To prevent a repetition of his own and his father's rebellions against imperial parents, the emperor kept Dara close to the throne. In consequence, he was able to pursue artistic and theological interests. Like Akbar, he was fascinated by Hinduism and he translated Hindu texts, discoursed with holy men, and may well have been the patron of portraits of them.
Regrettably, these peaceful activities were poor preparation for war. As we have seen, Qandahar could not be captured by spiritual force. Moreover, his religious tolerance, so similar to Akbar's, was at odds with prevailing attitudes. In the wars of succession, Dara was hopelessly outmatched by Aurangzeb, his orthodox and militant younger brother. After two defeats in battle, he was hunted down by Aurangzeb's armies and betrayed by a nobleman whose life he had once saved. In the Delhi streets, he was forced to sit backward on an elephant and to be pelted with offal by hooligans. But more citizens shed tears than reviled him, and Dara's popularity threatened Aurangzeb's throne. After a trial for heresy, Dara Shikoh was executed in his jail cell, before the eyes of a favorite son. When his bleeding head was brought, Aurangzeb wept.
Bichitr painted the prince with learned and talented friends at the height of his power, when poetry, music, and serious conversation were his chief concerns. The prince and his guests are eminently aristocratic. The setting verges on paradise: a garden fragrant with flowers and a platform covered with superb carpets. A servant offers wine, others await attentively and in the distance a bed is prepared for Dara's rest after the party. Bichitr describes all this with his usual masterfulness, delighting in such passages as the reflections on glass, transparency of wine, and cast shadows. The curving fingers of the soldier in the foreground are a minor but telling clue to his style.