state, like […] red tents.” A gross breach of propriety—a mere governor using royal accoutrements!
Ahmad Shah himself had not always been a king, but his chronicles tell us that even then, signs of kingship were seen in him. A respected Sufi mystic told him, “Give me a bundle of cloth so that I may sew you a few tents and coverings and recite a litany to enable you to sit upon the throne of sovereignty in the near future.” His small sewn tents were a potent premonition of kingship.
Ahmad Shah (or more likely his scribes) makes repeated references to his tents and encampments in a self-aggrandizing letter to the Ottoman sultan from 1762, where conquest of a place is expressed through the metaphor of erecting tents and encampments there.
The Language of Tents in the Medieval World
Tents themselves were valuable and prestigious items, used as gifts or taken as spoils of war. Under the Durranis, tents were transported and overseen by specific facilities or departments supervised by a dedicated officer. The tents of the imperial household, the military commanders and nobility came in various types, some adorned with pearls, some domed or made of silk, some of leather or thread of gold. The more extravagant tents naturally belonged to the imperial dynasty, and red was the special marker of royalty.
Advertisement
Women of the royal household traveled in compartments on camel-back, covered with red cloth. Taking the 18th-century Durranis as a starting point allows us to reflect on a much older and broader phenomenon. The terms, meanings, and symbolisms of the tent were part of a durable shared knowledge that tied the Durranis to dynasties stretching back centuries.
If we travel back 700 years from the Durrani empire, and westwards to Iran, Iraq, and Anatolia, we can see the same reverence for red tents, pavilions, and enclosures. In the 11th and 12th centuries, these lands were ruled by the Seljuks, whose empire is probably best known to European medievalists through the lens of the early crusades.
A Mongol prince studying the Quran. Illustration of Rashid-ad-Din’s Gami’ at-tawarih. Tabriz (?), 1st quarter of 14th century. Water colours on paper. Original size: 20.3 cm x 26.7 cm. Staatsbibliothek Berlin, Orientabteilung, Diez A fol. 70, p. 8 no.1
As in any empire, rebellion was a chronic threat, and in 1099 the commander Öner clashed with the Seljuk ruler Berk-Yaruq. The king prevailed, and the later historian Zahir al-Din Nishapuri (d. c. 1184 AD) looked back on the episode with disdain, accusing Öner of aiming to usurp the throne. Whether he had or not, Zahir al-Din knew exactly how to express the accusation: “He ordered the nawbatī tent to be set up, as well as the red sarāparda [enclosed pavilion for a royal family’s tents].”
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Like Ahmad Shah Durrani’s court historian centuries after, Zahir al-Din could trust his audience to know how grave and perverse the implications of a nobleman raising royal, red tents were.
The Sacred Space of the Red Tent
David Durand-Guédy, a historian of the Seljuk empire, remarks, when discussing the example of Öner, that for the Seljuks, “political struggle [was] expressed through the ‘language of tents.’” In this language, the tent or pavilion was not just a marker of power but a kind of inviolable, almost sacred space.
Josafa Barbaro and Ambrogio Contarin, two Italian travellers to Iran in 1475, noted that the red-felted tent was where the king slept – it was a sanctuary. Berk-Yaruq, the aforementioned Seljuk, when his vizier was killed close to the royal pavilion in 1099, was recorded to have lamented: “What sort of violation is this? They [the murderers] have destroyed the inviolability of my sanctuary and the dignity of the sultanate is gone.”
Mahmud of Ghazna (r. 998-1030), the most famous ruler of the Ghaznavid dynasty, used red screens in his royal encampment as well.
Advertisement
Where does the special prestige of the color red come from? It is difficult to pin down. Durand-Guédy cites the use of red as a royal color on parasols, banners, and pavilions in empires of the 9th-11th centuries, like those of the Qarakhanids and the Ghaznavids.
While these were ruled by Turkic kings and military elites, the role of red is unlikely to be a Turkic tradition; other peoples of Inner Asia, like the Mongols or Uyghurs, favored yellow or gold. Durand-Guédy therefore offers a possible Iranian origin. Whatever the case, red meant royalty for centuries.
