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The Daily Triptych091 / 365
A painted cotton folio showing figures in a landscape with tilted ground, flat architectural tilework, and a receding European-style landscape at the top edge.

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Mir Sayyid Ali, Public domain
Public domain

III · THE WORK · ART HISTORY

A Folio from the Hamzanama

Mughal Empire · 1562–c. 1577 · Opaque watercolour on cotton

▶ Listen · narrated

Between 1562 and the late 1570s, a Mughal workshop produced fourteen hundred paintings on cotton, each the size of a bedsheet, for a single manuscript.

At a glance

Commissioned
1562, by Emperor Akbar
Subject
Legendary adventures of Hamza ibn Abdul-Muttalib
Original extent
Approximately 1,400 folios
Medium
Opaque watercolour on cotton cloth
Workshop
Over a hundred named artists

Look closer

  1. Cotton, not paper

    The Hamzanama folios were painted on cotton cloth, not the paper or parchment typical of manuscript illumination. Each folio measured roughly 68 by 52 centimetres (1 ft 8 in). Cotton allowed the paintings to be larger and more durable for repeated handling, but it also absorbed pigment differently, requiring adjustments in technique. The choice of support suggests these images were made to be shown: held up, passed around, perhaps displayed during oral recitations of the text.

  2. A tilted ground that stacks figures vertically

    Mughal painters inherited from Persian manuscript tradition a way of representing space by tilting the ground plane upward, so that figures higher on the page are understood to be farther back in space. This allows multiple episodes or many figures to occupy the same composition without overlapping. The ground becomes a stage that folds toward the viewer. It is not perspectival recession in the European sense, but it is a consistent and legible spatial convention, and one that permits dense, event-filled images.

  3. European landscape at the margins

    Some Hamzanama folios include distant landscapes at the top edge of the composition: receding hills, atmospheric shading, a sense of depth created by tonal gradation rather than line. These passages reflect the influence of European prints and paintings that had begun to reach the Mughal court by the 1560s. The effect is hybrid: a Persian compositional structure with an Indian palette and a European horizon. The three traditions do not merge—they remain visible as distinct techniques within a single image.

The story

The Hamzanama tells the adventures of Hamza ibn Abdul-Muttalib, an uncle of the Prophet Muhammad, though the stories themselves are legendary rather than historical. The narrative is episodic: battles, enchantments, narrow escapes, romantic interludes, demons, and heroes. It belongs to a long oral tradition, performed by professional storytellers across Persianate cultures. Written versions in Persian existed by the eleventh century, but the story continued to be adapted, expanded, and retold in performance.

In 1562, the Mughal emperor Akbar, then nineteen years old, commissioned an illustrated manuscript of the Hamzanama on a scale never attempted before. The project took fifteen years and involved more than a hundred artists, many of whom signed their work or are named in workshop records. The manuscript originally contained around fourteen hundred folios, each painted on cotton cloth in opaque watercolour. Fewer than two hundred survive today, dispersed across collections worldwide.

The scale is part of the point. These were not intimate book paintings to be examined by a single reader. They were large enough to be held aloft, shown to groups, used in conjunction with oral recitation. The size of the cloth, the brightness of the pigments, and the density of incident within each composition all suggest an audience, not a solitary scholar.

The style is deliberately composite. Akbar's workshop brought together painters trained in Persian traditions with artists from India, and the results reflect both. The compositions often use the tilted ground plane characteristic of Persian manuscript painting, where space is organised by stacking figures vertically rather than receding into depth. But the palette—reds, ochres, greens—is more saturated than typical Persian work, and the modelling of figures sometimes shows knowledge of European techniques. By the 1560s, Jesuit missionaries and Portuguese traders had brought prints and paintings to the Mughal court, and some Hamzanama folios include distant landscapes with atmospheric perspective, a device borrowed from European art.

