A cache of 17th-century Mughal news reports, recently unearthed from the archives of the Mughal Empire, provides a startlingly clear picture of the early roots of British trade diplomacy. The documents, written in Persian and dating from 1615 to 1650, chronicle the interactions between the East India Company and the court of Emperor Jahangir, revealing a diplomatic dance that foreshadows today's climate negotiations.
The reports, known as 'akhbarat' or news-letters, were compiled by court chroniclers and dispatched to provincial governors. They detail the arrival of Sir Thomas Roe, the first English ambassador to the Mughal court, in 1615. Roe's mission was to secure trading rights for the East India Company, a fledgling corporation that would later reshape global commerce. The akhbarat record his struggles: he was denied an audience for months, forced to navigate a web of courtiers and protocols, and ultimately succeeded only by adapting to Mughal norms of gift-giving and patronage.
This is not a story of empire, but of systems. The Mughal Empire in the 17th century was the world's largest economy, a node in a vast network of trade spanning from Southeast Asia to the Mediterranean. The British were newcomers, but they brought something the Mughals lacked: a corporate structure capable of long-term planning. The akhbarat show that Roe understood this. He did not seek conquest; he sought integration into an existing system. His letters home reveal a pragmatist who realised that trade diplomacy is not about dominance but about mutual vulnerability.
The parallels with today's climate negotiations are unmistakable. Just as Roe had to learn the language of the Mughal court, modern diplomats must learn the physics of our planet. The Mughal economy depended on predictable monsoons; our economy depends on stable carbon cycles. When Roe failed to secure a treaty in 1618, it was because he underestimated the Mughal need for silver. Today, we fail to secure climate agreements because we underestimate the need for equity.
The akhbarat also document the first instances of British intelligence gathering on Indian textiles and shipbuilding. This was not industrial espionage; it was a recognition that knowledge is the currency of diplomacy. The British eventually dominated trade, but the Mughals shaped their methods. The reports show that the Emperor Jahangir was no passive observer: he granted only limited concessions, demanding English silver in return for pepper and indigo.
What does this mean for us? The past is not a prologue; it is a laboratory. The Mughal archives show that diplomacy is a feedback loop, not a linear path. The British succeeded because they adapted; the Mughals declined because they did not. Today, we face a similar choice. Our climate system is a Mughal court: complex, slow to change, but capable of catastrophic shifts. The akhbarat remind us that small actions can have large consequences.
The discovery of these reports is serendipitous. They were hidden in a temple in Jaipur, overlooked for centuries. But their message is urgent: we are not the first to navigate a world of scarcity and interdependence. The British learned to trade with a power they could not conquer. We must learn to trade with a planet we cannot control. The papers are now being digitised by the National Museum in New Delhi. They will be published in full next year. But the lesson is already clear: diplomacy is not about winning; it is about surviving.
