The complex heritage of early India : essays in memory of R.S. Sharma 9789350980583, 9350980584

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THE COMPLEX HERITAGE OF EARLY INDIA Essays in Memory of R. S. Sharma Edited by

D.N. Jha

MANOHAR

Professor Ram Sharan Sharma (d. 20 August 2011) was a trailblazer in the field of Indian historical research and has the unique distinction of changing its direction in post-independence India. He made sharp departures from both colonial and chauvinist historiography, exploded the myth of a stagnant Indian society, shifted the focus of history writing from the chronicle of kings and queens to the history of the common people, especially the underprivileged and the marginalized, took Indian history away from the realm of myths and legends, and radically demystified it. He analysed the past through the prism of the present, championed the cause of scientific history and did not seek to gild the lily. The present volume seeks to perpetuate his memory and celebrate his contribution from which the subsequent generation has immensely benefited. The essays brought together here deal with diverse themes and cover a wide canvas. They range from Harappan civilization, the Rigvedic chronology, and early historical archaeology to the history of urbanization, level of monetization, nature of trade, and to issues arising out of early medieval land grants, and other aspects of early Indian material culture. The anthology also contains articles of seminal importance on the nature and ideology of the caste and gender inequality and social dimensions of early Indian art. It bears the unmistakable stamp of R.S. Sharma’s perspectives on India’s past.

Rs. 1795

The Comp'ex Heritage of Early India Essays in Memor’ ofR.S. Sharma

Edited by

D. N. JHA

manohar

2014

First published, 2014 © D.N. Jha, 2014 © Individual contributors, 2014 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the author and the publisher. ISBN 978-93-5098-058-3 Published by Ajay Kumar Jain for Manohar Publishers & Distributors 4753/23 Ansari Road, Daryaganj New Delhi 110 002 Typeset at Digigrafics New Delhi 110 049 Printed at Salasar Imaging Systems Delhi 110 035

Contents

Preface Introduction Engaging with R.S. Sharma and His Historiography D.N. Jha

9

11

1. Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization Sudeshna Guha

39

2. Mitanni Indo-Aryan Mazda and the Date of the Rgveda Michael Witzel

73

3. The Idea of the ‘South’ (Daksina) in Early India P.K. Basant

97

4. Claudius Ptolemy and the Political Geography of Ancient India A. Vigasin

123

5. Archaeology in Bihar: Trends and Prospects Bijoy K Choudhary

133

6. Interpreting Historical Archaeology of Coastal Bengal: Possibilities and Limitations Bishnupriya Basak

155

7. Gold in Ancient Indian Material and Religious Culture Ian Mahbett

181

8. Urbanization at Early Historic Vaisall, c. 600 bce-400 ce Birendra Nath Prasad

213

9. Pali Literature and Urbanism Krishna Mohan Shrimali

243

6

Contents

10. The Ethics of Consumption: Food Preferences and Dietary Practices in the Jatakas Nay ana Sharma Mukherjee

281

11. Misunderstood Origins: How Buddhism Fooled Modern Scholarship and Itself Johannes Bronkhorst

307

12. History and Literature: Unravelling Conversations in the Local Context of Buddhist Deccan Aloka Parasher-Sen

327

13. Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria: The Material Record of Indo-Greek Contact Himanshu Prabha Ray

347

14. From the Oxus to the Indus: Religion and Politics of the Bactrian and Indo-Greek Rulers Suchandra Ghosh

373

15. The Influence of the Arthasdstra on the Kdmasutra Wendy Doniger

391

16. Women at Work and their Enemies: A Reappraisal of the Kdmasutra V, 5. 5-10 Gyula Wojtilla

413

17. The Socio-Sexual World of the Vesavdsa and Antahpura: A Study in Contrast Shalini Shah

429

18. Re-Constructing the Social Histories of the Puranas: Kings and Wives as Upholder of Propriety in the Matsyamahapurana Jaya Tyagi

447

19. Alternatives Marginalized: Fluctuations in Brahmanical Paradigms on the Niyoga Smita Sahgal

475

20. Caste, Gender and Ideology in the Making of Traditional India Suvira Jaiswal

513

Contents

7

21. Revisiting the Political Economy of Pre-modern Tamil Nadu R. Mahalakshmi

555

Susmita Basu Majumdar

oo

22. Monetary History of Bengal: ‘Issues and Non-Issues’

23. A Tenth-century Brahmapura in Srlhatta and Related Issues Ranabir Chakravarti

607

24. Hunting for Food: Non-vegetarian India Stella Sandahl

627

25. Art and Society in Early Medieval India Tiziana Lorenzetti

645

26. The Buddha Image at Khajuraho and its Significance Devangana Desai

671

REMINISECENCES AND TRIBUTE 27. Remembering Prof. R.S. Sharma Irfan Habib

683

28. Professor R.S. Sharma: Some Early Memories Barun De

689

29. ‘Shudra Sharma’: A Personal Tribute to Ram Sharan Sharma S.N. Mukherjee

697

30. Secular Historian Suvira Jaiswal

699

31. A Tribute: The People’s Historian J.N. Sinha

705

List of Contributors

711

.

•

•

Preface

The death of Professor Ram Sharan Sharma on 11 August 2011 at the age of ninety-one caused an irreparable loss to the Indian academic world. A large number of historians over the years benefited from his academic leadership as well as from his insightful and path-breaking researches. Not surprisingly, soon after his passing away many of his friends, admirers and former students came together with the idea of publishing a volume in his memory and asked me to edit it. Requests for contribution drew such an overwhelming response from scholars that the articles received far exceeded the number that could be accommodated in a single volume. These have therefore been divided into two independent volumes, one containing papers on the early period, called The Complex Heritage of Early India, and the other incorporating those on medieval, modern and contemporary history of India titled The Evolution of a Nation: Pre-Colonial to PostColonial. Throughout the preparation of the two commemoration volumes, running into over 1400 printed pages in all, I was sustained in my endeavour by the cooperation and constant emotional support of the contributors. In this context I would like to make a special mention of the late Barun De who honoured his commitment and sent his reminiscences even as he lay on his death-bed fighting the terminal illness which ultimately took him away from us. These volumes dedicated to the memory of Professor R.S. Sharma is therefore touched by a further sadness at the passing away of his younger friend and professional colleague, Barun, with whom many of us shared a com¬ mon world-view. The volumes have been prepared for the press with minimum editorial intervention. The referencing styles of individual authors have been retained without much change, though, keeping in mind their preferences, effort has been made to standardize the use of diacritical marks as far as possible. Professors Irfan Habib, Shireen Moosvi, Eugenia Vanina, K.M. Shrimali and Amar Farooqui offered

10

Preface

valuable advice, especially on the volume-wise division and arrangement of articles dealing with diverse themes. Professor Anjani Kumar Sinha shared with me his memories of R.S. Sharma and made constructive comments on my paper which forms the introduction to these volumes. Mr Siddharth Chowdhury extended indispensable editorial help and guidance and Mr Ramesh Jain provided the much needed logistical support to our effort and thus facilitated the expeditious publication of the volumes. My wife, Rajrani, has always been there to help me in many silent ways. 1 am grateful to all of them. Delhi 20 May 2014

D.N. Jha

INTRODUCTION

Engaging with R.S. Sharma and His Historiography D.N. JHA

Born on 1 September 1920, Professor Ram Sharan Sharma (d. 20 Aug¬ ust 2011) had his schooling in his village, Barauni, and at Begusarai, then a subdivisional town of Bihar. He joined Patna College in 1937 where he completed his Masters in history in 1943. After a brief stint at H.D. Jain College, Arrah and T.N.B. College, Bhagalpur, he became a lecturer in Patna College. In 1958 he took over as head of the department of history, Patna University, which position he held until 1972 when he became the founder Chairman of the Indian Council of Historical Research (ICHR), New Delhi. In the follow¬ ing year he moved to the University of Delhi which offered him professorship and headship of its history department. At both Patna and Delhi he played a significant role in giving a radical direction to history teaching. Already at Patna University he had organized a national workshop in 1965—perhaps the first of its kind in the country—to prepare a blueprint for the secularization, radicalization and decolonization of the history syllabi and had implemented many of his ideas there.1 Soon after joining the University of Delhi in 1973, he convinced his colleagues in the Department of History and the undergraduate colleges, that curriculum revision, being linked with the ever increasing corpus of historical literature, should be a conti¬ nuous process and create space for new interpretations of the past. With their support and cooperation he introduced drastic changes in the courses of study, and, inspired his successors who undertook similar exercise from time to time, often in the face of bitter opposition from the obscurantist and status quoist elements in the academic establishment and outside.

12

D.N. Jha As an institution builder R.S. Sharma has few parallels. Both at

Patna and Delhi universities he succeeded in expanding the history faculty by creating positions in new areas of historical research and making it academically active and vibrant. As the founder-chairman of the ICHR he created its infrastructure, initiated many projects which involved historians from different parts of the country and gave a truly national character to its activities. The projects relating to the publication of historical sources, translation of standard books and monographs in English into Indian languages, preparation of an epigraphic dictionary, historiographical surveys of the various areas of Indian history and the compilation of records on the national movement (known as the ‘Towards Freedom’ project as opposed to the ‘Transfer of Power’ by Nicholas Mansergh who viewed Indian freedom struggle from the British point of view), were all initiated during his chairmanship, and have, over the years, influenced research and teaching. The priority he accorded to the demystification of history and its reconstruction on secular and scientific lines, despite being occasionally eclipsed by the communal and retrograde government policies, has remained prominent in the ICHR’s agenda. As an important member of the National Commission of the History of Sciences in India and of the UNESCO Commission on the History of Central Asian Civilizations he participated in the organization of the volumes published under their auspices. It was also largely because of his efforts that the largest body of professional Indian historians, the Indian History Congress, of which he was the General President in 1975, and which honoured him with H.K. Barpujari Award in 1987 and V.K. Rajwade National Award in 2002 for his life-long service and contribution to historical studies, has become the symbol of secular and scientific approach to history. In whatever capacity R.S. Sharma worked, his role bore the stamp of the academic vision and world view he developed early in life. In his youth R.S. Sharma, popularly known as R.S. among his friends and Sharmaji among his pupils, came in contact with several prominent personalities. One of them was the famous journalist, lawyer and social reformer, Sachidanand Sinha, the first president of the Constituent Assembly, in consultation with whom he prepared a report on the boundary dispute between Bihar and Bengal. But his

Engaging with R.S. Sharma and His Historiography

13

association with Rahul Sankrityayan, the progressive polyglot and polymath who commanded respect of his contemporaries as well as the younger generation, Karyanand Sharma, who began his political career with Non-Coperation movement in 1920 and later emerged as an important leader of the peasant movement and the Communist Party of India, and with Swami Sahjanand Saraswati who founded the Bihar Provincial Kisan Sabha in 1929 and became the first president of the All India Kisan Sabha in 1936 had a much deeper influence on him. Sharmaji shared with them some of his personality traits like his spartan way of life, disarming humility and un¬ pretentiousness, and an unstated, albeit perceptible, aversion to elitism, and, above all, his unquestionable personal and academic integrity which, throughout his professional career, presented a sharp contrast to those who plagiarize and prosper in the academic world. His simplicity and clarity of expression, reminiscent of Rahul Sankrityayan, was best reflected in his classroom lectures and in his writings which were all free of jargon; he never allowed his erudition to be overshadowed by obfuscation in the name of nuanced scholarship. With these qualities, he could easily reach out to people from different walks of life; it was not an unusual sight to see him sitting on the Delhi University lawns and discussing with non-teaching staff their problems and, negotiating on their behalf in a situation of confrontation with the authorities. Through his association with persons like Rahul Sankrityayan and Karyanand Sharma as well as several freedom fighters he also enriched his own firsthand knowledge of the hard realities of rural life and its trials and tribulations and naturally moved to Marxist ideology and came close to the undivided Communist Party of India, whose leadership often sought his advice. Unlike the historians who turned to Marxism in the late 1950s and early 1960s only to disown it after gaining academic legitimacy, Professor Sharma remained a Marxist throughout his life without drumbeating on Karl Marx. Far from being doctrinaire, his Marxism was pragmatic and pervades all his research work; there was nothing formulaic about his choice, and treatment of themes he wrote on. His aversion to the mechanical application of the ideas of Marx to the Indian situation is evident

14

D.N. Jha

from his assessment of S.A. Dange’s India from Primitive Communism to Slavery (1949) as more schematic than scholarly. Professor Sharma began his research career soon after he joined teaching. His early writings drew attention to the dharmasastric evidence which sought to equate women with property and sudras and highlighted their subservient position and exploitation, thus anticipating the questioning, nearly four decades later, of A.S. Altekar’s idealistic perception of women’s status in ancient India which had become influential during the phase of nationalist struggle and continues to remain so, notwithstanding a plethora of research sponsored and inspired by the numerous feminist scholars, organizations and movements. He continued to express his interest in women’s history from time to time,2 but, in course of his professional career spanning over six decades, he focused his attention mainly on issues like caste and its inherent inequities, state formation and role of technology and its linkage with early Indian social formations, social context of ideology and so on, and produced avant gardist works on various aspects of Indian history.

II British and Indian scholars before him had written about Indian social structure, especially the caste system, the former denouncing the Indian society and the latter shying away from any discussion of its seamy side and adopting, by and large, a reformist approach. Some scholars influenced by Marxian ideas (e.g., A.N. Bose 1942-4; B.N. Dutt 1944; G.F. Ilyin 1952, S.A. Dange 1949, D.D. Kosambi 1946) also studied ancient Indian social structure and debunked many ‘sedulously cherished myths of nationalist historiography’ but did not pay attention to the travails of the lower orders which attracted the attention of B.R. Ambedkar (1946, 1948).3 However, his flawed handling of the sources resulted in fallacious theories of the origin of sudras and untouchables. In a sense therefore R.S. Sharma was the first professional historian to make an in-depth analysis of sources stretching over a long period to trace the history of caste and delineate the vicissitudes of the lower social orders. His pathbreaking work Sudras in Ancient India, a doctoral dissertation completed at the

Engaging with R.S. Sharma and His Historiography

15

School of Oriental and African Studies, London, in 1956, was first published in 1958 and has had several editions ever since. Based on a rigorous scrutiny of a wide range of ancient Indian literary texts representing the brahmanical world-view, it examined the position of the sudras and untouchables up to the end of the Gupta period, captured the voices of the oppressed masses in them and anticipated the later subaltern historiography, though, of course, without sharing the anti-Marxism of its enthusiastic exponents. The main assumption of Sharma, unlike that of the British and other Western social scientists, notably Louis Dumont, was that the Indian social structure was far from being static and was ever changing. He asserted that the position of the lower orders, inextricably linked with their changing relations with the means of production, underwent changes over time. This view, however, may not be acceptable to scholars, who, being averse to materialist explanation of historical phenomena, assign centrality to ritual hierarchy or to ritual purity/ pollution in the formation and functioning of caste. Sharma’s views on slavery, like those on the sudras and other lower sections, also may not be acceptable to many. The number of slaves in the Vedic period, he rightly suggests, was not large and, they worked mostly as domestic servants, having nothing to do with productive activities. When their number grew in the age of the Buddha, and in the Maurya period, slavery, according to him, ‘played a very considerable role in agricultural production (emphasis added) but Sharma hesitates in describing the Mauryan society as ‘slave society’ and calls it a ‘slave-owning society’4 instead. Similarly, Sharma adduces evidence to show that in post-Maurya and Gupta times the social fabric was supported mainly by the tax paying vaisyas and the toiling sudras and describes it as ‘vaisya-sudra society’5 or ‘vaisya-sudra social formation’.6 These descriptive categories certainly indicate the changing nature of the early Indian social structure. But, being at variance with Marx’s nomenclature of modes of production, they may also imply the incomparability of Indian caste system with non-Indian societies and may be at odds with the universalism inherent in his Marxist method. R S. Sharma retained his interest in the study of ancient Indian social structure and its material basis throughout his professional career7 and, through his highly original and insightful writings.

16

D.N. Jha

deepened our understanding of social changes in the early medieval period which, he was the first to show, witnessed the proliferation of castes including the untouchable ones. But, puzzling though it may seem, he did not explain why the phenomena of caste and untouchability developed only in India and not elsewhere.

Ill Connected with studies of social structure was Professor Sharmas lasting interest in the formation and nature of early Indian state, and its social and economic underpinnings. He wrote many articles on Indian polity, and integrated the early ones in his Aspects of Political Ideas and Institutions in Ancient India, first published in 1959, and reprinted several times subsequently.8 In this pioneering work, he broke away from traditional historiography in many ways. Thus un¬ like the nationalist historians who glorified early Indian state as a welfare state, equated it with the British constitutional monarchy, and postulated the existence of republics in ancient India, Sharma demonstrated the caste/class dimension of state, exposed its exploitative character and argued that the so-called ‘republics’ were tribal oligarchies or at best ‘distorted’ republics.9 Unlike his predecessors and contemporaries in Indological studies, he identified the stages in the development of ancient Indian polity and, drew attention to the distinctive features of the administrative systems under the Mauryas, Satavahanas, Kusanas, Guptas and later dynasties, even if his en¬ dorsement of and emphasis on the traditional perception of the Maurya state as centralized may not go well with some scholars. But he offered a well argued analysis of the various dimensions of the complex origin of early Indian state and its various phases in his Origin of the State in India (1989) and The State and Varna Formation in the Mid-Ganga Plains: An Ethnoarchaeological View (1996). Sharmas keenness to identify elements of change led him to question even the tenability of the Marxian concept of Asiatic/Oriental despotism subsuming a static state and society, an exercise undertaken by several scholars before and after him.10 R.S. Sharma was also critical of his contemporaries whose excessive use of sociological verbiage, often ignored the material basis of major social transformation; his

Engaging with R.S. Sharma and His Historiography

17

magisterial critique of the much talked about model of segmentary state is an example of his engagement with them.11

IV Averse to exaggerating the role of ritual, religion and tradition in ancient Indian social polity and wary of using fashionable and woolly anthropological concepts as analytical tools,12 Sharma examined the various aspects of early Indian social formation including the emergence of state from a materialist point of view. He published quite a few articles from the late 1960s onward which analysed the transition from Vedic pastoralism to post-Vedic sedentary agriculture and consequent unleashing of the processes of surplus production, urbanization, consolidation of caste system and the rise of a tax paying class, state formation, and the emergence of heterodoxies (Jainism and Buddhism). Like D.D. Kosambi, he argued that iron technology played a catalytic role in this major social transformation—a view endorsed by many scholars including Romila Thapar (if only to dilute her position subsequently!),13—and criticized by others like A. Ghosh and Nihar Ranjan Ray.14 Although Sharma reacted to his critics from time to time,15 he provided a comprehensive response to them in his seminal work Material Culture and Social Formations in Ancient India (1983, chapters I and VI). Here, far from treating iron technology as the sole factor of social change, he viewed it as part of the general growth of productive forces which paved the way for a sedentary agricultural society in later Vedic and post-Vedic times. Like Gordon Childe, he believed that the evolution and functioning of technology can be best understood in its social context and that no linear cause-and-effect relationship between it and social change can be postulated.16

V R.S. Sharma is always associated with the study of feudalism in early India. Both before and after him several historians mentioned feudalism in their own way17 but he was the first to undertake its comprehensive study by publishing an article in 1958 and then a

18

D.N. Jha

full-length book Indian Feudalism in 1965.18 In these writings, he basically argued (i) that feudalism in India, unlike in Europe, was causally linked with the practice of making land grants to brahmanas, temples and monasteries which began from the first century bce and became widespread from the middle of the first millennium onwards; and, (ii) that, despite different origins, the economic essence of the feudal phenomena in both the regions lay in the emergence of landed intermediaries leading to the enserfment of peasantry through restrictions on its mobility and freedom, increasing obligation to perform forced labour (visti), mounting tax burdens and the evils of subinfeudation. The crucial element in Sharmas chain of arguments was the premise that there took place around the middle of the first millennium ce, a decline in commodity production, urban centres and foreign trade resulting in the growth of a self-sufficient economy in which metallic currency became relatively scarce and hence all payments (whether to priests or to the government officials) had to be made through assignment of land or land revenue.19 Arguments of Sharma, based on empirically valid premises formulated by him in his early writings on feudalism sound neat and logical, but seem theoretically inadequate in that they seek to explain feudal developments solely in terms of foreign trade which declined, to a large extent, due to factors external to the Indian situation. Like Kosambi, he overemphasizes the importance of foreign trade and seems to deny any built-in potential for change in the early Indian society—a position implicit in the concept of Asiatic Mode of Production which is unacceptable to him. Thus the rejection of the concept of the Asiatic Mode of Production (1975) on the one hand and acceptance of the idea of feudal transformation caused by factors not directly related to the Indian context on the other gave rise to a theoretical impasse. This led to a rethinking on the part of Professor Sharma and, in a paper presented at the annual session of the Indian History Congress at Hyderabad in 1978,20 he argued, for the first time, that the Indian society itself was passing through a phase of crisis in the early centuries ce. He drew attention to the third-fourth century epic and Puranic descriptions of the Kali age which indicate a deep social and economic turmoil. He had in fact referred to Kali age in his book on the sudras as early as 1958 but now, on the basis

Engaging with R.S. Sharma and His Historiography

19

of a detailed analysis, he asserted that it was a phase of sharp social conflict leading to the weakening of the traditional brahmanical social order and to the development of a new mechanism of surplus extraction and its redistribution. This basically meant that the state now gave up the earlier practice of collecting taxes through its agents and then remunerating its employees, and began to assign land and land revenues directly to the priests, military officers and other employees as their remuneration. The significance of this theory lies in the fact that, without contradicting the earlier explanation of transition to feudalism in terms of external factors like decline of trade, it tries to locate the genesis of feudal formation in internal social dynamics. Many inscriptions from different parts of the country also refer to Kali age crisis, the earliest being a second century Satvahana record. But doubts may still be raised about the validity of any historical explanation based on it. The Kali age is described in most of the Puranic texts, and even if we keep the medieval Puranas out of consideration, it is possible to identify at least three sets of its descriptions assignable to the third-fourth, eighth and tenth centuries. Since most of these descriptions are conventional and repetitive, their chronology as well as their value for historical reconstruction becomes uncertain. Also, it is intriguing that although the epic and Puranic passages which describe the Kali age and are cited by Sharma to buttress his argument do not mention the kalivarjyas (practices forbidden in the Kaliyuga), which seem to have begun to be mentioned in the texts around the end of the first millennium or the beginning of the second, Apararka (1125) being among the earliest to refer to them. But the kalivarjyas were finally codified not earlier than the seventeenth century by Damodara in his Kalivarjyavinirnaya. Thus instead of dismissing the Kali explanation tout court, it is necessary to subject the relevant literary and epigraphical material to a rigorous examination. The applicability of the European feudal model to the early medieval agrarian situation also remains problematic as was pointed out as early as 1979.21 For example, the manorial system which is often treated as a characteristic feature of European feudalism was absent in India; and it may be difficult to equate European serfdom with

20

D.N. Jha

the forms of bondage of Indian peasantry. Sharma at some stage conceded the first point but continued to maintain that serfs/semi¬ serfs played a crucial role in agricultural production in India much as they did in medieval Europe. In other words, serfdom, in his view, was a salient feature of both European and early medieval Indian agrarian society. But this view has also come in for much criticism and debate has often centred round the meaning, nature and scope of serfdom.22 However, without going into the semantic history of the word, serfdom, if used in the Indian context, may be understood in the sense of generalized servility of peasants. For there is little doubt that, notwithstanding the enthusiastic advocacy of a free peasantry in India,23 the ordinary peasants in the early medieval period and later have been servile. Peasant rebellions discussed by Sharma (1988) and M.G.S. Narayanan (1988) provide ample evidence of the un¬ freedom of peasants24 and their contradiction with landed inter¬ mediaries, a fact also supported by medieval and modern instances of peasant resistance, the more recent ones being the anti-zamindari unrest in Bihar (1930s), Tebhaga movement in Bengal (1946), and Telangana rebellion in Andhra Pradesh (1946-51). Criticism of Sharma’s Eurocentric approach may have some substance, but it is necessary to bear in mind that a historian adopting a universalistic approach to the study of the past may find it difficult to jettison the comparative method, even if comparisons may not always be valid. Also, Eurocentrism, like Orientalism, has a history. It is rooted in the academic tradition in which several generations of historians including that of Professor Sharma grew up, so that if one were to adopt a comparative approach to India’s past, European parallels would come in handy, though this should not preclude the comparison of Indian historical developments with those in other Asian or non-European countries. Sharmas work on

Indian feudalism’, despite all reservations,

represents the dominant perception of early medieval Indian social formation, including the feudal mentality and the material context of religious ideologies.25 A landmark in Indian historiography, it has been debated widely among historians and other social scientists from whom it has received wide acclaim as well as adverse appraisals. Some of its critics have, however, displayed an extraordinary enthusiasm in

Engaging with R.S. Sharma and His Historiography

21

questioning the premises on which Sharma’s feudal model is founded. Thus one of them, while arguing against the idea of urban decay, has asserted, on the basis of inscriptional references, that several urban centres like Prthudaka (Pehoa), Tattanandapura (Ahar), Siyadoni (near Jhansi) and Gopagiri (Gwalior) flourished with extensive market networks during the early medieval period.26 But the crucial epigraphic evidence, on which the above observation is based, relates to the ninth-tenth century and does not contradict the contention of Sharma; on the contrary it is in line with his view that the centuries immediately preceding the Turkish conquest witnessed a revival of trade and towns." Similarly his notion of the relative paucity of coins during the fifth-tenth-century period, linked with decline of trade and towns, has been called into question on the basis of either later or slender evidence.28 Despite the criticisms stemming from the misplaced enthusiasm of his critics, Sharma’s assertions about de-urbanization and currency contraction are unassailable; for they are amply supported by a melange of archaeological and numismatic data presented in his Urban Decay in India c. 300-1000 (1987) and the Nathaniel Wallich Memorial Lecture at Indian Museum, Calcutta (1988), incorporated in his Early Medieval Indian Society (2001, chapter 4).29

VI Scholars may not agree with specific statements or general conclusions of Prof. Sharma but there is no denying the fact that the entire corpus of his research had an anti-communal dimension and had much bearing on the periodization of Indian history. Communal historiography based on James Mill s division of India’s precolonial history into ‘Hindu’ and ‘Muslim’ periods, adopted and popularized by Vincent Smith (1904), assigns a fantastic antiquity, imagined purity, and irrational indigenist origin to the Hindu culture which reached its high watermark during the so-called ‘golden age of the Guptas . But Prof. Sharma was consistendy opposed to this perception of pre-Islamic traits of Indian history. At a time when the high priests of communal historiography, K.M. Munshi and R.C. Majumdar, adopting Mill’s periodization, glorified the ‘Hindu period’ as one of great achievement and denounced the ‘Muslim period’ as one of

22

D.N. Jha

decline and degradation, Sharma was perhaps the first to do away with the Hindu-Muslim binary and to write about the depressed position of the sudras, feudal exploitation, and social tension at various levels. Therefore in 1977, when the Janata Party came to power, the communalist and obscurantist forces were up in arms against the NCERT textbooks written by secular historians like R.S. Sharma, and launched a vicious attack on his Ancient India and succeeded in getting it banned. But he mobilized the support of his colleagues and other history teachers along with many social scientists throughout the country in favour of his book and wrote a booklet In Defence of Ancient India (1978). The demand for the restoration of his book took the form of a popular movement of academics in the country and ultimately the ban was withdrawn. Prof. Sharma displayed a remarkable foresight in his fight against communalism so that even before the rabidly communal Ramjanmabhoomi movement gained momentum, he moved the Indian History Congress to pass the resolution year after year for the protection of the Baburi Masjid. He himself, along with his three other colleagues and friends, participated as independent scholars in the parleys between the protagonists of the Temple movement and the Baburi Masjid Action Committee. He also wrote extensively in the newspapers and magazines and exposed the communalist attempt to distort the history of Ayodhya. He published a booklet Communal History and Rama’s Ayodhya (1990) and, authored, joindy with three scholars, Ramjanamabhumi-Baburi Masjid: A Historians’ Report to the Nation (1991) focusing on the historical issues involved in the Ayodhya imbroglio. He was thus in the forefront of secular academics combating the communal elements and provided them with an ideological weapon through his writings which, were an antidote to communalist onslaught culminating in the demolition of the mosque—a dastardly act which the World Archaeology Congress III (1994) condemned in the strongest terms at the initiative of Prof. Sharma, despite vehement opposition from the Indian archaeological establishment which has been a citadel of communalism and revivalism. Prof. Sharma’s crusade against Hindu communalists and xenophobes continued unabated even later and his two books—Looking for the Aryans (1995) and Advent of the Aryans in India (1999), written in

Engaging with R.S. Sharma and His Historiography

23

the best tradition of historical scholarship, convincingly refute the propaganda of the Aryan autochthony. He fought against communalism and xenophobia all his life and did all that he could for maintaining the country’s secular social fabric.

VII The importance of the research of Prof. Sharma lies not only in the fact that he broke new grounds in the field of early Indian history but also in his critical approach to the sources. Historians before him used inscriptions for writing dynastic history and for fixing the chronology of kings and their battles, but he asked new questions of them and used them for reconstructing the social, economic and cultural history of India.30 Unlike the Indologists who used coins for working out the minor details of political history and finding out their specific metal content, he fruitfully used them for writing monetary history and for determining the level of monetization of early Indian economy at a particular point of time.31 Unlike the Indian archaeologists, who used artefacts and antiquities for satisfying their insatiable antiquarian appetite, he used them as a source for the history of early Indian settlements and urban centres.32 His mastery over different types of sources coupled with his understanding of the current anthropological and sociological theories gave Sharma an edge over most of his peers. He gave the slogan ‘no theory, no history’ but he did not build theories in the air. He broke the stereotype of a stagnant and ahistoric Indian society trumpeted by Western scholars just as he exploded the myth of a glorious ‘Hindu’ India orchestrated by Indian historians, thus making sharp departures from both colonial and nationalist historiographies. He shifted the focus of history writing from the annals of kings and queens to the narration of the travails of the underprivileged and the marginalized people, took Indian history away from the realm of myths and legends and demystified it. He fought for a scientific history of the Indian people and spurned those who merely romanticized the past and gilded the lily. Professor R.S. Sharma’s oeuvre remains a welcome contrast to the fashionable studies in which ‘social criticism floats free of any universalist theoretical ground’ and provides an antidote to the writings of the

24

DM Jha

avowedly anti-Marxist new thinkers who sing ‘the virtues of the empire’, and seem to extend a warm welcome to ‘a new world order dominated by imperial warlords, corporate profiteers and neoliberal ideologues’.

NOTES 1. ‘Problems of Research in History in Indian Universities’, Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, 1, no. 2,1963; ‘The Organisation of Historical Research in Indian Universities’, Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, III, 1963-4, pp. 127-9. ‘Some General Suggestions, Undergraduate Teaching in History’, Proceedings of Seminar on Undergraduate Teaching of History, Patna University, Patna, 1968, pp. 6-11. 2. Traces of Promiscuity in Ancient Indian Society’, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, 19th Session, Agra, 1956, pp. 153-57; ‘Problems of Social Formation in Early India’ General President’s Address, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, 36th Session, Aligarh, 1975, pp. 1-14; ‘Historical Aspects of Sati’, Social Science Probings, vol. 6, nos. 1-4, January-December 1989. 3. Who Were the Shudras>, Thacker & Co.: Bombay, 1946; The Untouchables, New Delhi: Amrit Book Co., 1948. 4. Sudras in Ancient India: A Social History of the Lower Order Down to circa ad 600, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1958, 3rd rev. edn. 1990, rept. 2002, p.183. 5. Ibid., p. 322. 6. Ibid., p. 260. 7. E.g., Social Changes in Early Medieval India, First Devaraj Chanana Memorial Lecture, New Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1969; ‘Problems of Social Formation in Early India’, General President’s Address, Proceedings Indian History Congress, Aligarh Muslim University, 1975, pp. 1-14; ‘Class Formation and its Material Basis in the Upper Gangetic Basin (c. 1000-500 BC)’, The Indian Historical Review, vol. II, no.l, July 1975, 1-13. 8. Aspects of Political Ideas and Institutions in Ancient India, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1959, 5th rev. edn, 2005. 9. Ibid., p. 132. 10. R.S. Sharma, The Socio-Economic Bases of Oriental Despotism in Early India, in S.K. Bose (ed.), Essays in Honour of Dr Gyanchand, New Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1981. D.D. Kosambi, ‘The Basis of Despotism’, The Economic Weekly, 2 November 1957, pp. 1417-19; Irfan Habib, ‘An Examination ofWittfogels Theory of Oriental Despotism’, Enquiry, no. 6 (Old Series), 1962; Bipan Chandra, Karl Marx, His Theories of Asian

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Societies and Colonia Rule,’ Review, vol. V, no. 1 (Summer 1981); Brendan O’Leary, The Asiatic Mode of Production: Oriental Despotism, Historical Materialism and Indian History, Oxford, 1989. 11. ‘The Segmentary State and the Indian Experiment’, Indian Historical Review, vol. XVI, nos.1-2, July 1989-January 1990, pp. 90-108. 12. R.S. Sharma, ‘From Kin to Class’ [being a review of Romila Thapar’s From Lineage to State], Economic and Political Weekly, vol. XX, no. 22 (1 June 1985), pp. 960-1. For Sharma’s detailed comments on anthropological approach see his Material Culture and Social Formations in Ancient India, Delhi: Macmillan, 1983, chapter I. 13. Sharma made a clear reference to the significant role of iron technology in the process of social change in 1968 (‘Material Background of the Origin of Buddhism’, in Mohit Sen (ed.). Das Kapital Centenary Volume, Delhi, 1968, pp. 59-66). In the following year, in her address to the Indian History Congress (Ancient India section), Romila Thapar, echoed ‘comparable’ sentiments about the impact of the new technology on people’s lives but which, a scholar strangely enough informs us, ‘was wrongly construed and misunderstood’: B.P. Sahu (ed.), Iron and Social Change in Early India, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006, Introduction, pp. 4-5). 14. A. Ghosh, The City in Early Historical India, Simla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 1973, pp. 5-15, 90; Nihar Ranjan Ray, ‘Technology and Social Change in Early Indian History’, Puratattva, no. 8 (1975-6), pp. 132-8. 15. ‘Iron and Urbanisation in the Ganga Basin’, The Indian Historical Review, vol. I, no. 1, March 1974, pp. 98-103. 16. There is nothing new about controversy centring round the role of technology in history. In the late 1930s and early 1940s, Gordon Childe wrote his most popular works highlighting the role of technology and never met the approval of the British archaeological establishment; in the early 1950s Needham began to publish his volumes on science and civilization in China and his critics charged him of exaggerating her technological achievements; in early 1960s Lynn White Jr wrote on medieval technology and social change and he was faulted for linking it with medieval Christianity; a few years later, in 1969, Irfan Habib delivered his presidential address on medieval technology at the Indian History Congress and he was criticized for assigning the introduction of the Persian wheel in India to the period of the Turkish conquests and the centuries that immediately followed them. All this, however, does not minimize the significant role of technology in social change. Criticism of ‘technicism’ comes, not infrequently, from its beneficiaries! 17. Bhupendra Nath Datta, Studies in Indian Social Polity, Calcutta: Purabi Publishers, 1944; idem, Dialectics of Land Economics of India, Calcutta:

26

D.N. Jha Mahendra Publication Committee, 1952: Nihar Ranjan Ray, Bangalir Itihas, Calcutta: Book Emporium, 1949; idem, The Medieval Factor in Indian History, General Presidents Address, Indian History Congress, Patiala, 1967; D.D. Kosambi, ‘Origin of Feudalism in Kashmir’, Journal of Bombay Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, vols. 31-2 (1956-7); idem, Introduction to the Study of Indian History, Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1956; Lallanji Gopal, ‘On Some Problems of Feudalism in Ancient India’, Annals of the Bhandarkar Oriental Institute, vol. XLIV (1963); The Economic Life of Northern India (c. ad 700-1200), Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1965.

18. ‘The Origins of Feudalism in India (c. ad 400-650)’ Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, vol. 1, no. 3 (October 1958), pp. 297-328; Indian Feudalism: c. 300-1200, Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1965. 19. Indian Feudalism, chapter I. 20. The paper was later published as ‘The Kali Age: A Period of Social Crisis’, in S.N. Mukherjee (ed.), Indian History and Thought: Essays in Honour of A.L. Basham, Calcutta: Subarnarekha, 1982. 21. D.N. Jha, ‘Early Indian Feudalism: A Historiographical Critique’, Presidential Address, Indian History Congrees, Waltair, 1979; idem, The Feudal Order, Delhi: Manohar, 2000, Editors Introduction. 22. Vishwa Mohan Jha, Serfdom as a Category of Historical Analysis, R.K. Chowdhry Memorial Lecture, Mithila Itihas Sansthan, Darbhanga, 2011. 23. Harbans Mukhia, ‘Was there Feudalism in Indian History’, Presidential Address (Medieval India section), Indian History Congress, Waltair, 1979. For a response from R.S. Sharma see his ‘How Feudal was Indian Feudalism?’ The Journal of Peasant Studies, XII, nos. 2 & 3, January/April 1985, 19-43. Also see idem, ‘Urbanism and the Use of Metal Money in Early India’, 12th Conference of International Association of Historians of Asia, University of Hong-Kong, June 1991. 24. ‘Problems of Peasant Protests in Early Medieval India’, Social Scientist, vol. 16, no. 9 (September 1988), also see Economic History of Early India, Delhi, 2011; M.G.S. Narayanan, ‘The Role of Peasants in the Early History of Tamilkam in South India’, Social Scientist, vol. 16, no. 9 (September 1988). 25. ‘An Approach to Archaeology and Divination in Mediaeval India’, in Horst Kruger (ed.), Neue Indienkunde New Indology:Festschrift Walter Ruben zun 70.Geburstg, Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1970; ‘Economic and Social Basis of Tantrism’ and ‘The Feudal Mind’ in his Early Medieval Indian Society: A Study in Feudalisation (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 2001). 26. B.D. Chattopadhyaya, ‘Trade and Urban Centres in Early Medieval North India’, Indian Historical Review, vol. 1, no. 2 (1974); idem, ‘Urban Centres in Early Medieval India: An Overview’, in S. Bhattacharya and Romila

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Thapar (eds.)> Situating Indian History: For Sarvapalli Gopal, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1986. 27. Indian Feudalism, chapter VI. 28. For further discussion see D.N. Jha (ed.), The Feudal Order, Editor’s Introduction, pp. 4-6. 29. For a convincing response to criticisms of Sharma’s feudal model and allied issues see Krishna Mohan Shrimali, ‘Reflections on Recent Perceptions of Early Medieval India’, Presidential Address (Historiography Section), Andhra Pradesh History Congress, Tenali, 1994. 30. ‘Land Grants and Early Indian Economic History’, in his Light on Early Indian Society and Economy, Bombay: Manaktalas, 1966. 31. ‘Coins and Problems of Early Economic History’, in his Perspectives in Social and Economic History of Early India, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1983; idem, Early Medieval Indian Society: A Study in Feudalisation. 32. ‘Decay of Gangetic Towns in Gupta and Post-Gupta Times’, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, 33rd Session, Muzaffarpur, 1972, pp. 94-105; idem, Urban Decay in India c. 300-100, Delhi, 1987.

28

D.N Jha PUBLISHED WORKS OF PROFESSOR R.S. SHARMA {Based on the bibliography prepared by Professor KM. Shrimali)

A. Books 1. Vishwa Itihas ki Bhoomika (Hindi) Granthmala Karyalaya, Patna, vol. I, 1951; vol. II, 1953. 2. Some Economic Aspects of the Caste System in Ancient India, Patna, 1952. 3. Siidras in Ancient India: A Social History of the Lower Order Down to circa ad

600, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1958; 3rd rev. edn., Motilal Banarsidass,

1990. Also translated into Bengali, Malayalam,Telugu and Urdu. 4. Aspects of Political Ideas and Institutions in Ancient India, Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi, 1959; 5th rev. edn. Motilal Banarsidass, 2005. Also translated into Malayalam, Marathi and Tamil. 5. Indian Feudalism 300-1200, Calcutta: Calcutta University, 1965; 3rd edn., New Delhi: Macmillan, 2005. Also translated into Bengali, Kannada, Tamil, and Punjabi. 6. Light on Early Indian Society and Economy, Bombay: Manaktalas, 1966. Also translated into Marathi. 7. Social Changes in Early Medieval India, New Delhi: People's Publishing House, 1969. Also translated into Bengali, Gujarati, Malyalam, Marathi, Tamil and Urdu. 8. Ancient India, Delhi: NCERT, 1977 (new edition, April 1986). Also translated into Bengali, Japanese and Urdu. 9. In Defence of Ancient India, Delhi: People's Publishing House, 1978. 10. Perspectives in Social and Economic History of Early India, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1983; 2nd rev. edn., 1995. Also translated into, Russian. 11. Material Culture and Social Formations in Ancient India, Macmillan, New Delhi; 1983. 2nd edn., 2007. Also translated into Russian. 12. Urban Decay in India (circa 300 to 1000), Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1987. Also translated into Bengali: Awarded the Professor H.K. Barpujari Award by the Indian History Congress. 13. Origin of the State in India, Bombay: Department of History, University of Bombay, 1989. 14. Communal History and Rama's Ayodhya, Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1990; 2nd rev. edn, 1992. Also translated into Bengali, Hindi, Kannada, Tamil, Telugu and Urdu. 15. Ramjanmabhumi-Baburi Masjid: A Historians’ Report to the Nation (in cooperation with M. Athar Ali, D.N. Jha and Suraj Bhan), Delhi: Peoples Publishing House, 1991. 16. Looking for the Aryans, Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 1995.

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17. The State and Varna Formation in theMid-Ganga Plains: An Ethnoarchaeological View, Delhi: Manohar, 1996. 18. Advent of the Aryans in India, Delhi: Manohar, 1999. 19. Early Medieval Indian Society: A Study in Feudalisation, Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 2001. 20. Prarambhik Bharat kd Parichay, Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 2004 (in Hindi). 21. India’s Ancient Past, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005. 22. Rethinking India’s Past, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009. 23. Economic History of Early India, Delhi: Viva Books, 2011.

B. Edited Works 1. Proceedings of Seminar on Undergraduate Teaching in History, Patna, 1968. 2. Land Revenue in India: Historical Studies, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1971. 3. Indian Society: Historical Probings (in memory of D.D. Kosambi), Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1974; 3rd edn., 1984. 4. Survey of Research in Social and Economic History of India, Delhi: Ajanta Book International, 1986.

C. Contributions in Edited Volumes ‘Feudal Elements in Rashtrakuta Polity', Journal of Bihar Research Society (JBRS) (Dr. T.P. Choudhary Volume, XLVI, 1960, 241-52). ‘Historiography of the Ancient Indian Social Order’, Historians of India, Pakistan and Ceylon, ed. C.H. Philips, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963, pp. 10214. ‘Articles on Town in Northern India’ (in alphabetical order from A to L), W. Grolier’s International Encyclopaedia, New York, 1963. ‘Land Grants and Early Indian Economic History’, Readings in Economic History, ed., B.N. Ganguli, Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1965. ‘Early Indian Feudalism (c.

ad

400-1200)’, Historical Writings in India, ed. S.

Gopal and R. Thapar, Delhi: India International Centre, 1963, pp. 70-5. Also in Kunwar Mohammad Ashraf Memorial Volume, ed. Horst Kruger, Berlin, 1966. ‘Communication and Propaganda in Indian Civilization’, Communication and Change in the Developing Countries, ed., Daniel Lerner et al., Honolulu: East-West Centre Press, 1967. ‘Material Background of the Origins of Buddhism’, Das Kapital Centenary Volume, ed. Mohit Sen and M.B. Rao, Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1968, 59-66.

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D.N. Jha

‘Post-Gupta Polity in Bihar (c. ad 530-750)’, RamanathJhaAbhinandan Granth, Patna, 1968, pp. 329-35. ‘Ancient Values and Modern Reform in the 19th Century Society’, Ideas in History, ed. Bisheshwar Prasad, Bombay, 1969. ‘Feudal Elements in Pala and Pratihara Polity’, Studies in Asian History (Proceedings of the Asian History Congress 1961), ed. K.S. Lai, Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1969. An Approach to Astrology and Divination in Medieval India, New Indology, Walter Ruben Volume, Berlin, 1970. ‘Central Asia and Early Indian Cavalry (c. 200 bc-ad 1200)’, Central Asia, ed. Amalendu Guha, Delhi: ICCR, 1970. ‘Material Milieu of Tantricism’, Indian Society, Historical Probings (in Memory of D.D. Kosambi) ed. R.S. Sharma and Vivekanand Jha, Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1974. ‘Economic and Social Conditions under the Guptas’, The Comprehensive History of Bihar, ed. B.P. Sinha, Patna: K.P. Jayaswal Research Institute, 1974. ‘Government and Political Institutions (550-1200 ad)’, ibid. ‘Gupta Administration’, ibid. ‘Social and Economic Conditions (500-1200 ad)’, ibid. ‘Stages in the Evolution of Early Indian Society’, Man and Scientist: Essays in Honour of Professor Balbhadra Prasad, ed.. G.P. Sinha et al„ Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1979, pp. 205-14. ‘The Socio-Economic Bases of “Oriental Despotism” in Early India’, Essays in Honour of Dr Gyanchand, ed. S.K. Bose, Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1981. ‘The Kali-Age: A Period of Social Crisis’, Indian History and Thought: Essays in Honour of A.L. Basham, ed. S.N. Mukherjee, Calcutta, 1992, pp. 186203. ‘Material Progress, Taxation and State Formation in the Age of the Buddha’, History and Culture (Dr B.P. Sinha Felicitation Volume), ed. Bhagwant Sahai, Delhi: Ramanand Vidya Bhawan, 1987. ‘Rare Example of Dedication: A Tribute Paid to Prof. R.K. Chaudhary’./oarW of Bihar Puravid Parisad (Chaudhary Commemoration Issue), VI and VIII, ed. Bhagwant Sahai, Patna: The Bihar Puravid Parishad, 1989. ‘A Tribute to Liugo Pio Tessitori’, Liugo Pio Tessitori, ed. Carlo Dello Casa et al., Bresacia, Paideia Editrice, 1990. ‘Keynote Address’ at the National Seminar, Department of Archaeology, University of Calcutta, in Historical Archaeology of India (A Dialogue Between Archaeologists and Historians), ed. Amita Ray and Samir Mukherjee, Delhi: Books and Books, 1990, pp. 1-11. ATribute to Prof. J.N. Sarkar’, Studies in Cultural Development of India: Collection of Essays in Honour of Prof. Jagdish Narayan Sarkar, ed. N.R. Ray and P.N. Chakrabarti, Calcutta: Punthi Pustak, 1991, pp. 12-13.

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‘Urbanism in Early Historic India, The City in Indian History, ed. Indu Banga, Delhi: Manohar, 1991, pp. 9-18. ‘Freedom Struggle in Barauni in 1930’, Alok Purush: DrA.K. Sen Smriti Grantha, ed. D.N. Sharma et al., Patna: Lekshakti Prakashan, 1989, pp. 73-81. ‘A.K. Sen: A Tribute’, ibid. Applied Sciences and Technology’ (collectively with several other contributors), Chapter 2 in History of Humanity: Scientific and Cultural Developments, vol. Ill (from the Seventh Century bc to the Seventh Century ad), ed. Joachim Hermann and Erik Zurcher, UNESCO/Routledge, Paris, London, New York, 1996, 25-40. ‘South Asia: The Northern Subcontinent from ad 300 until ad 700’, ibid., pp. 385-91. ‘From Jana to Janapadanivesha (A Note on Polity and Settlement)’, in Professor Sukumari Bhattacharji Felicitation Volume, 2004.

D. Articles ‘Economic Position of the Sudras in the Dharmasutras’, Patna University Journal, vol. I, 1950. ‘Social Position of the Sudras in the Dharmasutras’, Current Studies, I, no. 1. ‘Prachina Bharatiya Sahitya mein Stri aur Sudra ke Sammilita Ullekha’, JBRS, XXXVI (iii-iv), 1950, pp. 183-91. ‘Manu aur Yajnavalkya mein Sudron ki Rajanitika aur Kanuni Avastha’, Sahitya, Journal of the Bihar Hindi Sahitya Sammelan, no. 1, 1950. ‘Manu aur Yajnavalkya mein Sudron ki Samajika Avastha’, Sahitya, no. 2, 1950. ‘Manu aur Yajnvalkya mein Sudron ki Arthika Avastha’, Sahitya, no. 3, 1950. ‘Role of Property, Family and Caste in the Origin of the State in Ancient India’, PIHC, 14th session, Jaipur, 1951,45-52. Also in JBRS, XXXVIII (i), 1952, 117-33. ‘The Vidhatha’, PIHC, 15th Session, Gwalior, 1952, pp. 85-91. Also published as ‘Vidhatha: The Earliest Folk-Assembly of the Indo-Aryans’, JBRS, XXXVIII (iii-iv), 1952, 429-48. ‘Politico-Legal Aspects of the Caste System (600 bc-500 ad)’, JBRS, XXXIX (iii), 1953, 306-30. ‘Superstition and Politics in the Arthasastra of Kautilya’, JBRS, XL(iii), 1954, 223-31. ‘The Vedic Gana and the Origin of the Post-Vedic Republics’, JBRS, XXXIX(iv), 1953,413-26. ’Caste and Marriage in Ancient India’, JBRS, XXI(i), 1954, 39-54. Ideological Background of Research Works on Ancient Indian Polity’, Patna University Journal, VII, 1954.

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‘Traces of Promiscuity in Ancient Indian Society’, PIHC, 19th Session, Agra, 1956, 153-57. ‘Some Economic Aspects of the Caste System in Ancient India, Correspondence with Dr. D.C. Sircar, Current Studies, no. 3. ‘Irrigation in Northern India during the Post-Maurya Period c. 200 bcC. ad 200’, PIHC, 20th Session, Anand, 1957.