The project was a workshop production. Individual artists are named for specific folios: one might design the composition, another paint the figures, a third complete the architectural details. This division of labour allowed the immense manuscript to be completed within two decades, but it also means that individual folios vary in style and quality. Some are meticulous, others more summary. The manuscript is not uniform—it is the accumulated work of many hands over many years.

Most of the Hamzanama was destroyed or lost, though when and how is not documented. By the eighteenth century, the manuscript had been broken up, and folios began to enter European and American collections in the nineteenth century. What survives is fragmentary, but it remains the largest illustrated manuscript project of the Mughal period and one of the most ambitious painting programmes of the sixteenth century anywhere.

Why it mattered then

The Hamzanama was a statement of ambition at the beginning of Akbar's reign. Commissioning a manuscript of this scale required resources, organisation, and a workshop infrastructure that few courts could sustain. It demonstrated that the Mughal court could marshal the labour and materials for a project of Persian precedent but unprecedented size. It also served a political function. Akbar ruled an empire that was religiously and culturally diverse, and the Hamzanama, though rooted in Islamic legend, drew on artistic traditions from Persia, India, and Europe. The hybrid style of the manuscript reflected the hybrid nature of the empire itself. By employing artists from different regions and training them together, Akbar's workshop created a visual language that was distinctly Mughal—neither purely Persian nor purely Indian, but a synthesis that could represent the court's cosmopolitan identity. The manuscript was also a training ground. Many of the artists who worked on the Hamzanama went on to paint for later Mughal projects, and the collaborative workshop model established during the Hamzanama period became standard practice. The project was not only a finished work but a process: a way of organising artistic production that would define Mughal painting for the next century.

Why it matters now

The Hamzanama survives as fragments, and that fragmentation is part of its modern significance. Fewer than two hundred folios remain from an original fourteen hundred, and they are scattered across museums and private collections on several continents. Each folio is now encountered in isolation, framed and glazed, separated from the narrative sequence it once belonged to. The manuscript exists today as a dispersed archive, and its history is inseparable from the history of collecting, colonialism, and the art market. It also remains one of the clearest examples of artistic hybridity in the early modern period. The Hamzanama folios show what happens when artists trained in different traditions work side by side, not erasing their differences but placing them in productive tension. The result is not a unified style but a composite one, and that compositeness is legible in the images themselves. You can see where Persian convention meets Indian colour, where European perspective interrupts a Persian ground plane. The seams are visible, and they are part of the work. For scholars, the Hamzanama is evidence of how large-scale artistic production was organised in the sixteenth century: how workshops divided tasks, how artists signed or did not sign their work, how techniques were transmitted and adapted. For viewers, it is a reminder that the most ambitious projects are rarely the work of a single author. The Hamzanama is not a masterpiece in the singular sense—it is an accumulated achievement, built by many hands over many years, and its survival is partial, accidental, and ongoing.

The surprising detail

The Hamzanama was painted on cotton because it was meant to be handled. Paper manuscripts are fragile and must be supported; cotton cloth is more durable and can be held up, passed around, or displayed during recitation. The choice of material shaped the scale of the images and the way they were used. These were not private book paintings but public pictures, large enough to be seen by a group and sturdy enough to survive repeated performance. The manuscript was an object for reading aloud, and the paintings were part of the telling.

What is disputed

The exact number of original folios is not certain; estimates range from twelve hundred to fourteen hundred. The timeline for completion is also approximate, with most sources placing it between 1562 and the late 1570s. How and when the manuscript was broken up is not documented, and the number of participating artists, though often given as over a hundred, is based on incomplete workshop records.

Remember this

A manuscript of fourteen hundred paintings on cloth, made by a workshop of a hundred artists over fifteen years—most of it now lost.

Test yourself

Why would a Mughal manuscript painter choose to tilt the ground plane upward rather than use European-style linear perspective?

Go deeper

Image: Mir Sayyid Ali, Public domain. Licence: Public domain. Source.

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