Miniature pasted on an album leaf. “The Great Mughal Jahangir’s Darbar”. India, Mughal; c. 1620.
The Practical Power of the Exalted Camp
The long tradition of the royal red tent, and of the tent more generally in the Turco-Persian world, owed its existence to different cultural strands and symbolic associations and expressions, developing and entrenching themselves over time. But it also relates to the immense practical power of the “Exalted Camp,” as Ahmad Shah’s ominous letters to the ruler of Farrukhabad in 1757 called it, as a tool of kingship and empire over the centuries.
Some, like Monika Gronke, have argued that rulers moving around in a large mobile encampment was a kind of transitional point from nomadic to sedentary empire. But as Lisa Balabanlilar argues in the case of the Timurids and Mughals, the transhumance of the camp was often about serving military goals, not a vestige of pastoral nomadic life.
The ‘language of tents’ was spoken not only in words but in deeds: the camp was a tangible tool of conquest, diplomacy, and governance. The famous traveler Ibn Battuta said of the ruler Uzbek Khan’s camp in the early 1330s, that it was a “vast city on the move.” Often fitted with all the facilities of state from coin mints to barracks and the court itself, the camp was a microcosm of the kingdom.
The Mughal emperor Akbar, according to his grand vizier and historian Abul Fazl, considered tentage an essential ornament of royalty, and the tent used as his court could hold 10,000 people. The Lal Dera in India is a rare and magnificent surviving example of a red Mughal tent.
People could also be controlled in the space of the camp, perhaps more easily than elsewhere. When discussing the camp of the Ilkhanate ruler Abu Sa’id (r. 1316–1335 AD), Ibn Battuta notes the strictly observed, disciplined way the camp was erected and broken up.
Great kettledrums and other music accompanied the marching of troops into fixed formations and positions, and the master of arms of the army would mete out punishment to any man lagging behind, regardless of high birth. Perhaps this strictness of discipline was exaggerated by the author, but the underlying idea of tighter control, even against powerful nobility who might wield power outside the royal camp, remains.
A parallel can again be found in an anecdote from the Durrani period. The king Timur Shah (r. 1773-93) saw a couple of his high officers, powerful men, sitting in the shade while reviewing troops for a campaign. He ordered them lashed, supposedly saying that when war was at hand, no one could afford to rest since they had to be ready for hardship.
He continued that the next day he would console them with robes of honor: after establishing discipline, one still needed to keep the kingdom’s powerbrokers on side.
Another important use of the imperial camp was the hunt. Again turning to the Mughal context, the great imperial hunting parties were not simply recreation, but a time when the business of empire was done – holding court, addressing petitions, diplomacy, or displays of personal courage.
They were opportunities to travel and make the emperor visible in the different provinces of his empire. Symbolically, the hunt was also an expression of the sovereign’s control over nature and benevolence towards agriculture, since the hunting grounds were vast specially curated spaces, often near settlements and adjoining the canals which watered the country.
Ironically, the trampling of a royal hunt often disrupted people’s farming, but compensation was also regulated. Going hunting was an excellent way to mobilize for war implicitly, allowing the army to rapidly move to the flashpoint if a campaign had good odds—or to withdraw without disgrace if it did not.
We can see the continuity of this marriage of hunting and war into the eighteenth century, again in Ahmad Shah Durrani’s letter to the Ottoman sultan. Describing his campaign into Khurasan (eastern Iran), he writes that he went with the “intention to hunt and make a [recreational] excursion in the lands of Iran, and to punish the miscreants of that country.”
Legacy of the Royal Red Tents
If the encampment was oftentimes the paramount site of politics in Turco-Persian empires, the royal red tents were its beating heart. By looking back on much earlier examples of this ‘language of tents,’ as one scholar calls it, we can see how durable medieval political traditions were across the vast Iranian, Central, and South Asian world.