‘Notes on Land Revenue System in the Pre-Maurya Period (600-300 bc)’, PIHC, 1957, Also in Bulletin of the G.D. College, Begusarai. 'Kusana Polity’, PIHC, 21st session, Trivandrum, 1958. Also in /BPS, XLII (iii-iv), 1957, 188f. ‘The Origins of Feudalism in India (ad 400-650)’, Journal of Economic & Social History of the Orient (JESHO), I, 1958, 279-328. ‘A Survey of Land System in India from c. 200 bc to ad 650',JBRS, XLIV(iv), 1958, 225-34. ‘Gaps in Non-Political History of Northern India (500-1200)’, JBRS, XLV(iv), 1959, 261-4. Hindi translation entitled ‘Uttara Bharata ke Rajanitikettar Itihas Mein Amaral’ by Rajendra Ram in Parishad Patrika, Varsha 7, Anka 4 (1968), 30-6. ‘La Vie Et L’Organisation Economiques Dans L’Inde Ancienne’, CahiersD'histoire Mondial (Journal of World History), VI, 1960, 234-64. English version published as ‘Stages in Ancient Indian Economy’, Enquiry, no. 4, 1960, 12-45. [See also title nos. 6 & 10.] ‘Land System in Medieval Orissa, c. 750-1200’, PIHC, 23rd Session, Aligarh, part I, 1960, 89-96. ‘Land Grants to Vassals and Officials in North India (c.

ad

1000-1200)’, JESHO,

IV, 1961, 70-105. Also in Proceedings of the XXV International Congress of Orientalists, Moscow, 1963. ‘Historical Research in Patna University’, Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, 1961-62, 71-2. ‘Disarming of the Peasants under the Mauryas’, Enquiry, no. 6, 1962, 129-33. Heritage of Early Bihar, 67th Indian National Congress, Souvenir Volume, Patna, 1962, 128-30. ‘Gupta Kalin Bihar Ki Shasan Vyavastha, 67th Indian National Congress, Souvenir Volume, Patna, 1962. ‘Feudal Economy under the Palas and Pratiharas’, Vishwabharati Quarterly, XXVIII, no. 2, 1963, 68-83. ‘Post-Independence Work on Early Indian History’, Proceedings of the IndoPakistan Cultural Conference, Delhi, 1963. Problems of Research in History in Indian Universities’, Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, 1, no. 2, 1963. ‘Rate of Interest in the Dharmasastras’, PIHC, 25th session, Patna, 1963,78-85. Also in N.K. Bhattasali Commemoration Volume, ed. A.B.M. Habibullah, Dhaka, 1966, 12-13.

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‘The Organisation of Historical Research in Indian Universities’, Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, III, 1963-4, 127-9. ‘Kinds of Interest in the Dharmashastras’, PIHC, 26th Session, Ranchi, 1964, part I, 121-30. ‘26th International Congress of Orientalists: A Retrospect’, Afro-Asian and World Affairs, no. 2, Summer 1964. ‘Land Rights in Early Medieval India (300-1200)’, Proceedings of XXVI International Congress of Orientalists, Delhi, 1964. ‘Central Asia and Early Medieval Indian Polity’, Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, IV, 1964-5, 56-77. ‘Usury in Early Medieval India

(ad

400-1200),’ Comparative Studies in Society

and History, VIII, 1965-6, 56-7. ‘Satavahana Polity’, PIHC, 28th Session, Mysore, 1966, 81-93. ‘Coordination of Research in History in Indian Universities’, Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, V, 1965-6, 25-7. Material Background of the Vedic Warfare’ (Review of Ancient Indian Warfare with Special Reference to the Vedic Period by Sarva Daman Singh), JESHO, IX, 1966, 302-7. ‘Some General Suggestions, Undergraduate Teaching in History’, Proceedings of Seminar on Undergraduate Teaching of History, Patna University, Patna, 1968,6-11. ‘Coins and Problems of Early Indian Economic History’, PIHC, 30th session, Bhagalpur, 1968, 103-8. Also in The Journal of Numismatic Society of India, XXXI, 1969, 1-8. ‘Obituary (Devraj Chanana)’, Enquiry, Spring, 1969, 129-30. ‘Decay of Gangetic Towns in Gupta and Post-Gupta Times’, PIHC, 33rd Session, Muzaffarpur, 1972, 94-105. Material Milieu of the Birth of Buddhism’, paper presented at the XXIX International Congress of Orientalists, Paris, July, 1973. ‘Forms of Property in the Early Portions of the Rg Veda, PIHC, 34th Session, Chandigarh, 1973, vol. I, 94-103. Also in Essays in Honour ofS.C. Sarkar, New Delhi: People's Publishing House, 1976, 39-50. The Economic History

of

India up to

ad

1200: Trends and Prospects’ (jointly

with D.N. Jha), JESHO, XVII, pt. 1, 1974, 48-80. Problem of Transition from Ancient to Medieval in Indian History’, The Indian Historical Review, vol. I, no. 1, March 1974, 1-9. Method and Problems of the Study of Feudalism in Early Medieval India (Notes and Documents)’, The Indian Historical Review, vol. I, no. 1, March 1974, 81-4. Iron and Urbanisation in the Ganga Basin’, The Indian Historical Review, vol. I, no. 1, March 1974, 98-103. Indian Feudalism Retouched’, The Indian Historical Review, vol. I, no. 2, September, 1974, 320-30.

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‘Class Formation and its Material Basis in the Upper Gangetic Basin (r. 1000500 bc)\ The Indian Historical Review, vol. II, no. 1, July 1975, 1-13. ‘Problems of Social Formation in Early India General President’s Address, PIHC, 36th Session, Aligarh, 1975, 1-14. ‘Later Vedic Phase and the Painted Grey Ware’, Puratattva, no. 8, 1975-76, pp. 63-7. Also published in Debiprasad Chattopadhyaya, ed., History and Society: Essays in Honour of Professor Niharranjan Ray, Calcutta, 1978, 13141. ‘Rajashasaw. Meaning, Scope and Application’, PIHC, 37th Session, Calicut, 1976, 76-87. ‘The Socio-Economic Bases of “Oriental Despotism” in Early India, paper presented at the 30th International Congress of the Human Sciences in Asia and North Africa, Mexico, 1976. Later published in S.K.Bose (ed.). Essays in Honour of Dr Gyanchand, 1981. ‘Conflict, Distribution and Differentiation in Rigvedic Society’, PIHC, 38th Session, Bhubaneswar, 1977,177-91. Also published in The Indian Historical Review, vol. IV, no. 1, July 1977, 1-12. ‘From Gopati to Bhupati (a Review of Changing Position of the King)’, Studies in History (Old Series), vol. II, no. 2, July-December 1980, 1-10. ‘Taxation and State Formation in Northern India in Pre-Mauryan Times’, Social Science Probings, vol. 1, no. 1, March 1984, 1-32. ‘How Feudal Was Indian Feudalism’, The Journal of Peasant Studies, XII, nos. 2 & 3, January/April 1985, 19-43. ‘Stages in State Formation in Ancient India’, Social Science Probings, vol. 2, no. 1, March 1985, 1-19. ‘Introduction’, in Survey of Research in Social and Economic History of India, ed. R.S. Sharma, Delhi: Ajanta Book International, 1986, xi-xviii. ‘L.P. Tessitori: A Centenary Tribute’, The Indian Historical Review, XIII, nos. 1 -2, July 1986 & January 1987, 323-30. ‘Antiquity to the Middle Ages’, Social Science Probings, vol. 5, nos. 1-4, MarchDecember 1988. ‘Problems of Peasant Protest in Early Medieval India’, Social Scientist, no. 184, vol. 16, no. 9, September 1988, 3-16. [See also title no. 23.] ‘Inaugural Address’, PIHC, Golden Jubilee Session, Gorakhpur, 1989, i-iv. ‘The Segmentary State and the Indian Experience’, The Indian Historical Review, vol. XVI, nos. 1-2, July 1989 and January 1990, pp. 90-108. ‘Historical Aspects of Sati’, Social Science Probings, vol. 6, nos. 1-4, JanuaryDecember 1989. General President’s Address, Proceedings of the Andhra Pradesh History Congress, 14th Session, Warangal, 1990, 1-8. Communalism and India’s Past’, Mamidipudi Venkatarangaiyya Memorial Lecture delivered at the XIV Session of the Andhra Pradesh History

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Congress, Kakatiya University, Warangal, February 1990, published in Social Scientist, vol. 18, nos. 1-2, Issues 200-1, January-February 1990,

3-12. ‘Urbanism and the Use of Metal Money in Early India, 12th Conference of International Association of Historians of Asia, University of Hone-Kone, June 1991. ‘Obituary (K.K. Sinha)’, PIHC, 52nd Session, Delhi, 1991-2, p. 1203. ‘Barauni ke Itihas Ki Jhalak’, Bhaktiyog Pustakalaya Swamajayanti Smarika, ed. M.N. Dutt, Barauni, 1993. ‘Material Background of the Genesis of the State and Complex Society in the Middle Gangetic Plains’, Social Science Probings, vol. 10, nos. 1-4, MarchDecember 1993. ‘Exploiting History Through Archaeology’, The Statesman Festival, 1995, 3741. ‘The Feudal Mind’, Social Science Probings, vol. 13, March-December 1996. [See also title no. 19.] ‘Identity of the Indus Culture’, East & West, vol. 49, nos. 1-4, December 1999, 35-45. Rural Relics of Communal Sharing and Social Inequality’, Social Science Probings, vol. 15, nos. 3-4, Winter 2003. ‘Was the Harappan Culture Vedic’, ICHR Foundation Day Lecture delivered on 27 March 2005 at New Delhi. Later published in Social Science Probings, vol. 17, no. 1, June 2005, 1-11. Comment on ‘Collapse of the Indus Script Thesis: The Myth of a Literate Harappan’ [article by Steve Farmer, Richard Sproat and Michael Witzel in Electronic Journal of Vedic Studies, 11-12 (2004), 19-57], Social Science Probings, vol. 17, no. 1, June 2005, 159-60. History and Mind Moulding: A Reflection’, Convocation Address at Rabindra Bharati University, 2005, Social Science Probings, vol. 18, no. 2, December 2006, 141-6.

E.

Reviews

History and Culture of the Indian People, vol. IV, The Age of Imperial Unity, ed. R.C. Majumdar and A.D. Pusalker, Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavana, 1951 ,JBRS, vol. XXXVII, pts. 3-4, 1951, 261-3. Arya Kaun Hain by Ram Charitra Singh, Patna, 1949, JBRS, XXXVIII, pt. 4, 497-9. Sources of Hindu Dharma (Sain Das Foundation Lectures), by A.S. Altekar, Institute of Public Administration, Sholapur, 1952, JBRS, XXXIX, 1953,

221-2.

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DM Jha

Yuga Parana by D.R. Mankad, Charutar Prakashan, 1951, JBRS, XXXIX, 1953, 219-20. Sacrifice in the Rgveda by K.R. Potdar, Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavana, 1953, JBRS, XL, 1954, 83-5. History and Culture of the Indian People, vol. Ill, The Classical Age, ed. R.C. Majumdar and A.D. Pusalker, Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavana, 1954, JBRS, XL, 1954, 195-8. The Cult of Brahma by T.P. Bhattacharya, JBRS, XLIII, pts. 3-4, SeptemberDecember 1957, pp. 392-4. Transactions of the Archaeological Society of South India, JBRS, XLII, pt. 2, June 1956, pp. 301-3. Studies in the Origins of Buddhism by G.C. Pande, JBRS, XLIII, pts. 3-4, September-December 1957, pp. 396-8. Vdlmiki Rdmayana, Balakanda, 10 Sargas, Baroda edn., JBRS, XLIII, pts. 3-4, September-December 1957, pp. 395-6 A Comprehensive History of India, II, ed. K.A. Nilakanta Sastri, Calcutta: Orient Longmans, 1957, JBRS, XLIV, 1958, 235-40. Socio-Economic History of Northern India (c. 1030-1194 ad) by B.P. Mazumdar, Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay, 1960, JBRS, XLV, 1959, 520. Early Chauhan Dynasties by Dasharatha Sharma, Delhi: Sultan Chand & Co., 1959JBRS, XLVI, 1960, 370-2. The Economic Life of Northern India in Gupta Period by S.K. Maity, Calcutta: World Press Ltd., 1958,JESHO, vol. II, 1959, pp. 342-7. L’esclavage dans I’lnde ancienne d’apres les textespalis et Sanskrits (Slavery in Ancient India as Depicted in Pali and Sanskrit Texts) by Dev Raj Chanana, Pondichery: Institut francais d’indologie, 1957,JESHO, II, 1959, 347-9. An Introduction to the Study of Indian History by Damodar Dharmanand Kosambi, Bombay: Popular Book Depot, 1956, Enquiry, no. 1, 1959, 121-4. Asoka and the Decline of the Mauryas by Romila Thapar, Oxford, 1961, JBRS, XLVI, 1960, 372-3. Early Indian Economics by G.L. Adhya, Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1966, Economic and Political Weekly, Bombay, May 1967, 917-18. Descriptive Catalogue of Non-Persian Sources of Medieval Indian History by Parmatma Satan, London, 1965, Casiers de Civilization Medieval, X, 1967, 480-1. Uher Die Fruhesten Stufen Der Entwicklung Der Altindischen Shudras by Walter Ruben, Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1965, The Journal of American Oriental Society, vol. 88(3), 1968, 574-5. Studies in the Society and Administration of Ancient and Medieval India by D.C. Sircar, Calcutta: Firma K.L.Mukhopadhyay, 1967, JESHO, XIII, 1970, 228-30.

Engaging with R.S. Sharma and His Historiography

37

Society at the Time of the Buddha by N.K. Wagle, Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1966, JESHO, XIII, 1970, 230-2. The Birth of Indian Civilization by Bridget and Raymond Ailchin, Penguin Books, 1968JESHO, XIV, 1971, 87-90. ‘From Kin to Class’ (Review of From Lineage to State by Romila Thapar, Bombay/ Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1984), Economic & Political Weekly, vol. XX, no. 22, 1 June 1985, 960-1. Progress and Conservatism in Ancient Indiaby S.G. Sardesai, Social Science Probings, vol. 3, no. 4, December 1986, 559-61. The Asiatic Mode of Production by Brendan O'Leary, Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989, The British Journal of Sociology, London. A Social and Cultural History of Ancient India by M.L. Bose, Delhi: Concept Publishing Company, 1990, JESHO, vol. XXXVI, 1993, 294-5.

_

f

CHAPTER 1

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization SUDESHNA GUHA

The title of the essay undoubtedly occasions a recall of Professor Sharma’s measured criticisms of the myriad theories regarding the indigenous ‘aryans’ of India and their primordial Hindu culture, which have been perpetuated through surveys of the Indus, or Harappan, Civilization even by professional archaeologists of South Asia. However, this essay draws attention to a larger theme which the theories prompt a consideration of—namely, the contributions of the archaeology of civilizations to the understanding and creations of tangible and intangible heritage. The palpable materiality of archaeological ‘facts’ regarding civilizational origins, legacies, and traditions add to misleading assumptions, which are also conveyed through the archaeological literature, that heritage is latent and lends to discovery through innovative research methodologies.1 Hence, my aim here is to bring to focus the agency of the archaeological episteme within heritage-making enterprises. In historicising the origins of a heritage-conscious world, the growing archaeological research of heritage, despite its injunctions for accommodating the practices of indigenous archaeology, adds to the biases of a Europe-centred historiography. Thus, while heritagearchaeologists rightly suggest that ‘it is difficult to agree on the roots of heritage as a distinct practice and intellectual engagement’, they historicise ‘developments’ of the notion of heritage from the eighteenthcentury. Archaeologists have located the rise of heritage consciousness within the responses of the emerging educated ‘public sphere’ in Europe to the growing politics of nationalism, which perpetuated field surveys for objective histories, and in turn led to the framing of

40

Sudeshna Guha

legislation for protecting the explored relics.2 Within the archaeological literature, the origins of both heritage and antiquarian practices abide by a periodization that creates distinctions between the veneration and valorization of the past in the ‘ancient and medieval’ times and a conscious objective search for the past and its preservation in the subsequent modern and ‘enlightened’ Europe. However, the problems within the above periodization of antiquarian enquiries become apparent when we consider the non-European historiography, such as the writings of Persian historians of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, which document the prevalence of historical enquiries through historical artefacts and geographies, and inform us of many different histories of nationalism, modernity and enlightenment within different parts of Asia. In the case of South Asia, the theory of the ‘rise’ of heritage consciousness as a phenomenon of the eighteenthcentury Europe simply substantiates the historiography of the ‘coming’ of antiquarian scholarship into the Indian subcontinent through the Europeans. It confronts us with a glaring overlap of two historiographies that are meant to be very different, viz., involving the understanding of the twenty-first century heritage archaeologists that rational historical enquiries and ‘proper’ history writings are prescriptions of the modern Western world, and the dictates of the eighteenth-century Orientalists that the Europeans, or more precisely the British, would gift the historically unconscious Hindus the craftsmanship of histori¬ cal scholarship. The chapter begins with the importance of noting the different histories of heritage practices within pre-colonial India, and concludes with a review of the scholarship of the Indus Civiliz¬ ation in its manufacture of a unique civilizational heritage for South Asia. Physically saddled between India and Pakistan, whose shared cultural histories were officially rendered apart at their sovereign status in 1947, the post-colonial histories of the scholarship of the Indus Civilization have been facilitated to a large extent through the initiative and lead of ‘non-native’ archaeologists of South Asia. Hence, embedded within the historiography are competitions and contestations regarding the authorship of knowledge and ‘important’ discoveries, unequal intellectual encounters, disparate claims of ‘civilizational legacies, and conflicts and tensions regarding the granting of

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

41

permissions to ‘foreigners’ to dig other peoples ‘native soil’. In terms of references for heritage studies the nearly hundred-year long history of the scholarship of the Indus Civilization, from 1924, therefore offers a seminal archive regarding creations, representations and contestations of ownership of evidence of heritage. In gauging the archaeological creations of civilizational heritage, my aims here are guided by Professor Sharma’s research orientations, which explicitly conveyed the heuristic value of disciplinary introspection. I can only hope that the following essay can add to the nurture of Professor Sharma’s enduring intellectual legacy in the creation of analytical spaces within the scholarship of the past.

MONUMENTAL HERITAGE AND HISTORIES OF THE ANTIQUARIAN SCHOLARSHIP OF INDIA Similar to trends within the scholarship of heritage studies elsewhere, the scholarship of South Asian heritage has also grown from considerations of tangible heritage, and through focus upon social biographies of historical monuments, built environments and landscape. A growing non-academic ‘heritage industry’ feeds the academic projects, and creates a viable commercial capital in the study of the ‘careers’ and ‘travels’ of monuments and objects that acquire historical value. An apt example was the replication of the second century bce Buddhist stupa at Sanchi (Madhya Pradesh, India) as the India Pavilion at the Shanghai Expo in March 2010.3 The scholarship of the monumental heritage of South Asia, or more precisely of India, has created an important analytical corpus of the ways in which the travelling copies shape ‘popular imaginaries of the disciplines of archaeology and anthropology’ and serve ‘as grounds on which professional knowledges came to be configured within new public domains of display and scholarship’.4 However, the pioneering scholarship, which fields only the colonial and post-colonial histories of heritage-making, compliments the Orientalist historiography in attending only to the antiquarian scholarship of India that was developed by the Europeans and British. The historiography of Orientalism, which denied the ‘natives’ a sense of history by establishing the historical ‘fact’ that the British

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Sudeshna Guha

and Europeans initiated the historical study of India—prominently through antiquarian enquiries—was nurtured in India by the administrative scholars of the East India Company during the eighteenth century. A pertinent example of its early forms is the declaration of William Chambers (c. 1748-93), a puisne judge of the Madras High Court, that the ‘poets’ of the Hindus ‘seem to have been their only historians as well as divines, and whatever they relate, is wrapped up in this burlesque garb, set off, by the way of ornament, with circumstances hugely incredible and absurd, and all this without any date, and in no other order or method, than such as the poets’ fancy suggested and sound most convenient’.5 The historiography no doubt inspired Alexander Cunningham, the pioneering British archaeologist of India (1814-93), to secure the history of antiquarian scholarship within the Indian subcontinent through the faith that ‘the study of Indian antiquities received its first impulse from Sir William Jones, who in 1784 founded the Asiatic Society of Bengal.’6 However, when we reflect upon the amassing of old manuscripts, paintings, curiosities and ‘objects of art’ within the Mughal Empire we notice that similar to the antiquarian quests of the British in India, such acts too bespoke of a conscious scholarship of the past through things, and of the value of connoisseurship within the politics of imperial self-fashioning. Furthermore, despite the different intellectual genealogies of viewing, collecting, copying and connoisseurship between the Mughal domain and contemporary worlds of seventeenthcentury Britain and Europe, descriptions of monuments and artefacts within the former often match the nature of descriptions that were considered mandatory by the growing breed of self-styled antiquaries in the West for documenting the incorruptibility of material sources. An example is Emperor Jahangir’s description of the Jami Masjid in Ahmedabad, which he saw on his eleventh regnal year, 6 January 1617-18, and which he recorded in his Jahangimama as: This mosque is a monument left by Sultan Ahmad, the founder of the city of Ahmedabad. It has three gates, and on every side a market. Opposite the gate facing the east is Sultan Ahmads tomb. Under the dome lie Sultan Ahmad, his son Muhammad, and his grandson Qutbuddin. The length of the mosque courtyard exclusive of the maqsura is 103 cubits; the width is 89 cubits. Around the perimeter of the courtyard is an arcade with arches four and three-quarters

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

43

cubits wide. The courtyard is paved in cut brick, and the pillars of the arcade are of red stone. The maqsura contains 354 columns, and above the column is a dome. The length of the maqsura is 75 cubits, and the width is 37 cubits. The maqsura paving, the mihrab, and the pulpit are of marble.7

Jahangir’s description highlights the errors of the opinion of Cunningham’s latest biographer that the ‘earliest notices and descriptions of Indian monuments, architecture and sculpture are to be found in the writings of the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century European travellers’.8 It also exemplifies the contentions of Alain Schnapp, the erudite historian of archaeology, that ‘in widely differing circumstances, and given similar assemblages, antiquaries may produce similar statements.’9 Historians of South Asian archaeology trace a unilineal genealogy for the antiquarian scholarship of India as a European quest. However, such a genealogy can easily be cast aside by considering the histories that were created and celebrated during the pre-colonial past of this vast topography. With respect to specific histories of heritage-making we can also suggest that instances of monumental replications, quite similar to the building of a Taj Mahal and Sanchi stupa at Sonargaon and Louyang in the twenty-first century,10 may have extended well beyond the widely known example of the twelfth century ce, when the Buddhist temple at Bodh Gaya was replicated at Pagan on the orders of the ruler Kayanzittha, for facilitating his subjects to worship at their venerable shrine. The instances of the re-uses of the rock and pillar edicts of the Mauryan Emperor Ashoka (268-231 bce) from the first century, by Mahakshatrapa Rudradaman (c. 130 ce), until at least the seventeenth century, by the Mughal Emperor Jehangir (r. 1605-27 ce), inform us of disparate histories of the conscious acts of memorialisation. Besides, the restorations of tombs and mosques, of which there are ample examples from the Delhi Sultanate (specifically between c. 1369 and 1503 ce) and Mughal dynasties (especially from Aurangzeb’s rule 1658-1707 ce), echo many aspects of the nascent nineteenth-century archaeological restoration projects, in that they were political acts aimed at re-defining experiences of sacral and historical spaces.11 Hence, worthy of note are the popular perceptions within India regarding that which constituted archaeological practices during the early twentieth-century, when archaeological undertakings

44

Sudeshna Guha

and scholarship were both becoming increasingly visible through the conservation work and excavations of the Archaeological Survey of India. The following remark with which the members of the Delhi Municipal Committee feted a departing Viceroy, George Nathaniel Curzon (1899-1905), is an example: It would not be too much to say that Your Excellency has bridged over the 500 years since the time of the Emperor Feroz Shah Tughlak, who was what would be called in modern parlance as Delhi’s first great archaeologist.12

Curzon remains the principal architect of the archaeological restorations of historical India which he facilitated through the restitution, in 1902, of the Archaeological Survey of India. Yet, it is only by looking beyond the connected histories of archaeological practices and heritage that we begin to sift the strands of historiography that convey the embedded forms of the ‘orientalist views’ of the eighteenth-century within the modern, ostensibly, reflexive cultural histories of archaeology. The existing histories of antiquarian scholarship within South Asia demand deconstruction as they serve grand histories of world archaeology, such as that of Bruce Trigger’s, which promote the logic that systematic antiquarianism did not develop in India prior to the colonial period. Despite impressive intellectual achievements in other fields, Indian scholarship did not devote much attention to political history, perhaps because the Hindu religion and division of socio-regulatory forces between high priests and warriors directed efforts to understanding the meaning of life and of historical events more towards cosmology.13

Trigger’s remarkable neglect of the histories of historical enquiries within the Indian subcontinent prior to the Company rule of the British allowed him to substantiate, to borrow a sentence of the eminent historian B.D. Chattopadhyaya, theories of ‘congealed stereotypes with their roots going back to essentially one source: the colonial premise and their adaptations’.14 Thus the contentious cultural fact which Trigger has disseminated to students of archaeology is that India and the Arab world indicate highly particularistic factors that must be taken into account in explaining the origins of archaeological research, or its failure to develop, in any specific culture.’15

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

45

As we may note from the above quote, Trigger’s ‘factors’ echo the essentialisms of the historiography of the Asiatic Civilizations in which the Hindus’, deemed as being immersed in spirituality, cosmology and myths, were characterized as being ignorant of the demands of the scientific scholarship that thrived within enlightened Europe. The countless attempts at ‘Hinduizing’ the Indus Civilization by Indians, including many self-proclaiming nationalist archaeologists, create continuity of the above historiography. But perhaps more importantly, the essentialisms of culture and religion, which are stoked through the scholarship of the Indus Civilization brings to fore the importance of reckoning with the responsibilities of academic research.

THE EARLY SCHOLARSHIP OF THE INDUS CIVILIZATION AND CLAIMS OF PATRIMONY Discovered at a time of growing Indian resistance to the British rule following the Khilafat Movement (1919-24), the finds at Harappa and Mohenjodaro were feted within the Indian press, for example The Amrita Bazar Patrika, as ‘monumental evidence’ that the ‘Indian civilization’ was ‘as ancient as any in Asia.16 The sense of national owner¬ ship, which the discoveries generated among educated Indians, is also well represented within the questioning which John Marshall was subjected to by the Council of States in New Delhi in January 1925.1

However, in comparison with the often-garrulous nation¬

alization of the ‘prehistoric civilization’ by the early-twentieth-century Indian media, the upcoming Indian scholarship of ‘ancient India staked patrimonial claims on the archaeological phenomenon in more subtle ways. The Indian scholars were more critical than their British and European peers of the vastly divergent chronological reckonings of the Rigyeda. The archaeological discoveries raised their hopes for possibilities of a more precise dating of this Veda. Thus, although Mohenjodaro and Harappa were excavated by archaeologists as decidedly non-Vedic’, the Vedas crept into the academic research of the Indus Civilization from the start as potential relational source material. Ramaprasad Chanda, who was superintendent archaeologist at the Indian Museum in Calcutta (1921-32), undertook the

46

Sudeshna Guha

pioneering study of coordinating ‘the data of Archaeology with literary evidence’ and concluded that ‘the much maligned panis’ could have been possible representatives of the ‘earlier commercial civilization’.18 Chanda’s study led to reappraisals of the ‘Arya’ legacy to the ‘Hindu civilization’ of ancient India, which the avowedly nationalist historian R.C. Majumdar pioneered by highlighting the richness of the ‘Sindhu Valley Civilization’ for emphasizing that: There is a general belief that all the best elements in Hindu religion and culture are derived from the Aryans, and whatever is lowly, degrading, or superstitious in it represents the primitive non-Aryan element mixed up with it. This view is certainly wrong, and we must admit that the Aryan religion, thoughts, and beliefs have been profoundly modified by those of the Proto Australoids and Dravidians with whom they came into contact in India.19

In historicizing the ‘Sindhu Civilization’ as quintessentially Indian, Majumdar took care to ignore the historical context of the BronzeAge through which John Marshall, Ernest Mackay, Stuart Piggott and Mortimer Wheeler had derived inferences of chronology, economy, religion and contents. Therefore, although he echoed Marshall’s inferences of the religious legacies of the Indus Civilization to the subsequent ‘Hindu’ religion, he obliterated from his synthesis Marshall’s views regarding the possible similarities in religion between the near contemporary civilizations of the Indus Valley, Mesopotamia and Pre-Dynastic Egypt. The obliteration calls for the anticipation of the methodologies through which many Indian archaeologists have subsequently established the cultural genealogy of the Indus Civilization to Hindu India. The ‘native’ scholarship of the Indus Civilization began in earnest from the 1950s and presents a rich history of the jingoism of owning a ‘pristine’ civilization, and of the ‘us vs. them’ nature of encounters that embed the histories of archaeological fieldwork within post¬ colonial South Asia. The anti-foreign cultural politics of the scholarship of India had peaked within British India during the closing years of the raj. Thus, we note that in 1946, even Wheeler, the director general of the Archaeological Survey (1944-8), had thought it prudent not to request the government of India for a research permit for his American friend and colleague Hallam Movius, because, as he explained to the latter, ‘things are at the moment a bit touchy here

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

47

in all matters relating to foreign intervention’.20 Following inde¬ pendence, the Indian government firmly protected the research interests of its own citizens in matters of archaeological scholarship, and curtailed permits to Western archaeologists. The Archaeological Survey of India also made a distinct move to replenish a nation stripped of the traces of its oldest civilization and subsequently discovered for it a larger share than Pakistan, of the Tost’ inheritance due to Partition. Pakistan, which had to establish a new archaeology department, judiciously elicited Mortimer Wheeler’s help as Advisor of Archaeology (1949-50), and on his recommendations embarked upon international collaborations with British, European and North American universities as a means of training its new cadre of young archaeologists. However, the relevant archives that relate to Wheeler’s career as advisor and Secretary of the British Academy (1949-68) allow many glimpses of the fraught histories of professional relationships even among ‘Western’ archaeologists themselves, in staking their exploratory terrains within Pakistan, and in their negotiations for government permissions for undertaking field research. Therefore, although ‘nationalism’, as D.H. Gordon wrote to Wheeler in 1959 ‘affected [native] ideas’ regarding the unfairness of‘western colleagues’,21 the legacies of the mantle of‘distinguished men’, prominently Wheeler, within the scholarship of the Indus Civilization, directed patronage of the custodianships of scholarly merit, precipitating unwarranted rivalries among the young entrants into the field. Inevitably, the examples of conflicts bespoke of the anxieties of post-colonial politics, and permissions were often denied, or possibilities of their issue jeopardized due to instances of ‘brash’ behaviour of Western archaeologists towards their Pakistani colleagues.22 A series of correspondence from May to October 1953, between Wheeler and Hugh Hencken and Ernest Hooton in the Faculty of Anthropology at Harvard, with respect to the candidature of Walter Fairservis Jr. for a PhD allows a perspective of the kinds of tensions which prevailed within a scholarship that required treading upon the intellectual, methodological and geographical terrains of others.23 Although rare, traces of dismissing ‘foreign’ accounts of Indian prehistory can be gleaned within the nascent Indian scholarship in the subject, of which an example is the opposition of Kedar Nath

48

Sudeshna Guha

Sastri of the views of both Marshall and Wheeler. Sastri had part¬ icipated in the excavations at Harappa that were undertaken by Madho Sarup Vats (1926-34) and Wheeler (1946), and had excavated Cemetery H in 1928, and Cemetery R37 during the late 1930s and the early 1940s. He dated the Indus Civilization to the fourth millennium bce, and postulated that ‘the bronze-age Civilization may have been partly contemporary with the Vedic times’. Knowing fully well the extent to which his ‘new’ interpretations differed from the prevalent and accepted views Sastri asserted, in his monograph, New Light on the Indus Civilization (1954), that ‘we must not accept any¬ thing and everything cooked and offered to us by foreigners. We should have independent views and the capacity to test others’ views on the touchstone of independent evidence.’24 Sastri’s thrust for ‘independent views’ was remarked upon by the historian R.K. Mookherji who wrote the ‘Foreword’ for his book, and who emphasized that what lent weight to ‘Mr Sastri’s views and conclusions is his special knowledge of the cultural and Sanskritic background in the light of which alone a proper interpretation of prehistory has to be approached.’25 The remark draws our attention since the kind of uniqueness it endowed upon the cultural history of‘Indian prehistory’ held little meaning within the efforts that were also being made towards the professionalization of Indian prehistory. Archaeologists endeavoured at creating a distinctive value for prehistory as a new science through interpretive methodologies that they presented as distinctly different from those that been fostered before through the text-based archaeological enquiries of ancient India. By the 1970s, the increasing number of settlements that could be associated with the Indus Civilization led to hopes among Indian archaeologists of finding evidence of the cultural precedents of the urban phase within the territorial remit of the Indian Republic. However, by then excavations in Pakistan and Afghanistan, at Kili Gul Mohammad (1950-1), Kot Diji (1955-7), Amri (1959-62), Nindowari (1962-5), Damb Sadaat, and Mundigak and Gumla (1971), by British, French, North American, and Pakistani archaeologists had also created hopes of obtaining evidence of an evolutionary history of the ‘Harappan’ cities and the Indus Civilization within the geography of Pakistan.26 The archaeological cultures

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

49

representing the pottery type of ‘Sothi’ and ‘Kot Diji’ were deemed as generic precursors of the urban phase (ca. 2500-1900 bce) during this time, after the noted Pakistani archaeologist Rafique Mughal explored the pre-urban ‘Hakra ware’ settlements (c. 3500 bce) along the dry beds of the river Hakra (in Cholistan). Through his finds Mughal insisted upon a change of terminology from ‘pre-Harappan’ to ‘early-Harappan’, and through his new scheme of periodization subverted reasons for engaging with diffusionary theories in inferences regarding the origins of an urban civilization during the bronze-age within northern South Asia.27 Significant to the historiography is Mughal’s remark in 1973 that ‘lately, Indian and some Western archaeologists have been insisting on a change of name, and favour the term “Harappa Culture” instead of the Indus Civilization” as the former follows the site name where the civilization was first discovered.’28 The Indian insistence of the use of the terminology ‘Harappan Civilization’ as opposed to Indus Civilization was not novel. As far as back in 1935, Ernest Mackay, who had excavated Mohenjodaro between 1927 and 1931 and Chanhudaro in 1935-6, had instructed the use of the type-site name which Childe and Piggott had both emulated.29 Mughal himself considered the Indian assertions as ‘mere quibble’, and even held the view that the term of the ‘Indus Valley Civilization’ that had been popularized by Wheeler was quite adequate. He rightly stated that the ‘spread of Harappan culture beyond the main Indus Valley should not astonish for, likewise, cultural traits of the Mesopotamian Civilization are found in Khuzistan in south-western Iran, in Saudi Arabia and along the Arabian coast of the Persian Gulf’.30 In marked contrast to Indian archaeology’s investments in establishing a historical profile of India’s civilizational heritage through the Indus Civilization, the new Islamic Republic of Pakistan absolved national stakes in a civilization that represented a pre-Islamic past. However, Mughal’s engagement with the debate about the nomenclature demonstrates that the Indian claims on the Indus Civilization had touched a raw nerve amongst the involved Pakistani archaeologists. Thus, although the archaeological surveys of the phenomenon may not have contributed to the formal civilizational heritage-making by the young Pakistan, they precipitated sentiments of its ownership

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50

within the nascent scholarship of Pakistani archaeology, just as they did within India.

THE ‘SUBCONTINENTAL’ INDUS CIVILIZATION The early post-colonial archaeology of the Indus Civilization informs of the intellectual shifts away from the dominant force of the British archaeological scholarship of South Asia to an emerging North American one. Prior to 1947, Brainerd Spooner and Ernest Mackay were the only two North American employees of the Archaeological Survey of India, in 1906-21 and 1927-31 respectively, and it is remarkable that in proposing the recruitment of natural born British subjects as officers, the Government of India had justified the appointment of Spooner as superintendent officer Frontier Circle through the provision that ‘objections to the employment of foreigners do not apply with full force the appointment of Americans’.31 The archaeological explorations of northern British India and the Frontier Provinces by scholars from North America, such as Donald McCown, increased considerably during the years of the Second World War, and a distinct historiographical tradition of the American scholarship of South Asian archaeology began to crystallize from the 1960s, a decade after a few young archaeologists from North American universities had begun to seek professional careers within South Asian archaeology. The intellectual reception of the Indus Civilization as exclusively ‘subcontinental’ in its make up was a specific contribution of this scholarship. Initiated by Fairservis through his article on ‘The Origin, Character and Decline of an Early Civilization in the American Museum Novitates (1967),32 the shifting historiography reflected the force of contemporary anthropological theories of India in North American universities, and not of any conscious moves by the involved archaeologists for subverting the colonialist historiography of ancient India. The genesis of the shift demands a mention because many North American archaeologists now commit themselves towards meeting such an aim. Fairservis was inspired to chart an evolutionary history of the origins of the Indus cities through his finds of an aceramic neolithic habitation at Kili Gul Mohammad in 1950-1. He believed that the

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

51

above horizon was not ‘divorced from the obvious line of development within Baluchistan and Afghanistan’ since the ‘urban situation in the Indus River valley was a logical development from an advanced village farming in an optimum situation’.33 Through the above assumption Fairservis rejected the Childean premise of diffusionary approach, namely that Mesopotamia was the centre of diffusionary impulses for the city-civilization of the Indus Valley. However, he did not reject the theoretical value of diffusionism as an explanation for the processes of culture change. Instead of following Childe, he followed the views of Robert H. Dyson Jr., the leading North American archaeologist of Iran at the time, who had propagated the diffusion of cultural influences of Early Dynastic Sumer into Iran during the third millennium bce. Fairservis extended Dyson’s thesis of the ‘developmental motive from Iran’ eastwards, for explaining the rise of ‘sedentary village life’ in the Indo-Iranian borderlands during c. 2500 bce. He claimed that the impetus of culture diffusion triggered changes from regionalization in the Indo-Iranian borderlands to urbanization within the Indus Valley.34 In tracing the archaeological constructs of heritage we note the characterization by Fairservis of the ‘essential style’ of the Indus (or Harappan as he called it) Civilization. For him the ‘real riddle of the Harappan Civilization’s origin [was] the raison d'etre for its Indianness’, which he attempted to unravel by exploring its ‘village ethos’.35 Thus, although Fairservis conspicuously searched for the social and cultural impact of the stages of primary and secondary urbanization in developing the ‘character and history’ of the Indus Civilization, he maintained that despite the cities the phenomenon represented a chiefdom, not a state. There is no doubt that the extensive data on prehistoric villages which Fairservis had acquired through his own field-surveys in southern Afghanistan and Pakistan (in 1950-1, 1959 and 1964), and those of others, urged him to look beyond the citysites of the Indus Civilization. Yet, as his own references make it rather explicit, in establishing the village-like civilization of the Bronze Age in the Indus Valley, he echoed the North American anthropologists of India, such as Oscar Lewis and Mckim Marriott.36 The scholarship, of Indian anthropology, which was developed from the 1950s, has followed some of the major descriptive acts of the British colonial

52

Sudeshna Guha

historiography of India well until the early 1990s, when the economic liberalization of India triggered a perceptible theoretical change. The overlaps of historiographical traditions become apparent in the presentations of the uniqueness of India’s civilizational traditions through, seemingly, ancestral histories of village-orientated economy and caste-oriented society. The all-consuming force of the conservative socio-economic traditions which the caste-based village India had supposedly bred since hoary ancient times was well described by Stuart Piggott as being far greater than the ‘ambitions of an individual ruler’ and ‘the secular instability of a court’.37 Fairservis extended the ancestry of this force through his inferences of the nature of the Indus Civilization. He stated that ‘here [was a] society whose traditions were so strong as to support without apparent question the almost exact repetition of the familiar both in every day activities as well as in the creation of new settlements’. Similar to his British predecessors Fairservis perceived ‘each Harappan site an emulation of the next one’. But he invested the uniformity to the social fact that ‘everyone had his place in the settlement’. Through this logic he also challenged Wheeler’s and Piggott’s characterizations of the military autocracy of Mohenjodaro and Harappa, and stated that the uniformity was an ‘expression of a society to which the traditions lend their moral basis, their mystique, which sets forth the dharma in such a fashion that change is a dis¬ harmony and counter to the nature of the society.’38 The belief that adherence to ‘dharma’ had caused minimal changes within the cultural traditions of the Indian Civilization led Fairservis to speculate upon the grand legacy of the Indus Civilization as ‘probably the great gap between this ancient civilization and medieval India that we are prone to emphasize does not exist’.39 He subsequently dwelt upon this speculation in his magnum opus, The Roots of Ancient India (1971) in the statement that ‘the story of prehistoric India, which stretches back to a time so remote that it conforms to a Hindu Kalpa of untold generations reaching to a primordial world, nonetheless repeats again and again the pattern which was not to change until the East India Company ships moved up the Hooghly.’40 The legacy which Fairservis endowed to the supposedly Village-like’ Indus Civilization for fostering the village-oriented Indian civilization,

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

53

and his evidence of the longue duree of this civilizational tradition, have both been subsequently developed through the processualist model of ‘culture tradition’, which was brought into South Asian archaeology around the same time by Jim Shaffer through his doctoral study of Prehistoric Baluchistan (1978). The model was developed during the 1940s, primarily by Gordon Willey, the eminent North American archaeologist of Mesoamerica during his study of the prehistoric settlement systems in the Viru Valley (Peru).41 It was refashioned soon after by the New Archaeologists of the processualist school, prominently by the founding member Lewis Binford (19342011), who emphasized that tradition in archaeological terms was ‘a demonstrable continuity through time in the formal properties of locally manufactured craft items’. It referred ‘either [to] a single cluster of artifactual materials, such as ceramics, or to several classes of artifacts of a single socio-cultural system which exhibit continuity through time’. Binford placed the construct within the adaptive and systems theory of culture for challenging the diffusionary theories of an earlier generation of archaeologists, prominently Gordon Childe (18921957).42 Belonging to a generation of students of archaeology who were inspired to emulate the New Archaeologists, Shaffer inevitably strove to reject the possibilities of engaging with theories of cultural diffusionism as explanations of culture-change within prehistoric Baluchistan. Hence, in a tone remarkably different from the one adopted by Fairservis, he presented his model of the cultural traditions of prehistoric Baluchistan as a systemic construct, which he stated allowed an interpretation of the cultural developments in Baluchsitan, as ‘essentially indigenous phenomena, and their explanations [to be sought] within an internal cultural and chronological framework’.45 Shaffer’s use of the archaeological construct of‘tradition’ creates a reason to recall that tradition had a wide currency as a descriptive term within North American archaeology during the first half of the twentieth century. Unlike the ‘the long tradition of India’ which, as Amalananda Ghosh had remarked in 1975, was not a matter of debate among Indian archaeologists who considered this a ‘well established’ fact, we are reminded that Willey had specifically chosen to explore tradition as an archaeological marker because of the rampant use of

Sudeshna Guha

54

the word within histories of South and Latin American civilizations.44 Not wishing to war with his esteemed colleagues Ghosh had recommended the delinking of the use of archaeological terms from national prestige’.45 And by using the archaeological construct of tradition for promoting the scientific study of the archaeology of South Asia, Shaffer unknowingly complied with Ghoshs request. In an aggressive bid at making archaeology more akin to anthro¬ pology, the fledgling school of processualist archaeology during the 1960s and the 1970s had incorporated the anthropological scholarship of Africa, Australia, and the Americas and, to some extent, China. The overlook by this school of the contemporary anthropological studies of South Asia can perhaps be explained through the fact that the unique Indian ‘caste system’ would have been of no use to the New Archaeologists in their formulation of law-like models of culture and culture change. Yet, paradoxically, the discourses of this school regarding the nature of the characteristics of the Indus Civilization has established myriad evidence of a unique ‘South Asian civilizational ethos’. As is shown below they thwart the intentions of the archaeologists of South Asia, who re-fashion the systemic and functionalist models of the processualist school, from subverting the colonial historio¬ graphy.

THE INDIGENOUS AS A CULTURAL PHENOMENON The major change within the scholarship of the Indus Civilization from the 1950s until date has been in the realms of the archaeological documentation of its indigenous nature. The evidence of food pro¬ ducing communities at Mehrgarh, Kili Gul Mohammad and Rana Ghundai from the seventh and sixth millennium

bce

respectively,

coupled with the lack of evidence of large-scale human invasions into South Asia during the first millennium

bce

has also changed the

historiography of the ‘rise and fall’ of the Civilization. In sharp contrast to earlier theories of the presence of ‘foreign hand’ the new histories celebrate the indigenous in an unrestrained fashion with respect to questions of origins and causations. Since the histories are also displayed by their authors as being remarkably different in his¬ toriographical orientations from the early histories of the Indus

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

55

Civilization, it becomes important to remember that both Marshall and Wheeler had characterized the Civilization as indigenous, in terms of its authorship, which they had deemed were men ‘born, perhaps rather of the soil itself [...] .’46 The debate regarding whether the characteristics of the Indus Civilization was indigenous or foreign was stoked because of the theory that was propagated by Wheeler— who derived his inferences from Piggott’s and Childe’s theories regarding the presence of the ‘chalcolithic cultures’ in the Baluchi highlands—that the idea of a civilization within the Indus plains had diffused from the West. Discrediting the theory has followed the abject dismissal of the theory of diffusion without a consideration of what the indigenous would be representative of with regard to past per¬ ceptions of territories and notions of cultural geographies within the vast physical domain that is mapped now as South Asia. Questions such as how do we ascertain cultural boundaries of, and within, a civilization are rarely asked by archaeologists, although they are important in the case of Indus Civilization since the ‘uniformity’ represented even within the artefactual repertoire of the ‘urban mature Harappan’ phase {c. 2600 bce-1 900 bce) is only skin deep. With a plethora of different kinds of settlements with different kinds of contents, the notion of uniformity that is often unreflectively used as a qualifier of this phase does not necessarily validate archaeological attributions of cultural coherence, with equivalent civilizational form. The methodological problem of deriving interpretations of culture clusters is further compounded since the geography of the city and town formations show significant shifts through time. Thus, even when we designate the habitation of the ‘mature Harappan period’ within the greater Indus-Ghaggar-Hakra valley, Gujarat, the Makran coast and parts of Sind and Baluchistan as representative of the ‘integration era’, the complexities in the shifts and transformations of the various settlement patterns provoke a thought of: (a) the man¬ ner in which regions and regional boundaries are determined through archaeological surveys, and (b) the ways in which archaeological cultures are seamlessly translated into real cultures by archaeologists without a clue of the inhabitants’ notions of territoriality, or of the manner of establishing any viable method of sourcing such information. Hence, historicizing the indigenous and foreign remains a vacuous

56

Sudeshna Guha

exercise, which mainly prevents the asking of a seminal question, namely, indigenous to what or in whose perceptions. Despite being feted since the beginning of the twenty-first century as ‘pure breed’ of the South Asian soil the Indus Civilization continues to elicit contentious judgements regarding its nativity. In particular, Indian archaeologists reject the ‘Baluchi story’ of their western colleagues in which incipient technologies, including of agriculture that paved the way for the emergence of a bronze-age society with cities on the Indus valley, are largely sourced through the evidence of wheat and barley domestication at Mehrgarh. Instead, some put forth a ‘truer origin story’ of the Indus Civilization through a ‘Indialeaning’ topography, which they highlight as containing evidence of rice and millet domestication in the ‘Indus-Hakra-Ghaggar alluvium, and innovations in metal technologies in the Aravalli hills, during the fourth to mid-third millennium

’.47

bce

The countering of such

avowedly nationalist narratives have provoked curious assertions from others that the possible evidence of the indigenous growth of Taxila, Charsada and Peshawar into important commercial cities by c. 600 bce

would call into question the ‘time honoured models’ of derivation

of‘Indian culture’ from ‘a Gangetic homeland’.48 Such assertions are curious because although the region of Magadha in the Gangetic valley was the heartland of the classical kingdoms of ancient India, historians of ancient India have never considered it to be the ‘homeland’ of ‘Indian culture’. This is because historical traditions characterize the region as ‘mleccha desha . The homeland in all ‘time honoured’ models of Indian history since the nineteenth-century has been located within the region of ‘Sapta Sindhu’, spanning modern Punjab, where the early Vedic corpus, deemed by most historians of South Asia well until the twentieth century as foundational to ancient India’s civilizational ethos, was, ostensibly, composed. Although the nationalist and counter nationalist assertions may appear puerile, they create sensitivity of the conflicts within a scholarship that implicates the nationalisation of archaic civilizations, but requires traversing the boundaries of nation states who are suspicious of each other, and of the auxieties of post-colonial politics. They add to reasons for exploring the kinds of legacies that are created through the archaeological scholarship of prehistoric civilizations.

