Priyanka Barve as Anarkali in Mughal-e-Azam: The Musical

‘Mughal-e-Azam,’ Feroz Abbas Khan’s Broadway-style musical, will be staged for one last time in Delhi (between February 13-23) to mark its landmark 300th performance


Feroz Abbas Khan’s Broadway-style Mughal-e-Azam: The Musical one of its iconic love songs, ‘Pyar Kiya Toh Darna Kya (if you’ve loved, then why fear), was staged at the Taj Mahal on January 14, and it will be mounted at the Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium in Delhi one last time for 10 days to mark its landmark 300th performance on February 13 — is a spectacular attempt to not just match, but perhaps even outshine the legacy of K. Asif’s 1960 epic, which remains one of the finest films ever made in Hindi cinema.

The task was Herculean: adapting one of India’s most beloved films, a magnum opus etched in celluloid memory, into a live theatrical performance. However, Khan’s production replicates and reinvents it, turning it into a feast for the senses, and a shining example of how to make nostalgia feel new again. Khan’s Mughal-e-Azam: The Musical, produced by Deepesh Salgia under the patronage of Shapoorji Pallonji, revels in opulence, but not in a way that drowns the soul of its story. The tale remains timeless: Prince Salim’s ill-fated romance with the court dancer Anarkali and the devastating fallout with his father, Emperor Akbar. I had the opportunity to watch it in Delhi when it was staged in 2017; it has travelled to several cities, and countries, since then.

Love, defiance of a Mughal prince

It’s a story of love and rebellion, of boundaries tested and broken, and of the eternal clash between duty and desire. Khan, however, infuses this familiar narrative — the film was restored and colourised digitally in 2004 for a theatrical release — with a sense of immediacy. From the moment the curtains rise, the stage is transformed into a palace of dreams. Mughal-e-Azam: The Musical is unapologetically grand, borrowing the visual vocabulary of the film but translating it into the language of theatre with astonishing innovation.

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The set design, helmed by Neil Patel, is a marvel of engineering and aesthetics. Movable panels, intricate jaalis, and shifting perspectives conjure the vastness of the Mughal court. It’s almost as though the walls of Fatehpur Sikri have been transported to the stage, shimmering under the warm glow of David Lander’s lighting. The costumes are a dazzling parade of 550 pieces of brocades, zardozi, and silk, designed by Manish Malhotra. Each ensemble seems to tell its own story, betraying an authenticity that makes you want to reach out and feel the texture of history. Anarkali’s lehengas are poetry in motion, while Salim’s royal attire exudes defiance and regality. The costumes become character extensions, amplifying the performers’ acts and emotions.

But the heart of this musical lies in its music — the soundtrack that is both a tribute and a triumph. Naushad’s original score for the film remains unmatched in its brilliance, and Khan’s team wisely decides to retain many of its songs that are imprinted in the memory of music aficionados. Musical director Piyush Kanojia reimagines the tracks, infusing them with a theatrical flourish that lends them a new life. When Anarkali sings “Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya” in the Sheesh Mahal, the effect is ethereal. The mirrors catch her brave act which ultimately costs her heavily, refracting it into infinity, and her voice rises above the judgment of history itself. It’s a goosebump-inducing moment that shows why this story continues to resonate.

A spell on stage, a visual delight

What truly elevates the musical, however, is its choreography. Mayuri Upadhyay’s work is a revelation; she lends classical Indian dance forms with a contemporary sensibility. Each movement feels organic, rooted in the characters’ emotional arcs. Anarkali’s dances, in particular, are spellbinding — a silent articulation of the words she cannot always speak. The ensemble performances are equally compelling, creating tableaux that are as rich in emotion as they are in visual splendour.

One of its iconic love songs, ‘Pyar Kiya Toh Darna Kya (if you’ve loved, then why fear), was staged at the Taj Mahal on January 14.

Of course, none of this would matter without the performances, and Mughal-e-Azam: The Musical assembles a cast (kudos to Mukesh Chhabra) that understands their roles to the T. Priyanka Barve’s Anarkali (Neha Sargam plays it alternately) is luminous; she shines at capturing both the fragility and the fierce independence of her character. She inhabits the role; her voice carrying the sorrow of centuries and the hope of the present. Salim, played by Syed Shahab Ali or other rotating actors like Dhanveer Singh and Harsh Jha, is suitably regal and still vulnerable; his rebellion against his father becomes an existential cry — of a helpless prince against his mighty father.

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But it is Emperor Akbar, portrayed by the towering presence of Nissar Khan, who anchors the production. His Akbar is the authoritarian monarch, but also is a man torn between love for his son and duty to his empire. The confrontation scenes between Akbar and Salim are imbued with intensity; this is, after all, not just a story about love but also about power, ambition, and sacrifice.

A thing of beauty, a thing of wonder

Khan’s direction is, in a word, masterful. He understands the challenge of adapting one the best-known Indian films in history and approaches it with a touch of reverence as well as boldness. He’s not afraid to take risks, whether it’s in the staging of the battle sequences or the way he uses silence as effectively as sound. The production is meticulously paced, each act building upon the last, drawing the audience deeper into its spell.

For all its grandeur, the production never loses sight of its characters’ humanity. Anarkali’s plight is as relevant as ever: we continue to grapple with questions of class, privilege, and agency even in the 21st century. And then there is the language — the soul of this musical. The dialogues, penned by Khan himself, retain the poetic elegance of Urdu while making them accessible to contemporary audiences. As a member of the audience, you get swept up in the tides of history and emotion. The climactic moments — Anarkali’s entombment, Salim’s heartbreak, Akbar’s silent anguish — are heart-breaking, almost unbearable.

Feroz Abbas Khan’s production, therefore, is as much a tribute to K. Asif’s vision as it is an assertion of his own. It’s a thing of beauty, a thing of wonder that proves a great story, and the storyteller is never hamstrung by the medium. Walking out of the theatre, you feel a sense of awe, as though you’ve just been part of something monumental. The songs linger in your ears, the dialogues in your mind, and the emotions in your heart.

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