This is not to say that politics in these lands were unchanging until the modern period. Overlaying the stable ‘language of tents’ was an array of new dynasties and peoples who defined their legitimacy and place in the world differently. Ahmad Shah Durrani, whom we began with, is a good example. An Afghan of non-royal background in a region with longstanding imperial houses, he had to justify his sovereignty in novel ways. The language of tents, and other imperial traditions, was a way to express and embody that sovereignty so all could understand it.
Timur Khan is a PhD student based in Leiden, the Netherlands. His work focuses on the early modern and colonial history of Afghanistan and South Asia, particularly the 18th and 19th century Durrani empire. His work can be found on his Academia page.
Further Readings – Primary sources:
Maḥmūd al-Ḥusaynī al-Munshī ibn Ibrāhīm al-Jāmī. Tārīkh-i Aḥmad Shāhī. Facsimile by Dōstmurād Sayyid Murādōf. 2 vols. Moscow: Nauka, 1974.
Bilgrāmī, Ghulām Ḥusayn “Sāmīn.” “Ahmad Shah, Abdali, and the Indian wazir, Imad-ul-Mulk (1756-7),” tr. William Irvine, Indian Antiquary 36 (1907):10–18, 43–51, 55–70.
ibn Baṭṭūṭa. The Travels of ibn Baṭṭūṭa A.D. 1325-1354, tr. H.A.R. Gibb, vol. 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962.
Fayż Muḥammad Kātib Hazāra. The History of Afghanistan: Fayz Muhammad Katib Hazarah’s Siraj Al-Tawarikh, edited and translated by R.D. McChesney and Mohammad Mehdi Khorrami. 3 vols. Leiden: Brill, 2012.
Further Readings – Secondary sources:
Durand-Guédy, David. “The Tents of the Saljuqs.” In Turko-Mongol Rulers, Cities and City Life, ed. David Durand-Guédy. Leiden: Brill, 2013, 149–191.
Nejatie, Sajjad. “The Pearl of Pearls: The Abdālī-Durrānī Confederacy and Its Transformation under Aḥmad Shāh, Durr-i Durrān.” PhD diss., University of Toronto, 2017.
Andrews, Peter Alford. “The Generous Heart of the Mass of Clouds: The Court Tents of Shah Jahan.” Muqarnas 4 (1987): 149-165.
Balabanlilar Lisa. “The Emperor Jahangir and the Pursuit of Pleasure.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 19:2 (2009): 173-186
Chowdhury, Zirwat. “An Imperial Mughal Tent and Mobile Sovereignty in Eighteenth-Century Jodhpur.” Art History 38/4 (2015): 668–681.
Gronke, Monika. “The Persian Court between Palace and Tent: From Timur to ‘Abbas I.” In Timurid Art and Culture: Iran and Central Asia in the Fifteenth Century, edited by Lisa Golombek and Maria Subtelny, 18-22. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992.
O’Kane, Bernard. “From Tents to Pavilions: Royal Mobility and Persian Palace Design.” Ars Orientalis 23 (1993): 249-268.
Parpia, Shaha. “Reordering Nature: Power Politics in the Mughal Shikargah.” International Journal of Islamic Architecture 7:1 (2018): 39-66
Rustam Approaching the Tents of King Kubad; Page from a Manuscript of the Shahnama (Book of Kings) of Firdawsi – Wikimedia Commons
Scarlet pavilions once stood as vivid symbols of medieval kingship, where the color red signified royal power and ancient traditions. Dive into the story of how these iconic tents shaped and reflected the authority of Afghan rulers in a medieval world.
By Timur Khan
It was winter in northern India, 1170 of the Islamic Hijri calendar (1757 by Christian reckoning). Outside the great city of Farrukhabad, one could find the city’s ruler, Ahmad Khan Bangash, riding in stately fashion to a red tent. If one was important enough to see inside the tent, they would find Ahmad Khan raising a letter to his head, and having it read solemnly aloud. This performance was repeated over a few days.