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

57

In following the scholarship of the Indus Civilization we note that the functionalist model of culture tradition, which Shaffer had used for Baluchistan has gained a wide currency within the entrenched and growing North American scholarship of the Indus Civilization. By the early 1990s, Shaffer had incrementally extended the utility of the model, both in terms of geography and chronology, well outside the remit of Baluchistan and its prehistory, to encompass three discrete archaeological cultural traditions, viz., of the Indus Valley, Helmand and Baluchistan from the earliest inhabitations until the first millen¬ nium

.49 In

bce

1995, together with his co-author Dianne Lichtenstein,

Shaffer further revised his earlier construct and refashioned a single cultural tradition of the ‘Indo-Gangetic’. In authoring the IndoGangetic Culture Tradition Shaffer and Lichtenstein had hoped to dismantle the various ‘divisions’ and ‘stages’ of the existing periodization schemes of the archaeological history of northern South Asia, which they considered was ill representative of the cultural continuity exposed by the archaeological surveys. They constituted the ‘Indo-Gangetic Cultural Tradition’ as an overarching model, which they suggested allowed a view of the ‘synchronically and diachronically’ adaptive patterns in meeting the changing ecologies within the greater IndusHakra-Ghaggar and western Gangetic plains from the earliest evidence of habitation in this region to the ‘Early historical period’ (c. 300

).50

bce

In a subsequent revision of the model a decade later they

extended the chronology encompassed by the model ‘to the present’, and suggested that: It is currently possible to discern cultural continuities linking specific prehistoric social entities in South Asia into one cultural tradition. This is not to propose social isolation nor deny any outside cultural influence. Outside influence did affect South Asian cultural development in later, especially historic periods, but an identifiable cultural tradition has continued, an Indo-Gangetic Cultural Tradition linking social entities over a time period from the development of food production in the seventh millennium BC to the present. [...] Within the chronology of the archaeological data for South Asia describing cultural continuity, however, a significant indigenous discontinuity occurs, but it is one correlated to significant geological and environmental changes in the prehistoric period. This indigenous discontinuity was a regional population shift from the Indus Valley area to locations in the east, that is Gangetic Valley, and to the southeast, that is Gujarat and beyond.’51

58

Sudeshna Guha Considering that ‘blanks’ in history do not exist in space and time

but only in our knowledge of the past, the above assertions of a continuous cultural history of South Asia from the beginnings of the Holocene cannot be disputed. Neither is the apparent contradiction within the construct, viz., of a continuous cultural tradition that embodies discontinuity, unexplainable with respect to the long historiography, for over two hundred years, of the ‘Aryan invasion theory. Through the notion of continuity Shaffer and Lichtenstein refute the invasion theory, and through that of discontinuity they accommodate the changing spatial and chronological dimensions of the settlement clusters that are associated with the sites of the Indus Civilization, and the Tate’ and ‘post-Harappan’ archaeological cultures that inhabited northern South Asia until the end of the first millennium

bce.

However, the quote draws our attention to the errors

of theorizing a singular, unique, overarching and identifiable cultural tradition from the seventh millennium

bce

until the present. This is

because the material recognition through archaeological exposure of such a tradition, even when conceptualized only within the realms of technological continuities—in this instance ‘economic and cultural focus on cattle’52—creates anticipation that its constituting core features have remained unchanged over vast geographies and over vast time-spans. The authors’ caveat of accommodating ‘indigenous discontinuity outside the remit of cultural parameters precipitates the understanding of the possibilities of exposing through archaeology the ‘ethos’ and ‘essences’ of civilizations and cultures. Not surprisingly, many Indians mine the archaeological construct of ‘Indo-Gangetic Cultural Tradition’ for writing facile histories of the colonialist historiography and its ‘aryan hoax’.53 But more importantly, establishing distinctions between indigenous and foreign through the modern geography of South Asia, which the construct is most emphatically committed towards, leads to misleading histories of ‘others’ and otherness. For example, by searching for perceptions of Muslim communities within the Sanskrit texts and inscriptions of the eighth to the fourteenth centuries, Chattopadhyaya had noted that even they were not regarded as ‘others’ by the Hindu communities, because ‘the notion of territorial outsider in a political sense [was] not compatible with the early cosmological/geographical concept’.54

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

59

The historicity of the indigenous for the Indus Civilization creates the need for reflecting upon the ways in which the indigenous is identified and historicized through the archaeological scholarship.

THE CONSTRUCT OF CULTURAL TRADITION AS A SCHEMA OF PERIODIZATION In contrast to the continuity theory of Shaffer and Lichtenstein, J.M. Kenoyer, the principal excavator of Harappa in modern times and a pioneering scholar of the archaeology of craft specialization, has used the model of Cultural Tradition in a remarkably different manner to devise a periodization scheme for establishing an archaeological history of northern South Asia. Unlike the formulations of Shaffer and Lichtenstein, of a singular Indo-Gangetic Cultural Tradition in northern South Asia from the seventh millennium

bce

until to-date,

Kenoyer has conceptualized many discrete clusters of archaeologically identifiable culture traditions for this vast region, such as BactroMargiana, Indo-Gangetic, Ganga-Vindhyan, Malwa-Rajasthan and Deccan, and indeed, the Indus Tradition, with varying eras’ and ‘phases’ of varying trajectories of developments from prehistory until the ‘early historical’ period (c. 300

).55

bce

Similar to Shaffer’s and

Lichtenstein’s views, Kenoyer too has perceived ‘cultural links’ between the Indus Tradition and ‘regional cultures’ of‘the Gangetic and Deccan regions’.56 However, he remains attentive to histories of discontinuity which, to quote another Indus specialist Rita Wright, we may summarize as ‘the basic character of the [Indus] civilization ... its planned cities, technical virtuosity, systems of weights, seals and sealings, narrative imagery and Indus script, all [...] came to an end in the Post urban period’. For, without the evidence, as Wright has recommended, one simply has to await ‘the results of continued investigations of the PGW that [may] clarify its connections to the early historic and provide for vestiges of an Indus presence’.57 Irrespective of his reticence of exhibiting only the aspects of cultural continuities, the schema of periodization which Kenoyer has devised also presents a narrative similar to that of Shaffer’s, namely of a lineal cultural evolution. This is quite transparent in his mapping of the development of the ‘Indus Tradition’ from ‘Foraging’ (10,000-2,000

60

Sudeshna Guha

bce)

through ‘Early Food Producing’

‘Regionalization’ (5,500-2,600

bce),

(7,000-5,500

bce),

‘Integration’ (2,600-1,900), and

Localization’ (1,900-1,300) eras.58 Moreover, in suggesting that ‘the total phenomena of human adaptations’ in the Indus Tradition ‘resulted in the integration of diverse communities throughout the greater Indus Valley,’59 similar to Shaffer’s and Lichtenstein’s, his is also a narrative of integration. Thus, despite the care, Kenoyer’s use of the archaeological construct of culture tradition for interpreting the settlement patterns of northern South Asia through prehistory obfuscates the historical realities of rupture. Besides, as a scheme of periodization the model substantiates the culture history approach by embellishing the ‘homologous, as opposed to [the] analogues’ similarities, which are considered measurable through ‘types’. Hence, types remain understood as diagnostic, cultural, historical, indexical, or markers of‘the boundaries of one stream of ideas which the cultural bearers may or may not have considered related.’60 Considering that Kenoyer has also deemed the use of the construct as the ‘most appropriate’ method for bridging the conceptual gaps in relating the Indus Civilization to the cultural history of South Asia,61 a small history of the early uses of the model highlights the problem of slippage which this model has allowed between technology and identity.

TRADITION: THE FUNCTIONALIST CONSTRUCT Willey and his co-excavator and co-author Phillip had presented tradition as a marker of ‘historical integration’, and emphasized this to be the ‘primary and descriptive level of archaeological task’. They had declared that 'an archaeological tradition is a (primarily) temporal continuity represented by persistent configurations in single technologies or other systems of related forms.*2 Tradition, they said gave ‘depth’, in contrast to horizon that gave ‘breadth’, to ‘the genetic structure of cultural historical relationships on a broad geographical scale’. The authors were of the opinion that maintaining a distinction between the two features within settlement patterns, and searching for oscillations between them in the archaeological residues from prehistoric sites was necessary for mapping ‘social transmittal’ of complex civilizations.63

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

61

In adapting the above definition of Willey and Phillips, Binford had emphasized that the latent ‘continuity’ of culture tradition is to be perceived ‘in secondary [not primary] functional variability only.’64 Shaffer had used Binford’s references for designing his model of cultural traditions for prehistoric Baluchistan, through which he classified stylistic traits of the contents of the sites, mainly the ceramics, into discrete traditions, of the Zhob, Quetta, Nal, Bampur, Kulli and Indus Plain. In his subsequent coverage of a progressively larger geography through the model he echoed the use of the construct by Willey and Phillips, who had established the ‘baseline for American Prehistory’ through the model, and had fashioned a classificatory methodology that took cognizance of the continuities and changes. In this Willey and Phillips had employed two existing analytical units within the contemporary North American archaeological literature, viz., ‘phases’ and ‘stages’, through which they established an archa¬ eological history of the hunter-gatherers and agriculturists for the New World. However, they changed the existing understanding of the units by deeming them as sequential, but non-deterministic. Thus, they suggested that although many cultures might pass through several ‘stages’, the latter did not represent any evolutionary law that demanded all cultures to pass through a particular trajectory of developmental sequence. Willey and Phillips therefore affirmed that although the general development of New World culture is ‘historical as well as developmental’ the individual stages ‘can have no cor¬ respondent historical reality or unity’.65 Theirs was an elegant expression of the multilineal evolutionary perspective of culture change, which was mooted by Julian Stewart (1902-72), the renowned anthropologist of North America, and in developing from their theories Binford construed a ‘sphere of tradition’ (based on style) as one among three variables of cultural processes; the two other being interaction sphere (based on inter-societal relations) and adaptive sphere (based on common means of coping with the physical environment). As Binford’s ‘sphere’ exemplify, the archaeological construct of tradition was nothing more than a representation of similar style that could be mapped across a chronological span. Inevitably, a singular style became translatable as archaeological evidence of a singular cultural identity. Considering that the New Archaeologists had

62

Sudeshna Guha

specifically targeted the slippage between technology and identity in the normative theories of culture, which was predominandy developed by Gordon Childe, it becomes pertinent to note Binford’s remark that ‘historical continuity and social phylogeny are particularly amenable to analysis through the study of stylistic attributes’.66 Hence unsurprisingly, Shaffer and Lichtenstein sketched the applicability of the construct of cultural tradition within the wider domain of the greater Indus region through the conviction that: A cultural tradition is [. . .] composed of one or more patterned sets of archaeological assemblages, such as the Kot Diji, Amri or Harappan cultural complexes [...] These patterned sets are designated here as ethnic groups. [. ..] The definition of such boundaries may involve diverse cultural factors, but in an archaeological context such salient cultural traits are material cultural symbols such as distinctive ceramic styles, used to indicate membership in cooperative social units, organized to facilitate access to source production and repro¬ duction.67

Because material things constitute archaeological enquiry, the use of style as a marker of identity has inevitably inundated the scholarship of technology and craft specialization in the Indus Civilization. Thus, specialists of the field, prominently Kenoyer et al., have long contended that the production processes of lapidary, stoneware bangle manu¬ facture, lithic industry, steatite based crafts, brick making, shell working, etc., is likely to provide evidence of ethnic identities.68 Changing theoretical fashions have progressively eliminated the inferences of ethnic identities from the archaeological literature of the Indus Civilization of the twenty-first century. However, inferences of kin-based craft specialists, which had inspired such inferences, continue to foster theories regarding the possibilities of tracing other kinds of identities within the Civilization. An example is the strong plea for envisioning a caste-based society within the Civilization, which was mooted at the close of the twentieth-century by the eminent North American archaeologist of West Asia, C.C. LambergKarlovsky.69 Lamberg-Karlovsky had substantiated the logic of his plea by documenting the possibilities of acquiring evidence of ritual purity and pollution through the ‘facts’ of: (a) water management, which he derived from the presence of wells and drainage systems in the

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

63

Indus cities and the ‘great bath’ at Mohenjodaro, (b) kin-based, hence caste based society, which he saw in the uniformity within the style of the unicorn motif on seals, and (c) a lineage society, which he gleaned from the presence of ‘classic Harappan’ cities, such as Shortugai, within ‘alien’ cultural landscapes. He therefore concluded that the ‘enigma’ of the Indus Civilization, viz., a vast geographical span of extraordinary uniformity in material culture but without a highly centralized socio-political entity was probably ‘characterized by an exceptional social organization, one that has deep and distinctive roots in South Asia: the caste system’.70 Although similar inferences had circulated as speculations for decades—we are reminded of S.C. Malik’s theories regarding the possible presence of caste system in the Indus Civilization in his book, Understanding Indian Civilization (1975)—Lamberg Karlovsky’s search was specifically geared towards formulations of new methodologies for extracting evidence of the ideas embedded within material remains. The problem of such research enterprise, which Lamberg-Karlovsky has subsequently acknowledged elsewhere, albeit partially, is that the premise of the search is based upon the understanding that archaeological evidence lends itself to exposure from an ostensibly latent archaeological record.71 We may add to the above several other conceptual errors of the histories of South Asian archaeology, including the equivalence of historical and archaeological cultures. However, with respect to the historiography of the Indus Civilization, a robust critique of the anticipations of practitioners that cultural identities can be exposed through their practices seems most crucial. As Sian Jones through her scholarship of the archaeology of ethnicity has demonstrated, the balanced”, “objective” and “reliable” interpretations’ of past identities which archaeologists insist upon ‘can only be made on precisely the same principles of interpretation that underlie the “unbalanced” and distorted” representations of... nationalist archaeologist!’72 We note that the inferences of Lamberg-Karlovsky find an echo within the causes of nationalist archaeology, and thus within opinions such as the Harappan society was organised along the line of castes’, that even if one gives up thinking of higher caste groups ... it is difficult to believe that system of regularly cleaning the waste in a settlement like Mohenjodaro [...] could be modelled on anything but the system

64

Sudeshna Guha

which was followed in many places in India till recently.’ 3 The overlaps of different intellectual traditions clearly demonstrate that new ‘theoretical turns’ do not necessarily translate into new methodologies for acquiring evidence. Thus, the notion of a hoary caste-based society in India, which Piggott, following the colonial historiography of India’s unchanging traditions, described as ‘conservative’ and Fairservis would have submitted as representing ‘adherence to dharma’ reemerges within the supposedly more scientifically robust and anthropologically oriented theories of archaeological culture traditions.

CONCLUSION The inferences of identities, be they ethnic or of caste, within the Indus Civilization would elicit the caution of present-day social anthropologists who now ascertain that people ‘can’t be put into a box anymore’. Modern anthropological research considers India and Africa as ‘obvious examples’ of societies of long-standing superdiversity not only of the ‘late modern’.74 The historical fact of diversification of diversity which this research has clearly demonstrated, encourages a critique of the simplistic manner in which archaeological evidence of social identities, including kin relations, are established. In framing aspects of continuities between the Indus Civilization and the subsequent cultural histories of Early India, the archaeological literature also documents a renewed vigour from the twenty-first century in sourcing vastly disparate Sanskrit and Pali texts, in terms of their chronologies and intent, for gleaning within them the prevalence of the idea of a civilization within ancient South Asia. 5 This search is remarkably different from that which was pioneered during the heydays of the discoveries, by, for example, Chanda. Through comparisons and juxtapositions of patently mismatched textual and archaeological ‘sources’ we are now told that ‘the very fact that authorities both in the Harappan and Ganges civilization expressed their ethos in similar material symbols—various forms of fortification, circumvallation—indicates that the forms of authorities in these two civilizations may have been similar as well’, and that the ‘deep structure’ of the South Asian Civilization, which was fashioned

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

65

from the Neolithic period can be defined through ‘five traits; namely, agricultural economy, an orally transmitted code of conduct, an orally transmitted sacred knowledge, an idiosyncratic sociocultural system, and a set of ritual and sacrificial practices’.76 In construing notions of ethos and deep structures, this research echoes the characteristics of the ‘Indo-Gangetic Cultural Tradition’. Additionally, the new literature aims at being politically correct in terms of its intellectual framework, and constitutes the grand civilizational tradition of ancient South Asia as multi-ethnic, multi-lingual and religiously diverse. Yet the essentialisms embedded in the conceptions of a unique civil¬ izational ethos of South Asia certainly remains blatantly overlooked. For, few academic archaeologists would perhaps care to construe archaeological histories of a unique and hoary civilizational ethos for Western Europe, North America, Britain, France, United States or any other regional or national domains of the ‘Western’ world. In questioning the various constructs of archaeological traditions, which also shine upon as cultural legacies of the Indus Civilization towards the uniqueness of South Asia’s civilizational tradition, we may note that tradition has been given new theoretical orientations within the scholarship of archaeology during the twenty-first century. Conceding that ‘power, plurality and human agency are all a part of how traditions come about’, the concept is being re-conceptualized as an analytical category from its earlier functionalist usages in two, different, manner. On the one hand, archaeologists of the Americas, such as Timothy Pauketat, emphasize the importance of engaging with tradition for formulating enquiries regarding ‘how do people throughout history become separate peoples with seemingly different identities, ways of doing and thinking, and specific technologies to cope with the outside world?’

Classical archaeologists on the other

hand, such as Robin Osborne, pose the utilitarian value of tradition against that of habittis, and emphasize that in contrast to the latter, which is inherited and acquired by habituation, tradition allows a more robust engagement with the inherent forces of human agency.78 Their views are radically different from the understanding of Pierre Bourdieus habitus by Shaffer and Lichtenstein who have drawn into the term as representations of adaptive responses to cultural continuities and changes.79

Sudeshna Guha

66

Hie values that Pauketat, Osborne and their colleagues now attribute to the notion of tradition predicate upon the feasibility of establishing different methodologies for exploring the internal practices of past communities in their self-definition. The need for attributing this value for gaining an understanding of the nature of individual agency is noticeably recognized within the wider archaeological scholarship by those who perceive themselves as classicists as well those who are specialists of prehistory. The consensus amongst two groups of archaeologists who have been distinguished, and who have sought to distinguish their research enquiries as non¬ complimentary throughout the latter half of the twentieth-century, demands a notice. The new utility value of tradition has permitted the intellectual bridging of two domains of archaeological enquiries that have been specifically shown as being divergent, in the histories of the professionalizing the discipline. Considering that the evasion of new theoretical mores is largely judged by Western archaeologists as being symptomatic of the practices of non-Western archaeologists, the continued perpetuation of the processualist archaeology of the Indus Civilization provides a reason for highlighting the ‘aberration’ as a testimony of the theoretical poverty of even the ‘Western’ scholarship of South Asian archaeology. But more importantly, processualist archaeology came to ill repute by the late 1980s when archaeologists, especially within Europe and Britain, woke up to the fact that the positivism this cultivated entailed an abject disregard of the phenomenon of agency, and hence also of the responsibilities of the archaeological scholarship and practices. The thrust for mapping a core civilizational tradition of South Asia through the archaeology of the Indus Civilization forces a recall of the intellectual dismissal of this school, and homes in on the import¬ ance of interrogating the intellectual and moral obligations of a post¬ colonial archaeology. NOTES 1. For a critique, see L. Smith and E. Waterton, 2009, Heritage Communities and Archaeology (London, Duckworth), pp. 42 ff. 2. M.L.S.S. Sorensen and J. Carman, 2009, ‘Introduction: making the means transparent: reasons and reflections’, in M.L.S.S. Sorensen and J. Carman

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

67

(eds.), Heritage Studies: Methods and Approaches (London/New York: Routledge, pp. 3-10), pp. 13-14. 3. For summary of the design see: ww.designbuzz.com/sanchi-stupa-relives-asan-indian-pavilion-at-shanghai-expo-2010; alsoT. Winter, 2012, ‘Cultural Exotica; From the Colonial to Global’, in T. Winter (ed.) Shangai Expo: An International forum on Future Cities (London: Routledge, pp. 137-54), p. 146. 4. T. Guha-Thakurta, 2009, ‘Careers of the Copy: Traveling Replicas in Colonial and Postcolonial India, http://www.theasa.org/publications/firth/firth09. pdf (Firth Lecture, Bristol University, 8 April). 5. W. Chambers, 1788,

Some Account of the Sculptures and Ruins at

Mavalipuram, a Place a few Miles North of Madras, and known to Seamen by the name of the Seven Pagodas’, Asiatick Researches, vol. 1, pp. 145-70, read on 17 June 1784, p. 157. 6. A. Cunningham, 1871, Preface’, Archaeological Survey of India: Four Reports Made During the Years 1862-65 (Simla: Govt, of India Publications), p. i. 7. The Jahangirnama: Memoirs of Jahangir, Emperor of India, translated, edited and annotated by W. Thackston (New York/Oxford: Smithsonian Institute in assoc with Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 244-5. 8. U. Singh, 2004, The Discovery of Ancient India: Early Archaeologists and the Beginnings of Archaeology (Delhi: Permanent Black), p. 6. 9. A. Schnapp, 1996, The Discovery of the Past: The Origins of Archaeology (orig. in French 1993) (London: The British Museum Press), p. 319. 10. For details see Guha-Thakurta, 2009. The monuments’ were built between 2008 and 2010. 11. For details see: R. Thapar, 1973, Asoka and Decline of the Mauryas (2nd edn. Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 281, 366), J.G. Williams, 1982, The Art of Gupta India: Empire and Province (Princeton, Princeton University Press, p. 76), H. Falk, 2006, Asokan Sites and Artefacts: A Source-Book with Bibliography (Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philipp Von Zabern, p. 120), C.B. Asher, and C. Talbot, 2006, India Before Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, p. 44), and C. Asher, 1992, Architecture of Mughal India (The New Cambridge History of India, Series 1.4, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 255, 269). 12. Speeches of Curzon, 1904-05, vol. 4, London: The British Library. 13. B. T rigger, 2006, A History of Archaeological Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), p. 77. Trigger’s sources were D.K. Chakrabarti, 1988, History of Indian Archaeology: From the Beginning to 1947, and G.C. Pande, 1985, An Approach to Indian Culture and Civilisation. 14. B.D. Chattopadhyaya, 2003, Cultural Plurality, Contending Memories and Concerns of Comparative History: Historiography and Pedagogy in Contemporary India’ (orig. 1995), in B.D. Chattopadhyaya, Studying Early

68

Sudeshna Guha India: Archaeology, Texts and Historical Issues (Delhi: Permanent Black, pp. 263-77), p. 272.

15. Trigger, 2006, p. 77. 16. ‘A Word to the Archaeological Department’, Amrita Bazar Patrika, 1 January 1925. 17. For details see S. Guha, 2010, ‘Photographs in Sir John Marshall’s Archaeology’, in S. Guha (ed.),

The Marshall Albums: Photography and

Archaeology (Ahmedabad: Mapin and Alkazi Collection of Photography, pp. 137-77), pp. 165-6. 18. R.P. Chanda, 1926, ‘The Indus Valley in the Vedic Period’, Memoirs of the

Archaeological Survey of India, no. 31 (Calcutta: Govt, of India Press), p. 5. 19. R.C. Majumdar,

1952, Ancient India (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass),

pp. 18-19. 20. D.O. letter, from Wheeler to Hallam L. Movius Jr. at Harvard, Cambridge, dated 25 July 1946, New Delhi. File 33/51/47, Survey Archives, Delhi. 21. Letter from D.H. Gordon to Wheeler, dated 2 September 1959, which informs of Indian and Pakistani archaeologists challenging the lower chronologies that western archaeologists often assigned. Box 458, British Academy archives, London (hereafter BA archives). 22. Examples include descriptions of George Dales’s attitude towards FA. Khan and Pakistani staff by Robert Raikes to Wheeler, in a letter of 1965 marked ‘strictly confidential’ (no date or month), File F/l/10, Wheeler archives, University College London. 23. Letters from Wheeler to Hencken, 14 May 1953, Hooton to Wheeler, 6 October 1953, and Wheeler to Hooton, 14 October 1953, Box 459, BA archives. Hencken was then curator of European archaeology at the Peabody Museum (1945-72) and Hooton was professor of physical anthropology (1930-54). 24. K.N. Sastri, 1957, New Light on the Indus Civilization (Delhi: Atma Ram), p. 5. 25. R.K. Mookherji, 1957, ‘Forward’, ibid. 26. Commenting on the chronology of Kalibangan B.K. Thapar wrote: ‘The significant part of the evidence, however, relates to the discovery of a nonHarappan settlement immediately underlying the occupational levels of the Harappan citadel (KLB-1). Kalibangan thus became the fourth site, after Amri, Harappa and Kot Diji, all in Pakistan, where the existence of preceding cultures below that of the Harappan has been recognized, B.K. Thapar, 1975, ‘Kalibangan: A Harappan Metropolis beyond the Indus Valley’,

Expedition (Winter, vol. 17, no. 2, pp. 19-32), p. 19. 27. For an analytical account of the explorations and excavations of the Indus Civilization that were undertaken until the beginnings of the 1980s see B.K.

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization Thapar, (eds.),

69

1984, ‘Six decades of the Indus Studies’, in B.B. Lai and S.P. Gupta

Frontiers of the Indus Civilization

1984,

(New Delhi:

Books and

Books, pp. 1-26), pp. 1-10. 28. M.R.

Mughal,

1973, ‘Present State

Civilization, in A.N. Khan (ed.),

on Moenjodaro

of

Research on

the Indus Valley

Proceedings of the International Symposium

(Karachi: National Book Foundation, pp. 1-28), p. 2.

29. See for example the note by Childe on ‘The Indus Civilization’ in 1937, in

Antiquity,

vol. 11 (43), p. 351.

30. Mughal, 1973, Mughal defended his choice of terminology by emphasizing that ‘an overwhelming’ number of Harappan sites are to be found west of the Ganges-Yamuna doab, and that the Rann of Kutch was formed by, and lay in, the Indus deltaic region. For conflicts in terminology see also G.L. Possehl,

‘Archaeological Terminology and the Harappan Civilization’, and

M.A. Konishi, “Pre”- or “Early” Harappan Culture: A Conceptual Battle’, in Lai and Gupta (eds.), 1984, pp. 27-36 and 37-42 respt.

31.

‘Re-organizaion of the Archaeological Survey Dept’,

and Agriculture, Archaeology and Epigraphy

Proceedings of Revenue

no. 18, 1905, January-July, point

16. 32. W.A. Fairservis, Jr., 1967, ‘The Origin, Character and Decline of an Early Civilization’,

American Museum Novitates,

no 2302, 20 October, pp. 1-48.

33. Fairservis, 1967, pp. 15, 19.

34.

Ibid,

pp. 9-10.

35. Ibid., p. 43: W.A.

Fairservis, Jr.,

1971,

The Roots of Ancient India: The

Archaeology of Early Indian Civilization (London: Allen and Unwin),

pp. 239,

299. 36. See Fairservis 1971, p. 295, footnote 41. He also borrowed from theories of Milton Singer and Robert Redfield. 37. S. Piggott, 1950,

Prehistoric India: to 1000 BC

(Harmondsworth, Penguin)

pp. 150-1. 38. Fairservis 1971, p. 301. 39. Fairservis 1967, p. 44. 40. Fairservis 1971, p. 381. 41. See for details,

G.R Willey and P. Phillips,

American Archaeology

1958,

Method and Theory in

(Chicago: Chicago University Press).

42. L.R. Binford, 1965, ‘Archaeological Systematics and the Study of Culture Process’,

American Antiquity,

43. J.G. Shaffer,

Qala Tepe

1978,

vol. 31, no. 2, part I (pp. 203-10), p. 208.

Prehistoric Baluchistan: with excavation report on Said

(Delhi: B.R. Publishing Corp), p. 111.

44. A. Ghosh, 1975, ‘At Random’, p.

125; Willey and Phillips,

Purattatva,

vol. 1975-6, no. 8, pp. 123-5,

1958, p. 34. See also G.R. Willey,

1953,

Archaeological Theories and Interpretation: New World’, in A.L. Kroeber (ed.),

Anthropology Today

(Chicago: Chicago University Press), pp. 361-85.

Sudeshna Guha

70

On Willeys scholarship of settlement archaeology, see R. Preucel, ‘Gordon Randolph Willey’, inT. Murray (ed.),

The Great Archaeologists,

1999,

Encyclopaedia of Archaeology:

vol. 2 (Santa Barbara/Denver/Oxford, ABC-Clio),

pp. 701-12. 45. Ghosh, 1975, ibid. 46. J.H. Marshall, 1931, ‘The Age and Authors of the Indus Civilization’, in J.H. Marshall (ed.), Probsthain,

Civilization

pp.

Mohenjodaro and the Indus Civilization

102-12),

p.

108;

R.E.M. Wheeler,

(London: Arthur

1968,

The Indus

(Cambridge, Cambridge University Press), p. 72.

47. D.K. Chakrabarti, 2006,

The Oxford Companion to Indian Archaeology: The

Archaeological Foundations of Ancient India, Stone Age to AD 13 Century (Delhi, Oxford University Press), p. 134 48. J.M. Kenoyer, 2006 a, ‘New Perspectives on the Mauryan and Kushana Periods’, in P. Olivelle (ed.),

to 400 ce 49. Shaffer,

Between the Empires: Society in India 300 bce

(New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 33-46), p. 46.

1992, ‘Indus Valley,

(Afghanistan), in Ehrich,

Baluchistan, and the Helmand Drainage

R.W.,

Chronologies in Old World Archaeology,

vol. 2 (Chicago, University of Chicago Press, pp. 425-46), see specifically maps on pp. 426-8. 50. J.G. Shaffer, and DA. Lichtenstein, 1995, ‘The Concepts of Cultural tradition and Palaeoethnicity in South Asian Archaeology’, in G. Erdosy (ed.),

The

lndo-Aryans of Ancient South Asia: Language, Material Culture, Ethnicity (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, pp. 126-54), p. 141. 51. J.G. Shaffer, and D.A. Lichtenstein, 2005, ‘South Asian Archaeology and the Myth of Indo-Aryan Invasion’, in E.F. Bryant and L.L. Patton (eds.),

The lndo-Aryan Controversy: Evidence and Inference in Indian History (London/ New York: Routledge, pp. 75-104), p. 93. 52. Shaffer and Lichtenstein, 1995, p. 143. The authors quote Willey and Philips and state that ‘a cultural tradition refers to persistent configurations of basic technologies and cultural systems within the context of temporal and geographical continuity’ (p. 141). 53. P. Choudhary,

1995,

The Aryan Hoax That Duped the Indians

(Calcutta:

self-published), p. 322. 54. B.D. Chattopadhyaya, 1998,

the Muslims

Representing the Other? Sanskrit Sources and

(Delhi: Manohar), p. 90. Chattopadhyaya has substantially

added to his earlier examples of blatant misrepresentations of historical territories in his lectures on ‘The Concept of Bharatavarsha and its historical implications’ and ‘Of Others and Otherness: Early Indian Perceptions’, which he presented for the Radhakrishnan Memorial Lecture Series at All Souls, Oxford, in May 2012. 55. J.M. Kenoyer, 2006 b, ‘Cultures and Societies of the Indus Tradition’, in R. Thapar (ed.),

India: Historical Beginnings and the Concept of the Aryan

(New

Heritage, Archaeology and the Indus Civilization

71

Delhi: National Book Trust oflndia, pp. 41-97); Kenoyer, 1991, ‘The Indus Valley Tradition of Pakistan and West India,

Journal of World Prehistory,

vol. 5, no. 4, pp. 331-85. 56. Kenoyer, 2006 b, p. 59. 57. R.P. Wright, 2010,

7he

Ancient Indus: Urbanism, Economy and Society

(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), p. 326. 58. Kenoyer, 2006 b, p. 52. 59. Ibid., p. 53. 60. G.S. Webster, 2008, ‘Culture History: A Culture-historical Approach’, in R.A.

Bentley,

H.D.G.

Archaeological Theories

Maschner, C.

Chippindale (eds.).

Handbook of

(Lanhan M.D: Alta Mira Press, pp. 11-27), p. 14.

Webster’s is a careful critique of the culture history approach, and its illustrations by James Ford in a seminal article ‘On the concept of types’,

American Anthropologist,

1954, vol. 56, pp. 42-53.

61. Kenoyer, 2006 b, p. 50. 62. Willey and Phillips, 1958, pp. 37 (orig. emphasis), and 38. On refuting Willey’s status as pioneer of devising archaeological setdement pattern analysis see C.C. Lamberg-Karlovsky, 2008, ‘Preface’, in P. Eltsov,

From Harappa to

Hastinapura: A study of the Earliest South Asian City and Civilization

(Boston/

Leiden, Brill, pp. xvii-xxiv), p. xxii. 63. Willey and Phillips, 1958, p. 38. 64. Binford, 1965, p. 208. 65. Willey and Phillips, 1958, pp. 39-40. 66. Binford, 1965, pp. 207-8. 67. J.G. Shaffer, and DA Lichtenstein, 1989, ‘Ethnicity and Change in the Indus Valley Cultural Tradition’, in J.M. Kenoyer (ed.),

New Perspectives in the Archaeology of South Asia

Old Problems and

(Madison, Wisconsin: Dept,

of Anthropology, pp. 117-26), p. 119. 68. An early example of relating craft specialization to ethnic identities is K.K. Bhan,

M. Vidale,

and J.M.

Kenoyer,

Theoretical and Methodological Issues’,

1994,

‘Harappan Technology:

Man and Environment,

vol.

19,

nos. 1-2, pp. 141-57. 69. C.C. Lamberg-Karlovsky, 1999, ‘The Indus Civilization: The Case for Caste Formation’,

Journal of East Asian Archaeology,

vol. l,pp. 87-113.

70. Ibid., p. 93. 71. See C.C. Lamberg-Karlovsky, 2005, ‘Archaeology and Language: The case of the Bronze Age Indo-Iranians’, in E.F. Bryant and L.L. Patton (eds.),

Indo-Aryan Controversy; Evidence and Inference in Indian history

The

(London/

New York, Routledge, pp. 142-78), p. 157. 72. S. Jones, 1997,

The Archaeology of Ethnicity: Constructing Identities in the

Past and Present (London/New York:

Routledge), p. 12. The quote is Jones’s

assessment of the claims made by Kohl and Testskhladze of the Georgian

Sudeshna Guha

72

Peoples’ rights to territory on the basis of the presence of Christian monuments, while denouncing the logic of searching for ethnic and linguistic identities from material remains. 73. Chakrabarti, 2006, p. 211. 74.

J.N. Jorgensen and J. Kasper, 2011 (November), ‘Superdiversity’, http:// www.toolldt-online.eu/docs/superdiversity.html

75. P. Eltsov, From Harappa to Hastinapura: A Study of the Earliest South Asian

City and Civilization (Boston/Leiden, Brill). 76. Ibid., pp. 165, 185. 77. T.R. Pauketat, 2001, A New Tradition in Archaeology’, in T.R. Pauketat (ed.) The Archaeology of Traditions (Gainesville: Florida University Press, pp. 1-16), p. 3. 78. R., Osborne, 2008, ‘Introduction: For Tradition as an Analytical Category’, in R. Osborne (ed.), ‘Tradition’, World Archaeology, vol. 48 (no. 3, pp. 28294), p. 288. 79. See Shaffer and Lichtenstein, 1995, pp. 141-2.

CHAPTER

2

Mitanni Indo-Aryan Mazda and the Date of the Rgveda MICHAEL WITZEL

The question of the immigration of Indo-Aryan speaking groups—not the Aryans’—into South Asia has been one of the topics that the late R.S. Sharma has dealt with at length. In his memory, I would like to add a few small but important facts that adumbrate the question. The existence, nature and age of the so-called Mitanni Indo-Aryans of the Ancient Near East has long been under discussion, since the time the text were first deciphered by B. Hrozny1 in 1915. Among them were references to an ancient form of Indo-Aryan that occurred in the Mitanni-related documents. The Mitanni of northern Syria and Iraq were people from the Caucasus region, whose language was close to that of Urartu2 in eastern Turkey and to northern Caucasian (such as Cherkes, Chechen).3 They established a fast expanding kingdom in northern Mesopotamia during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. These documents have been extensively dis¬ cussed, notably by Kammenhuber,4 Mayrhofer5 and have now been summarized by Ahmed.6 Recently, the question of Mitanni Indo-Aryan has been taken up by two non-specialist writers,7 and in a chauvinistic fashion by S. Talageri (2008).8 In a scholarly volume such as the present one it would appear unnecessary to go into details about it, were it not for the fact that some get swayed, to some extent, by their confused and confusing accounts. Instead, I prefer to present the facts, and will relegate some brief discussions to the footnotes. Some of the Mitanni documents, and others from the neighbouring Hittite kingdom, contain words that are clearly of Indo-Aryan origin.

74

Michael Witzel

They deal with horses, horse colours,9 horse racing,10 chariot drivers, and most importantly they also include the throne names of Mitanni kings,11 etc., a custom found all the way south, down to Jericho in Palestine.12 Significantly, these records also include the names of Indo-Aryan deities Varuna, Mitra, Indra and Nasatya (Asvin). These are found in an agreement13 between the Hittite king Suppiluliuma (1344-1322 bc, short chronology) and the Mitanni king Sattiwaza (Kurtiwaza, Mattiwaza). After about a hundred Hittite and Mitanni gods, the following, clearly Indo-Aryan deities are mentioned in the last part of the agreement: D1NGIR.MES. Mi-it-ras—si-il DINGIR.MES U-ru-wa-na-as-si-el In-d/t-ar DINGIR.MES Na-sa-at-ti-[ia] -an-na,14

Thus, the two deities Mitra and Varuna,15 as well as Indra and the Nasatya deities, the Asvin. (The Sumerogram DINGIR.MES refers to deities in the dual or plural.) Another important issue is that of the nature of the actual IndoAryan impact on the Mitannis. Their language is not Indo-Aryan but Hurrite, a language originating from the Caucasus area.16 Though the Mitanni kings took on Indo-Aryan throne names, they also had personal names in the Mitanni language,17 while their queens normally kept their native names.18 Clearly, for some historical reason it was ‘fashionable’ at that time to use Indo-Aryan throne names, similar to the diverse local customs of the Gupta, Egyptian or Assyrian kings.19 It is now believed that close contact between the Hurrite and IndoAryan speakers took place in the northern Zagros area around the time of the establishment of the Mitanni realm. Also, it is now believed that, after the initial Mitanni migration into the northern Mesopotamian plains, the establishment of their realm filled the vacuum left after the defeat of the kingdom of Babylon by the Hittite kingTelipinu in c. 1530 bce and the subsequent murder of Mursili.20 The first mentioning of the Mitanni and their realm, however, is seen in the grave of Amenemhet, an Egyptian official who died during the reign ofThutmose (1494-1482).21 Perhaps the Mitanni can even be dated back to c. 1650 bce,22 for example to Suttarna, ‘king of Mitanni’, and king Parattarna, which points to their gradual emergence in northern Mesopotamia soon after the death of Hammurabi (1728 bce-1686 bce).23

Mitanni Indo-Aryan Mazda and the Date of the Rgveda

75

However, it remains unclear as to how far speakers of Indo-Aryan actually played a role in the founding of the Mitanni realm, and whether they took on ruling positions, which would be similar to the well-known infiltration seen with the Turks in the Arab caliphate, the Germanic soldiers and the mercenaries in late imperial Rome, the Gorkhas in the Newar kingdoms of the Kathmandu Valley, etc. What is clear is that the speakers of Indo-Aryan had a major impact on the Mitanni state, its royalty, royal religion, warfare and sport. The latter items are closely linked to the role of the chariot driver corps of the Mitanni, the Marya-nnu. The word is derived from IndoIranian *marya ‘young man’, with the common Hurrite suffix—nnu,24 Though the Mitanni certainly were not the first to introduce horses to the area,25 their technique of horse training clearly was so prominent and important that Kikkuli, a Mitanni, brought it to the neighbouring Hittite kingdom. His horse training text survives till today.26 The same applies to the Maryannu corps itself. Its chariot tactics must have been so important that its role continued for a long time, whatever the nature of the Mitannis’ original contact with the Indo-Aryans may have been.27 It must not be overlooked that horses and chariots generally played an important role all over ancient Near East, including Egypt,28 after they were first imported from the north at the beginning of the 2nd millennium

.29

bce

The Near Eastern area—just as South Asia—was

previously home only to the donkey and the wild half-ass (onager, hemion).30 Some other contributions of the speakers of Indo-Aryan probably include the composite bow and the ‘Hurrian’ type of battering ram.31 Similar contacts with Indo-Aryan speakers are also seen in the Kassite kingdom of southern Mesopotamia (c. 1531-1155

bce

(short

chronology). Unlike the Mitannis, the Kassites did not move in from the north but were immigrants from the east, from the Zagros mountain chain.32 They conquered the Babylonian kingdom, that had just been taken over by the unfortunate Hittite king Mursili I. Some of the Kassite kings, too, had Indo-Aryan names, such as Abirattas = Ved. abhiratha. This was the name of several Kassite kings, and there is also a Biri-suriyas (= priya-siirya, ‘who is dear to Surya’).33 In addition, the Kassites have left us elaborate materials about their

76

Michael Witzel

horses, even the personal names of the horses and those of their sires.34 We also have Indo-Aryan designations for horse colours,35 such as timiras = Ved. timira ‘dark’,36 maybe also lagatakkas {la-ga-tak-kas) ‘red’, if representing rakta-ka ‘red’, and the horse name akriyas = agriya- Hirst’ (running) in front.’37 Importantly, just like the Mitanni, the Kasittes worshipped a few Indo-Aryan deities: Suriyas (Surya),38 Bugas (Bhaga),39 Marut(t)as (Marut)40 and perhaps Boryas;41 all of them, like the adjectives quoted, importantly still have the nominative -s (written |s|) attached.42 In both the Mitanni and the Kassite realms, we see a clear impact of Indo-Aryan speakers from the Zagros mountains (or beyond, from Media, etc.) on non-Indo-European peoples who were to occupy Akkadian and later Aramaic-speaking Mesopotamia. These IndoAryans were, as many have assumed, an offshoot of the Indo-Aryans who had moved through the BMAC43 area of northern Afghanistan / part Turkmenistan, both southward towards southern Afghanistan (Sistan), and then into Gandhara and the Greater Panjab, as well as westward towards what is now western Iran.44 There clearly is intrusion of steppe pottery into late BMAC layers (Hiebert 1998, LambergKarlovky 2002), most probably due to the movement of Indo-Aryan speakers through the Bactria-Margiana area, after having acquired a host of BMAC words (Witzel 2001: EJVS 7-3, 2003, Lubotsky 2001).45 This fits in with the first appearance of rather old Indo-Aryan words in Mesopotamian Kassite (1677-1152 (c. 1460-1330

bce)

bce)

and Mitanni

documents, and of course, those of the Rgvedic

hymns. The dates of the Mitanni and Kassite realms and their Indo-Aryan documents are an important clue to the possible date of the Rgveda (henceforth RV). In spite of its archaic nature, Rgvedic Sanskrit exhibits quite a few innovations that positions it lower in the cladistic (family) tree of Indo-Iranian languages than Mitanni Indo-Aryan (LA)46 (and often, even aspects of Old Iranian).47 A typical example is the treatment of the word ‘internal’ -az- as cited below.

The date and nature of the 7?Khave long been discussed, and recently, quite controversially by ‘nationalistic’ writers. It is however clear that

Mitanni Indo-Aryan Mazda and the Date of the Rgveda

77

the RV is a highly poetical and ritual text of the late Bronze Age as it does not yet mention iron, which appears as ‘black metal’ (sydma, krsna ayasf8 from the first post-Rgvedic texts onwards, such as the Atharvaveda Samhita.49 This means that the Rgvedic texts were necessarily composed and completed before c.

1000 bce,50

which is

the recently established date of the introduction of iron in the northwestern subcontinent.51 This date is adumbrated by recently discovered stone fortresses in Bannu52 that echo the 90, 99, or 100 fortresses of the enemy of the Vedic people, Sambara, in the RV}3 They were destroyed by Indra and Atithigva only ‘after 40 years’, RV 2.12.11. They are well remembered in the oldest books of the RV: 4.26.3: puro ... navatih sambarasya-, 4.30.14; 6.18.8, 6.26.5, 6.31.4, 6.47.2, 6.47.21; they are also found in the middle level Book 7 of Vasistha54 and his clan (but interestingly not in that of his rival Visvamitra RV3): 7.18.20, 7.99.5; further, in Book 2, which has many western reminiscences: 2.12.11, 2.14.06, 2.24.02; in the Angirasa (etc.) section of RV 1: 1.51.6, 1.54.04, 1.59.6, 1.101.2, 1.103.8, 1.112.14, 1.130.7, 1. 103.8 that still belongs to the family books, and in the Soma book 9.61.2. However, these forts are no longer mentioned in the later additions (see Oldenberg 1888: RV 10, RV 1.1-50). On the other hand, as indicated above, the RV was clearly composed after 1600/1500

bce:

the dates of the Mitanni, Hittite and Kassite

documents point to mid-2nd millennium

bce.

The archaic Indo-

Aryan words they contain must have been imported around that time. Their form is clearly pre-Rgvedic, as is seen in the following cases. However, this does not apply to the pronunciation of |e| in Rgvedic times. It has sometimes been mentioned that Mitanni (henceforth Mit.) LA ai for the e of our RV recitation and editions makes the RV later than Mit. LA. Yet, this pronunciation [e] is post-Rgvedic,55 and the older pronunciation [ai] is indeed preserved by the Samaveda,56 for example SV 1.1.1 agna ayahi is sung as: ognai dyahi3. However, the pre-Rgvedic sound *j’h ultimately became Rgvedic h, while in Mitanni-LA it became *zh > if7 represented by |/|. The latter is due to Mitanni writing, where there is constant vacillation between voiced and unvoiced consonants (media and tenuis), thus papru-nnu / bapru-nnu for Ved. babhru ‘brown’.58 The writing system has been extensively explained by Diakonoff (1971).59

Michael Witzel ■

78

Thus, early Old LA *j’h > i in Mit. vasanna [wazana], is earlier than RVvdhana; cf. also the well-preserved genitive Mit. IA wasanasya: Ved. vdhanasya (Mayrhofer, EWAia II 536). The writing of z as |s| is also seen in Mit. LA mista-nnu [mizda-] ‘price for a runaway’ : Ved. midha\ Avest. mizda. Vedic long — i- derives, with common compensatory vowel lengthening, from pre-Rgvedic *mizdha < IndoIran. *miz-dha < PIE *mis-dho- (see EWAia II 358, cf. also midhvams). An interesting additional case is that of dental n > retroflex n in mani ‘neckband, jewel’. Mitanni LA has mani-nnu;60 Old Iranian has Avestan ma'ni-, which is also seen in Old Persian (Elamite) (bara)mani- ‘bearer of a neckband’; but Rgvedic has the retroflex -n-\ mani. The Mitanni word may reflect an old BMAC loanword, taken over into both Old Indo-Aryan and Old Iranian.61 Vedic has clearly innovated here. Mayrhofer62 and others have spoken of‘spontaneous retroflexation’. This is, however, as in other cases, due to the local influence of Hindukush/Gandhara ‘retroflex area’63 (Witzel 2001, 2003, 2006).64 Most importantly, word-internal LA *-az- developed into RV |e|, pronounced [e] —which is a different development than the normal and extremely frequent one of Ilr./OLA/Mit.LA ai > |e| = [e] in our current Rgveda (as in early LA daival Avestan daeuua > RV deva\ details below). This, like all of the aforementioned examples, can be explained by standard, internationally agreed linguistic developments, from (reconstructed) Indo-Iranian down to Vedic. Dialects of a certain language often change at different speed.65 However, Mitanni LA -az- clearly is much older than RV-e-. In fact, even on /^V-internal grounds (see below) it can be conclusively shown that the subsequent development az > |e| is clearly />re-Rgvedic.66 This fact has recently been doubted by some non-specialists67 who try to maintain that the Mitanni documents do not contain pre-AV materials. However, this assertion is easily dismissed. However, this is not the place to go into details, which will be pointed out in the footnotes,—except for the - az- case. Their contentions about Rgvedic |e| = [e\ ,68 z [< zh\ ,69 as well as the voiced sibilant z underlying RV duduksan70 are demonstrably erroneous; the rest is idiosyncratic71 or

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simply mistaken due to their lack of knowledge of the Mitanni writing system72 and its “orthography”. As the Mitannis used the northern Akkadian cuneiform syllabary, certain vowels had to be written plene, thus \Cons.a-a-\, |Cons./-/| etc.; diphthongs were even more ambiguous: \da-i/da-a-i\. In addition, the writing system frequently did not regularly distinguish between voiced {d =|r| etc.) and voiceless (t = \tt\, etc.) consonants. This makes exact interpretation even more difficult, as I have pointed out in this very context already more than a decade ago.73 Without proper knowledge of the writing system, alleged historical ‘developments in Mitanni’, ‘Prakritisms’ and the like cannot be ascertained.74 However, Mishra’s and Iyengar’s investigation and line of argument is frequently idiosyncratic: one example does not a ‘rule’ make.75 Worse, their study is prefigured as to show that there was no Vedic immigration from beyond the (north)west into archaic India.76

EARLY INDO-ARYAN -zlZApart from the standard linguistic developments from (reconstructed) Indo-Iranian to Vedic, mentioned above, the case of the change from Indo-Iranian/Mitanni-IA word-internal *-az- to Rgvedic pronounced [e], provides clinching evidence for the age of the RV?1 The Mitanni documents contain forms with -az- that has regularly changed to \-e-\ in our current Rgveda (both in writing as well as in current traditional recitation (for example, in Kerala). Revisionists may argue that the metrical nature of the RV text does not allow to decide whether this change has been pre- or post-Rgvedic. However, some such post-/?V changes have indeed been pointed out for some 150 years, for example for intervocalic d > P (and similarly forpavaka > pavaka,19 stivar > svar,80 etc.). But, in the present case, az > e, there is clear evidence to the contrary, for pre-Rgvedic development. This can, naturally, not be recognized by those who merely look at dictionaries. The facts are the following: We have Mitanni IA —mazda- [mazda-] but RV medha (Mayrhofer, EWAia II 378). It is found in the Mitanni name priya-mazda, ‘one

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who is dear to wisdom’. Other than in Vedic IA, the word-internal cluster -az- is also seen in Avestan mazda- and in O.Pers. a^uramazda-. All of them are derived from Indo-Iranian *mazdhaH < *mnz-dhaH, a zero grade formation of *manas + dhaH putting, setting one’s mind’. While this word, taken alone, may not allow, in the mind of the revisionists, to decide whether this change was post-Rgvedic, there is however additional, clear evidence in the history other word-internal —az- > —e-.8i There is the frequent82 Rgvedic middle perfect form sede, ‘he/she/ it has sat’. It is derived from the regular zero grade reduplicated perfect83 *sa-zd-, and was most likely pronounced [*s£zd-]. This subsequently changed with common compensatory lengthening > [*s£:d\, and then to Rgvedic > |sed\, pronounced [sed\.84,85 The word has a correspondent form in the Avesta, which preserves older -az- in the Optative Perfect (with the common Iranian change from s > h): ni. . . hazdiidt < *sa-zd-yat ‘he would sit down.’86 Most importantly, the historically unique but phonetically predictable form sa-zd- has spawned a number of analogous verb formations, all found in roots that like sad have medial -a- and are closed by a stop. This could not yet happen in Mitanni IA (and, later on, in Iranian) as the conditions were not met (no development az>e)- all of which makes Rgvedic cladistically clearly younger. Even if unequal speed of development of these dialects is assumed, some time was required to spawn such new categories and to get them accepted into the hieratic poet’s language, Rgvedic. Such e-forms are found in about a half a dozen additional roots, even in the oldest layers of the RV, that have a middle perfect form in -e-. The pressure exercized by this analogy clearly continued throughout the middle and late RV, as well as in post-Rgvedic texts,87 as can be seen in the following cases:

1. Oldest RV: 6 roots dahh: debhuh 4.4.13 = 1.147.3 pac: pece 4.18.13

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bhaj: hhejire 5.57.5; bhejana- 4.29.5 yaj: anu prayeje 6.36.2 yam: yemuh 4.2.14, yemire 3.59.8, 5.32.10, 8.7.34, 1.10.1 sad: ahhipra seduh 4.1.13, upa sedima 5.8.4; ni seduh 4.6.11= 5.3.4; ni sedire 5.8.2 sap: sepuh 6.29.1

2. Middle RV: 3 additional roots; middle perfects forms in -erepeated from the older RV are indicated by [...]. tap: 8.102.16 tepanah pat: petathuh 1.182.5, 8.73.4 [bhaj: bheje 7.18.16, bhejire 5.57.5] [yarn:yemuh 3.38.3, yematuh 5.73.3, 5.61.9;yemima] [yaj: dyeje 1.114.2] 8.21.4, yemire 8.7.34, yemana- 9.75.3. 9.107.16 sah: sehana- 8.36.1 sqq; 8.37.2

3. Late RV: 3 aditional roots nam: 1.57.5 neme [yaj: dyeje 10.6388] [yam: yeme 10.40.14, 10.5.5, yemire 1.10.1] labh: 10.87.7 alebhana-, anvalebhire 10.130.7 [sad: pari ni sedire 1.25.13] lap: s'epe 1.23.22 = 10.9.8 Thus, the Rgvedic e-forms89 are found, next to sed-, also in tap, dabh, nam, pac, pad, bhaj, sak, sap, sap, and also in rabh/labh. All of this reflects the commonly observed linguistic development of a gradual progression by analogy: there was no other reason for the change. Such analogous change is seen in all languages, for example in Shakespearian English he is, he cometh, he hath > modern English he is (< *hlesti), he comes, he has... It is very important to note that the analogy, based on *sazd, had already set in (in 6 verbs) well before the oldest parts of the RV, as we have only one90 expected, lautgesetzlich correct perfect, the pvt-RV

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form *sazd- > sed-?x This was imitated in a number of analogous forms in six other roots. There is no phonetic reason for a change from a regular middle perfect *pa-pc-ai—in the RVto an initially irregular form pece \pecai > pece] which initially must have sounded horrible to traditional poets. Unprovoked forms of this type do not appear out of the blue, but are always motivated: in the present case by the analogy of the phonetically correct change seen in *sazd- > sed ‘to sit’, which is an exceedingly common verb in normal speech. In sum, in normal spoken Vedic, this change may have taken place within a span of, minimum, a few decades, but in the highly poetic Vedic of the Rsis, it will more likely have taken a century or two before it left a mark on their traditional hieratic, poetic language and before these analogical forms became a regular part of the poetic language—and that throughout the text.92 Traditional poetic and ritual speech does not change overnight, rather it resists modern forms, as can be seen in many religious texts. It is clear from the examples quoted earlier, and most notably that of -az- > - e-, that Mitanni Indo-Aryan preceded the late Bronze Age Rgveda (with a closure around 1000

bce)

by a considerable span of

time,93 but obviously not by one that would much precede the actual Mitanni texts.94 Rather, even when taking into account different speed of changes in the two Indo-Aryan dialects, in this case geographically very distant from each other, Rgvedic Indo-Aryan must have followed the well-attested date of Mitanni-LA by a few centuries.

