Part of a privately owned complete album of 31 miniatures paintings (sold through Bonhams Auction House, London, New Bond Street under the category of Islamic & Indian Art)
Executed around 1852 by the celebrated nineteenth-century Delhi master Ghulam Ali Khan, this exquisite illumination captures the royal signet of Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal emperor. From an artistic stance, the work exemplifies a refined blend of traditional Mughal miniature technique and meticulous Company Style drafting, utilizing intense ultramarine lapis lazuli pigment overlaid with delicate gold leaf and fine calligraphy. The central teardrop motif resembles a traditional royal seal or mohr, which features a prominent central oval housing the emperor’s full title, surrounded by smaller outer roundels listing his imperial lineage back through past Mughal rulers and Timurid ancestors. Intricate floral arabesques (islimi) frame the calligraphy with absolute geometric precision, while handwritten English and Persian notes beneath the artwork act as a bilingual bridge documenting the royal genealogy. Culturally, this imperial seal served as the ultimate symbol of sovereign authority, placed upon official decrees (farmans), diplomatic letters, and legal appointments across the realm. Issued upon Bahadur Shah II’s accession in 1837, the signet carried immense historic weight, legitimizing a dynasty that, despite its waning political influence under British rule, remained the paramount cultural symbol of authority until the fall of Delhi in 1857.
At first glance, this piece feels less like a simple document and more like a sacred emblem floating right in the middle of a warm, aged sheet of paper. It’s the royal signet seal of Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal emperor and honestly, the level of detail packed into it is just astonishing. The main focus is this large, teardrop-like medallion, shimmering with a deep cobalt blue and rich gold paint. In the center, sweeping Arabic calligraphy written in bright gold, claims his full royal titles, declaring his ascension in the very first year of his reign. Surrounding that central script, if you look real close, is a whole ring of smaller blue circles, each one filled with delicate writing listing out his imperial ancestors all the way back to Timur.
The top of the seal stretches upward into a tall, delicate crown-like flourish, filled with tiny floral patterns in soft greens, reds, and gold, almost resembling a jeweled pendant. It’s got this timeless, regal rhythm to it, where every curve feels deliberate, yet distinctly hand-painted. But what makes this piece really interesting—well, to me at least—is the English handwriting scrawled neatly right below the artwork. A 19th-century British scribe took the time to painstakingly transcribe and translate his royal names and long lineage into fine cursive script. You can see two neat columns listing "Son of Mohumud Ukbur Shah," "Son of Shah Aulum," going all the way down to Babur, with the title "Signet of the King of Dehlee" underlined at the very bottom.
There’s a poignant contrast here that really hits you. On one hand, you have the grand tradition of Islamic illumination, full of sacred geometry and royal prestige. On the other, you see the plain dark ink of colonial record-keeping, cataloging an empire just as it was reaching its final chapter. The off-white paper, with its tiny age spots and faint smudges around the margins, only adds to that quiet sense of history captured in a single frame.
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By: ARNAV DEY
“Signet of the King of Delhi, Abu Zafar Siraj-ud-Din Muhammad Bahadur Shah Badshah Ghazi,” by Ghulam Ali Khan, at the Smithsonian, features the central script written in Arabic-Persian, which makes up the imperial insignia. The whole design is highly decorated, all that gold, symmetrical and so architectural, as if in stone architecture, a piece so concerned to project dynasty.
In some ways the effect for me is really quite profound, here’s the last Mughal emperor, the king de jure of India, for nearly a generation under direct British suzerainty.
This is a display not of kingly power, but kingly presence. And all these other names that go in the medallions outside the border. He goes to a lot of trouble to prove he has legitimacy. So I see the work here as being a reflection on authority and lineage and impermanence, that you can use ornament to go forever, at the time you realize it’s really going away.
