Unfree Histories: Slavery, Power, and Agency in Medieval South Asia

 

A Dialogue on Slavery in Medieval South Asia

(The characters of Maria and Sophia, a professor and a student, are fictional and are used for educational purposes to facilitate a dialogue on the complex topic of slavery in medieval South Asia.)

 

Alright Sophia, pull up a chair. Today, we're going to completely re-evaluate what you might think you know about slavery, especially in a historical context far removed from the Atlantic. Forget the common images for a moment. When we talk about slavery in medieval South Asia, we're diving into something far more nuanced, deeply embedded, and, frankly, quite paradoxical. It was not a fringe institution, but a central element of political authority, military strategy, domestic order, and even ritual economy from the eighth to the eighteenth centuries.

Are you ready to have some of your assumptions challenged?

 

Sophia: Professor Maria, that’s quite a start! I'm ready. I guess when I hear "slavery," my mind immediately goes to the transatlantic slave trade, the plantations, and the complete dehumanisation of people. Are you saying it was different in South Asia?

Maria: Precisely, Sophia. That's the first and most crucial point. Your associations are rooted in the legacy of Atlantic chattel slavery, where enslaved persons were legally defined as property, denied kinship, and commodified for racialised plantation economies. But the institution of slavery existed in many forms across time and space, each shaped by its own legal, economic, and social structures. In medieval South Asia, it defies those simplistic binaries of domination and resistance.

 

Sophia: So, it wasn't just about forced labour on farms then?

Maria: Not at all. While there was undoubtedly exploitation and coercion, enslaved individuals in diverse South Asian polities served not only as domestic labourers and concubines but also as generals, treasurers, court officials, and even sovereign rulers. The institution was deeply embedded, extending into temple economies, Islamic religious endowments, village labour structures, and even legal codes.

 

Sophia: Generals and rulers? That's really surprising! How did that even work?

Maria: It's fascinating, isn't it? This brings us to a key conceptual difference. One influential framework in slavery studies is Orlando Patterson’s concept of "social death," where enslaved persons are stripped of natal kinship, civic status, and moral belonging. While useful for plantation slavery, it falls short in the South Asian context. Here, many slaves actually retained or formed new kin networks, participated in religious life, and exercised forms of agency and power.

 

Sophia: So, they weren't just seen as "property" in the same way?

Maria: Exactly. Instead of "social death," you often see "social incorporation." Many elite households, temples, and courts incorporated enslaved persons through patronage, conversion, and even symbolic adoption. Slaves could marry, hold religious titles, manage estates, and even exercise ritual and legal authority. Historian Indrani Chatterjee terms this "intimate dependencies".

 

Sophia: That sounds incredibly complex. What kinds of "slavery" were there then, if it wasn't a single thing?

Maria: Excellent question, Sophia. The sources reveal several distinct typologies of unfreedom, though in practice, the lines were often blurred:

• Military Slavery: Especially under the Delhi Sultanate and Deccan Sultanates, slaves like ghulams or bandagan were recruited from Central Asia, Africa, and the Indian frontiers. They were trained in elite military households and often rose to become commanders, governors, and even kingmakers.
• Domestic and Concubinary Slavery: Enslaved women and eunuchs served in royal and noble households as concubines, harem administrators, entertainers, and confidantes. Their reproductive and affective labour was critical to the household economy and dynastic politics.
• Temple and Ritual Slavery: In regions like Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, temples owned large groups of ritual slaves (dasa, dasi) who performed daily worship, maintained lands, and carried out agricultural labour.
• Debt and Hereditary Servitude: Particularly in famine-prone or war-torn areas, people entered into servitude due to debt, sale, or legal punishment. In some cases, these statuses became hereditary, creating a caste-like condition of unfreedom.

 

Sophia: So, "slavery" was a very broad term, almost like an umbrella for different kinds of dependency?

Maria: Precisely. It was part of a broader "ecology of dependency, coercion, and labour control," and one individual might experience multiple types of servitude over a lifetime. Adding to this complexity were the legal frameworks. The status of slaves was governed not by a single code, but by plural legal traditions: Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh), Dharmaśāstra traditions (Hindu law), and various customary laws.