The date of the concerned hymns, and of the RV as such, thus lies between, maximally, c. 1500

bce

and 1000

bce,

which incidentally

is quite close to what the now much-decried95 Max Muller had arrived at more than 150 years ago by simple extrapolation, at a time when Indian archaeology and much of Indo-European linguistics still were in their initial stages.96 The existence of just five generations of ‘kings’ and poets97 in the bulk of the RV allows further narrowing down of the date of the text. Its last hymns are apparently separated from the post-Rgvedic texts only by four generations,98 which makes it unlikely that the bulk of RV hymns were composed long before 1000

bce.

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Taking into account the attested five generations of Rgvedic poets and their chieftains, a date of c. 1250-1100 bce" for the bulk of the hymns is likely. That is, unless new archaeological discoveries in the hills and plains of the northwestern subcontinent may require us to change again the date of first smelted iron,100 or unless new (archaeological and linguistic)101 discoveries in Bactria, Slstan, the Hindukush and Gandhara will help to further pin down the movement of Indo-Aryan speakers into these archaeologically still little known territories, and then further on into South Asia proper.102 In sum, one cannot push Rgvedic hymns back way beyond c. 1600, and most probably not beyond c. 1400 bce. There was no pre-Indus Rgveda at 3000 bce,103 nor was there a pre-Mitanni-/?Kat 1500 bce. The revisionist attempts at linguistic analysis mentioned above, though presented—to the uninitiated—in linguistic jargon, and the conclusions drawn from it are contradicted on many points.

NOTES 1. Excavations at Bogazkoy (ancient Hattusa) by Hugo Winckler began in 1906 and retrieved the royal archive; their then unknown language, Hittite, was deciphered by Bedfich Hrozny (1917). 2. Diakonoff 1971; D'iakonov and Starostin 1986; Diakonoff 1985. 3. S. Nikolayev, and S. Starostin. North Caucasian Etymological Dictionary. Available online: http://starling.rinet.ru/cgi-bin/response.cgi?root=config&m orpho=0&basename=\data\cauc\caucet&first= 1. 4. Kammenhuber 1968. 5. Mayrhofer 1966, 1974, EWAia vol. IV, 569-71. 6. Ahmed 2012: 168 sqq., 511 sqq. 7. Presented in a pseudo-linguistic garb by Satish S. Mishra and Ravilochanan Iyengar, 2010-11. Their online article has unintelligible diacritics that first must be reconstituted to make any sense of their arguments; the printed version was not available to me. Mishra is employed in the Bombay area and Ravilochanan in Chennai; for a self-characterization, see the exchange at: http://tech.dir.groups.yahoo.com/group/IndiaArchaeology/message/9727. 8. This is not the place to discuss this 3rd or 4th openly chauvinistic avatdra of Talageris misguided approach in any detail (Talageri 2008, 2000, 1993, twice). What I said in 2001a (EJVS 7-2) still holds for Avataras 3 and 4: I read his 2008 book on a flight from New Delhi to Hongkong and have not felt the need to revisit it since. Suffice it to point out that Talageri s collection of Avestan and Vedic names that is supposed to show the early cladistic position of Vedic Sanskrit as the ancestor of all Indo-European languages is

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void: innocent of linguistics and philology, he fails to see that these names, instead, go back to the Indo-European period. For example, the IE names, commonly attested and derived by regular sound correspondences, that begin with *su-/seu- ‘good, well’ are seen in Greek eu- ‘well’ as in Greek eu-kle(F) es) ‘famous’ = Vedic su-s'ravas; or as in Greek eu-hippos ‘who has good horses’ along with the closely related Iranian [h]u (Avest. huuaspa, Old Pers. huvaspa, the river Huuaspa (BTHL. Wb. 1852-3), and RVsu- as in sv-as'va (cf. suvdstu ‘Swat’, su-vira, etc.), or as in Old Church Slavic j“- (P-draiE ‘healthy’), or Hittite su-. —However, Talageri’s bombastic, over-confident and invective language (‘fraudulent research’ etc.) is worth a linguistic study on its own. 9. b/pap/bru-nnu < babhru brown’, p/binkara-nnu < pingala ‘reddish/yellowish, bay’, p/barita-nnu < palita ‘grey’, see Mayrhofer 1966: 17, or: barita-nnu < bharita ‘well groomed” (Kammenhuber 1968: 211), rather with Mayrhofer, EWAia II 103sq. = Mit. IA parita-, Ved. palita- ‘gray’, with archaic -r-; for the Hurrite -nnu suffix see n. 24. 10. Importantly, the terms for 1, 3, 5, 7, 9 revolve around the race track: aika-, tri (ti-e-ra, ti-e-ru, ti-e), panza-, satta-, nava-wartarut: [aika-ua-ar-ta-an-na, etc.] For satta (Sa-at-ta) see Witzel, EJVS 2001: § 12.7; § 18 p. 54, nn.44, 148: influenced by Hurrite sinti ‘seven.’—For wasanna ‘race course’, see Mayrhofer, EWAia II 530 (against ‘Umhiilsung’/boundary of the race track, as per Kammenhuber 1961: 208, 363 (and Mishra/Iyengar, below n. 69). 11. Such as Artatama < Rta-dhaman ‘whose abode is Rta’, see Mayrhofer 1974: 224. Others include Tusratta < Tvesa-ratha (spelled |tueisaratta, tu-us-rat-ta, du-us-rat-ta| EWAia II686). This name has mistakenly been used by Mishra and Iyengar 2010-11: 19, innocent of the Mitanni writing system, as proof for a Mitanni change from *ai > ei; further: Sattiwaza < Sati-vdja, Suttarna < satvar- ‘warrior’ (D. Anthony 2007: 49); Sausattar, P/bar/Mas-sa-a-ta-ar, P/ba-ratar-na; also Bi-ri-ia-as-su-wa < Priya-asva (Mayrhofer 1974: 19). —Importantly, Sattiwaza’s birth name was Kili-Tessup, see Mayrhofer 1974: 17. Further, in the Amarna letters recovered from Egypt, we find: Artasumara, brother of Tusratta, Artamanya, Suwardata, etc. For a list of likely names see Mayrhofer, EWAia, IV: 569-71 and cf. Sergent 1997: 205. 12. Thus in non-Mitanni areas, and continued after the end of the Mitanni realm, see Mayrhofer 1974: 17, 27, 28. 13. Discussion by Thieme 1960: 303; importantly, in RV 10.125.1 (cf. 5.46.2, 8.19.16, 8.26.2; 6.11.1), the four names occur in the same order as in the treaty, where they figure only after more than 100 gods, in a list of some 120 gods. 14. Uruwana has a variant A-ru-na-as-si-il, and Intar has In-da-ra. See Mayrhofer 1966: 15; 1966: 83; Thieme 1960: 303. 15. Here Iranian has innovated with the name of the supreme deity: there is no Iranian Varuna (P. Thieme 1960); instead, the innovation is roughly datable

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by an Assyrian inscription of c. 1000 BCE that mentions the (Western) Iranian deity Assam Mazda; for the Iranian creation of this deity, note Old Avestan Mazda Ahura, later Avestan Ahura Mazda, then Old Persian A[h]uramazda (Hintze 1998). 16. See Diakonov and Starostin 1986. 17. At least one is known, Kili-Tessup, see Mayrhofer 1974: 17; cf. Ahmed

2012. 18. Cf. the list in Sergent 1997: 205. 19. See for example: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regnal_name. 20. However, c. 1556-1526 BCE according to the short chronology. 21. See Ahmed, 2012: 513, n.168. 22. According to the so-called ‘middle chronology’. See Ahmed 2012, n. 170. 23. According to the short chronology. The unlikely middle chronology has Hammurabi at 1792-1750 BCE. 24. This Mitanni suffix has been added to the Indo-Aryan term marya-, Iran. (Avestan) mairiia-, cf. also Mit. Mariani-ruv, note Ahmed 2012: note 157. —The Maruts are Indra’s marya, his war band (Anthony 2007: 50). 25. See Becker 1994: 159 sqq., cf. Drews 1988: 83, 93 (Raulwing 2000, P. Raulwing, and Juliet Clutton-Brock 2009). 26. Latest edition by Starke 1995. See however the discussion by Raulwing 2009 (on the historical layering of the several copies of the text, between the fifteenth and thirteenth century bce p. 5). —Kikkuli is called assu-ssanni, a word clearly derived from asva ‘horse’ (see Mayrhofer, EWAia I 139, II 611, 827, III 552). Incidentally, this is an important clue for the age of the development from IE *k'w > Hr. V* > Indo-Aryan sv (Old Iranian, however, has: Avestan -sp-. Old Persian -f- ). 27. Discussion of early contact, S. Ahmed 2012, Mayrhofer 1966, 1974, etc. 28. For example in the battle at Kadesh between the Egyptians and the Hittites

in 1274 bce. There is an Egyptian sculpture depicting this. 29. See the account by Drews 1988: 80 sqq. 30. See Becker 1994, cf. Drews 1988: 74 sqq. 31. See Giiterbock 1938, cf. Ahmed 2012: note 155. 32. The Kassite language was spoken there from c. the eighteenth to the fourth century bce. 33. Next to other names beginning with piriya- (Ved. priya), see Balkan 1954: 47. 34. But not of female horses. They stem, in part, from the time of king BurnaBuriyas (Balkan 1954: 25). —Balkan 1954, cf. also Jaritz 1957. 35. Balkan 1954: 11 sqq. 36. Balkan 1954: 15. 37. Balkan 1954: 16. 38. Balkan 1954:100.

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39. Balkan 1954: 47, 100. 40. Also written marat(t)as, murattas, murut(t)as, murudas, —a heroic god = Ved. Marut, see Balkan 1954: 3, 100, 110. 41. Su-ri-as-as, Mayrhofer, 1974: 13, Balkan 1954: 3; Bur-ia-ds has been compared with Greek Boreas, however Balkan 1954: 104, cf. p. 7, interprets this word as Kassite, indicating the weather god in royal names, where -yas means ‘country’; this argues against an Indo-European etymology and against an identification with Boreas. Similarly, Simaliya/Sumaliya (Balkan 1954: 8, 83, 100, 181, see also his Liste 3) is not, as some non-specialists such as N.S. Rajaram still repeat, the name of the Himalaya (which anyhow is called Himavant in Vedic), but it is the name of the Kassite patron goddess of the royal family, Sumal(i)ya. —Note also Sukaniya = Su-kanya? (Balkan 1954:

100). 42. That is, the later Visarjaniya, -h. —As in Finno-Ugrian, the preservation of the nom. -s is an indication for old loans, note pakas for N. Iranian bagas = Vedic Bhaga-s, kuningas for Proto-Germanic *kuninga-z ‘king’ (as in Dutch kontng). 43. BMAC stands for Bactria-Margiana Archaeological Complex, which flourished around 2000 bce. 44. For interaction of the BMAC with northern Indo-Iranian steppe populations, see Lamberg-Karlovsky 2002; he is however misguided in his assessment of the evidence of language, see Witzel 2003a, last section (§ 6) http://www. sino-platonic.org/complete/sppl29_prehistoric_central_asia_linguistics.pdf, further, Francfort 1994, Hiebert 1995; Witzel 2000 and Sino-Platonic Papers 129, 2003a. 45. To which we can now add reflexes in pre-Tocharian, see Pinault 2003. 46. Which does not mean that Rgvedic is/must be a ‘daughter language’ of Mitanni LA, just that it is later in the pedigree. It has innovated more than the others in this respect. 47. Details in Witzel, EJVS 7-3, 2001b: § 12.12, § 14, § 18. 48. On ay as, a metal other than gold and silver, W. Rau’s “Nutzmetall”, see Rau 1974. 49. AV 5.28.1; 11.3.1, 7; sydma AV 9.5.4; Maitr. Samhita 4.2.9; etc. 50. A hieratic text is not likely to include recent cultural innovations, nor recently imported words. 51. Possehl and Gullapalli 1999. See now Zahir 2012 on the Greater Gandhara area. Formerly, archaeologists had proposed dates of c. 1200 bce for northern India, which I have used in my earlier publications. However, the south (Karnataka) and maybe the eastern Gangetic plains may have earlier dates: 1200-1000 bce at Hallur in N. Karnataka, while those of eastern UP. (1500/1800 bce?) are championed byTewari et al., 2009; 2006.; cf.Tripathi

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2008: 52 sqq. However, only the dates for the Greater Panjab are of importance in the current context, that of the Rgveda, cf. Tripathi 2008: 51. 52. See the British excavations at Akra in Bannu, NW Pakistan: http://www. arch.cam.ac.uk/bannu-archaeological-project/ : P. Magee et al. 2005, C.A. Petrie 2005. Archaeologically speaking, while in the eastern Panjab/Haryana we have Harappan brick walls around towns and forts, the northwest has stone fortresses, as mentioned in the RV, such as the one now found at Akra, see Stuhrmann 2008. 53. His father ‘Kulitara is mentioned as well: RV 4.30.14, by the patronym kaulitara. 54. Who interestingly seems to have close relations to the Iranian lands west of the Indus (Witzel 1995: 334; 252 sqq). 55. Note Thieme 1960: 302 ‘it is quite possible that... [in the] Rgveda that actual pronunciation . . . was still ai and au . .

Indeed, see B.R. Sharma

1991-2: while the hymns of the Kauthuma SV have been taken from the RV, except for 75 Mantras, in singing (gdna) much of the older pronunciation is preserved, including ai instead of the current RVe (see Witzel 2012). 56. B.R. Sharma 1991-2. 57. Cf. Iranian z, as in vaisnti:: Skt. vahanti; for -z- see n. 81. 58. The Mitanni suffix -nnu is frequent, see above n. 9. For brabunnu see Mayrhofer, EWAia II 210. A very clear example are the variant spellings in the nameTusratta < Tvesa-ratha (spelled |tueisaratta, tu-us-rat-ta, du-us-ratta|; cf. also maka-nni ‘gift’: Ved. magha- EWAia II 289, mista-nnu, etc.; note the names of the four deities, above, and Maruttas in n. 40. 59. Which has remained unknown to Mishra and Iyengar, though mentioned by Witzel and easily accessible online in £/VS2001: § 18; p. 54. Diakonoff, 1971: 24-39 deals with the writing system. The use of his book would have helped Mishra and Iyengar to avoid many mistakes: not only are media and tenuis (k/g, p/b, s/z, Hz, etc.) not well distinguished in Hurrite, but the quasi¬ syllabary writing method, such as in \bi-ri-ya\ = priya, or |ti-e-ru-u-ur-ta-anna\ (triwartana) opens up many possibilities for additional (mis) interpretation. 60. Mayrhofer, EWAia II 293; -nnu again as Hurrian suffix. 61. Witzel, EJVS 7-3, 2003b: § 15; Witzel 2003a, cf. Witzel 2006. 62. Mayrhofer attributes some of these cases—those outside Fortunatov’s «rule» (*lt > t, *ln/rn > n) —to ‘spontaneous’ variation (Mayrhofer 1968). Hock 1991: 149, cf. 126, 151 , regards this «weakening» of n > n as the outcome of a widespread Middle Indo-Aryan development, characteristic of the northwestern dialects (which is remarkable in view of the «retroflext area» (see n. 63). However, apart from the assumed early onset in the RV, this

88

Michael Witzel does not explain the retroflexes in /?V words that have clearly been borrowed from the substrate, such as barn, vdni, ogana, etc. (Kuiper 1991: 79 sqq. cf. p. 11 sqq).

63. It includes Vedic, the Middle Iranian Saka language of Khotan, the linguistically isolated Burushaski in Hunza just south of Khotan, the independent, third Hr. group Nuristani, the neighbouring New IA Dardic languages, the New Iranian Pamir languages and Pashto, and eastern Baluchi (western Baluchi does not have retroflexes; the Baluch have immigrated from the Kurdistan area only about 1000 years ago.) This areal retroflex feature clearly straddles the Indo-Iranian/Pamir border and notably includes a non Hr. language, Burushaski, as well. It is clear that this area is the one with the strongest representation of retroflexes (and this therefore is not, as often thought, a special and originally Dravidian feature); the Dardic Kalasha even have retroflex vowels. 64. See the preceding note and below, n. 66 on the Pamir-centred ‘retroflex area’. 65. Cf. for example British English I have got:: American English l have gotten, and note the variants: I got/gat; begot/begat; bid/bade; crept!cropc, or, between two more distant forms of Germanic: baked:: German backte (older, still nineteenth cent.: buk). 66. Other changes, such as izdh > idh, azhd > odh (as in vodhar), etc., obviously are ptt-RV too; however, this cannot be established by merely relying on metrical data but only through linguistic investigation: retroflexes are comparatively late in LA, and developed only after migration through the Hindukush/Pamir ‘retroflex belt’.—See above n. 63 sqq., and cf. Witzel 2001b: § 15, Kuiper 1991: 2, 11-14 sq, who interestingly concludes, still without discussion of the Hindukush/Pamir ‘retroflex belt’ that the retroflexes penetrated into IA in the ‘pre-Vedic’ period. 67. Such as, again, Mishra and Iyengar 2010-11; cf. also Talageri 2009. 68. While current /?V|e| can frequently be derived from older [ayi] < *aHi (see Arnold 1905: 5 'in a few words long vowels or diphthongs are optionally to be read as equivalent to two syllables, thus “sresthah as 'srdyisthah", or A. Macdonell, A Vedic Grammar for Students. OUP 1916: 16: “jyestha as jyd-isthd')\ Mishra and Iyengar, not being knowlegeable about the prehistoric effect that laryngeals had on vowels, think that this is due to “dialectal variation.” —Their appended list, p. 24, encompassing cases for jyestha, prestha, yestha, netr-, pranetr- desna ‘gift’ (< *daH-s-na from deH) that all are due to laryngeal developing to U-y-, e.g. in: *jiya-y-istha, and later to e: jyestha (pronounced with bisyllabic e in the RV). This fact is well known to be due to the IA reflex of inherent laryngeal: sriH > [sri], superlative sraiH-istha > sra’istha [srayistha] > current RV srestha (with extra long, bisyllabic e, see van Nooten and Holland, 1994: iv, section 3).

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69. Mishra and Iyengar, p. 20, regard Mit.IA jh as questionable, as seen in Kikkuli: wa-sa-an-na-sa-ia-na (gen.) and wa-sa-an-ni (cf. Rauiwing 2006, Mayrhofer, EWAia II536): *wastanaiia (Mit. IAz written as |/|, as is normal). They idiosyncratically derive it from the root vaj, not vah, based on an argument (Rauiwing 2005: 67 sqq.; cf. Thieme and others, ad: RV1.32 on: ZDMG 95, 348 sq. = Kleine Schriften 52f.) that the surrounding of the 'wasanna training area is made of wood’ and that the word therefore could not be used for the race track, —which neglects the common pars pro toto expression (see above n.10; cf. however, Witzel and Goto 2007 ad 1.32.10 on kasthd ‘wooden beam’, Thieme 1941, 348 sq., Mayrhofer EWAia I 346). Instead, Mishra and Iyengar see a connection with vdja ‘race’ (which rather means the ‘prize’ won in a race) and assert that the change jh > h would only be post-/?K 70. RVduduksan (instead of * dudhuksari) and related forms, from *dhugh, have already been explained by H. Scharfe (1996) through the staggered, gradual application of Bartholomae’s and Grassmann’s laws. The various forms are the outcome of the dialectically different speed of the spread of the two Taws’ in different areas of the Rgvedic (and later Vedic) areas. Such staggered phenomena are well known from dialect geography (such as the ‘Rhineland fan’), another linguistic point missed by Mishra and Iyengar in their quest to make the RV older than it actually is. 71. Their Skt. ks, sk > Is, kk (they write kc, ck), for example in their derivation of the Mitanni (Hurrite!) name Kikkuli from an unattested Skt. Kisku {kicku in their file); or Saussatar < Sauksatra; rather see Mayrhofer, EWAia II 691: Mit. IA Satwan(-a)/satwar-a, an r/n stem, cf. Ved. satvan ‘warrior’. Further, their various supposed, ‘Prakrit-like’ developments such as tr > tt/dd, (etc.) or zd> tt/dd, *sumitra > sumitta or *sumizda > sumidda(!); for their vasukanni see rather EWAia II 534, and for assusiani, EWAia I 139, II 611, 827, III 552. 72. Their ‘internal Mitanni developments’ and ‘Hittitisms’ are again due to their lack of knowledge of the Mitanni writing system (see Diakonov 1971): thus, not their ai > ei/zero in * twaisaratta > tuies" > tuiia’-, rather see EWAia I 686: Tusratta < *Tvaisaratta (spelled |tu-e-is-e-rat-ta, tu-us-e-rat-ta, t/duus-rat-ta|; note Diakonoff 1971: 35 on the writing of diphthongs, in 4 ways: plene: e-e-i, defective: e-i, long vowel < diphthong, plene: Cons. +u-u, etc; long vowel, defective from diphthong: Cons.+i-i- etc. - Similarly, their ‘development w > zero’ is again due to Mitanni spelling (Diakonoff 1971:29sq, Witzel 2001b: § 12.7, § 18): there is no way to write word-initial tva- as in *Varuna, written: |a-ru-na, u-ru-wa-na|; metathesis (uruwana) perhaps as to avoid the nonexistent [wa-\ (cf. Thieme 1960: 303). —As for their 'nawa > na-a/na, ’ one has to look for the writing of -wa- in suffixes: by p/b/w/u (e.g. u-a); thus, maybe the writing \na-a\ is a simple writing

90

Michael Witzel mistake, with leaving out u. Lack of knowledge of the writing system also led them to suppose the ‘Prakrit like’ development of v > b in virya > hiria, and *virasana > birassena (‘like in Bengali’): again, writing w- in word initial position is not possible; this was avoided by b- because p-lb-lw- generally vacillates in writing (Diakonoff 1971: 30). Note also Witzel EJVS 7-3, 2001b, nn. 44, 148 on satta ‘seven’, see above n.10.

73. In EJVS7-3,2001, see § 12.7, § 15 § 18; http://www.ejvs.laurasianacademy. com/ejvs0703/ejvs0703article.pdf. 74. Mishra and Iyengar clearly lack an extensive linguistic background, though they have done some general background reading on Indo-Aryan. 75. See above, nn. 68-73. 76. They use Talageri 2008 (Mitanni is Tate Rgvedic’!). 77. Cf. Witzel, EJVS 7-3, 2001b, §15, p. 49; compare the contemporaneous change from azhd > odh in: vodhar- < vazdhar < vaj’hdar < IE *weg’h-tor. 78. See Witzel 1989: § 6.3 on the ‘Rgvedic (’. 79. Constantly so, against the metrical expectations, see van Nooten and G. Holland 2004: V. 80. With post-Rgvedic loss of

except in the Taittiriya school of the Black

Yajurveda, and there only for some selected words like stivar. See Witzel 1989: § 6.5. 81. The perfect participle sahvdms- of sah (*saj’h) ‘to overcome’ is due to an old development: the strong stem was sa-saj’h-, while the weak stem *sa-zj’hwhich was changed early on, with loss of -z- > sdjh- (Kiimmel 2000: 565), with dissimilatory vowel lengthening (cf. midha, below); indeed this happened so early that a still developed, and not yet the usual -e- (see below on -az-). 82. Found at all historical levels: oldest RV: 4.35.8; 4.50.3; 4.56.7; 5.8.4; 6.15.8; etc.; middle level-. 3.31.9; 3.63.13; 1.89.2; 1.164.39; late levels-. 1.25.13, and many more. 83. Full grade: sa-sdd, ma-mad-, ja-jds-, ta-tdm-, etc. 84. Note that a similar development has taken place with Abhinita Sandhi *-awa- > 6, and old [a], lengthened to [a:], written |o|. See Witzel 1989: §6.7. 85. Like other cases of lengthened £lo, such as e, 6, in Abhinihita Sandhi, see Witzel 1989: § 6.7, and in: Poetics and Pronunciation (2012). 86. See Bartholomae 1904: 1753 sqq. 87. See Kiimmel 2000: 19 for an explanation of the -e- perfect in roots with the structure CaC > CeC. —For an unlikely explanation of -e- in other verbs (see above), see Wackernagel quoted by Thieme 1960: 302 n. 6. 88. A complex case, for details see Kiimmel 2000: 391 sq. 89. One could establish a statistic evaluation of these occurrences, adjusted to the length of the RV books, but the evidence is obvious anyhow.

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90. Cf. the case of sdhvdms, above n. 81. 91. Obviously the /?Vhas no -z- left otherwise (note *sazj‘h in n. 81); it has been eliminated in Sandhi and in compounds such as mano-ratha, tapo-jd, namo-vrdh, etc. 92. One cannot explain the analogous forms such as neme by general post-. Rgvedic (orthoepic, diaskeuast) change, as Mishra and Iyengar might be apt to do, for there are certain exceptions from this development in the RV due to uneven speed in the spread of the analogy: e.g. in Vasistha’s mamndte 7.31.7, 7.93.6. Nevertheless, the analogous development is too pervasive, and it continues in post-7?V times with roots such as tan, nah, man, ram, sac, say, see Kiimmel 2000, ad loc. 93. The same is obviously necessary for a host of developments from MitanniIA or from Indo-Iranian down to Rgvedic. See above for archaisms in Mitanni IA, and add the well-known developments of Hr: Y > Vedic /, etc. 94. Such as traditionalists would assert: 18Feb. 3102BCE(basedonVarahamihira’s calculation of c. 550 ce!). 95. That is, only in some sections of current Indian society. 96. This also agrees with the attested dates for horses and chariots: both appear in South Asia only after 2000/1800 bce: the first well-excavated, stratified, and palaeontologically confirmed horse bones/depictions in S. Asia are found in Pirak (E. Baluchistan) at 1800/1400 bce, and also in Swat, see Meadow 1983; Meadow, R. and A. Patel 1997, Zahir 2012. These need not be the horses of Indo-Aryan speakers but, just as seen in contemporaneous Mesopotamia (note the non-IE Kassite abirattas = abhirathas and the Mitanni Kikkulis horse training text); rather, they can be those of tribes merely culturally related to them, thus forerunners of the IA; like the Guti, Lullubi in Mesopotamia around 2000 bce, followed by the Kassite takeover in the South, and by the Mitanni with an IA adstrate, in the North. 97. See Witzel 1995. 98. Kavasa - Kavasa - KavasI - Kavaseya, between the RV and TS mantras: Witzel 2000/2003b, n. 13, Proferes 1999, Kasamatsu, MA thesis, Tohoku University 2000 (Aruna-Aruna-Aruni-Aruneya), cf. now Kasamatsu 2001/2010. 99. Allowing a margin for some late hymns in book 10. 100. Exotic, meteoric iron is occasionally hammered and used well before that. 101. Such as detailed investigations of the first appearance and nature of Old Iranian speech (Witzel, The Iranian Substrate, presentation at the Mayrhofer symposium, Vienna May 2012). 102. See now Mhd. Zahir 2012. 103. Which anyhow is impossible because of lack of horses and chariots in South Asia before c. 2000/1800 bce.

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Ahmed, Kozad Mohamed. ‘The Beginnings of Ancient Kurdistan (c. 25001500 bc): A Historical and Cultural Synthesis’ (thesis), Leiden, 2012. Anthony, David. The Horse, the Wheel, and Language: How Bronze-Age Riders from the Eurasian steppes Shaped the Modem World. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007. Arnold, E.V. Vedic Metre in its Historical Development. Cambridge University Press, 1905. Balkan, K. Kassitenstudien I. Die Sprache der Kassiten. New Haven: AOS, 1954. Becker, C. Zur Problematik friiher Pferdenachweise im ostlichen Mittelmeergebiet, in Hansel and Zimmer, 1994, 145-77. BTHL. Wb. = Bartholomae, Chr. Altiranisches Worterbuch. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1904. D’iakonov, Igor’ Mikhailovich and S.A. Starostin. Hurro-Urartian as an Eastern Caucasian Language. Miinchen: R. Kitzinger, 1986. Diakonoff, I.M. Hurrisch und Urartdisch. Miinchen: Kitzinger, 1971. -, Hurro-Urartian Borrowings in Old Armenian. JAOS 105, 1985, 597604. Drews, Robert. The Coming of the Greeks. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988. EWAia = Mayrhofer, Etymologisches Worterbuch... Francfort, H.P. ‘The Central Asian Dimension of the Symbolic System in Bactria and Margiana’. Antiquity 68, 1994, 406-18. Hansel, Bernfried and Stefan Zimmer, M.L. Dunkelman, A. Hintze. Die Indogermanen und das Pferd. Festschrift fur Bernfried Schlerath. Akten des intemationalen interdisziplinaren Kolloquiums, Freie Universitdt Berlin, 1.-3. Juli 1992. Budapest: Archaeolingua, 1994. Hiebert, F. T. ‘South Asia from a Central Asian Perspective’, in G. Erdosy (ed.) The Indo-Aryans of Ancient South Asia: Language, Material Culture and Ethnicity, Berlin, New York: de Gruyter, 1995: 192-212. Hintze, A. ‘The Migrations of the Indo-Aryans and the Iranian Sound-Change s > h\ in W. Meid (edl), Akten der FachtagungderIndogermanischen Gesellschaft in Innsbruck, 1996. Innsbruck, 1998. Guterbock, H.G. Die historische Tradition und ihre literarische Gestaltung bei Babyloniern und Hethitern II. Zeitschriftfur Assy rio logic und Vorderasiatische Archdologie. 44, 1938, NF 10, 45-149. Hock, H.H. ‘Dialects, Diglossia, and Diachronic Phonology in Early IndoAryan’, in Studies in the Historical Phonology of Asian Languages, ed. William G. Boltz, and Michael C. Shapiro. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1991: 119-59.

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Hrozny, Bedfich. ‘The Language of the Hittites; Its Structure and its Membership in the Indo-European Linguistic Family’. Leipzig, 1917. Jaritz, K. Die kassitischen Sprachreste. Anthropos, vol. 52, 1957: 850-98. Kammenhuber, A. Die Arier im vorderen Orient. Heidelberg: Winter, 1968. -, Hippologia Hethitica. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1961. Kasamatsu, Sunao. ‘On the Priesthood of Uddalaka Aruni’ [in Japanese]. Journal of Indian and Buddhist Studies (Indogaku Bukkyogaku Kenkyu) 49 (2001) no. 2. Released: 9 March 2010. Kiimmel, M.J. Das Perfekt im Indoiranischen. Wiesbaden: Reichert, 2000. Kuiper, F.B.J. Aryans in the Rigveda, Amsterdam-Atlanta: Rodopi, 1991. Lamberg-Karlovsky, C.C. ‘Language and Archaeology: The Indo-Iranians’. Current Anthropology 43, 2002, 63-88. Lubotsky, A. ‘The Indo-Iranian Substratum’, in Carpelan, Chr. et al., Early Contacts between Uralic and Indo-European: Linguistic and Archaeological Considerations. Helsinki, Suomalais-Ugrilainen Seura, 2001: 301-17. Macdonell, A.A. A Vedic Grammar for Students, Oxford University Press, 1916. Magee, P., F. Khan, J.R. Knox, C.A. Petrie and K.D. Thomas, ‘Exploring Iron Age Complexity in the North West Frontier Province, Pakistan: The 2000 Season of Excavations at Akra by the Bannu Archaeological Project’, in C. Jarrige and V. Lefevre (eds.). South Asian Archaeology 2001: Proceedings of the Sixteenth International Conference on South Asian Archaeology, European Association of South Asian Archaeologists, Paris, 2-6 July 2001, vol. 2005:

201-6. Mayrhofer, M. Die Indo-Arier im Alten Vorderasien. Mit einer analytischen Bibliographic, Wiesbaden, 1966. -■, Ober den spontanen Zerebralnasal im friihen Indoarischen. Melanges d’Indianisme a la memoire de Louis Renou, Paris: Boccard, 1968: 509-17. -, Die Arier im vorderen Orient-ein Mythosl Wien, 1974. -, Etymologisches Worterbuch des Altindoarischen. Heidelberg: C. Winter 1986-2001 (= EWAia). Meadow, R. The Equids of Mehrgarh, Sibri and Pirak: An Osteological Evidence for the Introduction of the Horse to South Asia. Paper presented at the Seventh Conference of South Asian Archaeology, Brussels, 4-8 July 1983. Meadow, R. and A. Patel. A Comment on: ‘Horse Remains from Surkodata by Sandor Bokonyi’, South Asian Studies, 1997, 13: 308-15. Mishra, Satish S. and Ravilochanan Iyengar, ‘Pre-Rig Vedic Mitanni?’ in Aryan Invasion Theory, Volume Two, Vivekananda Kendra Patrika, Chennai, August 2010-January 2011, vol. 40, no. 2, 80th Issue: 19-26; available at: http:// prakashan.vivekanandakendra.org/sites/default/files/85323769VIVEKANANDA-KENDRA-PATRIKA-ARYAN-INVASION-THEORYPart-2-August-10-January-11 -lssue_0.pdf.

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Nikolayev, S. and S. Starostin. North Caucasian Etymological Dictionary. Moscow: Asterisk Press, 1994. Nooten, B. van and G. Holland, Rgveda: A Metrically Restored Text. Cambridge: Harvard Oriental Series, 2004. Oldenberg, H. Die Hymnen des Rigyeda, Band I. Metrische und textgeschichtliche Prolegomena, Berlin: Wilhelm Hertz, 1888; Engl, transl. by V.G. Paranjape and M.A. Mehendaie, Delhi: Motilal, Banarasidass, 2005. Petrie C.A. The Late 1st and Early 2nd Millennia ad at Akra, N.W.F.P., Pakistan, in C. Jarrige and V. Lefevre (eds.), South Asian Archaeology 2001: Proceedings of the Sixteenth International Conference on South Asian Archaeology European Association of South Asian Archaeologists, Paris, 2-6 July 2001, vol. II, pp. 607-14. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 2005. Pinault, G. Une nouvelle connexion entre le substrat indo-iranien et le tokharien commun. Historische Sprachforschung 116, 2003. Possehl, G. and P. Gullapalli. ‘The Early Iron Age in South Asia’, in V. Pigott (ed.), The Archaeometallurgy of the Asian Old World. Philadelphia: The University Museum, 1999: 153-75. Proferes, Th. ‘The Formation ofVedic Liturgies’. Harvard Ph.D. thesis, 1999. Rau, W. Metalle undMetallgerdte im vedischen Indien. Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Mainz, Abhandlungen der Geistes- u. Sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse 1973, no. 8, Wiesbaden: F. Steiner, 1974. Raulwing, P. The Kikkuli Text (CHT 284). ‘Some Interdisciplinary Remarks on Hittite Training Texts for Chariot Horses in the Second Half of the 2nd Millennium bc.’ in Arnelle Gardeisen (ed.), Les equides dans le monde mediterraneen antique: actes du colloque organise par l’Ecole franchise d’Athenes, le Centre Camille Jullian et l’UMR 5140 du CNRS, Athenes, 26-8 novembre 2003. Lattes: Association pour le developpement de l’archeologie en Languedoc-Roussillon, 2005: 61-75. -, Horse, Chariots and Indo-Europeans: Foundations and Methods of Charioty Research from the Viewpoint of Comparative Indo-European Linguistics. Budapest: Archaeolingua [Series Minor 13], 2000. -, ‘The Kikkuli Text. Hittite Training Instructions for Chariot Horses in the Second Half of the 2nd Millennium bc and Their Interdisciplinary Context.’ 2009. pdf. From: http://faculty.uml.edu/Ethan_Spanier/Teaching/ documents/CP3.2Ki kkuliTablets.pdf Raulwing, P. and Juliet Clutton-Brock (2009). ‘The Buhen Horse: Fifty Years after its Discovery (1958-2008)’. Journal of Egyptian History 2, 2009, 1-106. Scharfe, H. ‘Bartholomae’s Law Revisited or How the Rgveda is Dialectally Divided’. Studien zur Indologie und Iranistik 20 (1996): 351-77. Sharma, B.R. ‘Diphthongs in Saman Technical Literature’. Bulletin of the Deccan College Post-Graduate & Research Institute 51 -2, 1991-2: 187-98.

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Stuhrmann, R. Rigvedisch Pur. EJVS 15, 2008, 1-42. http://www.ejvs. laurasianacademy.com/ejvs 1501 /RigvedischPur.pdf Talageri, S. Rigveda and the Avesta: The Final Evidence. Delhi: Aditya Prakashan, 2008. -, Rigveda: A Historical Analysis. Delhi: Aditya Prakashan, 2000. -, Aryan Invasion Theory and Indian Nationalism. Delhi: Voice of India, 1993. Sergent, B. Genese de llnde. Paris: Payot, 1997. Starke, Frank. Ausbildung und Training von Streitwagenpferden, eine hippologisch orientierte Interpretation des Kikkuli- Textes. StBot 41. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz 1995. Tewari, Rakesh et al., Early Farming at Lahuradewa, International Seminar on the First Farmers in Global Perspective, Lucknow, 18-20 January 2006, Pragdhara 18 (2009). -et al., ‘Further Excavations at Lahuradeva, District Sant Kabir Nagar’. Purdtattva 36, 2006. Thieme, Paul. ‘The ‘Aryan’ Gods of the Mitanni Treaties’. JAOS 80, 1960: 301 17. -, Kleine Schriften. Band 1. Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1984. Tripathi, Vibha. History of Iron Technology in India (From the Beginning to PreModem Times). Delhi: Rupa & Infinity Foundation, 2008. Witzel, M. ‘Tracing the Vedic Dialects’, in Colette Caillat, Dialects dans les litteratures indo-aryennes. Actes du Colloque International. . . Paris, 1986. Paris: College de France, Institut de civilisation indienne 1989: 97-264. -, ‘Rgvedic History: Poets, Chieftains and Polities’, in: G. Erdosy, ed., The Indo-Aryans of Ancient South Asia, Berlin, 1995, 307-54. -, The Home of the Aryans. Anusantatyai. Fs. fur Johanna Narten zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. A. Hintze and E. Tichy (Mtinchener Studien zur Sprachwissenschaft, Beihefte NF 19) Dettelbach: J.H. Roell 2000: 283338. > Westward Ho! The Incredible Wanderlust of the Rgvedic Tribes Exposed by S. Talageri’. A Review of: Shrikant G. Talageri, The Rigveda: A Historical

Analysis (Savadhanapattra no. 2) EJVS 7-2, 31 March 2001a. http://www. ejvs.laurasianacademy.com/ejvs0702/ejvs0702article.pdf --> Autochthonous Aryans? The Evidence from Old Indian and Iranian Texts’. EJVS 7-3, 2001b. http://www.people.fas.harvard.edu/%7EwitzeI/ EJVS-7-3.pdf. , Linguistic Evidence for Cultural Exchange in Prehistoric Western Central Asia. Philadelphia: Sino-Platonic Papers 129, 2003a. http://www.sinoplatonic.org/complete/sppl29_prehistoric_central_asia_linguistics.pdf , Yajnavalkya as Ritualist and Philosopher, and his Personal Language, in S. Adhami (ed.), Paitimana: Essays in Iranian, Indo-European, and Indian

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-, ‘Central Asian Roots and Acculturation in South Asia: Linguistic and Archaeological Evidence from Western Central Asia, the Hindukush and Northwestern South Asia for Early Indo-Aryan Language and Religion, in T. Osada (ed.), Linguistics, Archaeology and the Human Past. Kyoto: Indus Project, Research Institute for Humanity and Nature, 2004, 87-211. -, ‘Loan Words in Western Central Asia: Indicators of Substrate Populations, Migrations, and Trade Relations, in V. Mair (ed.), Contact and Exchange in the Ancient World. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2006: 138-190. -, and Toshifumi Goto. Rig-Veda. Das heilige Wissen. Erster und zweiter Liederkreis. Aus dem vedischen Sanskrit ubersctzt und herausgegeben von Michael Witzel und Toshifumi Goto unter Mitarbeit von Eijiro Doyama und Mislav Jezic. Frankfurt: Verlag der Weltreligionen, 2007. -, ‘Poetics and Pronunciation’, in Indie Across the Millennia: from the Rigveda to Modem Indo-Aryan. Proceedings of the Linguistics Sessions of the 14th World Sanskrit Conference, Kyoto, Japan, 1-5 September 2009. Aachen: Hempen Verlag 2012. -, The Iranian Substrate. Presentation at the M. Mayrhofer Symposium, Vienna, May 2012. Zahir, Muhammad. ‘The Protohistoric Cemeteries of Northwestern Pakistan: The Deconstruction and Reinterpretations of Archaeological and Burial Traditions’. Ph.D. thesis. University of Leicester, 2012.

CHAPTER 3

The Idea of the ‘South’ (Daksina) in Early India P.K. BASANT

INTRODUCTION Human communities divide and give names to the spaces they occupy in a variety of ways. Such ‘territorial imperatives’ represent one of the important markers of identity for humans. The idea of village, town or country are predicated upon a definition of space. This essay intends to trace the idea of the ‘south’ in early India. This enquiry is not about how individuals and groups created their notions of space; rather, it is about the formation of the dominant tradition about the division of the Indian subcontinent. In modern times ‘south India’ refers to the provinces of Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and Kerala. This notion of the ‘south’ is different from the traditional brahmanical notion, which regards the river Narmada or the Vindhya mountain ranges as the line dividing the north and the south.1 Similarly, in the famous Allahabad prasasti of Samudragupta, many territories of Madhya Pradesh and Orissa are placed in the daksina (south). While Madhya Pradesh is considered part of north India, Orissa is believed to be located in east India in modern times. These references indicate that the notion of ‘south’ has varied through time. In this essay, I shall examine the idea of ‘south’ in the early Indian Sanskrit and Pali texts. This is because the idea of ‘south’ is an invention of the north Indian tradition. I intend to explore whether the ‘south’ simply referred to a territory or whether it was also connected with perceptions of cultural variables like language, kinship and customs. The Aitareya Brdhmana provides one of the earliest references

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to territorial identities covering large areas. In the chapter on Indramahabhiseka (VIII. 14), the term ‘middle fixed region’ has been used.2 This ‘fixed region’ was inhabited by the Kurus, Pancalas, Vasas, and Uslnaras. Apart from mentioning ‘the middle fixed region’ the Aitareya Brdhmana also mentions regions of the north, south, east and west. The use of the words ‘asydm for the ‘middle fixed region’ and ‘etasyam for other territories like south or west, indicates that the composers of the texts were located in the ‘middle fixed’ territory. The idea that the middle region was ‘fixed’ also indicates that other regions were more fluid and their boundaries could shift. Since the middle region itself consisted of four janapadas, we can assume that other regions too were believed to consist of manyjanapadas. Names of many janapadas are mentioned in contemporary texts like the Satapatha Brdhmana. This indicates that the Brihmana tradition was already visualizing a vast space that was home to many janapadas. Similarly, Panini, a grammarian who lived in the sixth-fifth century bce,

envisages linguistic units that were constellations of many

janapadas. He used categories like udicya and pracya to denote areas following varying traditions of Sanskrit speech. Udicya and pracya were further sub-divided into areas like KapisI, Gandhara, Kosala, Kasi, Magadha and many other territories (Agrawal 1996:41 -2). The early Buddhist literature refers to the Jambudvipa (Jambudipa) which consisted of many mahajanapadas. For example, the Cakkavattisihanadasuttanta of the Dighanikaya says A Jambudipa will be mighty and prosperous, the villages, towns and royal cities will be so close that a cock could fly from each one to the next. This Jambudipa will be pervaded by mankind even as a jungle is by reeds and rushes. (Rhys Davids 1921: 72-3)

The composers of these texts perceived some connectedness underlying the individual histories of different regions. Such an idea of space that divided territories of east-west and north-south was premised upon an idea of a ‘middle territory’. That is why the literature of the sixth-fifth century

bce

frequently refers to the madhyadesa

(middle country). In order to locate ‘south’ we need to discover the centre, i.e. the space that was used to define territories in the four directions.

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THE MIDDLE COUNTRY Located in the larger world of the Jambudvlpa or Aryavarta was a unit of settlement called the ‘middle country’ {madhyadesa). Its towns and villages are described in glowing terms. The earliest references to madhyadesa are found in the later Vedic texts. These texts consisting of the collection of Yajus and Atharvan, the Brahmanas and the Upanisads were composed in the land of the Kuru-Pancalas. The period of their composition is believed to be between 1000 and 600 bce (Macdonell and Keith 1912, 1: 165-9). This was the period of the formation of the janapadas, which means that in the Kuru-Pancala area, agricultural communities had become more visible and powerful than foragers and pastoralists. These agricultural communities attached to specific geographical tracts were controlled by dominant ksatriya lineages like the Kurus. The famous story in the Mahabhdrata, of the Kuru king Yayati banishing his sons to different directions and installing Puru in the ‘middle country’, indicates clear notions of territoriality, and the assumption that the Kuru-Pancala region was the ‘middle country’. What constituted the ‘middle country’? Texts like the Aitareya Brahmana and the Gopatha Brahmana refer to the notion of the middle country. The Aitareya Brahmana regards the Kuru-Pancala and Vasa-Usinara area as the ‘middle country’ (Kane 1965, II: 641). This would correspond to modern Kurukshetra, Delhi, Meerut and some areas further east. The Taittiriya Aranyaka points out that Kuruksetra was bounded on the south by the Khandava, on the north by Turghna and on the west by Parlnah (Law 1976: 101). The famous Mahabhdrata story about the founding of Indraprastha and burning the Khandavaprastha gives some idea about the southern limits of Kuruksetra at the time of the Brahmanas. The Dharmasutra of Baudhayana describes the madhyadesa as lying to the east of the area where the river Sarasvati disappears, to the west of the Kalakavana (a orest near Allahabad), to the north of the Paripatra (the Satpura ranges in Madhya Pradesh) and south of the Himalayas. This notion °f the madhyadesa is found in the Manusmrti too. Many of the Pura nas, believed to have been written around the fifth-sixth century, follow the division of space defined by the Dharmasdstra literature. Ihis definition of the madhyadesa excluded places east of Allahabad

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from its ambit. This would mean that eastern Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and Bengal were not considered part of the madbyadesa. Thus, cities like Varanasi, Vaishali or Pataliputra were believed to be located beyond the madbyadesa. What is interesting, however, is that the boundaries of the madbyadesa as mentioned in the brahmanical literature and the Buddhist literature do not match. The Buddha lived and preached in eastern Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. The four places of pilgrimage in the Buddhist tradition—Kapilavastu, Bodh Gaya, Saranatha and Kuslnara, were located beyond the madbyadesa of the brahmana tradition. The majjhimadesa (madbyadesa) of the Buddhist texts includes areas that were closely linked to the life of the Buddha. In the Mahavagga, the eastern boundary of the madbyadesa is said to extend up to the town of Kajangala (near Bhagalpur, Bihar) (Law 1976: 12-13). The mabajanapadas of Kasi, Kosala, Anga, Magadha, Vajji, Malla, Cetiya and Vatsa, areas beyond the boundaries of the brahmanical the madbyadesa, were part of the Buddhist conception of the madbyadesa. The authors of the brahmanical and Buddhist texts pictured themselves as cultured and civilized people who were located in the centre of the world. Thus, they claimed that the madbyadesa was the place where the conduct of people was in accordance with dharma. It was the place where people spoke a chaste language. It is here and not elsewhere that the gods traditionally sacrificed and held their long sattra rites to overcome their perpetual foes, the asuras (Witzel 1995: 16). Brahmanical and Buddhist texts exhort people to follow the cultural practices of the people of the ‘middle country’. The Satapatha Brahmana regards the language of the inhabitants of the Kuru-Pancala area as the finest (Kane 1963 I: 107). So, the 'middle country’ was seen as different from other areas because people spoke a ‘better’ language. Part of it was called the Brabmarsidesa where ‘the conduct of the four classes ... and the intermediary classes, handed down for generations, is called the conduct of good people’ (Manusmrti 2.17). The ‘middle country’ was the area of ‘good conduct’. In the age of the Brahmanas, ‘good conduct’ would probably have meant following the rules of caste and observation of various rituals. By the same logic, one can assume that those who did not live in the ‘middle country

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spoke ‘crude’ languages, did not follow the rules of caste, nor performed brahmanical rituals. Differences in the definition of the madhyadesa between the Buddhist and brahmanical texts prove that middle country is a cultural construct with physical dimensions. The notions of ‘south’ and of ‘east’ shifted correspondingly with the shift in the location of the madhyadesa. What needs to be emphasized is that the idea of ‘south’ or ‘east’ was as much a cultural construct as the ‘middle country’. Although there are variations in the accounts of the physical space covered by the madhyadesa, the cultural definition remains the same. This would mean that the daksinapatha was a physical as well as a cultural entity. Variations in the ancient texts in the location of the daksinapatha suggest a dynamic notion of cultural change. The boundaries of the madhyadesa and the daksinapatha changed over a period of time. While there is a greater clarity about the integration of eastern areas like Bihar and Bengal into the brahmanical ideology (Law 1976: 12-13), such clarity is lacking about the southward expansion of Brahmanism.