It was no ordinary letter. At that time, the Afghan emperor Ahmad Shah Durrani had invaded northern India and seized Delhi. Ahmad Khan had received summons from the emperor, expressed in no uncertain terms. If he did not appear before the court, the letter threatened that an army “will seize thee […] and drag thee to the Exalted Camp.” More than just sheets of paper, the summons were tantamount to the royal presence itself, and the nervous Ahmad Khan knew the correct protocol.
He received Ahmad Shah’s letters in a “tent of scarlet cloth. […] Every day [he] mounted and went out to receive [the letters] and bring them to the Tent of Honour” to touch them respectfully to his head and have them read out. What tradition lay behind the reverence and meaning given to the scarlet tent?
The Significance of Red Tents in Royalty
Ahmad Shah Durrani would have been well aware of the significance of the red tent his letters were received in that winter of 1757. In justifying the Afghan invasion of Lahore in 1748, Mahmud al-Husayni, Ahmad Shah’s court historian, wrote chidingly that the Mughal governor there was using the “glorious items of state, like […] red tents.” A gross breach of propriety—a mere governor using royal accoutrements!
Ahmad Shah himself had not always been a king, but his chronicles tell us that even then, signs of kingship were seen in him. A respected Sufi mystic told him, “Give me a bundle of cloth so that I may sew you a few tents and coverings and recite a litany to enable you to sit upon the throne of sovereignty in the near future.” His small sewn tents were a potent premonition of kingship.
Ahmad Shah (or more likely his scribes) makes repeated references to his tents and encampments in a self-aggrandizing letter to the Ottoman sultan from 1762, where conquest of a place is expressed through the metaphor of erecting tents and encampments there.
The Language of Tents in the Medieval World
Tents themselves were valuable and prestigious items, used as gifts or taken as spoils of war. Under the Durranis, tents were transported and overseen by specific facilities or departments supervised by a dedicated officer. The tents of the imperial household, the military commanders and nobility came in various types, some adorned with pearls, some domed or made of silk, some of leather or thread of gold. The more extravagant tents naturally belonged to the imperial dynasty, and red was the special marker of royalty.
Women of the royal household traveled in compartments on camel-back, covered with red cloth. Taking the 18th-century Durranis as a starting point allows us to reflect on a much older and broader phenomenon. The terms, meanings, and symbolisms of the tent were part of a durable shared knowledge that tied the Durranis to dynasties stretching back centuries.
If we travel back 700 years from the Durrani empire, and westwards to Iran, Iraq, and Anatolia, we can see the same reverence for red tents, pavilions, and enclosures. In the 11th and 12th centuries, these lands were ruled by the Seljuks, whose empire is probably best known to European medievalists through the lens of the early crusades.
As in any empire, rebellion was a chronic threat, and in 1099 the commander Öner clashed with the Seljuk ruler Berk-Yaruq. The king prevailed, and the later historian Zahir al-Din Nishapuri (d. c. 1184 AD) looked back on the episode with disdain, accusing Öner of aiming to usurp the throne. Whether he had or not, Zahir al-Din knew exactly how to express the accusation: “He ordered the nawbatī tent to be set up, as well as the red sarāparda [enclosed pavilion for a royal family’s tents].”
Like Ahmad Shah Durrani’s court historian centuries after, Zahir al-Din could trust his audience to know how grave and perverse the implications of a nobleman raising royal, red tents were.
The Sacred Space of the Red Tent
David Durand-Guédy, a historian of the Seljuk empire, remarks, when discussing the example of Öner, that for the Seljuks, “political struggle [was] expressed through the ‘language of tents.’” In this language, the tent or pavilion was not just a marker of power but a kind of inviolable, almost sacred space.
Josafa Barbaro and Ambrogio Contarin, two Italian travellers to Iran in 1475, noted that the red-felted tent was where the king slept – it was a sanctuary. Berk-Yaruq, the aforementioned Seljuk, when his vizier was killed close to the royal pavilion in 1099, was recorded to have lamented: “What sort of violation is this? They [the murderers] have destroyed the inviolability of my sanctuary and the dignity of the sultanate is gone.”