 

Sophia: Did these laws contradict each other?

Maria: Often, yes, leading to legal ambiguity that, in rare cases, could be exploited by slaves for conversion, patronage, or manumission. For example, Islamic fiqh recognised slavery as lawful under certain conditions, like war or purchase, but it also regulated humane treatment and strongly encouraged manumission as an act of piety. Dharmaśāstra texts also acknowledged various types of dasa (slaves) but largely reinforced hierarchy and linked it more to caste-based servitude. Customary laws in different regions added another layer of local practice.

 

Sophia: What about the words they used for "slave"? Did they have a single word like we do?

Maria: No, they didn't have a single word equivalent to our modern, commodifying sense of "slave". Instead, there were multiple terms, each with distinct connotations:

• In Persian and Arabic: ghulam, bandah, raqiq, kaniz, khadim, and mamluk.
• In Sanskrit and Prakrit: dasa, dasi, sevika, bhritaka, and panaka.
• In Tamil and Telugu inscriptions: adiyal, velamaikkal, and kappevam.

These terminologies suggest slavery was often conceptualised less in terms of property and more in terms of relational obligation, ritual role, and social hierarchy.

 

Sophia: That's a huge shift in perspective. So, how did this all fit into the political systems of the time? Was it a strategic choice for rulers?

Maria: Absolutely. Slavery was not incidental or peripheral; it was a fundamental element in the reproduction of political authority, military organisation, elite household economies, and ritual establishments. Rulers, aristocrats, and institutions strategically deployed slavery to stabilise fragile power structures, extract labour, and build loyal networks of dependents.

 

Sophia: How did they use it for political power specifically?

Maria: Enslaved persons, especially foreigners or outsiders without ties to local clans, were often considered more trustworthy than local elites or biological heirs. They were groomed, trained, and placed in sensitive positions like military commanders, palace guards, governors, and even harem administrators. The Delhi Sultanate provides a prime example with its bandagan (slave) system, where rulers like Qutb al-Din Aibak purchased and trained young boys, often of Turkic or Central Asian origin, raising them as loyal retainers. These men often formed the core political elite.

 

Sophia: So, a slave could become a ruler then, like you mentioned earlier?

Maria: Indeed. The most famous example is Iltutmish, originally a Turkic slave bought by Qutb al-Din Aibak, who rose through military ranks to become Governor of Delhi and then Sultan. He even formalised the bandagan system, filling his court with other trusted slaves. Ironically, even after becoming king, he continued to purchase and promote slaves, embedding slavery into the imperial administration. His reign shows how slavery could be a pathway to sovereignty, not just degradation.

 

Sophia: What about economically? Were slaves used for revenue or infrastructure?

Maria: Yes, extensively. Slaves weren't just militarised elites; they also functioned as productive labourers in both agrarian and urban economies. The Mughals used slave labour for irrigation projects, palace construction, and textile workshops. Temple economies in South India employed large numbers of ritual and agricultural slaves for worship and land maintenance. In the Deccan, under figures like Malik Ambar, African and local slaves were deployed as irrigation engineers and estate managers. Slavery thus filled crucial gaps in labour supply and administrative expertise, especially during times of demographic upheaval.

 

Sophia: Where did all these slaves come from? Were they mostly war captives?

Maria: War and raiding were indeed primary sources. Victorious armies regularly captured men, women, and children, who were then enslaved, sold, or gifted. Chroniclers frequently mention the enslavement of tens of thousands during campaigns. For instance, Ziya al-Din Barani records how Sultan Alauddin Khalji's conquests led to the enslavement of thousands of Hindus. Firuz Shah Tughlaq reportedly owned over 180,000 slaves, managing them with a dedicated government department and even arranging marriages among them, treating them as both an economic and biopolitical asset. This fuelled an economy of human movement and capture, where slaves became spoils of war and instruments of imperial integration.

 

Sophia: And you mentioned religious institutions too? How did religion factor into it?