THE EARLIEST ‘SOUTH’ In the late portions of the Rgveda, ‘south’ had a negative connotation. It was the land of banishment, of exile (Raychaudhuri 1923:40; Witzel 1999: 14).3 The same text mentions the name of Pramaganda, the chieftain of the Klkata (RV 3.53.14). Witzel locates them to the south of Kurukshetra (ibid. 40). The Taittiriya Aranyaka points out that Kuruksetra was bounded on the south by the Khandava (Law 1976: 101). The famous Mahabharata story of the burning of the Khan. davaprastha4 gives us some idea about the location of Khandava that defined the southern limits of Kuruksetra in the time of the Brahma nas. Witzel has pointed to the presence of retroflex consonants in the word Khandava and Klkata (Witzel 1999: 14). Such a cluster of consonants was alien to the Indo-Aryan languages in the early stages. The word Khandava, its description as a place peopled by aborigines, the story of its burning by Arjuna and its settlement by the Pandavas, seem to indicate that the area around Delhi (Indraprastha) was alien territory for the Kurus. Brahmana texts locate the Bharatas in the

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area of the Sarasvati, Yamuna and Ganga (Raychaudhuri 1923: 42). In the Satapatba Brabmana Bharata is said to have defeated the Satvats and taken away the horse which they had prepared for an asvamedha sacrifice. These Satvats lived near Bharata’s realm, i.e. near the Ganges and the Yamuna (Satapatha Brabmana, XIII. 5.4.11. and XIII. 5.4.21). The Aitareya Brabmana (VIII. 14) speaks of monarchs of the south who were called Bhojas and whose subjects were called Satvats. In the great epic, the Bhojas are declared to have been descended from Druhyu, the third son of Yayati, the great ancestor of the KuruPancalas. At the end of the Musala Parva in the Mababbarata, Arjuna is shown as settling the aged men, women and children of the Vrsnis in Indraprastha. He also established a Yadu prince named Vajra in Indraprastha (Mababbarata 16.8.67-70). Thus, the area around Delhi was believed to have some connection with the Yadavas. The terms Bhoja, Satvat, Vrsni, Andhaka and Yadava are used interchangeably in the later Vedic and post-Vedic texts. There are many references to the banishment of Yadu to the south/west (Thapar 1978: 306). References in the Brabmana texts seem to indicate that in the early centuries of the first millennium

bce,

‘South’ might refer to areas

around Delhi. It is well-known that Yadava lineages were located in and around Mathura. The association of the Yadavas with Mathura, which was to the south of the Kuru-Pancala area, would attest to a similar tradition. In the Sabba Parva of the Mababbarata, Sahadeva sets out to conquer the ‘south’. His victory march begins with a conquest of the land of the Surasenas (Mababbarata 2.28.1). In the context of the later Vedic ‘middle country’ the banishment of Yadu to the south would simply mean that the people living to the south of Delhi did not follow brahmanical customs. However, at some point in later Vedic times, Mathura was integrated into the ‘middle country’. One can make this inference because the Manusmrti considers the Surasena territory (areas around Mathura) as part of the Brahmarsidesa which was a shade less pure than the Kuru-Pancala area. This, probably, explains the role of the Yadavas in the Mababbarata where they shuttle between a marginal presence and a central role. Mathura and the areas south of it are noticed in the Mababbarata and the Puranas. Many early texts indicate that it was considered an area on the margins of the heartland of Brahmanism. The Mababbarata calls the river Kali

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Sindh (in Malwa) by the name of Daksina Sindhu (3.80.72). It is thus obvious that the early composers of the Mahdbhdrata regarded the territories around this river as part of the south.

‘SOUTH’ AFTER THE SIXTH CENTURY BCE The whole tract of land lying to the south of the Ganges and to the north of the Godavari is known as the Daksinapatha. (Suttanipata, quoted in Law 1976: 14) In the southern region of Avanti, monks, the surface-soil is dark, hard,trampled by the hooves of cattle. I allow, monks, in all border districts, sandals with many linings ... so, monks, in the southern region of Avanti hides (are used as) coverings: sheep-hide, goat-hide, deer-hide. I allow, monks, in all border districts, hides (to be used as) coverings. (Vinaya Pitaka, Mahdvagga, Bk.: 1, tr. Horner, vol. IV, pp. 266-7) To Turvasa he assigned the south-east districts of his kingdom; the west to Druhyu; the south to Yadu; and the north to Anu; to govern as viceroys under their younger brother Puru, whom he appointed supreme monarch of the earth. (Visnu Purana 4.10) The quotation from the Suttanipata shows that the ‘south’ was located in the present-day southern Uttar Pradesh, Malwa and Maharashtra areas. The Avanti region is considered pan of the south (dakkhinapatha) in the early Buddhist literature. The Buddha allowed monks of Avanti and the border countries to use coverlets of a different kind. The number of Buddhist monks was so small in Avanti that the Buddha reduced the number of monks needed for the ordination of monks in Avanti and the border countries (Mahdvagga, Pali Canon database record: 251, 252). Similarly, the Jataka literature routinely refers to Avanti as part of the south (Jataka no. 423, 522). References in the Buddhist texts indicate that the early Buddhists of the middle country perceived Avanti to be different from their area. Mathura and the areas south of it are noticed in the Mahdbhdrata and the Pauranic literature. Many early texts indicate that it was considered an area on the margins of the heartland of Brahmanism. I am not concerned with the banishment of Yadu per se; rather, I am trying to construct the image of the ‘south’ and the Avanti region in the minds of the people of the Kuru country before the sixth century BCE.5

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The Puranas associate the Haihaya branch of the Yadavas with Avanti. They mention five branches of the Haihayas, namely Vltihotras, Bhojas, Avantis, Kundikeras orTundikeras and theTalajanghas. When the rule of the Vltihotras and the Avantis ended, an amatya (minister) named Pulika is said to have killed his master and installed his son Pradyota as king (Raychaudhuri 1923: 76). The account seems to indicate that different parts of Avanti were controlled by various Yadava chieftains. If we study the genealogy of the Yadava clans, a process of consolidation of power in fewer hands is discernible. This process culminated in the emergence of monarchy under Pradyota. Some of the sources refer to a city called Mahismati as the capital of the Avanti daksindpatha (Law 1976: 52). It shows that even in the early historic period parts of Malwa were considered parts of the ‘south’. Even when Avanti was considered part of the ‘middle country’, it was bracketed with Asmaka of the daksindpatha. Panini, the grammarian who lived in the sixth-fifth century bce, mentioned three pairs of janapadas. Not all of them were geographically contiguous (Agrawal 1996: 74). The pairing of Avanti and Asmaka whose boundaries were not contiguous was probably related to the cultural homogeneity between these regions.

‘SOUTH’ IN THE SECOND CENTURY BCE The country between the Himalayas and the Vindhya mountains, to the east of the ‘Disappearance’ and to the west of Prayaga, is known as the Middle Country {Manusmrti 2.21). And what is Aryavarta? It is the area east of the Adarsa, west of Kalakavana,south of the Himavanta and north of the Pariyatra. (Mahdbhasya 2.4.10)

The passages above indicate that by the second century bce, the Malwa area had been integrated into the ‘middle country’. It had become part of the brahmanical heartland. It was no longer considered a distant border area sometimes bracketed with the daksinapatha. After the second century

bce,

most of the literature refers to Narmada or

the Vindhya mountains as the border between the ‘middle country’ and the ‘south’ (Law 1976: 12). It was in the early centuries of the Common Era that inscriptions bracket Avanti and Akara together.

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This suggests that Avanti had been removed from its earlier association with Asmaka. Asmaka was located in the trans-Vindhyan area that was part of the daksinapatha. Could this dissociation be related to the integration of the Avanti area into the north Indian brahmanical tradition? The evidence presented above suggests that there were two stages before the emergence of the classical definition of the south. In the sections that follow I intend to examine the idea of ‘south’ in the larger context of the perception of this region in the brahmanical tradition. Did the south simply refer to a direction or did it signify a different cultural landscape? Modern ethnographic literature shows that the two most important characteristics of the ‘south’ are (i) Dravidian languages and (ii) the practice of cross-cousin marriage. That ‘south’ indicated a cultural unit can be deduced from the fact that there are references to a southern script, southern hero (Nayaka), and southern language (Bohtlingk and Roth 1990: 484, 486, 581). If the notion of daksina encompasses many other cultural traits apart from the physical space, can one argue that it also referred to different kinship systems. The Baudhayana and Gautama Dharmasutras refer to the practice of cross-cousin marriage in the south (Kane 1963, I: 280). Similarly, the Kdmasutra seems to use south and Dravidian kinship interchangeably. It says that a person should marry his maternal uncle’s daughter in the southern countries (Kishore 2002: 115). The early Brahmana texts associate the south with the Yadavas. I shall study their attitude towards property, gift exchange, kinship, marriage, succession and inheritance. Such a study might give us clues about the idea of the ‘south’. I am not concerned with the banishment of Yadu per se; rather, I am trying to construct the image of the ‘south’ in the minds of the people of the Kuru country before the sixth century

bce.

THE YADAVAS AND THE IDEA OF THE ‘SOUTH’ The early brahmanical literature associated the Yadavas6 with areas like Mathura,7 Avanti, Saurashtra and Vidarbha.These areas were also called ‘south’ in the Brahmana literature. The Yadavas are frequently

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mentioned in the later Vedic works like the Satapatha Brdhmana and the Aitareya Brdhmana. The early Vedic literature uses the word Yadu and Yadava interchangeably. In the Rgveda they are said to have participated in the ‘battle of the ten kings’ (Vedic Index II: 185). They are also mentioned in the Puranas. Krsna, the great Pauranic deity, was born as a Yadu prince. Many Yadava dynasties emerged in the historical period. Obviously, the Aryan tribe of the Yadus who fought in the battle of the ten kings’ and the Yadava dynasties which emerged in central India and Maharashtra over a thousand years later were not the same people. Most of our information about the Yadus comes from the Mahabharata, Harivamsa, Bhdgavata and Visnu Puranas, all of which were composed in the middle of the first millennium ce. The fact that the Yadavas are frequently mentioned in the Vedic literature indicates that some of the information provided in these texts dates back to 800-700 BCE.The epics and Puranas are collections of myths, legends and stories that were part of oral traditions. Many additions and deletions were made before they were written down. Thus descriptions of simple tribal societies and complex urban formations coexist in the same text. Oral traditions are concerned both with the past and the present of the composers (Vansina 1985: 108). Any attempt to present a synchronic picture of a society reflected in these texts would be misleading. Although my choice of contexts might appear arbitrary and shall assume a uniform development in time and space, it might give useful insights. The Harivamsa says that the Yadavas conquered territories extending from Anarta (modern Kathiawar and portions of Malwa) to Mathura (Harivamsa 54). There are references to Mahisrhant, a member of the Haihaya segment of the Yadavas, as having founded the city of Mahismatl. In another instance, Kartavirya Arjuna is credited with the defeat of Karkotaka Naga and the establishment of Mahismatl (Smith 1973: 26-7). One of the sons ofTalajangha was Avanti after whom this area was named (ibid.: 27). Similarly, the Ghata Jataka records the tradition of the Yadavas staying in Mathura and Dvaravatl {Ghata Jataka no. 454). Various other regions associated with the Yadavas include Kathiawar, the Deccan and the Banas Valley (Romila Thapar 1978: 250-4).8

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POLITY OF THE YADAVAS Yayati to Yadu: ‘Thy children shall never be kings.’ (Mahabharata 1.79.7)

The Mahabharata, several Puranas, the Astadhyayi and the Arthasastra state that the Yadavas did not have a monarchical government (Jayaswal 1943: 36-7; B.P. Majumdar 1969). In the Sabha Parva of the Mahabharata, the Dasarnas are specifically called ‘kingless’. When Yudhisthira paid homage to Krsna in the rajasuya sacrifice, Sisupala objected saying that he was not a king (.Mahabharata 2.34.1). The Mahabharata refers to the Andhaka-Vrsnis as a Samgha and Krsna as a Samgha chief (Raychaudhuri 1923: 73). Similarly, the Jaina Harivamsa refers to Krsna as sitting in the council chamber with his kinsmen and councillors (B.P Majumdar 1969: 153). On the authority of the Aitareya Brahmana, Jayaswal asserts that the Satvats practised bhaujya type of consecration, and their rulers were called Bhojas (Jayaswal 1943: 36-7).9 In the Mahabharata, the Bhojas are described as one of the constituents of the Vrsnisamgha. Karhsa is said to have oppressed the Bhojas, rdjanyas and old people (Mahabharata 2.13.2933). This indicates that there were three distinct categories of people who participated in taking decisions about the group. Bhojas, as mentioned earlier, were a ruling group. The rdjanyas were an important group of people. Jayaswal has explained this word on the authority of the Kdsikd. Explaining a sutra of Panini, the Kdsikd says that the rdjanyas were members of the consecrated families of the ksatriyas. All ksatriyas were not rdjanyas. The Kdsikd clearly states that though the Dvaipyas and Haimyas were staying with the Andhaka-Vrsnis, they could not be called rdjanyas. Jayaswal believed that the passage meant ‘leaders of families consecrated to rulership’. However, one finds examples in which many members of Krsna’s family participated in the assembly (Mahabharata 1.212.10-26). It seems that the sutra simply meant ‘members of leading families’. The AndhakaVrsnisamgha had 18 groups of people as its members. The Kdsikd cites the example of Sini, Vasudeva, Caitraka and Svaphalka as rdjanyas. The dynastic list provided by the Puranas is full of repetitions. However, for the Andhaka-Vrsnis, they provide the lineages of four

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groups: Satrajita and Prasena belonging to the Sini lineage, Akrura to the Svaphalka, Vasudeva and Krtvarman to the Caitraka, and Satyaki belonging to another Sini lineage. Ugrasena is believed to be in the direct line of Andhaka. The Harivamsa gives a slightly different list and repeats the pattern of presenting the lineage of the leaders mentioned above. The lineages of Kukuras, Madhus, Dasarhas, etc., who have been mentioned separately did not have any particular leader (Bhagavata Purana 1.11.14). Similarly, the Gopas who paid homage to Karhsa and lived in the same area as the Andhaka-Vrsnis, did not exercise political authority.10 They clearly seem to have been pastoral nomadic communities who took their decisions separately. A striking feature of the dynastic list of the Andhaka-Vrsnis is the mention of the names of all the sons. They seem to be ruling simultaneously over different areas. Succession was evidently not according to the law of primogeniture. For example, seven sons of Satvat are mentioned. Out of them Mahabhoja, Andhaka, Vrsni and Devavrddha were founders of lineages (Bhagavata Purana IX.24.6-8). In the Narada-Krsna dialogue in the Santi Parva of the Mahabharata, Narada mentions Krsna, Babhru and Ugrasena as kings (12.82). The Jain work Antagadadasao refers to the ten principal Dasarhas headed by Samudravijaya and to the five Mahavlras led by Baladeva (Agrawal 1996: 442). When Yudhisthira performed the rajasuya sacrifice, the Yadavas were represented by Krsna, Pradyumna, Samba, Gada, Vasudeva, Aniruddha, Babhru and Sarana rather than by one leader (Mahabharata 2.31.15). Even at as crucial a time as the Mahabharata war, Krsna and Satyaki sided with the Pandavas, Krtvarman fought for the Kauravas and Balarama remained neutral. Obviously, the Yadavas lacked a centralized authority. The Yadavas used to meet in an assembly called Sudharma Sabha which had hundreds of thrones (Mahabharata 1.212.14). Clearly, a large number of people participated in the assembly. In his conversation with Narada, Krsna complained bitterly about the hostile attitude and harsh speeches of his kinsmen. Narada advised him to be more tolerant and to win them over by tact and liberality. I shall briefly discuss the functions of the Andhaka-Vrsni assembly. In the Syamantaka jewel episode, Krsna brought back the jewels from Jambavana and gave them to Satrajita in the presence of the people in the assembly

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[Harivamsa II. 101-2; Bhagavata Parana X.56-7). It was a place where the spoils of war were shared. Immense wealth was distributed by Krsna to his kinsmen here (Harivamsa II. 100-2; Bhagavata Parana X.56-7). Interestingly, the assembly was also the place where people played various games. Here Krsna played dice (Bhagavata Purana X.66.36), and a game called gola with mates like Satyaki (Harivamsa III.111). Important issues affecting the future of the lineage were discussed here. When Krsna wanted the Yadus to migrate to Kusasthali, the matter was discussed in the assembly (Ibid. II. 56) as was the strategy against Jarasandha (Bhagavata Purana X.71). The messengers of Paundra-Vasudeva too arrived in the assembly to demand war or submission from Krsna (ibid., X. 66). The assembly could also be convened to settle matters relating to marriage. When Arjuna abducted Subhadra, soldiers complained to the sabhapala who started beating the war drums. The Bhojas, Andhakas and Vrsnis gathered in the assembly where Baladeva made a fiery speech calling for revenge. Krsna, however, managed to pacify them [Mahabharata 1.212-13). The political structure and the attitudes of the Yadavas towards property indicate a segmentary lineage system. Sahlins believes that such social structures emerge in an inter-tribal situation when there is considerable pressure on a limited area of land. Its main thrust is predatory organization. Segmentary lineages are economically more backward than chiefdoms. This form of organization is typically suited to tribes which are agro-pastoralists and not advanced agriculturists (Sahlins 1961:322-45). Krsna and Ugrasena are repeatedly mentioned as kings of the Bhojas, Kukuras and Andhakas, and not as kings of a particular territory.11 The state signifies the establishment of society as a territory as opposed to kinship entities under lineage chiefs in tribal societies. The Frankish invaders in medieval Europe used the term ‘King of Franks’; this later changed into ‘King of France’ (Sahlins 1968: 6). In the Krsna-Narada dialogue, Narada says, ‘O Krsna! the Yadavas, Kukuras, Bhojas and Andhaka-Vrsnis with their people and rulers depend upon you’[Mahabharata 12.82). This indicates that the ‘rulers’ of various clans retained considerable autonomy. Similarly, Karhsa was called a tyrant not because of any misrule but because, he ‘persecuted his relatives and gained ascendancy over them all... .The wretch molested the elders of the Bhoja barons, the latter concluded

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an accord with us; for they sought to save their kin’ (.Mahdbhdrata 2.13.29-33). When Karhsa did not succeed in killing Krsna, he called a meeting not of his ministers but of his kinsmen. Krsna says that he did service to his kinsmen by killing Kamsa and Sunaman (ibid., 2.13.30). The wars fought by the Yadava chiefs were not for territorial gain; rather, they were for bride capture, or caused by personal animosity. Alliances were along kinship lines. The foregoing analysis indicates that the political organization of the Yadava clans was different from that of the dominant north Indian groups of the Bharatas and Kurus in the later Vedic period. Yayati’s curse that the Yadavas could not become kings reinforces our contention that the Yadavas did not have a monarchical form of government. What is equally significant is that it was regarded as a curse by the dominant brahmanical tradition. The Mahdbhdrata shows that dominant lineages like the Kurus and Pancalas had a more unitary political structure with well-defined rules of succession. Heads of lineages were more like the kings of the historical period. They could garner vast resources to perform large sacrifices which require con¬ siderable concentration of power.

GIFT-GIVING AMONG THE YADAVAS A study of the attitude of the Yadavas to gift-giving yields interesting insights into their attitude towards property. Cows, gold, honey and garments constituted the major forms of gift among the Yadavas (Bhdgavata Parana X.5-45).12 For the marriage of Krsnas sister, Subhadra, the gifts consisted of gold, cows, mares, mules, elephants and clothes (Mahdbhdrata 1.213.40-50). In the narrative section of all the epics, land is completely absent as an item of gift. Food items like rice are mentioned once or twice. In the Visnu Purdna, Krsna tells his people that they possessed neither fields nor houses; they wandered about with their wagons and cattle, so to them cows and mountains were their deities. Some of these stories are related to the close relationship between the Yadavas and Abhiras. The Abhlras, a pastoral nomadic group, occupied the area from Mathura to Anupa and Anarta (Jaiswal 1981: 83). It indicates an agro-pastoral economy. Whenever Krsnas adversaries got an opportunity, they mocked him

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by calling him a cowherd. Krsna and Balarama spent their childhood among cowherds. When Subhadra was brought to Indraprastha, she came dressed as a cowherdess (.Mahabharata 1.213.17). This close relationship with the Gopas shows that at least some of the Yadava groups were pastoral-nomads. The close relations between the Gopas, a pastoral nomadic community, and the Yadavas also indicates a similarity in the social structure of the two groups.

THE YADAVAS, SOCIAL CUSTOMS AND SANSKRITIZATION The stories about Yayati banishing his sons from the madhyadesa have an important element. They tell us of the beginnings of kingship in areas where there was none before. They also mention that the people in those areas do not follow rules of caste and do not observe brahmana rituals (Mahabharata 1.179.12 -13). There are certain indications that some of the groups referred to as Yadavas might have represented communities who might not have been part of the Brahmana tradition. Krsna said that at Kusasthali there were 18,000 warrior ksatriyas in his family and they were vrdtas (.Mahabharata 11.13.55). On the authority of Kasikd and the Mahabhasya, Majumdar says that vrdtas belonged to many races and communities. They did not follow any specific profession. They lived by loot and plunder. The AndhakaVrsnis too were called Vratyas in the Drona Parva (B.P. Majumdar 1969: 208). Agrawal, on the authority of Sayana, says that Vratas and Vratyas were one and the same. He further shows that the vrdtyastoma ritual was meant to convert the non-Aryan population and the people who lived by plunder (Agrawal 1996: 449). Macdonell and Keith believe that the Vratyas were Aryans outside the sphere of brahmana culture (Vedic Index II). This indicates that the Yadavas were not fully within the ambit of brahmanical culture. The Haihayas, one of the Yadava groups located in Malwa, are called asuras (Jain 1972: 94). The third-century

bce

Baudhayana Dharmasutra says that people of

Avanti are not pure Aryans (Kane 1963:107). In the rajasuya ceremony of the Bhagavata Purana, the Cedi ruler Sisupala accused Krsna of not belonging to any caste (.Bhagavata Purana X.74.36). Krsna is said to have been defeated by the Aryan god Indra in the

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Rgveda (Kosambi 1977: 115). This fact acquires added significance when one remembers the intense rivalry between Krsna and Indra in Puranic literature. Similarly, drinking, which has been called one of the four great sins in the Sruti literature (Kane 1966: 1024-5), was a favourite pastime of the Yadavas. Balarama is repeatedly portrayed as drunk. The Puranas say that the Yadavas were destroyed in a drunken brawl (Dutt 2005:93-8). Balarama’s association with Sesanaga suggests that he is a ndga deity which might indicate his non-Aryan linkages. Even at the time of Samudragupta’s conquest, parts of Malwa were ruled by Naga kings. This again connects the people of this area to non-brahmanical traditions. A late Buddhist text refers to Gujarat as one of the pahca-dravida lands (Thapar 1978: 261). In one instance, the Yadava lineage is mentioned as descended from the demon Madhu. His son Lavana, a fearful demon, was killed by Satrughna (Smith 1973: 27). One of the important clans of the Yadavas was called Madhus. Similarly, the Andhakas were a Yadava clan but literature also refers to Andhaka as a demon (Bohtlingk and Roth 1990). This again indicates linkages with non-brahmanical traditions.

Marriage Practices of the Yadavas

There is an interesting contrast between the marriage practices of the Yadavas and the ones approved by the brahmana tradition of the Middle Country. The Yadavas practised cross-cousin marriages which is prohibited in the Indo-Aryan kinship system. Krsna’s marriages to RukminI (Bhdgavata PurdnaX.50), Mitravrinda (ibid.), Bhadra (ibid., X.83) and Laksmana (Bhdgavata Purdna X.50, X.83) are examples of cross-cousin marriage. Trautmann (1974) has argued that Krsna’s marriage with his cousins is mentioned only in the Bhdgavata Purdna which was compiled in south India. That is why the Dravidian kinship pattern crept into the text. However, some of these marriages are mentioned in the Harivamsa, Brahmdnda, Brahma, Vdyu and Matsya Puranas (B.B. Majumdar 1969: 126). Not all of these Puranas were composed in the south. Pradyumna, the son of Krsna and RukminI, married his maternal cousin and their son Aniruddha married the daughter of his maternal uncle. Even Subhadra’s marriage with Arjuna was a cross-cousin marriage (Jaiswal 1981: 68). Besides,

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they practised sagotra marriage (Vasudeva-Devakl and KrsnaSatyabhama). A brahmana by the name of Brahmadatta married most of his 500 daughters to Yadu princes (Dutt 1945: 93-8). Most of the marriages of the important Yadu heroes were in the form of ‘bride capture’. Krsna’s marriages to Rukmini (Bhdgavata Purana X.50), Mitravrinda (ibid.), Bhadra (ibid. X.83), Laksmana (ibid.), Satya (ibid.) were by bride capture. The same is true of the marriages of Pradyumna-Rukmanavatl (ibid. X.50) and Samba-Laksmana (ibid. X.59). When Krsna comes to know of Arjuna’s attraction for his sister, he, instead of getting them married in a regular Aryan fashion, advises Arjuna to abduct her (Mahdbharata 1.212-13). Obviously, bride capture was a normal practice among the Yadavas of Krsna’s clan.13 It is possible that Bhasa’s plays about the abduction of the princess Vasavadatta of Ujjayini reflect the practice of earlier times. Similarly, Bhasa’s play Avimaraka narrates the love story of a prince with his cousin. The setting is the city of aYadava king near Mathura. Curiously, marriage practices in Malwa mentioned in the classical literature, too, seem to be different. Malavika’s marriage to Agnimitra in Kalidasa’s Malavikdgnimitram, the marriages of Carudatta and Vasantasena and Radanika and Sarvilaka in Sudraka’s Mrcchakatikam did not require brahmanical rituals. The setting of all these marriages is Malwa. Furthermore, areas like Madhya Pradesh and Gujarat still have mixed marriage systems, i.e. Dravidian and Aryan systems (Karve 1968: 165-6). The Aryans were a patriarchal community. Jaiswal has drawn attention to strong matrilineal influences in the Krsna cult. She has pointed out that the cult of the goddess Ekanamsa, the sister of Baladeva and Krsna, represents an older matrilineal sub-stratum. The Vrsnis worshipped her (Jaiswal 1981: 68). In the Mahdbharata, she is identified with Kuhu, a dark goddess (ibid.). Early Indian iconography presented her as a black goddess flanked by Krsna and Baladeva (ibid.: 69). Similarly, the oldest textual reference to the Krsna Gopala legend, the Pali Ghata Jataka, mentions Anjanl-devi (meaning, the dark goddess). She is the older sister of Krsna-Baladeva, and Brajabhumi belongs to her (Vaudeville 1999: 147). Epithets like Yoganidra, Kali and Durga-Katyayani are used for Krsna’s sister in different Puranas. Many such textual references have convinced Vaudeville that long

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before the emergence of the Krsna Gopala cult, there was a dominant mother goddess cult in the Braja area (ibid.: 152). The word Vrndavana itself means ‘forest of the group goddess’. Kosambi with his classic insight pointed out that Krsna’s 16,108 wives represented mother goddesses and his marriages were a vital step in assimilating the patriarchal Aryans with the matriarchal pre-Aryans. The divine marriages represented human unions (Kosambi 1977: 116). At some stage Krsna was appropriated by the dominant north Indian tradition and made a vehicle of transformation of the same area. In the course of a few generations, a people who were considered heathens became a respectable community with a prestigious pedigree.14 When the brahmanical tradition of the madhyadesa invented the idea of the ‘south’, it had the concrete example of the Yadava lineages. These people were scarcely interested in agriculture. They did not even have ‘kings’. Worse still, they did not follow the rules of caste, and married their own cousins. (Worst of all, they worshipped dark female goddesses.) No wonder they were destroyed by the curse of a brahmana.

MALWA: THE MERGER OF THE NORTH AND SOUTH INDIAN TRADITIONS It seems that most of the lineages located in Delhi, Braja and areas south of it were disparate groups on the margins of the brahmanical heartland in the later Vedic period. By bestowing Yadava ancestry on these lineages, brahmanism integrated these groups into the dominant north Indian culture. As pointed out earlier, such processes of inte¬ gration located particular communities within the caste hierarchy in the later period. That the Yadava groups were integrated in a lineage structure is perhaps related to the inchoate state of caste formations in the later Vedic period. Possibly, state-like formations which would divide society along caste lines had not yet emerged. Our discussion on the Yadava clans indicates that an agro-pastoral society was being transformed into a more stratified society. The maintenance of genealogy itself became important as a result of the emergence of private property and various other rights whose legitimacy could be proved through high ancestry. It has been shown that groups like the

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Satvats were placed in the sudra caste by the Manusmrti (Thapar 1978: 346). Similarly, they are mentioned as sankirnajdti in many instances. This indicates the integration of the clan group into caste structure. The bestowal of ksatriya status on some of the groups was a recognition of their political power (ibid.). The Mahdbharata war has symbolic value for the makers of genealogies, since its end saw the emergence of a full-fledged monarchical system. This is clear from the shift in the genealogical record from lists of lineages to that of the kings, dynasties and regnal years of individual kings (ibid.: 351). It was this pattern of emergence of the ruling groups, sanctified by brahmanical rituals and enriched by spoils of war, against the background of an agricultural economy, that characterized the succeeding phase. Literary and archaeological evidence suggests that there was some immigration to the areas of Mathura and Malwa (Basant 2012: 11119). However, the identification of these regions with the home of the Yadavas is more a result of the process of Sanskritization and state formation. It has been pointed out that the kingdom of the Kurus represented the earliest state in India. The re-working and invention of new sets of rituals ensured that every rajanya, ksatriya and vaisya could perform a range of rituals if he wished to attain fame and glory (Witzel 1995: 1-25). These srauta rituals in combination with the system of four varnas tried to establish everyone in his proper station and at his proper place. It is significant that there are references to interaction with the ‘south’ in the later Vedic period. The Jaiminiya Brdhmana refers to southern people sending their sons northwards to the Kurus (Witzel 1995: 18). Probably, the process of legitimation and Sanskritization was at work even in the later Vedic times which brought diverse people within the fold of the dominant north Indian brahmanical culture. Lineages from larger areas were crowding the canvas of the bards and brahmanas. They had to find genealogical connections and legitimacy for the emerging power structures. The destruction of the Yadava lineages symbolized a new beginning too. The system of rule by a large number of chieftains disappeared and it was replaced by the kings ruling from places like Indraprastha. The princes who became kings were the son of Aniruddha, the son of Krtvarman and the son of Satyaki (.Mahdbharata 16.8.67-70).

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Thus, only the lineages of Vasudeva and Sini survived. This clearly demonstrates a process of centralization of power in the Yadu lineages, the end product of which was the establishment of monarchy. Chronicles of the early historical period tell us about many Yadava kings ruling over Mathura and Avanti (Malwa). Since Avanti became a powerful kingdom we get more information about it. Malwa emerges from the mists of the pre-historic past with Pradyota as its king. Thus, descriptions of Avanti give us an idea of the complex issues of cultural geography. Although in the ritual sense, the area north of the Vindhyas became a part of the brahmanical heartland (middle country) by the beginning of the Common Era, in many other spheres of culture it continued to exhibit the ambiguities of the earlier period. After the second century bce, we get references to Malwa that give us a more complex picture of how a region was defined and differentiated in early India. A study of inscriptions from Sanchi from the second century bce to the second century ce shows that about 50 donors came from places having name endings like vati, vata and kata (Basant 2012: 166). Words like vati, vata and kata are derived from Dravidian languages (Southworth 1995:27). Places having such names might indicate the presence of people who spoke Dravidian languages. Scholars have not been able to locate most of these settlements. If one were to assume that the remains of Early Historic settlements in the Malwa region might represent the remains of some of these settlements, one can draw some interesting conclusions. Out of 200 places where remains of the Early Historic period have been reported not one of them has a name ending in vata, vati or kata (Basant 2012: 166). Similarly, a study of kinship patterns as revealed by these inscriptions hints at the presence of Dravidian kinship system (ibid. 184-7). In the Brhat Samhitd of Varahamihira, datable to the sixth century, human beings are astrologically classified into the following categories— Hamsa, Sasa, Rucaka, Bhadra and Malavya. There are supposedly distinct differences in the characteristics, actions, nature and physical features of these people (Brhat Samhitd 68/2-26). In the Ndtyas'dstra of Bharata, datable to anywhere between 200 bce and 300 ce (Pande 1991: 3), people inhabiting different regions of India are described. There is a fourfold division of India. Avanti forms one of the divisions

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distinguished in terms of dress, speech and manners (ibid.: 64). Avanti had a special form of dramatic performance named after it (ibid.: 68). What interests me in these schemes of classification is the emergence of Avanti with a distinctive personality of its own. It is different from the personality of madhyades'a in terms of speech, dress, mode of life and even looks. One gets a clear idea about these distinctive qualities in the Kavyamimdnsa, a work composed by Rajasekhara in the ninth century. He says that the people of Avanti, Pariyatra and Das'apura use Bhutabhasa (Chap. 10). He also states that the dress, speech and behaviour of the men of Pancaladesa and the women of Daksinadesa are admirable. Avantidesa to him represents a mixture of these two. Similarly, the dance, the song and the music of Avantidesa show characteristics of both the north and the south (Chap. 3). Even more interesting is the fact that in the style of com¬ position of poetry, Avanti is bracketed with the south (Chap. 4). The classical tradition of early India assumed that Maharashtra was part of the South. This tradition must have continued well into the early medieval times. One tentative proof of this is that the local Rastrakuta and Yadava dynasties used a Dravidian language, Kannada, right up to the fourteenth century (Masica 1991: 45). Although at present Maharashtra is believed to be part of the dominant north Indian tradition, from the point of view of kinship structure it represents the frontier zone between the Dravidian and the north Indian kinship system (Trautman 1981:13, Karve 1968:175). Literary and inscriptional evidences suggest that it was the Malwa area which formed the zone of transition between the Aryan and Dravidian cultural traditions in the early historic period.

CONCLUSION Our survey indicates that in early India, frontiers moved with the whims of history. What is more important is that formation of geo¬ graphical identities requires dissection of multiple layers of history. There are histories of languages, histories of kinship and histories of religions—each having its own momentum of change. Thus, although in cultural perception, Maharashtra is part of north India, at the level of kinship structure it is closer to ‘south’. Obviously kinship structures

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have changed at a slower pace. Such imperceptible glacial pace of change needs to be underlined because these changes have long-term implications for socio-economic formations and the emergence of identities that affect political formation. The most important conclusion is that ‘south’ is a cultural construct with a physical dimension.

NOTES 1. Manusmrti 11.21.. 2. tasmad asydm dhruvayam madhyamayam pratisthdydm disi ye keca Kurupahcaldndm rdjanah savasosinarandm rajydyaiva te 'bhisicyante. 3. In the early Vedic literature, the south is excluded as the non-Indo-Aryan land of the Kikata and of Pramaganda. In the later Vedic period, the ‘south’ referred to the land south of Yamuna and north of the Vindhyas. It was inhabited by Matsyas, Kuntis and Satvants (Witzel 1995: n. 118). 4. The forest of Khandava is shown as inhabited by Nagas, Raksasas and a large number of imaginary and real creatures (Mahdbhdrata 1.219.1.). 5. The Majjhima Nikdya (M.ii.83-90) refers to a king of Mathura as ‘Avantiputta’. It indicates the close relationship between Avanti and Mathura even after the death of the Buddha. Pali Canon: Sutta Pitaka, Majjhima Nikaya, Bk: 2, database record: 3570. 6. The Yadavas are related to many areas and regions. However, the study of the socio-political structure of the Yadava communities located to the south of the Kuru area might offer clues to the historical processes. 7. The Bhdgavata Purdna says, ‘In former times, ^urasena, the chief of the Yadu clan, ruled over the territories of Mathura and while he was residing in the city, it became the metropolis of all the kings of the Yadava dynasty’ Bhdgavata PurdnaW.28, tr G. V. Tagare, 1977. Similar references associating the Yadava clans with Mathura and areas to the south-west are to be found in Visnu Purdna V. 23, tr H.H. Wilson; 1972, Harivamsa 11.56, Gita Press; Mahdbhdrata 2.13. 8. The areas of Mathura, Banas valley, Gujarat and parts of the Malwa plateau are areas deficient in rainfall. The natural vegetation in this entire belt consists of dry thorny bushes. However, there are small pockets of fertile agricultural land in places like Mathura and the Kathiawar peninsula. This area is ideal for sheep-goat and catde farming. Pastoral nomadism would be an ideal form of adaptation in this area. Kosambi has talked about the importance of the Delhi-Mathura-Meerut triangle in the later Vedic period. It was surrounded by desert on one side and thick Gangetic forests on the other. There was competition for control over these small agricultural tracts among the Aryan lineages (Kosambi 1977: 84-7).

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9. Most of the scholars who have studied the Andhaka-Vrsni polity have focussed on the study of their assembly and declared that they had a ‘Republican Constitution (Jayaswal 1943; Mishra 1976). Most of the writings have repeated Jayaswal’s assertion. Jayaswal who systematically studied the nonmonarchical polities was swayed by the desire to prove that Indians had democratic polities similar to those of modern Britain in ancient times. 10. In the Bhagavata Purana X.5 the Gopas are shown paying tribute to Kamsa. 11. In the Mahabharata (1.211.8), Ugrasena is mentioned as the king of Vrsnis. Similarly, Krsna is mentioned as the chief of the Yadavas in the Narada- Krsna dialogue in the Sdnti Parva of the Mahabharata. There are a number of such instances. 12. "The following examples of gift giving are important, ‘At Krsna’s birth, Vasudeva was overcome with delight and gave 1,000 cows as gift to brahman as (Bhagavata Purana). ‘Nanda gave a gift of cows, seven mountain¬ like heaps of sesamum seeds covered with a stream of precious stones’ (ibid.X.5). At the Ambikavana fair they donated cows, gold, garments, honey, sweetmeats, etc., to Brahmanas’ (ibid. X.34). ‘Akrura used to give cows as gift everyday’ (ibid. X.38). ‘Akrura was presented a cow by Balarama when he went to meet them in Vraja’ (ibid.). ‘Vasudeva gave a gift of cows with their calves, decorated with gold chains and other ornaments covered with silk clothes’ (ibid. X.45). 13. The practice of bride-capture is found in many pre-state societies. Its primary function is regulation of the sex-ratio of a particular group. It is not an approved form of marriage in state societies. Since civilized societies are relatively large, covering an extensive territory under a single government, adjustment to population imbalance can be done within this unit itself (Vayda 1968: 85-91). 14. The process of acquiring higher status by chieftains in modern times has been discussed in many anthropological studies (Sinha 1962: 35-80). I believe that such processes of the acquisition of higher status can be projected back to the Early Historic phase.

REFERENCES Agrawal, V.S., Paninikalina Bharatavarsa (in Hindi), Delhi: Chowkhamba Vidyabhawan (rpt.), 1996. Aitareya-Brdhmana edition by Th. Auffecht, Bonn, 1879. Basant, P.K., The City and the Country in Early India, Delhi: Primus Books,

2012. Bhagavata Purana, translated by G.V. Tagare, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1977.

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Bhat, Ramkrishna, tr. Brihat Samhita, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1982. Bohtlingk, O. and R. Roth, Sanskrit Worterbuch. Indian Reprint, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1990. Dey, N.L., The Geographical Dictionary of Ancient and Mediaeval India, London: Messrs Luzac & Co., 1927. Dutt, N.K., ‘Some Unorthodox Marriages in the Family of Yadu’, in Marriage in Indian Society: From Tradition to Modernity, Usha Sharma (ed.), rpt., Delhi, 2005. Horner, I.B., tr, Vinaya Pitaka, 5 pts, London: Oxford University Press, 193852. Jaiswal, S., The Origin and Development of Vaisnavism, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1981. Kane, P.V. Dharmasastra Ka Itihasa (5 vols.). Hindi translation by the Uttar Pradesh Hindi Sansthan, Lucknow, 1963-73. Karve, I. Kinship Organisation in India, Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1968. Kishore, B.R. Vatsyayana's Kamasutra, Delhi: Diamond Pocket Books, 2002. Kosambi, D.D. The Culture and Civilization of Ancient India, Delhi: Vikas Publishing House, 1977. Law, B.C. Historical Geography of Ancient India, Indian reprint, Delhi, EssEss Publication, 1976. The Laws ofManu [Manusmrti], translated by Wendy Doniger, London: Penguin, 1992. Macdonell, A.A. and A.B. Keith, Vedic Index of Names and Subjects (2 vols.) London: John Murray, 1912. Mahabhdrata, Critical Edition, Poona: Bhandarakar, Oriental Research Institute, 1927-47. Majumdar, B.B., Krsna in History and Legend, Calcutta, 1969. Majumdar, B.P., ‘The Polity of the Andhaka-VrsniSamgha’, in Satkari Mookherji Felicitation Volume, Varanasi, 1969. Masica, C.P., The Indo- Aryan Languages, Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1991. Mishra, S.N., Ancient Indian Republics, Lucknow, 1976. Pande, A., A Historical and Cultural Study of the Natyasastra ofBharata, Jodhpur, 1991. Raychaudhuri, H.C. Political History of Ancient India, Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1923. -, Studies in Indian Antiquities, Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1958. Rhys Davids, T.W. and C.A.F. (trs.), Dialogues of the Buddha, part 3, London: Pali Text Society, 1921. Sahlins, M., ‘The Segmentary Lineage: An Organisation of Predatory Expansion’, American Anthropologist, vol. 63, 1961, pp. 322-45.

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-, Tribesmen, New Jersey, Prentice Hall, Englewood-Cliffs, 1968. Satapatha Brdhmana (translated by Julius Eggeling), Surrey: Curzon Press,

2001. Saraswat, K.S., Rajashekhar Krta Kavyamimansa, Patna: Bihar Rashtra Bhasa Parishad, 1964. Shastri, R.N. Datta, tr in Hindi, Harivamsa Purana, Gorakhpur: Gita Press, 1965. Sinha, Surajit, ‘State Formation and Rajput Myth in Tribal Central India’, Man in India, vol. 42, no. 1, 1962, pp. 35-80. Smith, Morton R., Dates and Dynasties in Earliest India, Delhi, 1973. Thapar, Romila, Ancient Indian Social History: Some Interpretations, Delhi: Orient Longman, 1978. Trautmann, T.R. (ed.), Kinship and History in South Asia, Michigan: University of Michigan, 1974. -, Dravidian Kinship, New York, Alta Mira Press, 1981. Vansina, J. Oral Tradition as History, Wisconsin: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1985. Vaudeville, C., Myths, Saints and Legends in Medieval India, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999. Vayda, A.P., ‘Hypotheses about Functions of War’, in War: The Anthropology of Armed Conflict and Aggression, Morton Fried et al. (eds.), New York, Garden City, 1968. Vishnu Purana, translated by H.H. Wilson, Calcutta: Punthi Pustaka, 1972. Witzel, Michael, Early Sanskritization: Origins and Development of the Kuru State’, Electronic Journal ofVedic Studies, pp. 1-4, 1995. Witzel, Michael, ‘Early Sources for South Asian Substrate Languages’, Mother Tongue, 1999.

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CHAPTER 4

Claudius Ptolemy and the Political Geography of Ancient India A. VIGASIN

The Geography1 by the famous Greek scholar Claudius Ptolemy contains a lot of valuable information on the historical geography of India. Its author enumerated some hundreds (!) of toponyms—much more than any ancient writer. What is more, every site was exactly localized on Ptolemy’s map by means of the net of latitudes and longitudes. But nevertheless this treasure-trove is only rarely cited in Indian studies. And the reason for such negligence is quite obvious: the Greek transliteration of Indian names is often enough incomprehensible and Ptolemy’s map is awfully distorted. However, there are some facts in The Geography which are very useful for understanding the political situation in India in the first centuries ad. First of all, it is necessary to ascertain what was Ptolemy’s aim, his scholarly methods and the sources of information which he used. His transliterations of the names of localities are rarely identical with those we find in the works by the earlier Greek writers. Sometimes they render more accurately the peculiar features of Indian vernaculars. He apparently had at his disposal a lot of practical reports brought by the Greek sailors and merchants or some other travellers of that time. His information was not borrowed from any books of remote antiquity—it was from contemporary ones.2 Ptolemy’s purpose was to give a representation in picture of the whole known world together with the phenomena which are contained therein’, to survey the whole in its just proportions’.3 These proportions were determined mainly by mathematical calculations on the size of the globe. It was actually a huge and impherical plan as the means to fulfil it were imperfect two thousand years ago. Ptolemy’s forerunner,

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the eminent geographer Marinus the Tyrean badly exaggerated the extension of the habitable earth. Although he was vehemently criticized by Ptolemy, the latter’s own estimation of the distance between the seashores of Hispania and China was far from accurate. Meanwhile the sailors could calculate the distances between the points on the seashore of South Asia. And to ensure the agreement of this information with the calculations on the extension of the whole inhabited world Ptolemy was compelled to presume that the seashore of India was nearly a straight line eastwards. Consequently the picture of South Asia on Ptolemy’s map was vastly stretched to the east and the Indian peninsula practically disappeared. All the rivers and towns of the Deccan were squeezed into the northern part of India. The latitudes and longitudes given by Ptolemy were not determined by any astronomical observations on the site. The net of coordinates was superimposed on the pictorial map of the world. That is why the exact figures used by Ptolemy to localize either site are more or less useless for modern research.1 2 3 4 The Geography was nothing more than a ‘scientific instruction for cartographers’.5 India was delineated according to the following scheme: 1. VII.1.1-18: The boundaries of India as a whole: Arachosia and Gedrosia on the west, Himalaya mountains on the north, the river Ganges on the east, and the Indian Ocean on the south. The coastline is depicted scrupulously with successive lists of the seaports, bays, capes and river mouths. Each time the scholar made sure not to forget to mention the frontiers of the indigenous kingdoms. 2. VII.1.19-25: Seven great mountain ranges of India. 3. VII.1.26-41: The principal rivers of India. Ptolemy indicates the position of their sources and the points of their confluence. If the river falls into the sea, its mouth was shown earlier—on the seashore. Sometimes he mentions also the branches of the river in its mouth. 4. VII.1.42-93: The main portion of the text occupies the long list of the ‘countries’ ("tcbv yoapcov) with enumeration of the towns therein. This list starts with the north-western part of Punjab and ends with the mouth of the Ganges.