Mahmud of Ghazna (r. 998-1030), the most famous ruler of the Ghaznavid dynasty, used red screens in his royal encampment as well.
Where does the special prestige of the color red come from? It is difficult to pin down. Durand-Guédy cites the use of red as a royal color on parasols, banners, and pavilions in empires of the 9th-11th centuries, like those of the Qarakhanids and the Ghaznavids.
While these were ruled by Turkic kings and military elites, the role of red is unlikely to be a Turkic tradition; other peoples of Inner Asia, like the Mongols or Uyghurs, favored yellow or gold. Durand-Guédy therefore offers a possible Iranian origin. Whatever the case, red meant royalty for centuries.
The Practical Power of the Exalted Camp
The long tradition of the royal red tent, and of the tent more generally in the Turco-Persian world, owed its existence to different cultural strands and symbolic associations and expressions, developing and entrenching themselves over time. But it also relates to the immense practical power of the “Exalted Camp,” as Ahmad Shah’s ominous letters to the ruler of Farrukhabad in 1757 called it, as a tool of kingship and empire over the centuries.
Some, like Monika Gronke, have argued that rulers moving around in a large mobile encampment was a kind of transitional point from nomadic to sedentary empire. But as Lisa Balabanlilar argues in the case of the Timurids and Mughals, the transhumance of the camp was often about serving military goals, not a vestige of pastoral nomadic life.
The ‘language of tents’ was spoken not only in words but in deeds: the camp was a tangible tool of conquest, diplomacy, and governance. The famous traveler Ibn Battuta said of the ruler Uzbek Khan’s camp in the early 1330s, that it was a “vast city on the move.” Often fitted with all the facilities of state from coin mints to barracks and the court itself, the camp was a microcosm of the kingdom.
The Mughal emperor Akbar, according to his grand vizier and historian Abul Fazl, considered tentage an essential ornament of royalty, and the tent used as his court could hold 10,000 people. The Lal Dera in India is a rare and magnificent surviving example of a red Mughal tent.
People could also be controlled in the space of the camp, perhaps more easily than elsewhere. When discussing the camp of the Ilkhanate ruler Abu Sa’id (r. 1316–1335 AD), Ibn Battuta notes the strictly observed, disciplined way the camp was erected and broken up.
Great kettledrums and other music accompanied the marching of troops into fixed formations and positions, and the master of arms of the army would mete out punishment to any man lagging behind, regardless of high birth. Perhaps this strictness of discipline was exaggerated by the author, but the underlying idea of tighter control, even against powerful nobility who might wield power outside the royal camp, remains.
A parallel can again be found in an anecdote from the Durrani period. The king Timur Shah (r. 1773-93) saw a couple of his high officers, powerful men, sitting in the shade while reviewing troops for a campaign. He ordered them lashed, supposedly saying that when war was at hand, no one could afford to rest since they had to be ready for hardship.
He continued that the next day he would console them with robes of honor: after establishing discipline, one still needed to keep the kingdom’s powerbrokers on side.
Another important use of the imperial camp was the hunt. Again turning to the Mughal context, the great imperial hunting parties were not simply recreation, but a time when the business of empire was done – holding court, addressing petitions, diplomacy, or displays of personal courage.
They were opportunities to travel and make the emperor visible in the different provinces of his empire. Symbolically, the hunt was also an expression of the sovereign’s control over nature and benevolence towards agriculture, since the hunting grounds were vast specially curated spaces, often near settlements and adjoining the canals which watered the country.
Ironically, the trampling of a royal hunt often disrupted people’s farming, but compensation was also regulated. Going hunting was an excellent way to mobilize for war implicitly, allowing the army to rapidly move to the flashpoint if a campaign had good odds—or to withdraw without disgrace if it did not.
We can see the continuity of this marriage of hunting and war into the eighteenth century, again in Ahmad Shah Durrani’s letter to the Ottoman sultan. Describing his campaign into Khurasan (eastern Iran), he writes that he went with the “intention to hunt and make a [recreational] excursion in the lands of Iran, and to punish the miscreants of that country.”