Maria: Both Islamic and Hindu institutions used and justified slavery as part of divine service. Mosques and madrasas maintained slaves through waqf (charitable endowments) to manage properties and assist scholars. Hindu temples, particularly in South India, received slaves as part of land grants or royal gifts, often for ritual and agricultural labour. This religious embedding helped normalise the institution as morally permissible, even pious, especially when tied to charity or ritual purity.

 

Sophia: Given all this, did any enslaved people manage to improve their lives, or even escape, through this system?

Maria: That's where the idea of "adaptation and survival" comes in. While rooted in coercion, the institution could paradoxically serve as a strategy of survival, incorporation, and advancement for both masters and slaves. In desperate times, like major famines, families sometimes sold children into slavery to ensure their survival, as it could be less dangerous than exposure to death or destitution. In war-torn regions, displaced boys could be absorbed into elite military households, receiving training and patronage.

 

Sophia: So, it could be a grim form of opportunity in a way?

Maria: Yes, in certain contexts. Some slaves, particularly military or administrative ones, rose to prominence. Their "outsider" status was often a political asset, as they had no pre-existing kin networks to challenge their loyalty. Malik Ambar is an incredible example: born in Ethiopia, enslaved as a child, he was brought to India via the Indian Ocean slave trade. After years of military service, he became the de facto ruler of the Ahmadnagar Sultanate in the Deccan, resisting Mughal encroachment and reorganising revenue administration. Notably, he too continued to employ African slaves, creating a loyal elite guard.

 

Sophia: That's amazing. What about religious conversion as a strategy?

Maria: Absolutely. Religious conversion, especially to Islam, was another adaptive strategy. In Islamic courts, enslaved persons who converted were often more likely to be manumitted, appointed to religious offices, or accepted into elite households. Conversion could facilitate marriage or access to endowments. Manumission was sometimes granted as a pious act, or through mukataba – a contract allowing slaves to buy their freedom in instalments. Similarly, in temple contexts, ritual slaves were sometimes absorbed into caste hierarchies over generations, blurring the line between servitude and hereditary occupation.

 

Sophia: But I assume this kind of mobility was rare, right? Not everyone became a powerful ruler.

Maria: You're absolutely correct, Sophia. While individuals like Iltutmish or Malik Ambar achieved exceptional mobility, the vast majority of enslaved people did not escape their conditions. Domestic servants, agricultural workers, concubines, temple slaves, and hereditary debt-bondsmen lived lives of quiet dependency and exploitation, often leaving no historical trace. Female slaves were generally less likely to rise, and debt slaves often passed their status to their children. So, while mobility was possible, it was highly selective and structurally rare, mostly offered to young males in elite military or administrative settings.

 

Sophia: You mentioned female slaves and eunuchs. Did their experiences differ significantly from male slaves?

Maria: Fundamentally. Slavery in medieval South Asia was profoundly shaped by gender. While elite male slaves appear in chronicles as generals, female slaves and eunuchs played central roles in domestic life, reproductive labour, ritual service, and even political intrigue. These were not auxiliary roles, but foundational to courtly and religious households.

 

Sophia: What kind of roles did the women have?

Maria: Female slaves (kaniz, jariya) served as domestic workers, childrearers, and crucially, as concubines, whose reproductive labour could be politically significant in dynastic contexts. Some rose to positions of influence if they bore children to noble or royal men. In Hindu temple complexes, devadasis (female ritual slaves) were dedicated to deities, performing ritual dances and maintaining temple property. Their lives involved a mix of religious duty, artistic performance, and often, sexual patronage by local elites.

 

Sophia: And eunuchs?

Maria: Eunuchs, castrated male slaves, held uniquely powerful roles, especially in Islamic courts. Being kinless and non-threatening, they were entrusted with guarding harems and palaces, managing royal correspondence, overseeing treasuries, and mediating between rulers and subjects. Their status was paradoxical: slaves, yet entrusted with the most sensitive duties of empire. Malik Sarwar, a powerful eunuch under Sultan Nasiruddin Mahmud Shah, even rose to rule as the founder of the Sharqi dynasty.

 

Sophia: This sounds like there was a lot of sexual exploitation. Was that formalised?