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Concluding part of the chapter (VII.1.94-96) is devoted to the islands in the Indian Ocean. We are interested to derive from this scholarly treatise some information borrowed by Ptolemy from his primary sources. The first layer of such information is represented by the list of Indian kingdoms. The localization of their capitals is usually wrong because the map itself is distorted. But that is of no importance for us as in most cases their actual position is well known. The second layer represents the list of the coastal towns and ports and the author’s indications on the frontiers of the indigenous kingdoms on the seashore. Without any doubt such information was collected by the sailors and merchants and put in writing in special works like the anonymous ‘Periplus Maris Erythraei. For the sailors it was of vital importance and therefore should be quite reliable. But it is necessary every time to take into account the distortion of Ptolemy’s map of India. The author says (VTI.I.62), for example, that the city of Barygaza (Bapuyd^a) is situated ‘on the west of the river Namades (ajto pev Sbaecoq too NapaSoo Ttoxapob)’. It is nonsense, if we would compare it with the modern geographical map, the river Narmada flows directly westwards up to the ocean. On the west of the river mouth can’t be any city at all! But Ptolemy had in mind his own map, where the river course was misplaced (his ‘river Namades’ flows southwards). And it helps us to interpret his words properly. What he only wanted to say was that the city of Bharukaccha is situated on the right side of that river—as distinct from other towns of the country, which are to be found ‘on the east side of the same river’, ajto 8’ avaxoA.cov abtob tow itoxapot)—i.e. actually to the south of Narmada. And this localization does not contradict the real state of things. As the first Indian country on the seashore, Ptolemy (VII.I.2) mentions Syrastrene (Zvpaaxpqvn, i.e. Surastra). But he does not say anything about its capital. So we make a conclusion, that it was not an independent kingdom. From the river Mophis (Maxptq i.e. Mahi - VII. 1.4) begins the kingdom named as Larike (Aapucf)). Its capital was Ozene (VII. 1.63—0£f|vr|, i.e. Ujjenl/Ujjayinl). Bharukaccha and Nasika (Naoiica) were most important cities of the same country. Further follows (VII.1.6) the kingdom of Sadenoi

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(Er)w/(almondette tree or Buchanans mango)37 and sweet kasumari?* However, the dietary practices of forest-dwelling recluses could be widely divergent. While some survived on a vegetable and fruit diet, there were those who consumed meat and cooked their food as well. In the Bhikkha-Parampara-Jataka, an ascetic describes his diet as consisting of wild bulbs, radishes, wild rice, catmint and other herbs, black mustard, jujubes, honey, lotus-threads, myrobalan and scraps of meat. In the same story, it is said that a Pacceka Buddha is superior to the ascetic for he had neither any wealth nor did he cook his food; while the ascetic survived off cooked food and had possessions in the form of the food items he gathered.39 But we also have instances where a wandering mendicant (the Great Being) visited the royal palace and partook of the delicious fare served by the king.40 The same ascetic had monkey flesh given by a villager in a frontier area.41 Some ascetics drew sustenance from the leavings of carnivorous animals of which we have references in the brahmanical law books as well. The practitioners of this method described themselves as ‘eaters of remnants left from charity’. But carrion eaters not met with approval from the Bodhisatta, who labelled them eaters of refuse’.42 In the Taccha-Sukara-Jataka, we hear of a sham ascetic who consumed meat brought by a tiger.43 Interestingly, for the dharmasutrakaras, gathering of carrion was an accepted method of gathering food for the hermits. According to Baudhayana (III.3.1 -8), hermits in the forest belong to two categories: those who cooked their food or did not. The first kind had five subtypes: (a) those who ate everything in the forest, (b) those who lived on unhusked wild grain, (c) those who ate bulbs and roots, (d) those who survived off fruit, (e) those whose diet consisted of only

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pot-herbs. Even the first subtype, i.e. those who ate forest produce, could be of two kinds: (i) the plant eaters and (ii) meat eaters, who gathered the remnants of the kill of tigers, wolves, falcons and other carnivorous animals. Forest produce procured by each category of hermits during the day, was cooked in the evening, offered to ascetics, guests and students, and then consumed.44 In our narratives we come across many such ascetics but none other than the carrion eaters were designated false ascetics. One other category which was also so proclaimed was the rival sect of the Naked Ascetics or the Ajlvikas, who fed on small fish, cowdung and other refuse.45 Hermits had to forage in the forest everyday, for edibles were generally not stored with the exception of salt and seasoning. We are told that ascetics visited the countryside to procure them.46 But even this practice was strictly avoided by some. The Bodhisatta upbraided his fellow ascetic from Videha when he set aside salt and sugar for a later day. When true ascetic life meant liberation from all forms of attachment, hoarding was unvirtuous.47

CONSUMPTION OF MEAT It has been pointed out that the Buddhist birth stories provide substantial basis for the view that flesh eating was widespread.48 Kings were urged to enjoy ght, rice, milk and meat.49 Meat and fish were usually cooked in the royal kitchen,50 and we read about a meat market.51 Even mendicants wore garments of leather (cammasdtako paribbdjako).52 Animals were slaughtered as offering to the spirits, and on festive and ceremonial occasions, such as the Kattika festival53 and the Feast for the Dead.54 Deer meat was particularly relished55 and sold in the markets.56 People consumed the flesh of a variety of other animals: fowl,57 tortoise,58 monkey (described as ‘savoury meat’),59 snake,60 ox,61 and lizard.62 Pork63 was served at weddings as well.64 In the Sabbaddtha-Jataka, we notice that the consumption of the meat of wild animals was not unknown. When a large horde of elephants along with other creatures like deer, swine, hares and cats had perished, the Bodhisatta proclaimed that those who so desire could take as much meat as they wanted. After the fresh meat had been consumed, the rest of the flesh was dried and preserved.65

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Meat was not denied to the brethren for we read of a greedy inmate who was overjoyed at the mention of meat at an invitation.66 Even the Bodhisatta as a wealthy merchant’s son had venison delivered to his home by a hunter.67 From our narratives, it is evident that consumption of meat was common among the brahmanas as well. They were invited to feasts where they were served with flesh and rice.68 A forest dweller offered a roast leg of deer to a brahmana in the Vessantara-Jataka, which he readily accepted.69 But there is scathing criticism of the unchaste conduct of the priestly class in the DasaBrahmana-Jataka which says that village folk slaughter several kine, bullocks, goats and swine when they invite brahmanas to their village.70 But such members of the highest rung of society are no better than butchers for the Buddhist story-tellers. True brahmanas are dis¬ tinguished by not only by their high ethical values, such as, their wisdom, goodness, and absence from evil lust but also by their gastronomic habits: they eat one meal of rice a day and abstain from strong drink.71 With regard to flesh foods, the rule of abstinence that is upheld in the stories is that pertaining to the meat of five-clawed animals. In the Mahd-Sutasoma-Jataka, the Great Being says ksatriyas were to abstain from the meat of such animals except five.72 This rule ofpanca pancanakhah-bhaksyah was quite well known for our Jataka does not elaborate on it. The Vdsistha Dharmasutra (XIV.39) enumerates the five kinds of permissible meat of the five-toed animals: the porcupine, the hedgehog, the hare, the tortoise and the iguana. This makes monkey flesh forbidden, yet we get references to its consumption even by brahmanas.73 The practice of killing and eating monkeys is prevalent among the lowest Indian tribes,74 and in all probability it was relished in Jataka times by even the twice-born. The precept of the five-toed animals occurs in the Maha-SutasomaJataka not in the context of monkey meat but with reference to the consumption of human flesh. A certain king of Benaras was extremely fond of rice and meat which he had every day. On a particular holy day, the cook could not procure meat from the market, and to save his life, he decided to take the flesh from a corpse. The king relished it as never before for he had been ayakkha in his past life, and decided thereafter to take only human flesh.75 In our narratives, wildernesses

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were home to goblins and ogres who delighted in the consumption of human and animal flesh. The Bodhisatta, while travelling through a drought and demon wilderness, came across goblins, wearing garland of blue lotuses, who devoured humans and oxen.76 In the DevadbammaJdtaka, a water spirit is told that he was condemned to be a demon subsisting on raw flesh and blood of other creatures on account of his evil deeds in his past births. This heinous habit in fact would not prevent his re-birth in hell until he could forgo his evil conduct and live virtuously.77 Many Jatakas relate how the Bodhisatta converted these goblins to a simpler and kindlier way of life, which has been interpreted to mean that human sacrifice went out of general fashion (except among some forest tribes) before the time of the Buddha.78 But the absence of prohibition on flesh foods did create situations when the Bodhisatta or his followers were castigated by other ascetics. The naked ascetics led by Nathaputta (referring to the Jainas) brought the accusation that Gotama ate meat knowing very well it had been prepared expressly for him. Such charges were not new for him for as an ascetic in earlier birth a wealthy man maliciously served him fish and then accused him of the sin of killing living beings.79 Whereupon the Bodhisatta in his rebuttal explains: bhunjamano pi sappanno na papena upalippati, that is, according to the context, if one who has the divine wisdom eats fish or meat, even when he knows it is prepared for him, he does no wrong.80 Consumption of flesh by itself is not a sin, even when the eater knows it is prepared specially for him. One may be given the flesh of near and dear ones by the wicked; yet by consuming it, he incurs no sin. The wicked may for gift slay wife or son Yet, if the holy eat, no sin is done.81

In a similar situation recounted in the Mahavagga, when the Niganthas had raised a clamour on the streets of Vesali that Siha, the general-in-chief of the Licchavis, had killed a large ox for feeding the Buddha and his monks, the Master proclaimed the rule of tikotiparisuddha,82 Monks should ensure that the food provided is blameless in three respects—not seen, not heard, and not suspected. The recluse should not witness the slaughter, nor hear it and should ensure that it was not killed specifically for him. This rule, however,

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is not referred to in the Jdtaka tale. There is reference to this tenet in the Campeyya -Jdtaka, where the serpent-king (the Bodhisatta) refuses to eat frogs offered to him for they had been killed specially for his sake.83 In the context of permissibility of flesh food, we may refer to the episode of Devadatta’s attempt to create a schism in the Order by proclaiming the Five Points, which is fleetingly referred to in the Lakkhana Jdtaka, but recounted in detail in the Cullavagga (VII. 1). His directives entailed stricter rules, that the bhikkhus shall dwell lifelong in the forest, subsist solely on doles collected out of doors, dress only in discarded rags, live beneath trees and never eat fish or flesh. Devadatta is depicted in Buddhist scriptures as the Buddha’s rival and hence his attempt to outdo his cousin.84 Devadatta’s reasoning in favour of complete prohibition of meat for the bhikkhus was thus: ‘. . . there are others who observe this ordinance; and as there are many persons who think it is wrong to eat flesh, the non-observance of this ordinance causes the dharma to be spoken against.’85 To this request the Buddha replied that he cannot consent to the promulgation of such an ordinance for ... the faithful give to the priests flesh, medicines, seats, and other things, and thereby acquire merit. Those who take life are in fault, but not persons who eat the flesh; my priests have permission to eat whatever food it is customary to eat in any place or country, so that it is done without the indulgence of the appetite or evil desire.86

This interaction underlines some significant aspects of dietary practices of the monks and the population at large. That the Buddhist Order had to face denouncement from some quarters for its acceptance of flesh food is one aspect. Secondly, some inmates had repudiated this practice; but from the Buddhas reply, it is clear that for general populace, meat and fish formed staple items of their diet, at least in some parts of the country. Hence, for the sake of practicality, the Buddha permitted his bhikkhus the customary food of the particular place, lest they face scarcity of almsfood. Thirdly and equally important, for the sustained support of the Samgha, the laity should not be deprived of the merit accruing from their gift of food. To have rejected an offering of food would moreover have opened the door

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to picking and choosing, not only between what went into the begging bowl, but between the houses visited on the almsround.87 This in its turn would have prevented some of the laity from setting up merit, and it would have given a handle to greedy and gluttonous monks to indulge their tastes and preferences.88 Food content then, was not of great concern; rather craving for food or attachment to its taste was considered far more harmful. Early Buddhism did not agree with the supposition that purity comes through food.89 Purification is achieved by restraint over such bodily, mental and moral conduct as could defile man, and with the possession of moral habit. Moreover, this was a pragmatic solution in a society where, as we have noticed, meat eating was common. Besides, the bhikkhus, with several other contemporary mendicant orders in existence, were all dependants on the same resources of a community, which one can only contemplate, may have been under strain. There is reference in the Susima-Jataka to a family at Savatthi that used to give alms to the Buddha and his friends, while sometimes they used to give to the heretics.90 Disagreements could arise about which sect would receive the contributions, for the same story also mentions that once all the residents of Savatthi had made a large collection upon which there was a difference of opinion about the recipient of the offering.91 There is reference to no-slaughter days when meat was not sold in the markets. Meat was avoided on new and full moon days when Buddhists kept uposatha vows.92 Horner suggests that it may have been acquaintance of the fact that during the early Buddhist epoch some control was exercised over the unchecked slaughter of animals which emboldened Asoka to restrict their destruction or mutilation on certain days such as holy days. His Pillar Edict V would suggest that in some form these had existed before his time and that therefore he was continuing a practice, perhaps by expanding it, but not inno.

.

vating it.

qa

Meat and fish were not prohibited to the monks and laity alike, and particularly with reference to the monks, Horner says, if it was not positively encouraged, it was likewise not positively discouraged either.94 This is not withstanding the capability of animals for meri¬ torious deeds in a number of Jataka stories or the interconnection of

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human and animal existence is through the basic concepts of karma and rebirth; hence it is possible for a human to be reborn as an animal and vice versa. Nonetheless, animals as such are not considered to be capable of growth in the dhamma and the vinayaP The taking of human life is listed as the third of theparajikas in the Vinaya leading to expulsion from the Order. The consequences of taking human life, according to the Bodhisatta, are horrifying—rebirth in hell or as a brute or as a ghost or among the fallen spirits or as a human with short lifespan.96 This is distinguished from the destruction of non¬ human sentient life (includes animals), which is classified among the less serious pdcittiyas, a category of offenses requiring only expiation in the case of their violation.9 The lower position accorded to animals helped to reconcile the dichotomy between the practice of non-injury to living beings and consumption of flesh food. Despite the permissibility of flesh food, hunting was clearly looked upon as a cruel occupation. Hunters and fishermen are labelled as ‘wicked folk’ in the Karandiya-JatakaP In the Suvannamiga-Jataka, the hunter has a change of heart after observing the devotion displayed by the doe for the stag that had been caught in the snare. He released the stag who advised him to refrain from taking the life any creature in the future.99 There are several such stories in the Jatakas where the hunter abdicates his vocation. Even the king of Kosala, who was very fond of hunting not only gave up the chase but declared all animals on land, water and in air to be completely safe. Whereupon, the Bodhisatta pronounced: ‘Great king, it is good for a king to rule a kingdom by forsaking the ways of wrongdoing.. .’10° In the SamkiccaJataka, fishermen and slayers of sheep, pigs and cows are castigated as cruel ‘men of blood’. Those who hunt beasts and birds are overwhelmed by sin and destined for hell.101 Brahmanas were forbidden to take animal life;102 yet we have references to some who did not follow this precept. A certain young brahmana, who developed the desire to eat roasted venison, moved to the Himalayas where he killed deer at pleasure. But the consequences of his deeds were terrifying: he lost control of his limbs and his body withered so much so that he looked like a ghost.103 Flesh foods are tainted, a ruddy goose explained to a crow that lived on carrion and casual prey, unlike the diet of sevala plant that the goose consumed:

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Sevala plant, stript of its skin, Yields food without a taint of sin.104

Condemnation of the slaughter of animals in the Jdtakas occurs either in the context of certain rituals or festivals, or in the context of hunting. The Matakabhatta-Jataka makes a strong statement against the killing of animals. With the killing of a single goat for making an offering at the Feast of the Dead, the slayer was doomed to suffer the horrific fate of being beheaded five hundred times.105 The Dummedha-Jdtaka is set in the context of the festival celebrated by the people of Benaras in honour of the ‘gods’. Large numbers of sheep, goats, poultry, swine and other animals were slaughtered. When the Bodhisatta was born as Prince Brahmadatta, he proclaimed that those who were addicted to the killing of living creatures would be offered as sacrifice to the banyan tree. This proclamation was enough to put an end to the ‘old wickedness’.106 The futility of sacrificing animals is brought forth in several of our narratives.107 A forest dwelling brahmana in the Nanguttha-Jdtaka made preparations for sacrificing an ox to Agni. He tied up the animal and went to get some salt from the nearby village. By the time he returned, he found that the ox had been slaughtered and cooked by a band of hunters. He then exclaimed that when the Lord of Fire was unable to protect himself, how could he protect his worshipper? He thereafter doused the fire and became a recluse.108

CONSUMPTION OF SPIRITUOUS LIQUORS In Jataka society drinking was a common phenomenon across people of different social strata, from kings and soldiers to artisans and forestdwellers. The description of a town refers to drinking shops and taverns, along with slaughterhouses and cooks’ shops.109 Wine merchants were welcomed by kings.110 Wines were brewed at home for we have the instance of King Sanjaya who ordered that a hundred jars of wine be brought by each hamlet to be set by the road by which the royal procession would travel.111 Drinking of spirits was associated with festivities. Kings often proclaimed drinking festivals,112 while we learn of goldsmiths organizing a festival with fish, meat and strong drinks.113 The people

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of Benaras had a festival for ogres when fish, meat and pots of liquor were left in the courtyards and streets.114 Even hermits were offered a large supply of the best spirits on the occasion of a drinking festival by the king of Benaras,115 and ascetics were not immune to the lure of the intoxicants. The liquor varuni, in fact, acquired its name from the ascetic Varuna, while surd was named after its discoverer Sura, a forester.116 It was not unusual for women to enjoy their drink. Young girls often went to parks with friends to enjoy the day with food and drinks.11 In the Kumbha-Jataka, we are told that some 500 women, who were friends of Visakha decided to join a drinking festival at Savatthi. Visakha declined to accompany them but did not forbid them. The narrative then describes the inappropriate conduct of these female drinkers in the presence of the Buddha, whereupon he strongly reproved this custom.118 Even the Bodhisatta does not escape from some form of association with spirits. In one of his births, he was fond of the Soma juice and had the habit of pouring libations of it, so he was known as Sutasoma or the Soma distiller.119 As the treasurer of Benaras, he had a tavernkeeper who lived under his protection.120 A friend of Anathapindika kept a tavern which did not prevent him from giving up his friendship nor did the Buddha admonish him for his business.121 Anathapindika, of course as a true follower, did not indulge in liquor.122 It is even said that a Bodhisatta may even consume drink.123 In his final birth, as king Vessantara, he gave food to the hungry and strong drink to those who required it, and clothes to the needy as gifts, before he was banished.124 Though it is acknowledged that the gift of spirits brings no merit, yet he did not desist from providing drinks to those who were fond of them so that no one may turn back disappointed. In the Kumbha-Jataka., we get a candid admission of the fact that drinking was a common practice in Indian society. Sakka, in several verses, expounded the malevolent effects of intoxicants to the king of Savatthi, whereupon, he was convinced to practise abstinence and had the drinking vessels destroyed. Despite this, it is lamented that this did not lead to disappearance of the pernicious habit; rather it gradually became widespread in the country.125 Drinking was strongly disapproved for it causes loss of the senses, and the Buddha proscribed it for the members of the Order, declaring it an offence requiring

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confession and absolution.126 Its vile effects are illustrated in more than one narrative. A king, addicted to strong drink and meat, was not served meat on a particular uposatha day (the day when no animals were slaughtered). But he had consumed much liquor and was so enraged when meat was not served, that he killed his young son and ordered his cook to prepare his flesh.127 Spirits were generally proscribed to brahmanas as is known from the Mahdsutasoma-Jdtaka. When a young brahmana boy returned home after consuming drinks, his father admonished him saying that he had done very wrong considering that he was a member of a brahmana family.128 Hermits were also advised to keep away from liquor.129 Thus, the Buddhist standpoint on the consumption of strong drinks was clear: unlike the flesh foods which were not discouraged, drinking was thoroughly reproved and proscribed not only for those who had joined the Order but for the laity as well.

NOTIONS OF COMMENSALITY It has been rightly pointed out that our narratives reflect that sharp differences based on class and caste stratification were entrenched in society.130 A poor man, who could not afford to make rice-gruel, made an offering of only a cake of husk-powder and water in a coconut shell to the Tree-spirit, while others came with cakes, garlands, per¬ fumes.131 Gruel was prepared with large grains of rice, while middlesized grains were steamed, and small ones were made into cake after adding the condiments.132 Rice-gruel, rice and milk wither, sugar and honey was the fare of the well-to-do.133 The food of the slaves was very different from that of their masters. A slave named Kalanduka, belonging to the Treasurer of Benaras, ran away to a life of luxury with the daughter of a merchant. When he was caught and brought back, his master condemned him to ‘a slaves fare’.134 The KatdhakaJdtaka recounts the story of Katahaka, the son of a female slave, who was born on the same day as the son of a rich treasurer, and both grew up together and had the same education. However, he lived in the fear that his good fortune may not endure and at the slightest mistake, he would be beaten, imprisoned and fed on ‘slave’s fare’.135 The good fortune of Katahaka was very much an exception, for the

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stigma of being an offspring of a slave woman could not be shaken off, even though his/her paternity is derived from the king. The rules of commensality in society were governed by caste and lineage, and the Bhadda-sala Jataka provides interesting insight here. When the king of Kosala wished to marry a daughter of the Sakya clan, they chose Vasabhakhattiya, the daughter of a Sakya prince Mahanama and a slave woman, as the prospective bride. The Sakya custom of connubiality prevented a woman of pure lineage from being married outside their clan; at the same time, they could not refuse the king of Kosala. Hence, their choice fell on a girl of mixed parentage. But the Kosalans well were aware of the pride of the Sakyas in matter of lineage. They insisted that they would take only such a girl who ate along with clan members. Mahanama devised an ingenious plan to assure the Kosalans. As he sat down for his meal, Vasabhakhattiya was brought in to sit beside her father, and she dipped her hand in the same dish. No sooner had he taken a mouthful in her presence, as instructed earlier, his aides brought him a letter from the king. Holding it in his left hand he read the letter while keeping his right hand in the same dish but did not partake anymore of the food. The maiden meanwhile finished her meal, and the Kosalan messengers were deceived into thinking that she was indeed his daughter.136 Evidently presence of the daughter was not defiling as her touch. In due course Vasabhakhattiya was married to the Kosalan king but the stigma of slave birth was borne by their son Vidudabha. When he visited Kapilavatthu, he was entertained at the royal rest-house but the seat he had used was washed by a slave woman with milkwater.137 Hierarchy and pollution taboos are themes that recur in the narratives of the Jatakas.138 The most derogatory expressions in our stories have been used for the candalas, characterized as ‘the lowest race that go upon two feet’ or ‘the meanest men on earth’.139 These outcastes lived outside the village or town in their own setdements. Even sighting a candala was considered a bad omen and people washed their eyes with perfumed water when one was sighted.140 Therefore the question of sharing or accepting food from such low castes did not arise. The Matahga-Jataka relates how a group of people beat up the candala, Matahga. One day as he was entering the city of Benaras,

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the daughter of a setthl, Dittha-mangalika, happened to cast her eyes on him. When his identity was brought to her knowledge, she remarked that she had seen something that brings bad luck and immediately turned away from the park she was to enter. Her com¬ panions were extremely disappointed at having lost the opportunity of enjoying free food and drinks owing to the presence of the low caste man, and vented their anger on him.141 Presence of outcastes at meals of brahmanas was deemed sacrilegious. When the same candala Matanga, after becoming an ascetic arrived at an alms-hall where 16,000 brahmanas were having a meal, he was immediately turned away with abusive words. The deities of the city angered by such insulting behaviour towards the sage, seized them, and twisted their necks. At the pleading of his wife, Matanga ordained that they could be revived if they were made to taste a bit of the rice gruel from his bowl. Thus, they were revived but as these brahmanas had to taste the leftovers of a candala, they were declared outcastes by others and had to depart from Benaras. Birth was considered the only benchmark for engaging with an individual in society driven by brahmanical norms. Despite his developing the Eight Attainments and Five Supernatural Faculties, Matanga was still a vile low-caste unworthy of any gifts. The objective of the Jataka is contestation of this brahmanical concept of pre-eminence based on birth: Matanga derides the notion of pride of birth and overwhelming self-conceit which lead to vices like drunkenness, hatred, ignorance and greed.142 The rules of commensality are illustrated in the Satadhamma-Jataka, which tells the story of a brahmana and a candala, who met on the highway, and decided to journey together. The candala was carrying some provisions, while the other was not. When the brahmana was offered some food, he refused to take it from the low caste. By evening he was so famished that he begged some food from the candala, thinking he would throw away the portion defiled by his touch and eat the rest. No sooner had he done so, the brahmanas suffered from terrible pangs of remorse. He threw up the food with blood cursing himself for his ‘wicked deed’ and eventually died from his sin.143 Curiously, in his narration the Buddha did not refute the brahma, nical theory of pollution; rather it seems he ‘approved’ the destiny that befell the brahmana. This is not, so to speak, a reflection of the

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beliefs of the Buddha himself. The faith in ritualistic pollution was so well entrenched that the Master was compelled to resort to this narrative to impress upon the members of the Order the dismal destiny that awaits those who obtain food by resorting to unlawful means. We notice that there was no prohibition on brahmanas accepting food at the home of a vaisya for we have such a reference in the Ummadanti-Jdtaka. The king sent his priests to the residence of a rich merchant Tiritavaccha where they were received with great honour and hospitality and were served rice-milk.144 In the SudhabhojanaJdtaka, we are told that brahmanas begged for some porridge from Macchariyakosiya, a wealthy householder.145 A young brahmana boy had friends whose food habits were completely different from his. They consumed fish, meat and strong drinks, from which the boy desisted.146 Yet this did not prevent him from keeping their company. It is not clear from the story if his friends were of the same caste as he but from their food habits it seems unlikely. In some stories, a royal prince and the son of the royal chaplain were raised together and they ate the same food.147 IMPORTANCE OF TEMPERANCE What is striking about the dietary culture of Jataka society is its laxity, where the issue of concern is not so much what is consumed, rather how much is consumed and how food is obtained. Even the leavings of a dog were not forbidden food; the Great Being says:148 Leavings of householder or dog are not forbidden fruit, I ween; If it be gained by lawful means, all food is pure and lawful, queen.

The emphasis of Buddhist food ethics was on the cultivation of frugality especially among the inmates of the Order. Excessive greed for food is a vice in the eyes of the Buddhists and its perils are illustrated through some delightful stories. A jackal in the Panc-uposatha-Jdtaka, was delighted to find an elephant carcass. He discovered that the rump had very soft flesh and he gradually chewed on it till he entered the carcass and remained inside the belly where he slept and ate. But as the carcass began drying up in the hot weather, the way out of the belly became narrow and shrivelled up. He was eventually able to

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squeeze through but not before losing all his fur in the process. The beast realized that greed was the cause of his torment and vowed that he would not venture out for food until he had learnt to subdue his greed.144 Bhikkhus were continually cautioned against the bondage of craving for good food. The lust for taste led many to break their vows, renounce the Samgha, and fall for the charms of a woman. Elder Tissa was one such case who was so enticed by delicious alms he received from a slave girl that he finally decided to return to the life of a householder.1

The Buddha had to upbraid greedy monks

several times for their gastronomic overindulgence, and who were reminded that even in their previous lives as crows, they displayed the same despicable habit.151 Not only did the lust for taste cloud the senses and deflect the bhikkhu from his objective, it created practical problems as well, when we keep in mind the fact that mendicants of various persuasions, brahmanas and the indigent were all dependant on the same resource pool. At Savatthi, we are told, there were so many bhikkhus that a young man who had just joined the Order could manage to get only gruel of broken lumps of rice, stale or decaying solid food or dried and burnt sprouts.152 Immoderation in food would have placed excessive demand on the almsgivers and brought a bad name to the sect. The Buddha admitted that it would prevent the conversion of the unconverted. The Brothers had to exercise caution in their dietary intake, eat in moderation and keep watch over their senses.153 Those who were satisfied with what was easily available attained contentment, happiness and an easy mind.154 Further, the emphasis on temperance evinces a concern with public perception. The inmates of the Order could not conduct themselves like brahmanas who were ‘insatiable’,155 ‘greedy liars’,156 being keen on conducting sacrifices at any opportunity only to enjoy a lavish feat offish and meat.157 An amusing parable narrated in the AggikaJataka is a telling comment on the duplicity masked by the facade of saintliness. A jackal lost all his fur in a forest fire except a little tuft on his crown that looked like the scalp-knot. His ‘saintly’ appearance deceived the rats into believing that he was Bharadvaja, worshipper of the Fire-God and that he had come to guard them, though his intention was otherwise. When their dwindling numbers exposed his

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hypocrisy, the king of the rats sarcastically commented: ‘It is not sanctity, Bharadvaja, Votary of the Fire-God, but gluttony that has decked your crown with that top-knot.’158 Temperance in food is what differentiated the bhikkhus from the brahmanas, for abstinence and frugality are equated with virtuousness. As it has been argued, the brahmanas claim to pre-eminence frequently appears in the Jatakas only to be contested and exposed within the narrative.159 Food in the Indian ethos was not only about providing physical nourishment. Sharing and acceptance of food created bonding and friendship. The Buddha said that hospitality received in someone’s house even for a day should never be forgotten, and the recipient should never harbour an evil thought against the host or else he would be guilty of treachery.160 ‘Food sharing is the medium for creating and maintaining social relations both within and beyond the household.’161 Food also assumed different meanings for different groups of people: for the alms seeker and the forest dweller, who practised non-attachment to food, it was a way of emphasizing their moral conduct, while for the affluent, it was a means of displaying wealth and status. In the Vedic corpus, food was often equated with wealth (s'ri), fame (yas'as), and other signs of status and material success.162 An analysis of our narratives leads us to understand that food was perceived as having a dual nature. The gift of food is meritorious and is beneficent for the provider. But food can also be perilous and an ensnarement as illustrated in the Kukkuta-Jataka, wherein a falcon (Devadatta) tried to entice a wild fowl (Bodhisatta) to leave his secure place by inviting him to join him at a place where food is available in plenty.163 In the Indian cultural tradition food can be dangerous and this is nowhere more evident than in the ascetic traditions of India.164 What was benedictory for the almsgiver could be an anathema for the alms seeker. This dualism is inevitable in a society of householders and renouncers.

NOTES 1. C. Counihan, and P. Van Esterik, Food and Culture: A Reader, New York, 2nd edn., 2008, p. 2. 2. Monica L. Smith, ‘The Archaeology of Food Preference’, in American Anthropologist, vol. 108, Issue 3, 2006, pp. 480-93.

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3. K. Ulrich, ‘Food Fights: Flindu, Buddhist and Jain Dietary Polemics in South India’, in History of Religions, vol. 46, 2007, pp. 229-61. 4. R. Fick, The Social Organisation in North-East India in Buddha’s Time, English translation, Calcutta, 1920, p. viii. 5. T.R. Rhys Davids and H. Oldenberg, tr., The Mahavagga, VI.17.3 in The Vinaya Texts, The Sacred Books of the East Series, vols. 13 and 17, Delhi, 1965. 6. B.G. Gokhale, New Light on Early Buddhism, Bombay, 1994, p. 13. 7. E.B. Cowell (ed.), R. Chalmers et al. trans., The Jataka, vols. I-VI, Delhi, 1990, vol. VI: p. 139. Hereafter referred to as /. followed by the volume number. 8. /. IV: pp. 40-4. 9. /.Ill: pp. 35-7. 10. Fick, op. cit., pp. 191-2. 11. /.rV:p. 249. 12. R.N. Mehta, Pre-Buddhist India: A Political, Administrative, Economic, Social and Geographical Survey of Ancient India based on the Jataka Stories, Bombay, 1939, p. 352. 13. /. V: p. 207. 14. /. Ill: pp. 244-5. 15. / III. PP. 245-6. 16. /. Ill: p. 248. 17. The Mahavagga 1.4. 18. /. IV: p. 198. 19. /. Ill: p. 94. 20. /. Ill: p. 3: IV: p. 9. 21. /. IV: p. 91. 22. /. II: p. 200. 23. /.I: p. 252. 24. /.I: pp. 252-3. 25. /. IV: p. 491. 26. /. Ill: p. 22. 27. /.II: p. 57. 28. /. I: p. 23. 29. /.I: p. 67. 30. /.I: p. 93. 31. /. IV: p. 79. 32. /. Ill: p. 25. 33. /. IV: pp. 5-6. 34. /. IV: p. 150. 35. /. IV: p. 270. 36. Diospyros malabarica (Desr.) Kostel. RK. Warrier et al., Indian Medicinal Plants-. A Compendium of500 Species, vol. 2, Chennai, 2006 (rpt), p. 339.

Food Preferences and Dietary Practices in the Jatakas

37.

Buchanania lanzan

Spreng or B.

latifoiia

303

(Roxb.). Ibid., p. 309; C.P. Khare, Berlin/Heidelberg, 2007,

Indian Medicinal Plants: An Illustrated Dictionary,

p. 104. 38. I have not been able to identify this plant. 39. / IV; p. 234. 40. /V: p. 116. 41. /. V:p. 121. 42. /Ill: p. 194. 43. / IV: p. 220. 44. G. Buhler, tr., The Sacred Laws of the Aryas

as Taught in the Schools of

Sacred Books of the East Series, Delhi, 1965, vol. XIV, pt. II. 45. /. I: pp. 229-30. 46. /. IV: p. 14. 47. /.Ill: p. 223. 48. D.N. Jha, The Myth of the Holy Cow, London, 2004, p. 64. 49. / V:p. 11. 50. /VI: p. 175. 51. /. Ill: p. 230. 52. / III: p. 55. 53. /. V:p. 109. 54. / I: p .51. 55. / IV: p. 180. 56. /.Ill: p. 33. 57. /. IV:p. 24. 58. / IV: p. 186. 59. /V:p. 40. 60. / V: p. 85. 61. /. V: p. 86. 62. /. Ill: p. 57. 63. /.Ill: p. 181. 64. /A: p. 75. 65. /II: p. 169. 66. / IV: p. 45. 67. /. Ill: p. 34. 68. /. VI: 173. 69. /.VI: p. 274. 70. / IV: p. 229. 71. Ibid., p. 230. 72. / V: p. 267. 73. /. V: pp. 40,121. 74. D.D. Kosambi, Myth and Reality: Studies in the Formation of Indian Culture, Mumbai, 2005 (rpt.), p.103. Apastamba, Gautama, Vdsistha and Baudhayana,

304 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80.

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/. V: pp. 247-8. / I: p. 6. /. I: pp. 25-7. Kosambi, op. cit., p. 104. /. II: pp. 182-3. E.W. Hopkins, ‘The Buddhistic Rule Against Eating Meat \ Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 27, 1906, pp. 455-63. 81. /. II. p. 183. 82. The Makdvagga,Vl. 31.14. 83. J. IV: p. 284. 84. J. I: p. 34, fn.l. 85. S. Hardy, A Manual of Buddhism, in its Modem Development, London, 1853, p. 327. 86. Ibid. 87. I.B. Horner, Early Buddhism and the Taking of Life, Kandy, 1967, p. 11. 88. Ibid. 89. Ibid., p. 12. 90. J. II: p. 31. 91. Ibid. 92. J. V: p. 247, VI: p. 173. 93. Horner, op. cit., p. 3. 94. Ibid., p. 9. 95. /.P. McDermott, ‘Animals and Humans in Early Buddhism’, Indo-Iranian Journal, vol. 32, 1989, pp. 269-80. 96. J. I: p. 139. 97. McDermott, op. cit. 98. /.Ill: p. 113. 99. /. Ill: pp. 122-3. 100. /. Ill: p. 173. 101. /. V:p. 139. 102. /. Ill: p. 37. 103. /. Ill: pp. 278-9. 104. /. Ill: p. 310. 105. /. I: p. 52. 106. / I: pp. 127-8. 107. /. Ill: p. 260. 108. /. I: p. 308. 109. /. VI:p. 135. 110. / V: p. 7. 111. /VI: p. 299. 112. /. IV: p. 73. 113. /V:p. 228.

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114. /. I: p. 255. 115. /. I: p. 20. 116. /. V: p. 7. 117. /. IV: p. 236. 118. /. V:pp. 5-6. 119. /. V: p. 92. 120. /. I: p. 120. 121. Ibid. 122. /. I: p. 134. 123. /. Ill: p. 296. 124. /. VI: p. 260. 125. /. V: pp. 6-11. 126. /. I: p. 207. 127. /. II: p. 136. 128. /.V:p. 253. 129. /. IV: p. 139. 130. U. Chakravarti, Women, Men and Beast: The Jataka as Popular Tradition’ in Every Day Lives, Everyday Histories: Beyond the Kings and Brahmanas of 'Ancient’ India, Delhi, 2006, p. 199. 131. /. I: p. 252. 132. /. VI: p. 184. 133. /. I: p. 109. 134. /. I: p. 281. 135. /. I: p. 275. 136. /. IV: pp. 91-2. 137. /. IV: p. 93. 138. Chakravarti, op. cit., p. 199. 139. /. IV: p. 248. 140. /. IV: p. 236. 141. Ibid.,pp. 235-6. 142. Ibid., pp. 237-42. 143. /. II: pp. 57-8. 144. /. V: pp. 108. 145. /. V: pp. 206. 146. /. V: pp. 252. 147. /. Ill, p. 21. 148. /.V:p. 35. 149. /. IV: 206-7. 150. /. I: pp. 44-5. 151. /. Ill: p. 149. 152. /. Ill: p. 276. 153. /. Ill: p. 287.

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154. /. Ill: p. 195. 155. /.V:p. 243. 156. /. VI: p. 110. 157. /. Ill: p. 257. 158. /. I: pp. 283-4. 159. Chakravati, op. cit., p. 199. 160. /. VI: p. 149. 161. Counihan, and Van Esterik, op. cit., p. 3. 162. B.K. Smith, ‘Eaters, Food and Social Hierarchy in Ancient India: A Dietary Guide to a Revolution ofValues’, Journal of American Academy of Religion, vol. 58, no. 2, 1990, pp. 177-205. 163. /. IV: p. 36. 164. P. Olivelle, ‘From Feast to Fast: Food and the Indian Ascetic’, in J. Leslie, ed., Rules and Remedies in Classical Indian Law, Leiden, 1991, p. 23.

CHAPTER 1 1

Misunderstood Origins: How Buddhism Fooled Modern Scholarship and Itself* JOHANNES BRONKHORST

The way in which modern scholarship used to date early Buddhism in relation to late-Vedic literature has fascinated me for long. Strictly speaking, it did not date early Buddhism in relation to late-Vedic literature, but the other way round: it dated late-Vedic literature in relation to early Buddhism. Scholarship barely needed to date early Buddhism in this manner, for it had independent indications to go by. The Buddha could be dated in relation to certain inscriptions of Emperor Asoka, and Asoka could be dated in relation to certain Hellenistic rulers whom he mentions in his inscriptions. Add to this that the Buddhist traditions provided useful information, and it was clear that the Buddha had to be dated somewhere between the sixth and the fourth centuries bce. A detailed inspection of all this evidence convinced most scholars that the date of the Buddhas death was as precisely known as one could ever hope to get. Late-Vedic literature was a much harder nut to crack. Here there were virtually no independent indications that might help. No wonder that the comfortable chronological situation of Buddhism was invoked for help. One of the crucial arguments ran as follows: Vedic literature is for the most part ignorant of rebirth and Karmic retribution; these notions pop up in its most recent portions, viz., the early Upanisads;

‘This is the text of a lecture delivered at Austin, Texas on 18 February 2009. Some of the topics here discussed are taken up and elaborated in my book Buddhism in the Shadow of Brahmanism, Brill, Leiden, 2011.

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Buddhism knows and accepts these notions; conclusion; Buddhism arose after the notions of rebirth and Karmic retribution had been invented in late-Vedic literature. The logical force of this conclusion is far from compelling. In spite of this, it has had a remarkable appeal. Additional reasons were found to support the claim that Buddhism is more recent than late-Vedic literature, but these additional reasons were no more compelling. In my book Greater Magadha I have dealt in great detail with most, if not all, arguments that have been presented in scholarly literature to support these chronological convictions. The outcome was in¬ variably the same: the arguments are not compelling, and often in conflict with the available evidence. I am not going to repeat this analysis, which would make this lecture extremely boring, and which would serve no purpose because you can find it all in my book. In this lecture I intend to discuss another question, not dealt with in my book, viz., why did scholars, believers, and almost everyone else accept so readily that Buddhism arose after the completion of Vedic literature (or most of it)? The arguments that are supposed to justify this conclusion do no such thing. What, then, explains this credulity? The answer, I propose, lies in the circumstance that everyone involved—scholars, but also Hindus and Buddhists—were a priori convinced that Brahmanism, and therefore Vedic literature, constituted the background of early Buddhism. With such a presupposition the argument which I just sketched becomes, all of sudden, quite convincing. It now runs something like this: Vedic literature is for the most part ignorant of rebirth and Karmic retribution; these notions pop up in its most recent portions, the early Upanisads, and become part of the brahmanical background; Buddhism knows and accepts these notions from this brahmanical background; conclusion: Buddhism arose after the notions of rebirth and Karmic retribution had been invented in late-Vedic literature. In this form the argument is solid and convincing. I believe that my book Greater Magadha has sufficiently taken care of the idea that Brahmanism constituted the principal background of early Buddhism. Brahmanism did not constitute the background in which Buddhism arose. Buddhism arose in a region in which

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Brahmanism was not the dominant ideology. The region where Brah¬ manism was predominant was centred on the Doab of the two rivers Ganga and Yamuna. The region where Buddhism arose was situated to the east of the confluence of these two rivers. It had an altogether different culture. This eastern region I call Greater Magadha, and its culture: the culture of Greater Magadha. A great deal could be said about the culture of Greater Magadha, and some of it has been said in my book. More could no doubt be added, and I hope that future research will actually be able to do so. However, I will not deal with this issue today. As I just said, in this lecture I wish to concentrate on the question why scholars and so many others were so ready, perhaps even keen, to accept that Buddhism arose out of an anterior Vedic culture, after the completion of the Vedic corpus? In order to find an answer to this question, we first have to consider what happened to Buddhism in India half a millennium after its beginning. Sometime during the second century ce or earlier, the Buddhists of northwestern India adopted Sanskrit. Regarding the exact time when this happened, the recently discovered so-called Schoyen collection of manuscripts from Bamiyan provides some clue. Richard Salomon (2006: 358) says the following about it: The oldest fragments of that collection, which seem to date from about the late second or early third centuries ce, include manuscripts in both Gandhari and Sanskrit. This situation may reflect a transitional period during which the Kharosthi script and Gandhari language were being gradually . . . replaced in Greater Gandhara by Brahml and Sanskrit. . .’

If it is true that Asvaghosa, probably one of the first Buddhist authors to write in Sanskrit, is to be dated in the first century ce,1 the period of transition must have covered the second century ce plus perhaps some decenniums before and after. The adoption of Sanskrit is to be distinguished from the sanskritization of other languages such as Gandhari, but the two may be related. About the latter, Salomon (2001: 248) makes the following obser¬ vation: The new manuscript material indicates a gradual movement toward sanskritization of Gandhari whose roots go back to the first century, but which seems to have intensified in the second century, apparently during the reign of Kaniska and

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his Kusana successors. This agrees well with the chronology of hybridization as previously deduced for northern India from later Buddhist manuscripts and from inscriptions in Mathura and surrounding areas. Thus the incipient sanskritization of Buddhist textual and epigraphic languages probably accelerated simultaneously in the two main centers of the Indian empire of the Kusanas, namely Gandhara and central northern India, and it is hard to avoid concluding that the bulk of the sanskritization of Buddhist literature took place under the Kusanas.

The period of sanskritization of Gandhari coincides, it appears, with the beginning of the transitional period during which the Buddhists of north-western India shifted to Sanskrit.2 Whatever the precise limits of the period of transition, until that time the Buddhists had used regional languages, perhaps also some literary Middle Indie, but not Sanskrit. And indeed, why should they? Sanskrit was the language of the brahmins, with whom the Buddhists had little in common. Buddhism had survived for centuries using other languages than Sanskrit, had developed a highly technical philosophy, and had flourished in kingdoms and empires that did not use Sanskrit either. Why then did they adopt Sanskrit? One answer that has been suggested is that the effort of these Buddhists to write Sanskrit was, to cite John Brough (1954:368/147), ‘to present their doctrine in the language of learning and prestige’. This, however, begs the question: Why should Sanskrit, rather than any of the Middle Indie languages that were in use, be the language of learning and prestige? Sheldon Pollock sees the matter more clearly when he says (2006: 513): The adoption of Sanskrit by Buddhists after centuries of resistance is often explained by its being ‘the language of learning’ or possessing ‘technical precision’. We are never told why, after five centuries, it suddenly became necessary or desirable for Buddhists to begin to participate in such learning, or indeed why the precision of the local languages of Buddhism (Gandhari, Tocharian, and so on), which had often been vehicles for liturgy, metaphysical doctrine, and moral discourse, had suddenly failed.

This formulates the problem more clearly, but not yet clearly enough. There had not been ‘centuries of resistance’ against Sanskrit on the part of the Buddhists of India, as Pollock suggests, because there had been no pressure that had to be resisted. To state it once

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again, Sanskrit was the archaic language of a group of people, the brahmins, whom the Buddhists had no particular reason to imitate or please. Pollock (2006: 56-7) sums up the situation in the following words, and this time we can more fully agree with him: ‘What exactly prompted the Buddhists to abandon their hostility to the [Sanskrit] language after half a millennium [...] and finally adopt it for scripture, philosophy, and a wide range of other textual forms, some of which they would help to invent, is a question for which no convincing arguments have yet been offered.’ Pollock further observes that in this process ‘newly settled immigrants from the northwest seem to participate centrally’ (1996: 205-6).3 In order to make headway in answering this question, two issues have to be distinguished. One can easily imagine that Buddhism, which tended to adopt the language of the region in which it found itself, felt the need for a common language of communication. This is what Oskar von Hiniiber (1989: 351) described in the following words: [. . .] as soon as Buddhism began to spread over a larger area, the development of a language widely understood became imperative. The linguistic medium answering this demand eventually, was a literary Middle Indie language adapted, but hardly invented by the Buddhists themselves. [. . .] Once the Buddhists began to adopt the literary language current at their times, they started to move away from the spoken language, and ended up almost automatically in a more or less Sanskritized Buddhist Middle Indie [. . ,]4

These remarks explain the adoption of a common Middle Indie language, which is the first issue to be distinguished. The second one is the adoption of Sanskrit, and here von Hiniiber’s remarks offer no help. For the Sanskrit adopted is, at least in the case of certain Buddhists, the real brahmanical Sanskrit, not some language close to it.5 To cite once again John Brough (1954: 368/147): ‘So far as concerns the Sarvastivadin canon at least, there is no room to doubt that the authors frilly intended to write Sanskrit, and they would have been surprised at the suggestion that they were writing in a language essentially Prakritic in nature ....’ The question is, why? Don’t forget that until that time Buddhism had never yet used Sanskrit. Buddhism had moreover flourished and expanded in empires and kingdoms that

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never used Sanskrit either. The only users of Sanskrit until the great transformation were brahmins, and the Buddhists had no obvious reason to copy Brahmins. Considering the above, the question why the Buddhists adopted Sanskrit presents itself as a mystery. Buddhism (i.e. certain schools of Buddhism) adopted a language which it had no historical, religious, intellectual or ideological reasons to adopt. It seems evident that, in order to solve the mystery, it is necessary to take into consideration that something very similar happened in the political realm. There are no political inscriptions in Sanskrit that precede the middle of the second century ce. Before that date, political inscriptions in northern India had always used Middle Indie languages. Why did this change? I am aware of Pollocks position on this matter. Pollock rejects the essential role of brahmins and Brahmanism in the political adoption of Sanskrit. As he puts it (2006: 67): The radical reinvention of Sanskrit culture seems to have occurred—at least, it is here that we can actually watch it occurring—[. . .] in a social world where the presuppositions and conventions of vaidika culture were weakest: among newly immigrant peoples from the far northwest of the subcontinent (and ultimately from Iran and Central Asia), most importantly the Sakas (the so-called Indo-Scythians), especially a branch of the Sakas known as the Western Ksatrapas, and the Kusanas.