Legacy of the Royal Red Tents
If the encampment was oftentimes the paramount site of politics in Turco-Persian empires, the royal red tents were its beating heart. By looking back on much earlier examples of this ‘language of tents,’ as one scholar calls it, we can see how durable medieval political traditions were across the vast Iranian, Central, and South Asian world.
This is not to say that politics in these lands were unchanging until the modern period. Overlaying the stable ‘language of tents’ was an array of new dynasties and peoples who defined their legitimacy and place in the world differently. Ahmad Shah Durrani, whom we began with, is a good example. An Afghan of non-royal background in a region with longstanding imperial houses, he had to justify his sovereignty in novel ways. The language of tents, and other imperial traditions, was a way to express and embody that sovereignty so all could understand it.
Timur Khan is a PhD student based in Leiden, the Netherlands. His work focuses on the early modern and colonial history of Afghanistan and South Asia, particularly the 18th and 19th century Durrani empire. His work can be found on his Academia page.
Further Readings – Primary sources:
Maḥmūd al-Ḥusaynī al-Munshī ibn Ibrāhīm al-Jāmī. Tārīkh-i Aḥmad Shāhī. Facsimile by Dōstmurād Sayyid Murādōf. 2 vols. Moscow: Nauka, 1974.
Bilgrāmī, Ghulām Ḥusayn “Sāmīn.” “Ahmad Shah, Abdali, and the Indian wazir, Imad-ul-Mulk (1756-7),” tr. William Irvine, Indian Antiquary 36 (1907):10–18, 43–51, 55–70.
ibn Baṭṭūṭa. The Travels of ibn Baṭṭūṭa A.D. 1325-1354, tr. H.A.R. Gibb, vol. 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962.
Jalālī, Ghulām Jaylānī, ed. Nāma-i Aḥmad Shāh Bābā bi-nām-i Sulṭān Muṣṭafā s̲ālis̲ī-i ʿUs̲mānī ki az rū-yi nuskha-i wāḥid-i khaṭṭī-i ārshīf-i salṭanatī-i Istanbūl tartīb shuda ast. Kabul: Anjuman-i Tārīkh-i Afghānistān, 1967.
Fayż Muḥammad Kātib Hazāra. The History of Afghanistan: Fayz Muhammad Katib Hazarah’s Siraj Al-Tawarikh, edited and translated by R.D. McChesney and Mohammad Mehdi Khorrami. 3 vols. Leiden: Brill, 2012.
Further Readings – Secondary sources:
Durand-Guédy, David. “The Tents of the Saljuqs.” In Turko-Mongol Rulers, Cities and City Life, ed. David Durand-Guédy. Leiden: Brill, 2013, 149–191.
Nejatie, Sajjad. “The Pearl of Pearls: The Abdālī-Durrānī Confederacy and Its Transformation under Aḥmad Shāh, Durr-i Durrān.” PhD diss., University of Toronto, 2017.
Andrews, Peter Alford. “The Generous Heart of the Mass of Clouds: The Court Tents of Shah Jahan.” Muqarnas 4 (1987): 149-165.
Balabanlilar Lisa. “The Emperor Jahangir and the Pursuit of Pleasure.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 19:2 (2009): 173-186
Chowdhury, Zirwat. “An Imperial Mughal Tent and Mobile Sovereignty in Eighteenth-Century Jodhpur.” Art History 38/4 (2015): 668–681.
Gronke, Monika. “The Persian Court between Palace and Tent: From Timur to ‘Abbas I.” In Timurid Art and Culture: Iran and Central Asia in the Fifteenth Century, edited by Lisa Golombek and Maria Subtelny, 18-22. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992.
O’Kane, Bernard. “From Tents to Pavilions: Royal Mobility and Persian Palace Design.” Ars Orientalis 23 (1993): 249-268.
Parpia, Shaha. “Reordering Nature: Power Politics in the Mughal Shikargah.” International Journal of Islamic Architecture 7:1 (2018): 39-66
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