Maria: Yes, sexual access to slaves, particularly women and eunuchs, was institutionalised in both Hindu and Islamic societies. In Islamic jurisprudence, concubinage was permitted, and the offspring of a concubine could, if acknowledged, rise to royal status. In Hindu ritual systems, temple servitude often blurred the lines between religious performance and elite sexual patronage. Modern historians, however, emphasise that these systems institutionalised sexual coercion, even when cloaked in aesthetics or piety. Female slaves had limited agency over their reproductive roles or mobility. However, some enslaved women leveraged their reproductive ties to power, becoming queen mothers or royal dowagers with influence over court affairs.

 

Sophia: Did these female slaves or eunuchs ever resist? Or was it too dangerous?

Maria: While direct voices are rare, there were forms of gendered resistance. This could include strategic pregnancies, alignments with royal factions, patronage of religious institutions, or protecting children from servitude. Though not always recorded explicitly, these actions left traces in family lineages, religious endowments, or legal petitions. For example, some devadasis endowed shrines, claiming "ritual dignity and material control" despite their enslaved status.

 

Sophia: How did all this relate to the caste system in South Asia? Were all slaves low-caste, or was it a completely separate thing?

Maria: This is another crucial area of distinction, Sophia. Both caste and slavery structured inequality and restricted mobility, but they did so through different logics. Caste was primarily a status at birth, ritually regulated and socially policed, tied to ideas of purity and occupation. Slavery, on the other hand, was a condition acquired through capture, sale, gifting, or punishment, and was, in theory, sometimes reversible through manumission or social mobility, especially in Muslim polities. So, they were conceptually distinct.

 

Sophia: But did people from lower castes become slaves more often?

Maria: Not exclusively, which is a common misconception. While domestic and agricultural slaves were often drawn from Dalit and tribal communities, many military slaves imported from Central Asia or Africa were of non-caste origin. Importantly, sources also mention the enslavement of high-status women, such as Brahmin widows or Rajput captives, particularly during wartime. Their status as slaves didn't erase their elite origin but transformed it into a new form of "intimate subordination". So, caste and slavery intersected in complex ways: some slaves were ritually degraded, while others retained or acquired status through proximity to power.

 

Sophia: So it could be hereditary for some slaves, which sounds a bit like caste.

Maria: It did, especially in agrarian and temple economies. Slavery often became hereditary, passed from parent to child over generations. This blurred the boundary between slave lineage and caste status, particularly among temple labourers or ritual performers. Some communities of temple slaves were even reclassified as Dalit castes in colonial censuses, illustrating how slavery could harden into a caste-like system when combined with hereditary labour. It’s important to note that British colonial administrators often misunderstood these distinctions, sometimes treating low castes as "natural" slaves and equating untouchability with servitude, which minimised the coercive nature of slavery by portraying it as "mild" or "domestic".

 

Sophia: You mentioned manumission earlier. Was that a common path to freedom?

Maria: Manumission, or freeing slaves, was indeed a feature of all the legal-religious frameworks, though with differing emphasis. Islamic jurisprudence strongly encouraged manumission as a meritorious act of piety, expiation for sins, or fulfillment of vows. Slaves could also enter into mukataba contracts to buy their freedom. Firuz Shah Tughlaq, for instance, claimed to have freed thousands of slaves "to please God". However, not all manumissions were altruistic; some were transactional or denied outright.

 

Sophia: And in Hindu legal traditions?

Maria: Dharmaśāstra texts also allowed for manumission, particularly for slaves who fulfilled contractual obligations or were granted freedom by a benevolent master. However, manumission was not as central or morally valorised in Hindu traditions as in Islamic law, and slavery often blended into caste-based servitude, making emancipation socially ambiguous. Customary laws also played a significant role, with some families freeing domestic slaves upon marriage or childbirth, while others ritualised continued dependency.

 

Sophia: So, were there religious justifications for keeping slaves too?