In order to evaluate this position we have to be clear about what is meant by vaidika culture or rather, whether vaidika culture has a role to play in this discussion. For all those who are not practicing brahmins themselves, Brahmanism is not, or not primarily, the religious culture which finds expression in the Vedic texts. Brahmanism, as others have pointed out before me, is for them a vision of a socio¬ political order.6 Rulers can adopt this vision without ‘converting’ to Brahmanism. Strictly speaking, Brahmanism did not make converts, at least not religious converts. It promoted a vision of society, and brahmanical influence will manifest itself through this vision as much as, if not more than, through specific religious beliefs or practices. With this in mind, let us look at the first important political Sanskrit inscription, the celebrated inscription of the Ksatrapa king Rudradaman, dating from shortly after 150 ce. This inscription,7 in

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brief, mentions a vaisya, refers to ‘all the varnas’, and points out that Rudradaman had undertaken a major work ‘in order to [benefit]8 cows and brahmins for a thousand of years’. There is therefore ample reason to agree with Richard Salomon when he says (1998: 93): ‘It appears that the use of Sanskrit for inscriptions was promoted, though not originated, by the Scythian rulers of northern and western India in the first two centuries of the Christian era. Their motivation in promoting Sanskrit was presumably a desire to establish themselves as legitimate Indian or at least Indianized rulers, and to curry the favor of the educated Brahmanical elite.’9

Indeed, ‘the shift to using Sanskrit, the brahmins’ liturgical language, for the business of state was primarily the initiative of foreign rulers—Scythians and Kusanas—anxious to align themselves with a priestly class firmly rooted in Aryavarta, the “Land of the Aryas” [. . .] Once introduced by arrivistes, this policy was fully established as the royal standard by the imperial Guptas.’10 Note that the brahmanical vision of society is absent in South Asian inscriptions that are not in Sanskrit and whose makers or instigators have no association with Brahmanism. This is true, to be sure, of the inscriptions of Asoka." They refer to none of the four varnas except the brahmins, nor to the system as a whole.12 It is also true of the early Tamil inscriptions, edited and studied by Iravatham Mahadevan (2003), which concern Jainas but not brahmins, and depict a society with an ‘absence of a priestly hierarchy’ (p. 162). It appears to be true of other inscriptions in Kharosthl, unless I am mistaken.13 An exception has to be made, not surprisingly, for Nasik Cave Inscription no. 2 of the Satavahanas, who are known to have been influenced by the brahmanical vision of society. This inscription contains the expression ekabamhana ‘one-brahmin’ (the precise interpretation of this expression is not certain), it has the term khatiya, refers to the four varnas (cdtuvana), to the twice-born (dija), and even to the (brahmanical) three objects of human activity (tivaga).14 Rudradaman, one of the first to refer, and adhere, to the brahmanical (di-)vision of society, is also one of the first to use Sanskrit. Is this a coincidence? The obvious answer to this question must be: no. Let us return to the Buddhists of north-western India. The pressure on them to use Sanskrit must have come through the intermediary of royal courts that had accepted the brahmanical vision of society,

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and Sanskrit along with it. This process is in need of further analysis, which cannot be undertaken here. It seems however clear that the pressure to use Sanskrit went hand in hand with the pressure to accept the brahmanical vision of society, at least in its fundamentals. This last claim is testable. It raises the question whether Buddhist works composed in Sanskrit are more brahmanical in their description of society than works composed in Middle Indie. The thesis I wish to present is that this is indeed the case. I have not had occasion to explore this thesis exhaustively, but I can, and will, present some examples that support it. Consider first Asvaghosas Buddhacarita, which may belong to the first generation of Buddhist works directly composed in Sanskrit. It describes the life of the Buddha before his enlightenment. The society, and indeed the family, into which the Buddha is born is, according to this text, completely pervaded by brahmanical ideas and customs. Not only does his royal father receive brahmins to pronounce on the greatness of his new-born son,15 he has the birth ceremony (jatakarmari) carried out, and performs Vedic murmurings (japa), oblations (homa) and auspicious rites (mahgala) to celebrate the event, all this followed by a gift of a hundred thousand cows to brahmins.16 Also later he pours oblations into the fire and gives gold and cows to brahmins, this time to ensure a long life for his son.17 He drinks soma as enjoined by the Vedas.18 He performs sacrifices, even though only such as are without violence.19 He has a purohita,20 described as ‘in charge of the sacrifices’ (havya . . . adhikrta).21 King Srenya of Magadha gives friendly advice to the Bodhisattva, counselling him to pursue the triple end of life (trivarga), viz., pleasure (kdma), wealth (artha) and virtue (dharma), i.e. the three brahmanical aims of life. Mara, the Buddha’s arch-enemy who tries to prevent him from attaining liberation, calls upon him to follow his svadharma,22 King Srenya points out that performing sacrifices is his kuladharma ‘family obligation’.23 These and many other examples show, not just that Asvaghosa was familiar with Brahmanism, but that he and his readers situated the Buddha in fully brahmanized surroundings. Asvaghosas Saundarananda paints a similar picture of the Buddha’s father. He here studies the highest Brahman,24 makes the brahmins

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press somed^ which he drinks,26 sacrifices with the help of brahmins,27 and is said to be a follower of the Veda.28 The Saundarananda also emphasizes the martial side of King Suddhodana, a side which easily fits into a brahmanical world-view, and less smoothly into a Buddhist one. We read, for example, that the king ‘favoured those who submitted to him [and] waged war on the enemies of his race (kuladvis)'.29 He took away from his foes their mighty fame’.30 He ‘dispersed his foes with his courage’;31 ‘by his holiness he put down the army of internal foes, and by his courage his external foes’.32 ‘With the heat of his courage he reduced proud foes to ashes’.33 There are further examples, which confirm the brahmanization of Buddhism in northern India from, say, the second century ce onwards. One of these is the Jatakamald of Aryasura, composed in Sanskrit, probably in the fourth century ce.34 The ideal king in the Jatakamald behaves in accordance with brahmanical principles. This is best illustrated in those stories in which the Bodhisattva himself is king. In this elevated position he carries out deeds of great liberality and compassion, which move him forward on his path toward Buddhahood. A king, we learn from these stories, pursues, even if he is an exceptionally good king, the three brahmanical aims of life, the trivargaf i.e. virtue (dharma), wealth [artha), and desire (kdma). In case of adversity, he takes advice from the brahmin elders headed by his purohita?6 He has mastered the essence of the triple Veda and of brahmanical philosophy,37 has competence in the Vedas along with its Ahgas and Upavedas.38 And the result of his perfect rule is that the inhabitants of his kingdom are characterized by love for their own Dharma (svadharma)P Once again we see that the ideal king, in the Jatakamald as in the Buddhacarita and Saundarananda, is basically a brahmanical king, one who follows brahmanical norms and cus¬ toms.40 These texts composed in Sanskrit contrast with comparable literature composed in Middle Indie. I must be brief with regard to the Suttas of the Pali canon. They often refer to brahmins. But these brahmins live, like everyone else, in essentially non-brahmanical surroundings. The situation presented in the works of Asvaghosa and Aryasura is different: here everyone, including the Buddhists, lives in

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surroundings that are largely brahmanized, in the sense that a number of brahmanical norms and values with regard to kingship and society are the rule. Asvaghosa’s detailed description of the Buddha’s father as an ideal brahmanical king contrasts sharply with other contemporary biographies of the Buddha. The Mahdvastu, for all its length, has very little to say about Suddhodana’s accomplishments as a king. And the Lalitavistara presents him as an ideal Buddhist king, without using any brahmanical terminology.41 Indeed, it would seem that As'vaghosa has himself invented the elaborate descriptions of the ideal kingship of the Buddhas father, perhaps with the conscious purpose of glorifying brahmanical notions. Not all Buddhists at that time shared this admiration for brahmins. The attitude of the Mahdvastu appears to be quite different, for it does not even entrust to brahmins the ability to interpret the marks on the body of the just-born Buddha-to-be, even though this is a traditional part of the story which already occurs in the ancient canon. The Mahdvastu replaces the traditional brahmins with gods, and adds an uncomplimentary remark about the incompetence of the brahmins:42 ‘When the child had entered the royal palace, the king bade his Purohita fetch at once the wise men who were skilled in the rules and significance of signs. Learning this, the saintly devas, called Mahesvaras, (came on the scene), lest the unskilled crowd of the twice-born should seek to interpret the signs.’ The twice-born are the brahmins, and they are stated not to be good enough for the task at hand. The contrast between the works of Asvaghosa on the one hand and the Mahdvastu and the Lalitavistara on the other, has to be seen in the light of the fact that Asvaghosa’s works were composed in Sanskrit, while the Mahdvastu and the Lalitavistara were not. The former of these two has been preserved in a Middle Indie language which is often referred to as Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit, but which is a Middle Indie language nonetheless;43 the latter has been incompletely Sanskritized from Middle Indie.44 The most important Theravada, and therefore Pali, source for the life of the Buddha is the Niddnakatha, which introduces the collection of Jatakas.45 Its middle portion, the Avidurenidana, covers by and

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large the same material as Asvaghosa’s Buddhacarita-, it is in its present form no doubt a few centuries younger.46 Like the Mahavastu and the Lalitavistara, it has little to say about the kingly virtues of the Buddhas father. Since this text, at least in its present form, appears to have originated in Sri Lanka, and therefore outside of continental India, it can only play a marginal role in our reflections.47 I mention briefly a few more examples in order to show that the brahmanization of Buddhism that I talk about was a real historical phenomenon, and not just a product of my imagination: Matrceta’s Varndrhavarnastotra ‘Laudation for him whose praise is worthy of praise’ is hardly the kind of text in which one expects brahmanical elements. But already in his introduction to the first chapter, Jens-Uwe Hartmann, its editor and translator, draws attention to the brahmanical concepts used in it.48 More striking use of brahmanical elements occurs elsewhere in the work. Verse 2.20, for example, calls the Buddha a brahmin who knows the Veda and the Vedangas (vedavedangavedine. . . brdhmanaya). The second next verse calls him a sndtaka, ‘a brahmin who has performed his ceremony of ablution at the end of his Vedic studies’. Chapter 7 (Brahmdnuvdda) goes further and ‘translates’ a number of brahmanical elements into Buddhist ones. Interestingly, among the Buddhist works composed in Sanskrit there are some that deal with niti. Niti, and more in particular rdjaniti, was reviled in the Jdtakamald.49 This was not surprising, because the kind of advice brahmins gave to kings was unacceptable to Buddhists. It is therefore all the more noteworthy that at least one of the Buddhist texts on niti contains verses on polity and state-administration. This text, the Prajnasataka (or Prajndsataka-ndmaprakarana), is attributed to a Nagarjuna, no doubt not the same as the famous one, and has only survived in Tibetan translation. It contains ‘praise of the brahmanical order including the practice of homa with mantras’. It also ‘claims that it contains both direct and indirect merits as a source of dharma, art ha, kama and moksa’.50 In other words, this text, though Buddhist, has absorbed the brahmanical vision of society. We have seen that Asvaghosa situated the Buddha in brahmanized surroundings. Kumaralata’s Kalpandmanditikd Drstantapahkti—whose French translator, Edouard Huber (1908: 10 ff.), still thought that it was Asvaghosa’s Sutrdlahkdra —does the same, but differently, by claiming that the brahmanical philosophy of Vaisesika was believed in by foolish people until the time when the Buddha appeared in the world.

Having come thus far, you may agree with me that half the title of my lecture is justified: the Buddhists of northern India did fool

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themselves into believing that their religion had originated in brahmanical surroundings. My next task is to show that they fooled modern scholarship as well. We know already that modern scholarship was led to accept this position. The question that remains is: how did this happen? I think that the Buddhist literature composed in Sanskrit played a crucial role in this. This was the literature primarily studied and exploited by one of the pioneers of Buddhist studies in Europe, Eugene Burnouf. Donald Lopez states in a recent book that Burnouf’s Introduction a Ikistoire du bouddhisme indien is arguably ‘the single most important work in the history of the academic study of Buddhism’ (Lopez, 2008: 170). It laid the basis for Buddhist studies in the West, and through it subsequent European scholars were breast-fed, so to say, on the ‘Sanskritic’ vision of Buddhisms past. Burnouf based himself in this regard on the Divyavadand>x and other northern texts, and it is not surprising that he concluded that Buddhism arose in a completely brahmanized society. Burnouf s Introduction and the works he had primarily studied, including Asvaghosa’s Buddhacarita, remained popular in the nineteenth century; the Buddhacarita appeared, for example, twice in the ten volumes devoted to Buddhism in the Sacred Books of the East Series (Lopez, 2008: 155). By the time earlier Buddhist sources came to be studied in-depth, this ‘Sanskritic’ vision of Buddhism’s past had become deeply anchored, far too deeply to be easily modified.

ABBREVIATIONS Buddhac: Asvaghosa, Buddhacarita, ed. and translator. E.H. Johnston, Calcutta, 1935. Jm(H)

: Aryasura, Jatakamald, ed. A. Hanisch, Marburg, 2005 (IndTib

Jm(V)

: Aryasura, Jatakamald, ed. P.L. Vaidya, Darbhanga, 1959 (BST

Lal(V)

: Lalitavistara, ed. P.L. Vaidya, Darbhanga, 1958, (BST 1).

43/1).

21). Mvu

: Mahavastu-Avaddna, ed. Emile Senart, 3 vols., Paris, 1882-97.

Saund

: Asvaghosa, Saundarananda, ed. and tr. E.H. Johnston, Oxford, 1928-32.

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NOTES 1. Hiltebeitel, 2006: 233 f. Olivelle (2008: xix f.) argues for the second century CE. 2. Fussman (1988: 17) emphasizes that sanskritization was no continuous process: ‘Le degre de sanskritisation d’un texte ne permet . . . pas—a lui seul—de dater celui-ci, meme relativement.’ 3. Perhaps the Sarvastivadins played a key role here. Cp. Brough, 1954: 367 [146]: ‘in the case of the Sanskrit canon, it is obvious from comparing the Pali version that it is very largely constructed out of older material in some Prakrit dialect; but there seems to be no reason for assuming that it is anything other than a quite definite translation into Sanskrit, done at a specific period, when the Sarvastivadins decided to adopt Sanskrit as their official language.’ 4. In another article Hinuber (1983) argues that Buddhist Middle Indie subsequently developed into Pali and Buddhist [Hybrid] Sanskrit. See pp. 192-3: ‘Pali and Buddhist Sanskrit have common roots and develop in the same direction for some time, until Pali loses contact with the north shordy after the beginning of the Christian era and from that time onwards is disconnected from the further developments in the north of the subcontinent.’ 5. Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit is different. Edgerton’s (1953:1: 14) characterizes it as ‘a real language, not a modification or corruption of any other dialect on record, and as individual in its lexicon as it has been shown to be in its grammar.’ 6. de Casparis and Mabbett, 1992: 288. 7. Kielhorn, 1906. For a description and depiction of the site, see Falk, 2006: 118 f. 8. This is the interpretation suggested by Kielhorn (1906: 49 n. 2). 9. Lubin (2005: 94) states: ‘Perhaps the key detail that might throw light on Rudradaman’s motive in having this inscription composed in Sanskrit is the description of him as ‘having attained wide fame for mastering, remembering, fathoming, and practicing the great sciences of word-and-meaning, music, logic, and so forth’ (sabdanhagandharwanydyddyanam vidydnam mahatindm pdranadhdranavijndnaprayogdvaptavipulakirttind [1. 13]). The notion that expertise in the various branches of vidyd was the dharma of a ksatriya directly reflects the influence of the brahmanical doctrine of Sanskrit learning as a criterion of high varna. The fact that this Indo-Scythian ruler was one of the first to employ Sanskrit in a political forum suggests that this innovation was a calculated effort to demonstrate publicly the legitimacy of his rule by embracing the sacred authority of the brahmins.’ 10. Lubin, 2005: 94.

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11. There is a passage in the fifth Rock Edict which has sometimes been interpreted as concerning the four varnas. The important words have the form bhatamayesu bambhanibbhesu, with variants. The interpretation of these words is far from obvious. Bloch (1950: 104) does not translate these words, but comments in a note (n. 10): ‘Tres obscur. On a tire mayesu, ou plutot mayyesu, de marya, ou de ary a avec un -m- euphonique; done ‘serfs et nobles, brahmanes et bourgeois’: en somme les quatre castes?’ 12. See, e.g. the indexes in Hultzsch, 1924; Schneider, 1978; Andersen, 1990. 13. See the index in Konow, 1929, and the index of miscellaneous terms in Liiders, 1912. 14. Senart, 1906: 60 1. 4-6. Bhandarkar (1938: 33) proposes to understand the term khatiya as referring to a tribe in north-western India, but the multitude of brahmanical terms shows that no doubt members of the second varna (ksatriya) are meant. 15. Buddhac 1.31 f. 16. Ibid., 1.82-3 17. Ibid., 2.36. 18. Ibid., 2.37. 19. Ibid., 2.49. 20. Ibid., 4.8; 8.82, 87; 9.1 f. 21. Ibid., 10.1. 22. Ibid., 13.9. 23. Ibid., 10.39. 24. Saund 2.12. 25. Ibid., 2.31. 26. Ibid., 2.44. 27. Ibid., 2.35-6. 28. Ibid., 2.44. 29. Ibid., 2.10. 30. Ibid., 2.16. 31. Ibid., 2.29. 32. Ibid., 2.36. 33. Ibid., 2.39. 34. Khoroche, 1989: xi f. 35. Jm(V), p. 7 I. 8; p. 71 1. 1 = Jm(H) p. 10 1. 8; p. 97 1. 5. 36. Ibid., p. 701. 20-1; Jm(H) p. 961.23:purohitapramukhan brdhmanavrddhan [u]pdyam papraccha. 37. Ibid., p. 55 1. 4; Jm(H) p. 75 1. 4: trayydnviksikyor upalabdharthatattva. 38. Ibid., p. 217 1. 7-8: sdngesu sopavedesu ca vedesu vaicaksanyam. 39. Ibid., p. 45 1. 25; p. 55 1. 4 = Jm(H) p. 63 1. 20; p. 75 1. 5. 40. It is true that the Jatakamdld expresses itself more than once critically with

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regard to brahmanical ideas about statecraft, which it calls niti, sometimes rdjaniti. One passage calls it ‘that vile thing called niti' [ Jm(V) p. 45 1. 21; Jm(H) p. 63 1.15: dharmas tasya nayo na nitinikrtih]. In another passage the Bodhisattva who, as king of a group of monkeys, has saved all the members of his group at great risk to himself, admits that it is commonly thought that subjects are there for the king, not vice-versa; he then however comments: ‘That is indeed rdjaniti-, it seems to me difficult to follow’ [ Jm(V) p. 186 1. 4: kamam evampravrttd . . . rdjanitih/duranuvartya tu mampratibhdtH\. In another chapter the Bodhisattva is told that untruth is prescribed in the Veda in order to attain certain goals, such as saving one’s life, and that those who are skilled in the niti of kings proclaim that the application of virtue that is in conflict with one’s material interest and desires is bad behaviur and an infraction [Jm(V) p. 224 1. 20-22: apdtakam hi svaprdnapariraksdnimittam gurujanartham cdnrtamdrgo vedavihita itil.. . / artbakdmdbhydm ca virodbidrstam dharmasamsrayam anayam iti svasanam iti ca rdjndm pracaksate nitikusalah /]. The Bodhisattva, of course, expresses his disagreement. Most elaborate perhaps is Chapter 31, the Sutasoma Jdtaka. Here the Bodhisattva, a prince who has initially been liberated by a man-eating monster, delivers himself again into the latter’s power because he had given his word to come back. The monster observes: ‘You are not skillful in the ways of niti, because you have again come to me even though I had liberated you so that you could rejoin your home which is agreeable all around with the magnificence of kingship.’ The Bodhisattva responds that, on the contrary, he is skillful in the ways of niti, and that is why he does not wish to apply them. He then utters the following verse: ‘Those who are clever in the application of the ways of niti generally fall into misfortune after death. Having rejected the ways of niti considering them deceitful, I have come back, respecting truth.’ [(Jm(V) p. 2261. 13-25: mukto mayd ndmasametyageham, samantato rajyavibhutiramyam/yan matsamipam punardgatas tvam, na nitimarge kttsalo ‘si tasmat/Zbodhisattva uvdca: naitad asti/aham eva tu kusalo nitimarge yad etiam na pratipattum icchdmi /... I ye nitimdrgapratipattidhitdh, prdyena te pretya patanty apdyan/apdsyajihmdn iti niti, mdrgdn, satydnuraksipunar dgato smi H\. 41. Lal(V), pp. 17 f. 42. Mvu II, p. 27; similarly I p. 224. Tr. Jones, modified. Cp. Mvu I p. 150. 43. Edgerton’s (1953:1: 14) characterizes it as ‘a real language, not a modification or corruption of any other dialect on record, and as individual in its lexicon as it has been shown to be in its grammar.’ 44. For thoughts about the reason why all forms of Middle Indie used by Buddhists underwent a process of Sanskritization (as distinct from a complete shift to Sanskrit), see Salomon, 2001: 248 f. 45. Hiniiber, 1996: 55 f.; Reynolds, 1976: 50 f. The English translator calls the

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Niddnakatha ‘the Ceylon compilers introduction’ (Rhys Davids, 1878: vii). 46. Hiniiber, 1996: 152. 47. Note in this connection the relative prominence of the kingly Purohita in the Jatakas; Fick, 1897: 107 f. 48. Hartmann, 1987:65. Hartmann draws attention to the terms s'ruti, praksdlana, punyatirtha, pavitra and aghamarsana in particular. 49. See note 40, above. 50. Pathak, 1997: 77; also 1974: 34 f. 51. Burnouf, 1844-76: 144: \ .. j’ai cru que je devais exposer les resultats que m’a donnes la lecture attentive des six cent soixante et quatorze pages du Divya avadana. Je ne crois pas trap m’avancer en disant que si Ton n’y doit pas trouver une exposition tout a fait complete du Buddhisme, on y verra au moins l’histoire fidele de ses premiers efforts, et comme le tableau exact de son etablissement au sein de la societe brahmanique.’

REFERENCES Andersen, Paul Kent (1990): Studies in the Minor Rock Edicts of Asoka, I: Critical Edition. Freiburg: Hedwig Falk. Bhandarkar, D.R. (1938): ‘Silahara Cave Inscriptions’. Epigraphia Indica 32 (1933-4), 30-6. Bloch, Jules (1950): Les inscriptions d’Asoka. Traduites et commentees. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Bronkhorst, Johannes (2007): Greater Magadha: Studies in the Culture of Early India. Leiden & Boston: Brill. (Handbook of Oriental Studies, 2/19). Bronkhorst, Johannes (2011): Buddhism in the Shadow of Brahmanism. Leiden & Boston: Brill. (Handbook of Oriental Studies 2/24). Brough, John (1954): ‘The Language of the Buddhist Sanskrit Texts.’ Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 16(2), 351-75. -(1996): Collected Papers, Minoru Hara and J.C. Wright. London, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. Burnouf, E. (1844/1876): Introduction a l’histoire du bouddhisme indien. Deuxieme edition rigoureusement conforme a l’edition originale. Paris: Maisonneuve. de Casparis, J.G. and I.W. Mabbett (1992): ‘Religion and Popular Beliefs of Southeast Asia Before c. 1500.’ The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia. Volume One: From Early Times to c. 1800. Nicholas Tarling, ed„ Cambridge University Press, pp. 276-339. Edgerton, Franklin (1953): Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit: Grammar and Dictionary. 2 vols. New Haven. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass (rpt.), 1977.

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Falk, Harry (2006): Asokan Sites and Art facts: A Source-book with Bibliography. Mainz am Rhein, Philipp von Zabern. Fick, Richard (1897): Die sociale Gliederung im norddstlichen Indien zu Buddha’s Zeit, mit besonderer Beriicksichtigung der Kastenfrage, vomehmlich auf Grand derjataka dargcstellt. Kiel: C.F. Haeseler. Photomechanischer Nachdruck: Akademische Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt, Graz, 1974. Fussman, Gerard (1988): ‘Documents epigraphiques kouchans (V). Buddha et bodhisattva dans 1 art de Mathura: deux bodhisattvas inscrits de Fan 4 et 1 an 8. Bulletin de TEcole Franfaise d’Extreme-Orient 77, 5-25. Hartmann, Jens-Uwe (1987): Das Varndrhavarnastotra des Matrceta. Herausgegeben und ubersetzt. Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. (Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Gottingen, philologischhistorische Klasse, Dritte Folge, Nr. 160; Sanskrittexte aus den Turfanfunden,

12.) Hiltebeitel, Alf (2006): ‘Asvaghosa’s Buddhacarita: The First Known Close and Critical Reading of the Brahmanical Sanskrit Epics.’ Journal of Indian Philosophy 34, 229-86. Hinuber, Oskar von (1983): ‘The Oldest Literary Language of Buddhism.’ Selected Papers on Pali Studies. Oxford: The Pali Text Society, pp. 177-94. -(1989): ‘Origin and Varieties of Buddhist Sanskrit.’ Dialectes dans les litteratures indo-aryennes, ed. Colette Caillat. Paris: Edition-Diffusion de Boccard. (Publications de l’lnstitut de Civilisation Indienne, serie in-8°, fasc. 55.), pp. 341-67. -(1996): A Handbook of Pali Literature. Berlin & New York: Walter de Gruyter. (Indian Philology and South Asian Studies, 2.) Huber, Edouard (1908): Asvaghosa, Sutrdlamkara. Traduit en fran^ais sur la version chinoise de Kumarajiva. Paris, Ernest Leroux. Hultzsch, E. (1924): Inscriptions of Asoka. New edition. (Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum, 1.) Reprint: Delhi & Varanasi: Indological Book House, 1969. Jones, J.J. (tr.)( 1949-56): The Mahavastu, Translated from the Buddhist Sanskrit. London: Luzac. Khoroche, Peter (1989): Once the Buddha was a Monkey: Arya Sura’s Jatakamdld Translated from the Sanskrit. Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press. Kielhorn, F. (1906): ‘Junagadh Rock Inscription of Rudradaman; the Year 72.’ Epigraphia Indica 8 (1905-6), 36-49. Konow, Sten (1929): Kharoshtht Inscriptions with the Exception of Those of Asoka. (Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum, 2.1.), Varanasi: Indological Book House, 1969. Lopez, Donald S. (2008): Buddhism & Science: A Guide for the Perplexed. Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press.

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Lubin, Timothy (2005): ‘TheTransmission, Patronage, and Prestige of Brahmanical Piety from the Mauryas to the Guptas.’ Boundaries, Dynamics and Construction of Traditions in South Asia. Ed. Federico Squarcini. Firenze University Press & Munshiram Manoharlal, pp. 77-103. Liiders, H. (1912): A ListofBrahmi Inscriptions from the Earliest Times to About AD. 400 with the Exception [sic] of Those ofAsoka. Varanasi & Delhi: Indological Book House. 1973. (This appears to be a reprint of A List of Brahmi Inscriptions’ that came out in 1912 as an Appendix to Epigraphia Indica 10.) Mahadevan, Iravatham (2003): Early Tamil Epigraphy: From the Earliest Times to the Sixth Century ad. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Olivelle, Patrick (tr.)(2008): Life of the Buddha by Asvaghosa. New York University Press & JJC Foundation. Pathak, Suniti Kumar (1974): The Indian Nitisdstras in Tibet. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Pathak, S.K. (1997): ‘Nitisastra’. Glimpses of the Sanskrit Buddhist Literature (vol. I). Ed. Kameshwar Nath Mishra. Sarnath & Varanasi: Central Institute of Higher Tibetan Studies, pp. 74-87. Pollock, Sheldon (1996): ‘The Sanskrit Cosmopolis, 300-1300: Transculturation, Vernacularization, and the Question of Ideology.’ Ideology and Status of Sanskrit. Contributions to the History of the Sanskrit Language. Jan E.M. Houben (ed.). Leiden, E.J. Brill. (Brill’s Indological Library, 13), pp. 197247. Pollock, Sheldon (2006): The Language of the Gods in the World of Men: Sanskrit, Culture, and Power in Premodern India. Berkeley, Los Angeles & London: University of California Press. Reynolds, Frank E. (1976): ‘The Many Lives of Buddha: A Study of Sacred Biography and Theravada Tradition’. The Biographical Process: Studies in the History and Psychology of Religion. Frank E. Reynolds and Donald Capps (eds.). The Hague & Paris: Mouton, pp. 37-61. Rhys Davids, T.W. (tr.)( 1878): Buddhist Birth-stories (Jataka Tales): The Commentarial Introduction Entitled Nidana-katha, the Story of the Lineage.

Reprint: Varanasi & Delhi: Indological Book House, 1973. Salomon, Richard (1998): Indian Epigraphy: A Guide to the Study of Inscriptions in Sanskrit, Prakrit, and the other Indo-Aryan Languages, New York & Oxford: Oxford University Press. Salomon, Richard (2001): ‘“Gandhari hybrid Sanskrit”: New Sources for the Study of the Sanskritization of Buddhist Literature’, Indo-Iranian Journal 44, 241-52. Salomon, Richard (2006): ‘Recent Discoveries of Early Buddhist Manuscripts and Their Implications for the History of Buddhist Texts and Canons’,

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Between the Empires: Society in India 300 BCE to 400 CE, ed. Patrick Olivelle. Oxford University Press, pp. 349-82. Schneider, Ulrich (1978): Die grossen Felsen-Edikte As'okas. Kritiscbe Ausgabe, ObersetzungundAnalyse der Texte, Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz (Freiburger Beitrage zur Indologie, 11). Senart, E. (1906): ‘The Inscriptions in the Caves at Nasik’. Epigraphia Indica 8 (1905-6), 59-96.

CHAPTER

12

History and Literature: Unravelling Conversations in the Local Context of Buddhist Deccan* ALOKA PARASHER-SEN

My conversations with Prof. R.S. Sharma always revolved around the particularity of the Deccan and how literary sources primarily focusing on regions north of the Vindhyas often portrayed peoples of the Deccan as the cultural ‘other’. With the arrival of Buddhism into this region even during the lifetime of the Buddha as some scholars suggest, people of the Deccan did not necessarily remain the ‘other’. R.S. Sharma had also taught us that whatever information we got from literary perspective of texts should, as far as possible be corroborated with material evidence from archaeology and inscriptions. In a small measure this paper is an attempt to do so. His interest in looking at the horse and ship symbols on Satavahana coins and interpreting them in relation to the meaning of the term ‘Satavahana’ too resonates with the attempt below that looks at the deep connection between travellers to the region both by sea and inland routes and their conversations with the local people. However, since the Deccan of early historical times has very few literary sources, I draw on a more contemporary account of the past to bring out the textures of social history in a region that has generally been understood as the home of the origin of Mahayana Buddhism. How does one recover the

*An earlier version of this paper was orally presented at the International Seminar on: ‘Buddhism Beyond Buddhism: Buddhist Themes in 20th Telugu Literature,’ organized by the International Telugu Centre, Potti Sriramalu Telugu University, Hyderabad, 6-7 January 2007.

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sensibilities of emotions, conversations, feelings, through historical data that are nonetheless part of our collective heritage now frozen on stone or an ancient script? The domain of literature has an intimate relationship with our memories of the past. I am drawing on ideas in some recent issues of the journal Rethinking History that suggest that the ‘historical and fictional can be mixed for certain literary purposes but ought never be confused.’1 In one such article Hayden Whyte concurring with Richard Slotkin’s work quotes him to the effect that on the one hand, ‘history-writing requires a Active or imaginary representation of the past’ and, on the other, that ‘the writing of historical fiction can be a valuable adjunct to the work of historians in their discipline’.2 In the present paper we shall focus on a reading of a fictional account that throws light on the lesser known intangibles of who lived at Nagarjunakonda, how the Buddhist monks who stayed in the monasteries here interacted with the local inhabitants, how the artists and other specialists viewed the essence of their art and interacted with foreign travellers to the place and so forth. Towards the latter half of the paper we hinge on fragments of inscriptions and other historical data that complement this reading to argue how a literary representation and hardcore evidence both infuse life into a historical discourse. And the 'Roman artist asked: “Can I have letters of introduction to the brother Shilpins in all those placesf” The young monk from Nagarjunakonda ironically commented: 'You do not need letters of introduction to the areas of silence' [emphasis added] Mulk Raj Ananda3

The above quote is from a literary account written at a time, namely, the mid-twentieth century when both in literature and the arts there were serious attempts made at the resurrection of the so-called ‘Indian’ elements of our cultural heritage. In the particular context of the Deccan, the mid-twentieth century led to a ‘discovery’ or, should one say, a recovery of the monumentality of Buddhist art. In particular, in the making of the vision of Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru—the temples of modern India—a concomitant aftermath was the destruction, displacement, replacement of the older temples. One telling example of this was the building of the magnificent Nagarjunasagar Dam

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which simultaneously meant a massive archaeological salvage operation as the dam was meant to unleash water over what was once the home and core of civilization in early Deccan. Nagarjunakonda, the site, Nagarjuna, the great Buddhist philosopher, the Satavahanas, the first ‘imperial’ patrons of Buddhism in the Deccan and a whole gamut of the history of the lower Krishna valley was about to be eroded and today its vivid monuments and sculptures remain intact for us only as memory of their original extant locations and contexts. What came to be resurrected that is now visible on the island museum is in fact, a mere commemoration and the putting up of a kind of memorial of what we need to remember both in symbol and actuality. The submergence of areas around Nagarjunakonda for the building of the dam therefore led the archaeologists and art historians into a race against time to document as much as possible about that era of the glory of Buddhism in the Deccan. In 1965 a special issue of the Indian Art Journal Margvtzs brought out on the art of Nagarjunakonda. In moving away from mere descriptions of the historical remains and the plastic arts, in this issue Mulk Raj Anand penned down for us a fine fictional account that has often gone unnoticed entitled: ‘Conversation in Nagarjunakonda’. Travelling across the subcontinent, we submit, was an integral part of the way different parts of the subcontinent interacted, which subsequently shaped linguistic communication and social under¬ standings. It created temporary social milieus in contrast to the ap¬ parently permanent social spaces of the village, town and province. It is the totality of understanding both these that would ultimately give us a historical account of a moving and dynamic society rather than one based on only a normative view of it. We emphasize that to create the imagination of such a thinking, feeling and dynamic social order we must first turn to literature that enables us to draw on both memory and history. It is the end of Mulk Raj Anand’s Active conversation that emboldens us to graft it on to the past as it most strikingly reflects on historical places and processes and artistic and philosophic urges that are inherent in any ethos of travel. The last part of the conversation is of the Andhra Shilpin suggesting to his Roman counterpart via his interpreter the following: Your master must go to Amaravati soon. The chisel is finer there

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The Gandhara monk added: “The way in which it moves with a caressing touch expressing the love of life with a more subtle and warm sensuousness. In fact, it would be wonderful if the Roman made a pilgrimage to all these sites—Ajanta, Karle, Bedsa, Sanchi, Barhut and Mathura...” The Ethiopian told his master warmly of this suggestion because he himself was enthused at the thought of going to all these places.4

In this fictive account Mulk Raj Anand’s essential aim was to bring out the relationship between phenomena and consciousness, the real and the unreal in the artistic wealth and philosophical maturity of the people who made that era at Nagarjunakonda come alive. There is an interesting social context that also comes through providing the setting to this conversation amidst the local and devout Madhyamika monk, the Theravadin monk from the island ofTambapanni (Ceylon), the liberal Mahayana monk from Gandhara residing there temporarily, the Roman artist who came along with a merchant and his shipload of wine and other goods to the region, the Ethiopian slave, speaking Prakrit and the Romans interpreter, the Andhra Shilpin, the perceptive young monk from Nagarjunakonda and last, but not the least, the Chenchus who were central to the habitation around Nagarjunakonda. The credentials of each would suggest that it would hardly be possible for each of them to converse with each other. But they did as Mulk Raj Anand imagines they must have. A few extracts of these con¬ versations would best illustrate the point being made: . . . The monk recited the formula Buddham Sharanam Gachhami’ every now and then. The Indian Shilpin talked at great length, like a preacher preaching the gospel of his art. The Roman artist looked ubiquitously at the eloquent mouth of the monk and wondered how such a Ganges of words could issue out of such a small gorge. As the foreigner could not, out of politeness to the host, ask him to speak slowly, so that he may understand, in the little vocabulary he knew, the content of the sermon, he brought forth a beautiful bottle containing red wine and two glass tumblers. The sight of the liquor perturbed the monk, so that he recited again ‘Buddham Sharanam Gachhami’ to evade the consequences of disaster and turned his face away. The Roman tried to tempt him by pouring the wine into his mouth, and

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with the bottle held in his right hand, so that the rich liquid gurgled down his throat without the mouth of the container touching his lips. The miracle fascinated the devotee. Also it brought a few other Shilpins and Chenchus to witness the scene. One of the young aboriginals came forward with cupped hand adjusted to his mouth and signified his wish for a taste of the red poison. . . ... At this the Roman called for his slave, shouting in a prolonged accent his orders for more wine. The slave, a handsome young Ethiopian, came out in his Roman toga bearing a large glazed jar. The Roman master ordered the slave to serve everyone around with one tumbler each and to drink himself. The monk was now purple with suppressed fury and got up to go in protest, muttering that it was not proper to drink wine in a Buddhist vihara. At this another monk who was from Gandhara came forward and said: ‘The Buddha had never forbidden the drinking of wine, the eating of meat, or the living of the worldly life. All that the Enlightened One had said was that one should cut out desire which is the cause of pain.’ Whereupon, the protesting monk called a passing brother who hailed from the island ofTambapanni (Ceylon), to bear witness to the falsehood uttered by the brother from Gandhara. The Tambapanni monk smiled evasively, shrank into the shell of his own being, sat down and looked at the red-faced Roman devil, who was offering temptations to all and sundry. And he waved his head in pity for the drunkards. . .. ... The protesting monks could not displease the stranger. Anyhow, the monk from Gandhara had already been sipping from a tumbler with some taste and he held forth: ‘According to the Enlightened One, ragha or attachment brings misery. One perceives objects through contact with sense organs. And if the object is pleasing, attachment develops to it. . .

[Full explanation omitted hereP

. .. The protesting monk spoke: ‘The sage Nagarjuna has repudiated this proposition, by saying that attachment grows with the respect to an object. And the mind (cbitta) in which attachment dwells, called rakata is not logical. . . .’ [Full explanation omitted here] ■ . . The Roman threw up his hands in the air at his ignorance of a language spoken so fast and with such subtlety of utterance. And he beckoned to the Ethiopian to explain. But the slave had not understood the argument either. The monk from Gandhara made bold not only to enable the Roman to understand, but to refute his brother from Nagarjunakonda by quoting the exact words of Nagarjuna. ‘If the opponent argues that rakata (attached) does not exist before ragha (attachment), so rakata (attached) is the resort of (asaraya) of ragha (attachment)’... [Full explanation omitted here] And I can drink without ragha (attachment)

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At this the Chenchus laughed out aloud, because they had not understood the argument at all, and only wanted to hear the last phrase. The protesting monk accepted defeat for the while and sat down. The monk from Tambapanni sighed and then smiled gently. The Roman ordered another round of drinks. Between serving the drinks the Ethiopian tried to explain to his master that Nagarjuna was the sage after whom the Madhyamika philosophy in the local school of Buddhist doctrine was called. Further, he said that Nagarjuna had studied at the University of Nalanda in Eastern India, a place not far from Bodh Gaya, where the Buddha achieved Enlightenment. Then Nagarjuna had come to the valleys of the Krishna river . . ..’ [Full explanation omitted here] '... There were monks here from as afar as China, Kashmir, Gandhara, Tosalli, Apranta, Banga and Vanavasa. But the place had seen so many centuries that nothing was certain. People spoke in legends and myths and proverbs. [Emphasis added] The Andhra Shilpin nodded assent to all that the slave had said. But, after taking another tumbler of red wine from him, he wiped his mouth and smiled and licked his tongue in pleasure. ‘Tell your master in Roman speech, the essence of Nagarjuna’s point of view.’ And pulling at the man’s toga, he made him sit down and listen. ‘Nagarjuna says that the simultaneous origin of ragha (attachment) and rakata (attached) has been proved to be illogical. It can also not be stated that they are not of simultaneous origination . . .

[Full explanation omitted here]

. . . The Ethiopian turned to his master and explained slowly, the meaning of the difficult jargon, but became confused as he could not interpret the whole thing properly. The Roman artist blushed at his ignorance of philosophy, swallowed the spittle of embarrassment, and turned to the Andhra Shilpin with the words: ‘If, as the monk says, no moha (illusion) and no muha (illusioned), then what purpose in the figured carved by you?’ The Chenchu lads suppressed their laughter at the broken Prakrit speech of the Roman. At the same time they were pleased at the sober common sense of the foreigner. They were no philosophers, but happy-go-lucky people attached to the earth in all the pleasure-pain of the humdrum world, almost like dark marigolds growing wildly amidst the scanty habitation of the valley.

{In this piece written by Mulk Raj Anand, at this point there is a long conversation between the two artists—the Roman and the Andhra one on form and what lies behind it, the role of senses, touch and silence in the making of art work} [Full explanation omitted here] In this part of the conversation as narrated by Mulk Raj Anand there is now a shift from philosophy to the meaning of art and life. The move from a world of abstract ideas to actual lived in experience.

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I would read this as a shift from an impregnable space of the void to one that was located in the humdrum of the region and its people that welcomed Buddhism and its various schools of thought but, now without understanding themselves in the midst of all the other worldly message that was being brought to them. Thus both the Andhra Shilpin and the Chenchus play a significant role in defining the nature of art, its form, its sensibilities and its content that we see today. History rarely recognizes this since art historians and archaeologists are busy documenting facts and dating these extant remains rather looking around for the society that lived through the experiences that made the historical environment that was throbbing around the third century ce. The rest of the conversation by Mulk Raj Anand brings out this flavour with eclat, something that historians would shudder to tread on. . . . The Andhra Shilpin withdrew into his shell for a while and then coded his head like a tortoise advancing from the long patient wait and spoke: ‘All is in flux . . . everything changes, everything moves and life is lived. We all, workmen, apprentices, masters, building caves, grave mounds, carving vibrant images, whose radiance thrills. Our hands sometimes tremble, push and pour forth, the exuberance of our inborn skill. We climb up on to the scaffoldings, hammers and chisels in our hands, drunk with the hangover of the dances in which the Chenchus swing heavily, from side to side, to one, two, three beat of a music which makes the darkness bright.... The protesting monk frowned and turned away his eyes from the company in disgust against such an expression of the love of life. Like a policeman of the faith, he was vigilant about any shifting of emphasis from thinking to feeling. He raised the finger of admiration and said: ‘The carvings with which you are obsessed are only necessary as mediums of meditation. The adept is supposed to fix his attention on them, while trying to convert the apprehensions, of the senses into a concept as clear and distinct as the object he sees with the open eyes ... to achieve the upacara stage of mediation . . . ’ [Full explanation omitted on stages of mediation] . . . The Roman artist sensed that the man of religion was against the temptations of colour. So he said: ‘In my country, colour is much valued. Colour delights the eyes. Colour soothes the temper. Colour sets the spirit on fire. Colour nourishes the body.’. . . . . . The Andhra Shilpin found his familiar feelings confirmed and dared to opine even against the monk.... Some people learn to talk in big words. Others learn to think without words. Most people can only look.

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Aloka Parasher-Sen

The artisan learns to express what he cannot say with words. He is inspired to seek the flow in space, which is not visible. He is like a dog barking at the shadows. He lives in the area whose whereabouts he cannot explain. May not end of meditation be the rapture which cannot be explained. The protesting monk was relentless. He spoke harshly: ‘Says the Dhamapada'-. ‘Even the Gods aspire towards those who are enlightened and mindful, who are wise and devoted in meditation, who take delight in desirelessness and in tranquility.’ The stranger was cowed down by the firmness of this utterance. Even the Ethiopian dared not translate. The monk from Tambapanni looked elated. The monk from Gandhara was puzzled. The Andhra shrugged his shoulders and said in a meek voice: ‘Perhaps priest, princes and merchantman tend to lose the human capaci¬ ties. . . . ’ [Full explanation omitted here] . . . The protesting monk murmured: ‘If it was not for the respect we owe to the foreigner, I would go and tell the abbot of the goings on here.’ The Andhra Shilpin turned to him with an appeal in his gentle eyes: Your anger is totally unjustified. Perhaps, you remember having seen the frieze, the “Temptation of the Buddha”, carved by one of my ancestors. The Enlightened One is here represented symbolically, as was enjoined by the early masters.... The Temptresses, with big breasts and heavy hips, are redolent with the charm of the senses. The hosts of the demon, Mara, are the embodiments of sheer physicality. The elephants of the hosts of Mara also exhude power. The ancestors of our ancestors at Barhut and Sanchi, Bhaja and Amaravati have infused into us the affinity with all forms of life which the Enlightened One preached. [Emphasis added]6 But it is in the clash of energies, recreated in the carvings, in which the artist lives, as though possessing the tensions in the zone of silence. The Buddha himself was [Emphasis in original] awakened by his actual experience of the pain of the sick man who he saw, of the peasant he beheld toiling behind the plough, of the dead body being carried away. 'Outsiders cannot impart what goes on within. Insiders live too much within. We must try to be outsiders-insiders at the same time. ..

[Emphasis in original]

A young monk, who had sat listening patiently to the elders lifted his chin from where it was cupped on his right hand and spoke now: ‘The sage Nagarjuna, the prophet of the Madhyamika, believed in the dialectic of opposites. To him everything was relative. Motion exists because its opposite rest exists. Darkness exists because light exists. Therefore, a denial of this involves the rejection of that. . .

[Full explanation omitted which highlights the issue of

there being no rigid elements of existence as understood by Mulk Raj Anand]

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. . . The monk from Tambapanni said: ‘Then the Nagarjuna dialectic means the rejection of all views because they are absurd.’ The young monk nodded his head. The Andhra Shilpin opined: ‘Perhaps all oppositions can be got over by accepting everything in humanness .. .’ The protesting monk intervened: ‘He speaks like the Brahmins. Dung is God . . . God is dung! . . . ’ The young monk spoke in a conciliatory mood. ‘The sage Nagarjuna did not deny philosophy, not because there is no Real for him, but because it is inaccessible to reason. The sage speaks of a higher faculty, called intuition (Prajana), with which real is identical. . . So art works are admissible . . The protesting monk insisted: ‘The sage Nagarjuna pointed out that the root cause of pain and imperfection is avidya or the tendency to conceptualize the real. By mistaking this or that for the real, we get attached to things or evince aversion towards them.’ . . . [Full explanation omitted here on what Nagarjuna says on the issue of Freedom and Sunyata in Mulk Raj Anand’s understanding of it] ... The speakers were silent for a while, almost as though they were convinced of the Buddha’s suggestion that, from the heart of silence we break off and find our way. The Roman artist looked to his mentor. The Ethiopian said: ‘They have decided that words are of no use.’ The Roman artist enthusiastically hailed this verdict and said: ‘Then painting and sculpture and music are the real key to understanding.’ The Andhra Shilpin intervened: ‘Poetry also, by its contrasts, resemblances and transparent phrases, reaches depths. In fact, all arts are one. Only the critics want to understand meanings and have no room for suggestion. Therefore, they bark and howl and protest against the inner thing. . . .’ The Ethiopian translated these words to his master. The Roman artist nodded his head with approval, but pointed out: ‘You seem to reject Nature. We measure the model by units of geometry before we sculpt. .. .’ [Emphasis in original] The Andhra Shilpin looked to the Ethiopian, and having got the meaning of his contemporary’s assertion asked: ‘How do you measure things in movement? The changing moods, the harmony and the disharmony. In fact, the alternation of various rhythms. . . .’ [Full explanation omitted conversation between two artists on their respective methods of executing art works as imagined by Mulk Raj Anand]

336

Aloka Parasher-Sen . . The Andhra Shilpin said: ‘The vital, powerful and emotional flow of the

carvings in Nagarjunakonda owe themselves to our pagan faith... we like the naked body. . . ’ [Emphasis added] The Andhra Shilpin interrupted: ‘Your master must go to Amaravati soon. The chisel is finer there. . . .’