Maria: Yes, both Islamic and Hindu institutions framed slavery as part of divine service or a religiously permissible act. Gifting slaves to Brahmins or temples during rituals was framed as a meritorious act in some Hindu traditions, even though the slaves remained unfree. Manumission itself was often presented as a religious or moral act tied to charitable donations, expiation for sins, or vows. While these acts could improve the lives of a few, they rarely challenged the institution of slavery itself.

 

Sophia: Did slaves ever manage to claim their own freedom? What kind of agency did they have?

Maria: The historical archive offers little direct testimony from slaves, as most sources were written by elites. However, by reading "against the grain," we can find traces of their agency. While slavery was deeply coercive, it was never totalising.

 

Sophia: How did they resist then, if direct rebellion was probably too dangerous?

Maria: While direct rebellion was rare and often crushed, it did happen. African military slaves in the Deccan staged mutinies, and during Firuz Shah Tughlaq's reign, some state-owned slaves fled. Beyond open rebellion, Sophia, strategic loyalty could also be a form of agency. Slaves who performed faithfully could receive titles, land grants, or salaries, even becoming governors or ministers. Iltutmish is a prime example of this: his loyalty and competence led to his rise to Sultan. This form of agency, paradoxically, reinforced the institution while complicating the binary between master and slave.

 

Sophia: So, like playing the system from within?

Maria: Precisely. And beyond that, there were symbolic and everyday forms of resistance, often called "weapons of the weak". These included feigning illness, delaying work, subtly reshaping household dynamics, or performing religious rituals for personal rather than institutional benefit. Inscriptions sometimes list enslaved persons by their personal names, which is a form of individuality resisting total erasure. Some enslaved ritual specialists even donated land to temples, asserting their presence despite subordination.

 

Sophia: Are there any actual "voices" from enslaved people in the records?

Maria: While rare, some fragments exist. Arabic and Persian letters show manumitted slaves petitioning for pensions or inheritance, using legal and religious rhetoric to assert their rights. Temple inscriptions list slave women as donors, suggesting partial access to property and religious authority. And in mukataba contracts, enslaved persons sometimes signed their own names, representing an early form of legal agency. These fragments challenge the notion of the enslaved as voiceless.

 

Sophia: This is truly a different way of looking at it. It’s hard to reconcile the "victim" narrative with these powerful slave-origin rulers.

Maria: That's the deep paradox of slavery in medieval South Asia: it functioned simultaneously as a system of profound subordination and as a pathway to power. The histories of Iltutmish and Malik Ambar disrupt conventional narratives of slavery as purely degrading. Both rose from enslavement to become state-builders and military innovators. However, crucially, while personally transcending slavery, both rulers institutionalised it within their regimes, ensuring its continuity. Power did not abolish slavery; it weaponised it.

 

Sophia: Why isn't this more widely known? Why do we always hear about Atlantic slavery but not these complex forms?

Maria: That’s a critical question about historical memory and the silencing of slavery. Several factors contribute:

• Nationalist histories often celebrate slave-origin kings as self-made heroes, while omitting the system of slavery they sustained.
• Colonial accounts portrayed Indian slavery as "mild" or "domestic" to contrast it with Atlantic slavery, thereby minimising its coercive nature.
• Caste-centred discourses sometimes subsumed slavery into broader narratives of untouchability, sidestepping its legal, military, and commercial dimensions.

Furthermore, modern identity politics make slavery a difficult subject to publicly remember, as celebrating slave kings risks romanticising coercion, while condemning them risks alienating their symbolic value to postcolonial identities.

 

Sophia: So, it's about understanding the nuances, not just condemning everything?

Maria: Precisely. I argue for a critical anthropological and historical reading, one that recognises the contingent nature of power and survival, the role of slavery as a political strategy, and the ambivalence of historical actors who could be both oppressed and oppressors. It's about moving beyond simplistic binaries of villain and victim towards a more complex understanding of sovereignty, domination, and human agency.

In essence, Sophia, studying slavery in medieval South Asia is like looking at a kaleidoscope: twist it slightly, and the same pieces form dramatically different, intricate patterns. It challenges us to see that the human experience of 'unfreedom' was not a static, single image, but a dynamic, multifaceted interplay of power, survival, and sometimes, unexpected ascent.