It is with the fuller version of this above quote is what I had begun this paper with. While the narrative of the Andhra Shilpin emphasizes on the special characteristics of the art at Nagarjunakonda and Amaravati, there is nonetheless an awareness of the Buddhist art as it had flourished in other important Buddhist centres of learning and art on the Indian subcontinent. But it is not simply this. There was also a continuous interaction with the outside world that this fictional account brings out forcefully—something that was integral to the way the host community defined itself in relationship to the ‘other’ and it is for this reason that the initial quote at the beginning of this paper is so important to emphasize upon. I repeat: The Roman artist asked: 'Can I have letters of introduction to the brother Shilpins in all those places!’ The young monk from Nagarjunakonda ironically commented: 'You do not need letters of introduction to the areas of silence. ‘At this juncture the Chenchu brought the jars ofArek to the guest’.... [Emphasis added] The Roman artist gingerly partook of a small thimbleful. He liked it. The Chenchus served the liquor to all those who wished to drink. Soon there was audible the beat of the drum. Some Chenchu boys were coming dancing now, beating the drum with mighty strokes. Even as they ran to and fro with the vibration. . . . . . . The drum beats spread from the earth to heaven and on beyond the frontiers of vision, obliterating the silences. The Chenchu boys began to dance fast, faster still faster. The Roman artist caught the contagion of their spirit and joined in. The Ethiopian followed suit. The Andhra Shilpin clapped his hands in accompaniment to correct their steps. The young monk plunged into the vibrant group. The other monks stared, in spite of themselves at the miracle of diathrymbic movement before them. [The End of the ‘Conversation’ as imagined by Mulk Raj Anand]

This Active ‘Conversation’ began with the Roman artist’s gesture

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of friendship by sharing the wine that he had brought with the local community and it was the Chenchus who had relished it the most. It ends interestingly with the Chenchus reciprocating by sharing their Arek with all those who wished to share it and it is the Roman artist who is the first to welcome their gesture. Beyond the message of Buddhist teaching that is the core of this conversation, there is the fundamental vibrancy of life that is being brought into focus in this piece of creative writing. Though apparently they seem marginal, the Chenchus, as the original inhabitants of the Valley become most central to the discourse as, both in terms of the ethos that is represented in the sculptural art as well as in defining the essence and joy of living they define the contours of this ‘Conversation in very critical ways. The Andhra Shilpin and the young monk from Nagarjunakonda become the inoculators of conveying this essence to all the three other Buddhist monks—from Gandhara, Tambapanni and the one who upholds the Madhymika doctrine. This has a special meaning because they bring into focus the special flavour of the regional and local while, at the same time, being the new entrants to espousing the Buddhist faith. In other words, their understanding of the way Buddhism evolved in the particular context of the Deccan is highlighted in their questioning and reinterpreting the doctrine to suit their particular context and relevance. The question now arises as to why Mulk Raj Anand wanted to weave into his narrative this intricate social relationship between the foreigner, the monks from the surrounding regions of the Indian subcontinent, the new converts from the region as followers of Nagarjuna’s teachings and the local Chenchu inhabitants. As a creative writer of the mid-twentieth century this was the vision of a symbiotic interactive society that was being projected on the horizon of newly independent India. Pakistan had been formed but Gandhara was seen as part of our civilizational heritage in more ways than one. Tambapanni or what is Sri Lanka today had played a critical role in upholding the early Theravada Buddhist message and conserved that which had been lost on the Indian mainland but with which, over historical time, the island country had had extremely intimate and critical relations. Regional states of the Indian union were beginning to assert their particular identities and the role that Andhra had played in being the

338

ALoka Parasher-Sen .

intellectual centre of Mahayana Buddhist preaching had to be highlighted. After all, it was this particular Buddhism that went beyond the boundaries of the subcontinent and became the religion par excellence of many countries in Asia. Finally, the heyday of independent India was also about integration of a different kind. All castes and communities had to be brought under one umbrella and the sensitive writer in Mulk Raj Anand could not forget the Chenchus in this regard. In summam bonum it was the realities of the contemporary that compulsively took him to memories of the past. Maybe the local communities of the Krishna Valley would not remember the happenings of their past in this way. The role of memory in traditional cultures is very important and distinctively different from how official and collective memories from outside the region are constructed.7 The latter are mainly seen as regenerations of celebrating national entities and visions and are rooted in modern attempts to retrieve the past and which may not be the way the local communities wish to remember it. What is reflected in the fictive narration above, not only raises questions of memory and imagination but also that the ethos of early Deccan civilization was marked by an ideological variance of views, a social diversity and an artistic freedom, all of which were essential features of defining a dynamic cultural landscape. In the latter half of the paper, I supplement the above perceptions from modern literature reflecting on the past with historical sources of information located in the past. Unlike the connected and holist narrative presented above by their very nature the latter emerge in fragments and thus have to be woven around key but short pieces of data that reflect on a larger hidden phenomena that we are focused to imagine. I particularly draw on the fragmentary inscriptional data that we have from many Buddhist sites that throw up several personal names that suggest a social and economic diversity in and around Nagarjunakonda and the region as a whole. In fact, as one peruses through the early inscriptions from the Buddhist sites all over the Deccan dated to roughly between the second century bce and the fourth century ce, the variety of the data strikes one immediately. The special location and close proximity of the Buddhist caves to the important passes along the Western Ghats has been discussed at great length by earlier

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339

scholars showing how critical these trade routes, across these inaccessible ranges, was for different types of travellers across the region.8 In an analysis9 of the way these names occur at the various sites/locations in this region, it is found that there are only a handful of examples of names that refer to members of the artisan communities and those that we may define as nica (low) kulas. However, cutting across caste lines many were lay followers of the new faith who as donors, as builders, as scribes, as a variety of craftsmen, as traders and merchants travelled to these chaitya, stupa and vihara sites and recorded their proper names. In many cases these names themselves do not enable us to fix their original caste affiliation. In the western Deccan amidst several references to names of gahapatis, vanijas, setthis, etc.,10 who necessarily emphasize on their kinship relations, there are a few names of gardeners, garland makers, goldsmiths, ironmongers, ploughmen, etc. who also do the same but more frequently assert their identity in terms of the places they hailed from. Though coming from the less privileged sections of society, they also give donations to the Buddhist Sangha and in the process asserted their individual identity. Thus, we have at Kuda three examples of the names—Sivapirita, Vadhuka and Muguda—of mdlakaras or gardeners,11 an ironmonger named Mahika,12 from the famous cave site of Bhaja, the reference to the wife called Bahda of a halika or ploughman13 and from Sailarwadi another name of the wife of a ploughman called Siagutanika who makes a gift along with her husband named Usabhanka and the gahapati by name Namda. Usually craftsmen made minor gifts like in the case of a vadhaki or carpenter who made a door of a cave at Karle.14 Similarly, even a suvanakara or goldsmith, named Saghaka from Junnar could only make the gift of a cistern even though he was better well placed than a ploughman.15 Another striking feature is the existence of a great variety of names that clearly reflect a Buddhist ethos and which enables us to categorize them as Buddhist names— Buddharakshita, Dharmarakshita, Samgharakshita, Naga, Nagapalita, Saghaka and so on can typically be considered Buddhist in nature and so also others like Buddhi, Nagatisa, Sidhatha, Makhabudhi, Rahula.16 For some of them there is little indication of their caste identity but in the mention of their professions we learn that they belonged to the wealthy gahapati or Setthis communities. Though the

340

Aloka Parasher-Sen

overwhelming data here is on individual names, it is pertinent to point out that in rare cases we have the explicit mention of a varna in this type of data.1

However, we must conclude that all these

highlight a Buddhist social milieu asserting an individual identity beyond varna or jdti. In the eastern Deccan, however, emphasis on kinship identity was more apparent. Even in the context of an example from Amaravati wherein the craftsman belongs to the lowly caste of a leatherworker, the kinship identity is asserted in the midst of a large majority of the names of gahapatis found on these fragmentary label inscriptions at Amaravati. This example refers to a gift by Vidhika, son of the upajhaya (teacher) Naga belonging to the generally understood ritually impure carmakdra jdti. It draws our present attention because he gave the gift of a slab with an overflowing purnaghata or auspicious vase along with his mother, his wife, his brothers, his son, his daughters and other relatives and friends as follows: camakdrasa nagaupajhayaputasa vidhikasa samatukasa sabhayakasa sabhatukasa putasa ca nagasa samadhutukasa sanatinitabaindhavasa deyadhamma. Punaghatakapato18

Apart from having a proper name for a member of the outcast leather workers community for such an early period, this inscription points to the important question of these communities now taking to teaching within the confines of the new intellectual order provided by Buddhism—it was a carmakdra or leather worker called Vidhika, the son of a teacher called Naga who gifted this slab with an auspicious pot or purnaghata,19 There is another interesting example of a gift by one Attha, the kamika or labourer from Sanchi but with no other details given.20 Besides labourers, engravers or scribes, excavators, architects and sculptors of the cave sites were essential for the con¬ struction and maintenance of cave settlements. These people were in fact the creators of the data we use for historical research. We have an interesting early inscription from Guntupalli datable to the first century

bce

that gives us the name of a scribe called Culla Gomaka.21

Another such early example comes from Amaravati dated second century

bce

that refers to a rajalekhaka named Balaka; probably an

official scribe of a local chieftain.22 In some examples we get the names of those individuals who worked in stone to build monuments as in

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341

the case of Siddhartha and Naga Chandra who donated some slabs and pillars for the toranadvara of a local stupa at Jaggayyapeta. They are referred to as avesanins, meaning ‘stone cutters’ or ‘foremen of artisans’ in this inscription.23 As is well known from the literary sources in general there was considerable specialization of crafts in each of the categories so that the particular skill in each case probably defined the status of craftsmen and artisans vis-a-vis each other. This is what probably made them refer to their skill alongside their names. From Kanheri*4 we have the mention of one manikdra called Nagapalita who hailed from Soparaka and got a cave excavated there. Being a skilled artisan of crystal and diamond work, he had substantial wealth to shower in getting this cave excavated for the Buddhist monks to reside in. Probably the highest social status was that conferred to sculptors and architects. It is perhaps for this reason that the qualities of a perceptive Shilpin were creatively brought out in the ‘Conversation’ discussed above. We have epigraphic evidence from Amaravati and Nagarjunakonda datable to the first-second century ce that mentions them by name and designation. At Amaravati, navakammika Buddharakshita, mahanavakammikas Aditya and Dharmarakshita and pradhananavakammika Chanda were said to be in charge of the renovation of works of the stupa and vihara at Dhanyakataka.25 Similarly, the Buddhist structures at Nagajunakonda were built and maintained by navakammikds Ananada and Chandramukhi.26 Such detailed examples of names and professions of individuals that were so essential for the excavation and construction of cave settlements for the monks are not found with reference to the Tamil Brahmi inscriptions of the Far South dated to around the same period. Nonetheless, we must accept that these names reflect a critical mass of human population around these sites with whom the pilgrims, monk inhabitants of the Buddhist cave sites and the merchants/ traders must have interacted for the purpose of using their skill and knowledge. It also throws light on the fact that livelihoods of artists were closely linked with the way the Buddhist ideology proliferated during these centuries. Similarly, we need to highlight the names of Yavana or foreign merchants and travellers that formed a critical, though initially small,

342

Aloka Parasher-Sen

community of outsiders who interacted with the local society for both economic and cultural reasons. In the ‘Conversation’ narrated above, the Roman artist is supposed to have come along with a group of merchants. Both the Deccan and the Far South, during the early centuries of the Common Era had witnessed a dynamic contact with the Greco-Roman world that has been well documented primarily with textual data available from outside the subcontinent.27 The textual data from within the different regions of the country is sketchy to say the least and the archaeological data only gives us detailed site-wise information28 that cannot generally be applied to other sites in the region. It is well known that the Deccan inscriptions give some of the names of these Yavana travellers who were most certainly merchants but who had perhaps become recent converts to Buddhism— their names indicating this transformation read like Dhammadeva, Dhammarakhita, Yasavadhana, Culayakha and so on.29 These are noted in the context of them making donations in the same manner that the other visitors to these cave sites had done. In the Tamil Brahmi inscriptions, as noted above, we do not come across any direct reference to the names of Yavana merchants though, as is well known, they are referred to collectively in the Cankam texts. Here, they are regarded as aliens although some of their cargoes are much welcomed.30 The archaeological artifacts from areas around Arikamedu suggests their living as a segregated group and therefore, unlike their votive inscriptions in the western Deccan, they seem less integrated during this early period in the towns and cities of the Far South. Making reference to the data on the Yavanas from the Deccan and the Far South together, Dhavalikar in a recent essay elaborates for us the deep impact their presence had on the artists and writers of the times.31 Women do not figure in the above fictional narrative account and this is one absence in the fictional account that does not reflect the social ethos of the Deccan based on historical sources. In fact there is enough historical data on them for this period and region suggesting that women were ardently drawn to Buddhism. The inscriptions of the Deccan and central India that refer to the names of women donors substantiate this. This is, of course, invariably in their capacity as mothers, daughters, daughter-in-laws and wives. In the present sample survey there are three examples of the names of women in the Tamil

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Brahml inscriptions, two examples were of nuns who were not donors32 and, in another example33 it was the mother of the nun who made a substantial donation. A tabulation34 of all the examples indicating women donors discussed by us indicates that out of a total of eighteen gifts made at Amaravati, six of them were by women, related in some way or the other to gahapatir35 and, sometimes, they gave gifts along with male members of their families. In the western Deccan sites we have noted that six out of twenty-six women in these examples gave gifts.36 Two of these were by wives of ploughmen37 and one was a brahmana woman who gave a gift.38 The remainder four women were part of tht gahapati families. The Sanchi examples in the sample taken up for scrutiny in this paper give only a few names of women and all of them were part of gahapati families.39 However, detailed research related to early Buddhist sites especially in central India and the eastern Deccan indicates that a very large number of women made donations to the sangha and were fervent followers of the faith. For instance, from the two important sites of the eastern Deccan, Amaravati and Nagarjunakonda, we are informed that inscriptions prolifically give names of women coming from the gahapati or merchant classes at both the sites. At the latter site we also get innumerable names of women from the royal families. Their kinship ties are prominently noted in these descriptions indicating a long line of supporters for the Buddhist faith in their respective families. This also indicates that they were not making donations in their independent capacity as women. The names of bhikkunis or nuns are also found in the context of them making donations but in comparison to the above they are few.40 Some scholars like H.P. Ray, however, suggest that they were actually making the donations in the name of ordinary donors.41 Nonetheless, this points to an interesting trend in the context of the Deccan, namely, that the monasteries here played a major role in the accumulation and distribution of funds received by them for purposes of the piety from their followers. The above data from fragmentary inscriptions has hitherto found mention in historical accounts of the region but only in a perfunctory manner to highlight the larger spread of Buddhism and its success in the Deccan during the early centuries

ce.

We, on the other hand,

have chosen to highlight this particularity to make them central in

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Aloka Parasher-Sen

the formulation of a larger picture that defined the social fabric of the times. Alongside the Active account that prefaced the historical data in this paper we have tried to build an argument that for a concretization of the Buddhist built-in landscape and its economic sustenance, social groups like the ones discussed above and their interaction with each other was indispensible. The literary imagination of Mulk Raj Anand made it possible for us to visualize a social landscape that would otherwise have been impossible to do since the nature of the historical sources are limited for this purpose. Read in this way and against the background of the Active account above on the possible social interactive space across the ancient Deccan, we suggest that this was one region of the subcontinent where peoples, cultures, and ideologies met to fructify the solid basis for a life, affirming and yet subtle, an ethos of celebrating conversations.

NOTES 1. Hayden White, ‘Introduction: Historical Fiction, Fictional History, and Historical Reality’, Rethinking History, vol. 9, nos. 2/3, June-September 2005, pp. 147-57; p. 153. 2. Ibid., p. 154. 3. Mulk Raj Anand, ‘Conversation in Nagarjunakonda’, Marg, vol. XVIII, no. 2, March 1965, pp. 4-8. 4. Ibid., p. 8. 5. Extracts have been shortened when details of the philosophic issues were discussed in-depth by the writer. 6. This part clearly reflects on notions of the past and history as perceived by the artist and generally understood by his audience. 7. Bernard Lewis, History: Remembered, Recovered and Invented, Princeton University Press, Touchstone Books Paperback edition, 1987 (1st pub. 1975) makes critical distinction between remembered, recovered and invented histories and suggests that the latter two are the ones that resurrect a contemporary view of the past often ignoring what the particular society being written about thinks of its own past. 8. H.P. Ray, Monastery and Guild Commerce under the Satavahanas, Oxford University Press, Delhi, 1986, pp. 20-9. 9. Aloka Parasher-Sen ‘Names, Travelers and Inscriptions in Early Historic India’, Indian Historical Review, vol. XXXIV, no. 1, January 2007, pp. 4790.

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10. Ibid., pp. 84-5. See Appendix IIA, si. nos. 2, 4, 16, 17, 18, 27, 28 and 29. 11. Epigraphica Indica (henceforth El), vol. X, H. Luder’s List, Inscription Numbers (i.e. Ins. nos.) 1051 & 1061, p. 112. 12. Ibid., Ins. no. 1052, p. 112. 13. Ibid., Ins. no. 1084, p. 115. 14. Ibid., Ins. no. 1092, p. 117. 15. Ibid., Ins. no. 1177, p. 135. 16. Aloka Parasher-Sen, op. cit., 2007, see details Appendix IIA and IIB, pp. 84-8. 17. Ibid., pp. 84-5: See Appendix IIA, si. nos. 7, 24. 18. Ibid., Ins. no. 1273, pp. 151-2. 19. Few people know that this is the official emblem of the Government of Andhra Pradesh. Efforts are currently being made to make a replica of this purnaghata with its inscription so that it is widely known to the people at large. 20. El, vol. X, H. Luder’s List, Ins. no. 181, p. 28. 21. R. Subrahmanyam, The Guntupalli Brahmi Inscriptions of Kharavela, Hyderabad, 1968, p. 2. 22. C. Sivaramamurthy, Amaravati Sculpture in the Madras Government Museum, 1942, p. 277. 23. H. Luder, El, vol. X, List no. 1202, 1206. 24. Ibid., no. 1005. 25. Sivaramamurthy, op. cit., 1942, Inscription no. 33 26. El, vol. XX, p. 17. 27. An overview of these trends see, Marie Francoise Boussac and Jean-Francois Salles (edsj, Athens Aden Arikamedu: Essays on Interrelations between India, Arabia and the Eastern Mediterranean, Delhi: Manohar, 1995 and F. De Romanis and A. Tchernia, Crossings: Early Mediterranean Contact with India, Delhi: Manohar, 1997. 28. For instance, Vimla Begley, Ancient Port of Arikamedu: New Excavations and Researches 1989-1992, vol. 1, Centre d’histoire et d’archeologic, Ecole fran^aise d’extreme-orient, 1996. 29. Debala Mitra, ‘Foreign Elements in Indian Population’, in The Cultural Heritage of India, vol. II, Ramakrishna Mission Institute of Culture, Kolkata, p. 621. 30. R. Thapar, ‘Early Mediterranean Contact with India: An Overview’, in Romanis & Tchernia, op. cit., 1997, pp. 17, 21, 37. 31. M.K. Dhavalikar, ‘Yavanas: The Trend Setters’, in Aloka Parasher-Sen (ed.) Special Issue on Buddhism in the Deccan, Journal of Deccan Studies, vol. Ill, no. 1, January-June 2005, pp. 114-27.

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Aloka Parasher-Sen

32. Parasher-Sen, op. cit., 2007, p. 79, si. no. 8. 33. Ibid., p. 81, si. no. 35. 34. Ibid., p. 90. 35. Ibid., pp. 86-7, Appendix IIB, si. nos. 1, 3, 11, 12, 13 and 16. 36. Ibid., pp. 84-5, Appendix IIA, si. nos. 3, 8, 10, 17, 19 and 22. 37. Ibid., p. 85, Appendix IIA, si. nos. 19 and 22. 38. Ibid., p. 85, Appendix IIA, si. no. 8. 39. Ibid., p. 88, Appendix IIC, si. nos. 2, 4 and 6. 40. E. Siva Nagi Reddy, ‘Benefactresses of Buddhism in Early Andhradesa’, Suhurlekha, pp. 1-6. 41. Ray, op. cit., 1986, pp. 193-4.

CHAPTER

13

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria: The Material Record of Indo-Greek Contact HIMANSHU PRABHA RAY

Plutarch wrote ‘by founding over seventy cities (folds) among the barbarian tribes and seeding Asia with Greek magistrates, Alexander conquered its undomesticated and beastly way of life’ (Moralia 328E). Scholars hypothesize that Plutarch was making a rhetorical point, nevertheless, the tradition that Alexander left a mass of cities behind in Asia is repeated in ancient sources, and modern scholarship has often seen this as a natural corollary of conquest.1 We can see how clearly they [Alexander’s foundations] dominate the map of central Asia... [and] foreshadow the strategic requirements and economic potential on which, centuries later, the Imperial strategists of British India... insisted... [T]he locations of Alexander’s cities testify that the requirements of imperial rule in Central Asia are laid down by nature, and were as valid in the time of Alexander (and earlier) as in that of Queen Victoria.2 Archaeological work in the Punjab and Afghanistan in recent decades challenges this model of Alexander’s imposition of cities and instead proposes gradual long-term cultural change in the region with major settlements located along the trade routes.3 In this paper the focus is on north-west India and Gujarat and shifts in the routes that linked inland centres to the Arabian Sea. It is important to point out that the earliest discovery of India by the Greeks, as inherited from Achaemenid times, was basically transcontinental, i.e. by land. When Alexander himself reached the Hindu Kush in the late fourth century

bce,

he knew only a small and continental part of the Indian

348

Himanshu Prabha Ray

subcontinent from his preceptor Aristotle, and his approach to the country had little to do with the sea. It would seem that the Greeks did not succeed in opening a new maritime route in the Persian Gulf and in the Red Sea in the late fourth century

bce,

contrary to

Alexanders statement that this region (i. e. the Persian Gulf) could have become as prosperous as Phoenicia (Arrian, Anabasis VII, 19, 5). It is increasingly evident that rather than being a void or a land of barbarians, there is ample evidence of earlier settlement in the regions of Bactria and Gandhara. Chronologically, one of the earliest recorded levels of human settlement in Bactria comes from the Middle Palaeolithic site of Dara-i-Khur dated by radiocarbon dates to c. 29,050

bce.

This paper addresses three issues: one, the archaeological

data for the beginnings of habitation in Afghanistan and the Punjab, i.e. Bactria and Gandhara of early sources; second, Persian influence over the region and mobility across political frontiers; and finally the Indus River as an artery that connected the two regions to Gujarat in western India, the Arabian Sea and the Persian Gulf in the early centuries of the Common Era.

ALEXANDER HISTORIANS AND INDIA The quantum of writings about India increased dramatically after Alexanders campaign to the East (summer 327 to autumn 325

bce)

and the issue is whether this new information was qualitatively different from that of the pre-Alexander period. Major difficulties stem from the fact that the surviving histories date to a period some three centuries after the campaign.4 The basic narrative of Alexander’s campaign occurs in Arrian’s Anabasis, pp. 5-6, Curtius Rufus’ History of Alexander the Great in Latin, and Plutarch’s Life of Alexander, pp. 57-66.5 The city of Taxila played an important role in the story. Alexander crossed Afghanistan and entered the Punjab at Taxila, where he was well-received, though Porus resisted his advance. The battle with Porus on the Hydaspes (Jhelum) provided a definitive end to the campaign and though Alexander won the battle, he lost his horse Bucephala who was then buried at the spot and a city founded there. The troops rebelled and Alexander was forced to return without

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

349

reaching the Eastern Sea, which in his geographical framework linked up with the other seas encircling the land. ‘Asceticism is one feature that impressed Alexanders entourage.’ 6 This is also an aspect of the Indie tradition that would continue to appear in Christian writings. Megasthenes travelled to Palibothra, the capital of the Mauryas, as an ambassador to the royal court and his account seems to have been the fullest known to the Graeco-Roman world. His Indica is extensively quoted by later writers and marks a departure from earlier writing in several ways. For one, it provides descriptions of an ancient city, viz. Palibothra, though its founding is ascribed to Herakles. Secondly, the terrain shifts eastward to the Ganga Valley from the region of the Indus and perhaps for the first time in Greek writing, Megasthenes provided information on social stratification in India and what is often termed the seven ‘castes’ in India. ‘What makes Megasthenes’ account stand out from others, as best as we can reconstruct them, are his statements concerning India’s antiquity.’7 Thus it is evident that references in pre-Alexander Greek writing emphasized India’s otherness and its position at the edge of the geographic consciousness of the Greeks, i.e. at the ends of the inhabited world. With Alexander historians, India emerged from its conflation with Ethiopia into a topographic realm, when it was measured and became a definite object of study. At this point it was still the Indus Valley region that was known to the Greeks. Even though the postAlexander scenario brought Indo-Greek rulers to the centre stage of the Indian political domain and they were mentioned in early Greek writing,8 this had little impact on overall Greek representation of India. The explosion in the Hellenistic period in the amount of information circulated about India may be seen as part of the Greek responses to a rapidly expanded world. . . . The case of India is indicative of new developments: its distinctive features can be traced to an earlier period of Greek culture, yet it is in the Hellenistic period that they come together with a new intensity. In particular, Megasthenes is the key figure in an account that leads to Roman perceptions.9

Alexander’s expedition was no doubt significant for the acquisition of knowledge about India. It, however, coincided with Alexander acquiring legendary status in his own lifetime itself. The portrait of

350

Himanshu Prabha Ray

Alexander as the universal conqueror who was also the civilizer and benefactor of mankind owes its origin to Plutarch (ce 46-120) and has been extraordinarily potent in shaping modern views of Alexander. It is also evident that the Alexander Romance tradition that developed in the medieval period provided continuity to the larger than life image of Alexander.10 In another sphere of knowledge, viz., geography, Alexander’s campaign made little impact on the Greeks. It is also evident that Indian religions, languages or literary texts had little value for the Greeks, as they do not figure in their accounts. There are no clear answers to the issue of purpose of Greek accounts: can these be categorized as strategic information, propaganda or enter¬ tainment? It is also important to bear in mind the fragmentary nature of the information that has come down to us. India had a three-fold impact on Greek intellectual history. First, with regard to maps: in the early days India served as a place-marker . . . later by defining the direction of the winds and filling out the shape of the continents; and yet later, by the time of Eratosthenes, in making it possible to measure the extent of the inhabited world. Secondly, carried by similar momentum initially India played a role in the development of historiography. It was in critical discussions of Ctesias that the issue of veracity became especially urgent in the early fourth century. As we have seen, this was often related to autopsy and thus to the selfconscious development of historiography.... Thirdly, the sense of India’s fertility and profusion gave it a prominent place in natural history, particularly in the work of Theophrastus. ... It must be conceded that the basic features of Alexandrian and post-Alexandrian image of India were already present in Herodotus and Ctesias and before Alexanders expedition, the Achaemenid Empire was a decisive context for the formation of Greek images of India. By around 300 bc, with the appearance of Megasthenes Indika, the elements of Roman Indography were already established.11

These early Greek writings on Alexander not only provided justification for European expansion into Asia and set the tone for much of eighteenth to twentieth-century scholarship, but were also often configured to suit ideologies of Empire. Significant insights into this process are provided by the works of William Robertson (1721-93), especially his 1791 publication tided Historical Disquisition Concerning the Knowledge Which the Ancients Had of India. Robertson was not only aware of British activities in India, but was also influenced by the work of early British surveyors when he chose to write about

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

351

Alexander in his Historical Disquisition. He confesses that he turned to the topic of European conquests after reading the Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan by James Rennell, the erstwhile Surveyor General of the East India Company’s Dominions in Bengal.12 How does the textual tradition compare with the archaeological data from the region? How does one compare the presence of Megasthenes at the Mauryan court with the Indo-Greek kings known largely from their coins? The numismatic and archaeological evidence certainly indicates that the elite expressed their power in Greek terms and Greek language continued to be used. The figure of Menander who ruled from c. 155 to 130

bce

presents the duality of the Indo-

Greeks. In the Buddhist tradition, Menander is said to have converted after a conversation with Nagasena and the Pali text, the Milindpanha dated to 150-100

bce,

presents the dialogue between the two. In

contrast, coins of the ruler show him as a Hellenistic ruler with figures of Athena on the reverse with the legend ‘Menander, the saviour king’. In the next section I examine more recent archaeological work in the region and the extent to which this data has resulted in challenging some of the earlier theories.

THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF THE GREEKS Since the earliest somewhat unproductive survey by Captain John Wood in 1838, several important discoveries have been made in Bactria and Gandhara and there is evidence of pre-historic occupation long before Alexander’s campaign. The finds from sites such as Begram, Kandahar and Ai Khanum have not only been spectacular, but have considerably added to an understanding of Persian and Hellenistic traditions in the region.13 The natural defence provided by the rivers was completed by the construction of massive ramparts of unbaked brick at the site of Ai Khanum at the confluence of the rivers Oxus and the Kokcha.14 Ai Khanum has been described as a ‘royal city whose administration centred around a palace’.15 The buildings discovered included administrative quarters, a theatre, a temenos, a gymnasium, a citadel and temples all surrounded by massive fortification. North across the Oxus, archaeological excavations brought to light the impressive walled site of Takht-i Sangin showing

352

Himanshu Prabha Ray

a rich mixture of Eastern and Western traditions.16 A surprising find from the site consisted of a small Greek-style altar with a Greek inscription dedicated to the god of the river Oxus by a man who has been described as an Iranian fire priest.17 Begram, is sometimes identified with the city of Nysa, a town associated with the campaign of Alexander, though recent re¬ examination indicates that the foundations of the city were laid during the rule of the Graeco-Bactrian kings around 200-100

bce.

Begram

has often been identified with Kapisa, the summer capital of Kaniska I

(ce

127-50) and excavations conducted between 1936 and 1942

have traced three stages in the history of the city. Under Kaniska I and his successors, there were some modifications to the site and new structures and fortifications were constructed. The town was finally destroyed in the fifth century

ce,

though there is some debate about

this date as well.18 The fame of the site of Begram rests on the 1937 and 1939 discovery by J. Hackin’s team of a large number of extraordinary artefacts in two sealed-off rooms in that part of the New Royal City’ referred to by the excavators as the palace dated to first century ce. The Sasanians are said to have destroyed this structure in the third century. These objects consisted of glassware, bronzes, plaster medallions, porphyr and alabaster objects from the GraecoRoman world, fragments of Chinese lacquer boxes and bowls and ivories and bone objects. Mortimer Wheeler (1954) referred to finds from Begram as evidence of a rich transit trade from ‘further Asia’ to centres in the West, ‘but not chaffering to any great extent in these lands of passage’. He suggested that the hoard represented an accumulation of about 150 years. These were undoubtedly dues collected in kind by ‘kings or viceroys of Kapisa from the caravans, which traversed the adjacent highway in the luxury traffic of Orient and Occident’.19 The data from the site has since been re-examined and it is evident that rather than being a royal centre, Begram was a major station on east-west and north-south routes. Why were the goods from diverse origins assembled at Begram? What is known is that Roman and Chinese goods travelled to Begram in the first-second century

ce.

The fact that the goods travelled from diverse, distant places and were stored together suggests that the place of storage was a point either

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

353

of consumption (with the royal hoard theory thus retaining some validity), of storage for further distribution or of active trading.20 Though the city of Ai Khanum was founded on virgin soil in either c. 329 or 305

bce

and ceased to exist as a town in c. 146

bce,

the

region was hardly an uninhabited area. To the north and east of the city lies a small plain approximately 220 sq. km. which had been irrigated since the Bronze Age and has provided evidence of a mature Harappan settlement. Channel irrigation was practised on a large scale before Greek conquest and settlements in the area continued until the time of the Mongol invasions. Two km north of the northern wall of Ai Khanum was a walled circular establishment large enough to be called a ‘circular town’ and surface finds from this area yielded shards ranging from Achaemenid to Islamic times.21 The excavator has described the use of large size burnt bricks (53 x 9 cm) in the construction of the tomb of Kineas. These bricks have estampages consisting of a Greek monogram and individual Greek and Brahml letters. The presence of the Brahmi letter jha at Ai Khanum adds to the list of objects indicating contact with sites in India. These include the bilingual coins of Agathocles and the references to Karsapanas and Taxila on the Ostraca writings found in the ‘treasury’ of Ai Khanum.22 Many scholars support the hypothesis that ivorycarving workshops existed at Ai lOianum, Taxila and at Nysa. A detailed examination indicates that a majority of the Begram ivory and bone finds seem to have analogies with the art of Mathura, though certain motifs are analogous to the art of Gandhara.23 The Alexander historian Arrianus referred to Alexander’s ally, King Taxiles ruling in Taxila, while in the Epics the ruler Taksha is credited with establishing the city.24 The term nagara (town) first occurs in Sanskrit literature around the middle of the first millennium

bce

the grammarian Panini (generally ascribed to fifth century

and

bce)

describes towns in the vicinity of Taksasila or Taxila. Taxila is also one of the most extensively excavated historical sites in South Asia. Cunningham visited it and reported on its widespread ruins extending about 5 km from north to south and 4 km east to west. John Marshall excavated it from 1913 to 1934, lured as he was by its Greek association.23 Mortimer Wheeler selected Taxila as the site of his Training School of Archaeology, since most of all, ‘it lies

354

Himanshu Prabha Ray

at the foot of the Himalaya, in a terrain sufficiently reminiscent of Greece’.26 In addition he also did one season’s work there in 1944-5. In the last fifty-seven years, the Pakistan Department of Archaeology has undertaken many archaeological excavations at the site. The beginnings of settlement in the Taxila valley date to the fourth millennium

bce

when Neolithic villages were first located in the area.

The importance of Taxila Valley lay in its strategic location on northsouth and east-west routes. Settlements such as at Sarai Khola and Hathial, as also numerous archaeological sites dated to late second to first millennium

bce

termed Gandhara Grave Culture indicate that

urban development in the Taxila Valley was a continuous process.27 By the sixth century

bce,

i.e. the time of the Achaemenids, the first

fortification of Taxila is in evidence and habitation spread on both banks of the Tamra rivulet. The major expansion at the site, as indicated by settlement at Sirkap, which John Marshall had termed as the Greek city, is dated from first century

bce

to the first half of

the second century ce. A reappraisal of the archaeological data indicates that domestic structures at Sirkap combined both residence and workshop spaces. The distribution of private and public religious loci is complex and occurs throughout the city and while some of the religious structures were Buddhist, others were not.28 In contrast to sites further north of the Indus, the presence of northern black polished wares and silver bar punch-marked coins from Taxila indicates strong moorings with the Ganga Valley material culture from the beginning of settlement at the site.29 It is equally significant that in addition to its links with Ganga Valley sites, the archaeological evidence indicates interaction between Taxila and sites in central India.30 Similarly, the data from the site of Kandahar in southern Afghanistan suggests a major fortified settlement in pre-Achaemenid times assigned to the first quarter of the first millennium

.31

bce

Thus the evidence

from archaeological data indicates a Greek setdement interwoven with the remains of the Achaemenid town.32 The archaeological data highlights antiquity of settlement in Afghanistan and the Punjab and mobility across the region. The architectural tradition at all major sites indicates an admixture of eastern and western building traditions and use of space with religious space being occupied by local and regional cults, Buddhism, as also Persian deities. The recently discovered stele of Sophythos from Kandahar translated by Paul

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

355

Bernard further reinforces the presence of a Hellenized local elite whose lingua franca was Greek and who amassed wealth through business and by travelling to many cities. It is significant that the stele was set up by the roadside to be read, clearly indicating a certain degree of literacy of the local populace in Greek. The different approaches towards the minting and circulation of coins on both sides of the Hindu Kush cultural divide are significant. For the Greeks the coins carried the portrait of the king and were a major source of legitimization and hence the images of deities on the reverse. In contrast early Indian coinage was based on a weight standard and does not seem to have the same connotations for royal authority. Significant for this paper is the use of Greek on coins in circulation in Gujarat and north-west India. The Ksatrapas are known to have ruled in regions as far apart as the north-west frontiers along Afghanistan as well as in the northern plains of the Indian subcontinent at Mathura. The rule of the Western Ksatrapas is generally dated between the second half of the first century the fifth century

ce.

ce

and the beginning of

During this time they issued coins in silver,

copper and lead, as well as copper alloyed with lead and arsenic. Rudradaman’s dynasty was one of six families termed the Western Ksatrapas or Satraps who ruled in Saurashtra and Malwa in the early centuries of the Common Era. These were allied to other rulers who used the title ksatrapa (literally viceroy) on their coins and in inscriptions. In contrast to many of their contemporaries in central and peninsular India, the Ksatrapas used Greek legends on their coinage. Prominent among the various issues are the silver coins of Nahapana, with the bust of the ruler and a legend in Greek script on the obverse and symbols such as the thunderbolt and arrow and inscriptions in Kharosthl and Brahml on the reverse. The Greek legend on the obverse is a transliteration of the inscriptions in Brahmi/Kharosthi on the reverse. All three inscriptions acknowledge Nahapana as the Ksatrapa of the Ksaharata house, reading Rano Kshaharatasa Nahapanasa. The obverse legend is a Greek transcript of this Prakrit legend and reads ranniu ca-aaratasa na-aapanasa, in a garbled form (Bhandare 2006).33 The design of Nahapanas coins was derived direcdy from IndoGreek silver drachmas. The chief currencies in Gujarat comprised non-indigenous silver Indo-Greek coins, and also local debased silver

356

Himanshu Prabha Ray

or copper imitations of the Mauryan silver punch-marked coins. The expansion of maritime trade with the Gujarat coast in the first century of the Common Era ensured an influx of silver into Nahapana’s domains and also linked Gujarat with centres in the Persian Gulf, on the one hand and those in the north-west, on the other. Textual sources ascribe a variety of roles to the Yavanas or Greeks and at the same time there are references in inscriptions to foreigners in-charge of provinces in the subcontinent, especially in Gujarat and the Konkan. As mentioned earlier, the Junagarh inscription of Rudradaman, recounting the history of Sudarsana lake, states that it was created by the vaisya Pusyagupta during the reign of Candragupta Maurya and endowed with conduits by yavana-raja Tusaspha on behalf of Asoka.34 Ayona (yavana)-raja of Sanjayata or Sanjan located on the north Konkan coast is mentioned in an inscription from Nagarjunakonda dated to the fourth century.35 On the basis of the legends on the coins of the Kusanas right down to the second century

ce,

it is suggested that Greek continued as a

living language in large parts of north India. Kaniska I (c. 127-50

ce)

introduced a variety of new Greek inscriptions on his coins, but after him the language disappeared, though the script continued to be used. The Greek script was now used to transcribe an Iranian language commonly called Bactrian and the latest use of the script was by the Turkish Shahis of Kabul in c. 850

.36

ce

It should nevertheless be

remembered that the Greek script coexisted with the Kharosthl and Brahmi scripts. The language written in the Kharosthl script was the Gandhari Prakrit spoken in Gandhara and adjacent regions, while Brahmi was used for Sanskrit and other Prakrit languages. This brings me to the second issue, viz., that of the Persian presence in the region, a fact acknowledged by early Greek writers who attributed early accounts of South Asia to the Persians or as Herodotus states: ‘as to Asia, most of it was discovered by Darius’ (Book IV, 44).

MOBILITY ACROSS THE HINDU KUSH The Behistun inscription of King Darius I (519

bce)

includes Bactria

in the list of twenty-three satrapies of his kingdom. In 515

bce,

Darius

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

357

extended Persian control southeast of the Indus creating the new satrapy of Hindush, roughly corresponding to modern Sindh in southern Pakistan. The foundation inscription of Darius for Persepolis mentions gold from Bactria and teak from Gandhara. Indians served as mercenaries under Darius and there are references to a colony of Indians in fifth century

bce

near the old Sumerian city of Nippur.

At Persepolis itself peoples from twenty-three regions are mentioned and workers include Greeks, Indians, Egyptians, Babylonians, etc. An Indian woman Busasa is said to have maintained an inn at Kish. There are references to Persian kings maintaining several translators for comprehending the many languages of the regions within their empire. Herodotus in his book Histories names Gandhara as a source of tax collections for King Darius and to the logioi present at the Persian court and there are references to Persians speaking Greek and vice-versa.37 Well-maintained road networks connected Achaemenid centres in Iran, to the provinces of Bactria, Gandhara and Sindh and these regions regularly paid tributes to the Persian ruler. For example, Herodotus (Book III.94) refers to 360 talents of powdered gold being sent to the Achaemenid treasury, which was more than the revenue from all other subjects of the Persian Empire. Darius is credited with sending ships manned by Scylax of Caryanda and ‘others in whose word he trusted’. These sailed down the Indus till they came to the sea and then travelled westwards: they came in the thirtieth month to that place whence the Egyptian king sent the Phoenicians afore-mentioned to sail around Libya. After this circumnavigation Darius subdued the Indians and made use of this sea. Thus was it discovered that Asia, saving the parts towards the rising sun, was in other respects like Libya.38

In contrast to the Persian inscriptions, the region of Gandhara figures prominently in early Sanskrit and Pali sources as also the Sanskrit epic, the Mahabharata. It was located on the ancient route that connected the north-west with the Ganga Valley and Buddhist texts such as the Ahguttara Nikdya refer to it as one of the sixteen mahajanpadas or kingdoms contemporary to the Buddha in the fifth century bce. The Sanskrit grammarian Panini, for example, is said to have come

358

Himanshu Prabha Ray

from the town of Salatura in the vicinity of Taxila (near modern Peshawar) and, while discussing the peculiarities of the language of the north-west, contrasts it with that prevalent in the east. Thus for him the distinction is between the language of the north-west and the east, whereas other grammarians like Yaska and Patanjali adopt a different perspective in their threefold division of north-west, central or Aryavarta and eastern language peculiarities. However Panini does not see the north-west as the centre of the Sanskrit-speaking universe but adopts a neutral stance while highlighting peculiarities of regional speech. In contrast Patanjali writing in the second century

bce

em¬

phasizes the linguistic superiority of Aryavarta and refers to the north-west as inhabited by Yavanas, Greeks and Sakas.39 Numismatic data, indicates that trade networks across the Hindu Kush pre-date the Hellenistic Greeks in the region and that Taxila was already a major centre at that time, with evidence of a distinctive silver coinage. In Taxila and Gandhara the currency was based on oblong stamped silver bars weighing one satmana (100 rattis, c. 11.2 gm) together with fractional denominations that had a circular outline and a slightly scyphate shape. A geometric symbol of fairly constant and characteristic form was typical and was stamped twice on the large bars and once on the fractional denominations. Coins of this series are known from a number of finds encompassing a large area from the margin of the Afghan plateau in the west to Taxila in the east.40 Another site where a pre-Mauryan coin was found is that of Mathura. The silver punch-marked coin had nine distinct punches with the central being a pentagon enclosing a sphere. The coin itself was concave or scyphate and weighed 6.7 gm. The compositional analysis showed that the coin was of 97.17 per cent silver with minor alloying of gold (0.715), copper (0.88 per cent) and lead (1.19 per cent), while the Taxila punch-marked coins contain a higher percentage of copper shown to be between 13 and 25 per cent.41 In the context of Gujarat, the first century

ce

text, the Periplus

Maris Erythraei refers to Syrastrene or Surastra; Eirinon or the Rann of Kutch beyond which lies Barake or the Gulf of Kutch (section 40). The region is described as ‘very fertile’ and ‘in the area there are still preserved to this very day signs of Alexanders expedition, ancient shrines and the foundations of encampments and huge wells (section

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

359

41)’. Somewhat later, the author refers to ‘old drachmas engraved with the inscriptions, in Greek letters, of Apollodotus and Menander, rulers who came after Alexander’ being found in the market of Barygaza (section 47).42 How does one explain the presence of coins with Greek writing in Gujarat in the early centuries

ce?

How did

Taxila and other centres in north-west India connect with those in Gujarat and western India or those in the Ganga Valley? This is an issue that is discussed in the next section as the paper traces the wider linkages of the north-western part of the subcontinent.

SAILING DOWN THE INDUS AND EARLY CONTACTS WITH THE PERSIAN GULF First-hand information on parts of the Indian Ocean became available to the Greeks after Alexander’s campaigns to the east. Nearchus was commissioned to sail along the Indus by Alexander. Another participant in the voyage was Onesicritus, though the relationship between the two is not quite clear. Alexander believed that the ocean was relatively close, since the ‘Indian Gulf’ (Arabian Sea) formed ‘but one stretch of water with the Persian Gulf, and the Hyracanian Sea (Caspian Sea) with the Indian Gulf. From the Persian Gulf our fleet shall sail around to Libya, as far as the Pillars of Heracles (Straits of Gibraltar)’ (Anabasis Alexandria V.26.1-3). The boats for the voyage were those of the Greek type which had been transported by carts in sections, the shorter ones in two and the triacontoroi in three (Anabasis Alexandri, V.8.5). Further details are available in Strabo (Geography, 16.1.11) who states, citing Aristobulus that the boats were built in Phoenicia and Cyprus with bolts and could be taken to pieces. Others were made in Babylon from the cypress-trees in the groves and the parks. There is no unanimity in the sources on the total strength of the fleet. Arrianus mentions two thousand vessels, whereas Diodorus reduces the figure by half, i.e. to 1,000. In the Indica, Arrianus refers to a figure of 800 and these were manned by seafaring communities, such as the Phoenicians, Cypriots, Carians and Egyptians who served in the army.43 The account by Arrianus of the coastal voyage does not provide ethnographic details of the route travelled, nor does it contain any

360

Himanshu Prabba Ray

useful sailing instructions and glosses over local maritime activity encountered in the region. There are nevertheless several indications for the existence of earlier sailing traditions and maritime contacts. For example, at the fishing village called Mosarna, a pilot, a Gedrosian called Hydraces, sailed with the flotilla and guided it (Indica, 27.1-2). This reliance on local pilots for guidance across the Indian Ocean was a regular feature and there are several references to the practice in Greek, as also later accounts. The Portuguese portolanos, for example, refer to the river Hab, the extreme western branch of the Indus delta as 'rio dos pilotos—the name originating from the fact that it was here that the foreign vessels found fishermen capable of guiding them into the Indus delta.44 Arrianus refers to variations in stellar configurations as noticed during the journey: ‘Of the stars they had seen hitherto in the sky, some were completely hidden, others showed themselves low down towards the earth; those which had never set before were now observed both setting and at once rising again’ (Indica, 25.6). He discusses the natural phenomenon of shortening shadows, an observation that he could not have made himself on account of his limited experience along the Makaran coast, but which he may have acquired from those who travelled further south to Sri Lanka. Though trading activities are not referred to directly, the reference to the availability of cinnamon on the Arabian coast [Indica, 32.7) implies the existence of sea-borne trade between Arabia and India. This is further confirmed by a statement in Theophrastus (Enquiry into Plants, ix.7) that fragrant plants are partly from India, whence they are sent by sea. In addition to the voyage of Nearchus, there were other early attempts by the Greeks, a successful expedition in 324/3

bce

being

that of one of Alexander s naval officer, Anaxicrates, who surveyed the whole of the West Coast of Arabia till the Bab-al-Mandeb. The Greek navigator Ariston and two other explorers retraced this route in the reigns of Ptolemy II and Ptolemy III.45 It was perhaps reports of these voyages that formed the basis for the writings of Agatharchides. Within this background of early Greek sources, the Periplus Maris Erythraei provides the earliest evidence of collating information for

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

361

the benefit of Greek merchants and traders on the route between Egypt, India and East Africa. It was written in koine Greek, a dialect easily understood by merchants and traders. While the language of the text is coherent and correct, the style and grammar are mediocre. Unlike other writings of the period, it shows no interest in the history and literature of the region. WTiat is significant for our purpose is that it contains graphic accounts of coasts to be avoided as also the major landfalls. For example, ‘to set a course along the coast of Arabia is altogether risky, since the region offers poor anchorage, is foul with rocky stretches, cannot be approached because of cliffs, and is fearsome in every respect’ (section 20). No information is available on the author of the Periplus, nor are there any indications within the text for dating it. There have, nevertheless been several attempts to date it either on the basis of historical events mentioned therein or through a comparative analysis with other texts.46 The Periplus also differs substantially from other contemporary literary works, such as, for example the Historia Naturalis of Pliny; Strabos Geography (written and revised between 25 bce and in ce 150.

ce

23); and the Geography by Claudius Ptolemy written

The Periplus Maris Erythraei discusses the difficult entry into the Gulf of Khambat, which led to Barygaza or Bharuch, for vessels coming from seaward, because the mouth of the river on which Barygaza stands is hard to find. It is low and not visible even from close quarters, besides there are shoals in the river and hence the mouth is difficult to navigate. To help vessels overcome these difficulties, local fishermen in the king’s service come out until the entrance of the Gulf in local craft called trappaga and kotymba and guide incoming watercraft.47 The Periplus mentions Barbarike in the Indus delta, as one of the sites on the west coast of India, which imported goods such as silver plate, glass vessels and a little wine, all of which are represented at Taxila and Begram. In return there are references to the export of lapis lazuli, which came from Badakshan and Chinese skins and yarn. Taxila was thus an active participant in the maritime exchange network. Excavations at Sirkap, Taxila yielded a number of western objects such as a bronze statuette of Harpokrates, repousse silver

362

Himanshu Prabha Ray

emblema representing Silenus or Satyr, bronze saucepans with handles ending in rams heads, a silver spoon, at least two engraved gems, a small quantity of glass and the neck of an earthenware amphora. The cache from Begram comprised more than 150 glass objects, including one mosaic vessel and eight ribbed bowls produced either by casting or blowing. Some of these vessels such as the ribbed bowls, some of the plain brown pieces and the facet-cut vessels are generally attributed to the first-second centuries

ce.

The mosaic glass, the gilded

glass and the cut glass with open-work decoration dates somewhat later to the late second or early third century. There are others with which one cannot find parallels in the Roman Empire, though they are chemically similar to objects made in Egypt. In the Persian Gulf ed-Dur, a large archaeological site on the west coast of the Oman peninsula has provided crucial data for this maritime connection.48 The site has been identified with Omana mentioned in the Periplus as exporting pearls, purple clothing, wine, dates, gold and slaves to India.49 Ed-Dur was on the shipment route to Charax at the head of the Persian Gulf and from there via the overland route to Palmyra.50 Further support for this hypothesis comes from the finds of fifteen Characene coins at ed-Dur and the fact that 40 per cent of the diagnostic pottery at the site has Characene analogies. The site dates to the first century

ce

and 147 objects of

glass recovered from archaeological excavations reached the site between 25

bce

and

ce

75.

The numerous excavation seasons indicate that only a limited number of beach-rock buildings existed there and a majority of the living quarters consisted of palm frond dwellings. The dead were buried in individual stone built graves, although large tombs with a shaft entrance for multiple burials existed as well and were found all over the site. In addition the sun god Shamash was worshipped in a temple as evident from an eight-line inscription in Aramaic on a stone basin found next to the temple. The site participated in an extensive network of trade and exchange as indicated by northeast Arabian coin finds from the site, as well as foreign issues. The latter group comprises four Roman coins (one of Augustus and three of Tiberius) eastern Mediterranean coins (3 Nabataean coins of Aretas IV c. 9

bce-ce

40,

Gaza), southern Mesopotamia (11 Characene coins), south Arabia

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

363

(2 coins from Hadhramawt), Persian (Parthian and Persis) and five Indian coins dated to first century BCE-first century

ce.

Indian coins

include copper karsapanas of the Ujjain type and those of Agnimitra, Abhlraka and Bhumaka.51 Chemical analyses have confirmed the Roman origin of the glass found at ed-Dur. 40 per cent of the samples were made by casting and 57 per cent of the cast vessels were ribbed bowls, while 43 per cent were made of mosaic glass. Of the 59 per cent samples made by inflation, 70.1 per cent were of blown glass. It is significant that a majority of the vessels were used for eating and 48.4 per cent were flat or shallow vessels. Twenty-six per cent were small bottles, jars and boxes, perhaps for storing and or transporting cosmetic or medicinal preparations.52 This analysis of the shapes of the vessel challenges the parameters of the earlier debate centred on luxuries or prestige items required by the state. Further evidence of the Persian Gulf—Gujarat-Gandhara connection comes from finds of dedicatory and burial inscriptions written in Greek as well as Greek letters on pottery from Bahrain. These reinforce the identification of the island with Tylos, which was a stopping point for people as well as a homeland for others who understood and used the Greek language, even though their Semitic names suggest that they were not Greeks.53 In the next section we examine the archaeological data from Gujarat and the extent to which it helps redefine the nature of trade networks in western India.

THE EVIDENCE FROM GUJARAT AND THE BEGINNINGS OF TRADE NETWORKS The agency for control in all discussions of early trade in secondary writings so far has been the State, either the Mauryas, the Seleucids or the Indo-Greeks in Bactria and somewhat later the Kusanas and the Romans. The argument remains the same. The West required luxuries and these luxuries were obtained from the East through exchange relations between states and the ceramics are indicators both of the foreign trade as well as of foreigners resident in the subcontinent.54 I would argue that there is little evidence of state-sponsored trade

364

Himanshu Prabha Ray

in the sources, though rulers were constantly devising means for taxing and controlling the lucrative business. Trade involved a complex hierarchy of transactions, such as gifts to those in authority, barter and monetary exchanges at the local and regional level. Only commodities required by powerful groups were controlled.55 It is significant that while archaeological data and distribution networks of ceramics indicate local, regional and oceanic interaction, starting from the third-second millennium

bce

onwards, inscriptions from

Gujarat are largely silent about trading activities until well into the fifth-sixth centuries

ce.

From this period onwards inscriptions reflect

an increasing complexity in commodities traded and in the nature of transactions conducted.56 Archaeological exploration in Gujarat has provided evidence for twenty-two early historic sites located in a linear pattern along the river and a multi-tier settlement hierarchy. The site of Hathab was the largest site, located close to the sea with an area of over 40 ha, while the largest number of sites, i.e. eleven fall in the category of 3-12 ha. It is significant that while thirteen sites were located in the black cotton soil zone, six were situated close to the coast. The site of Padri, situated 3-4 km inland, was known for extraction of salt.57 Amreli is another important archaeological site located upstream of the survey area on the Thebi, a tributary of the Shetrunji and excav¬ ations conducted here yielded continuous occupation of the site from the first century

bce

to the eighth century

.58

ce

Several objects

found in Gujarat have been cited as evidence for Roman trade, like amphorae fragments from several sites,59 Roman coins,60 a bronze handle from Akota now in the Baroda Museum dating to 50-100

61

ce

and ceramics such as the Red Polished Ware (RPW). It is

significant that of the fifty-five sites where fragments of Dressel 2-4 amphorae have been found, twenty-five are in Gujarat and thirteen of these are clustered around Junagarh. The area around Junagarh provides a fertile stretch and as we will discuss later, it formed a core region in the early period. This area was also the location for royal inscriptions and religious shrines. Other find-spots of amphorae shards include coastal centres such as Dwarka, Somnathapattana, Nagara and Valabhi, among others. Sites such as Valabhi developed into political centres by the middle of the first

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria millennium

ce.

365

In contrast, others like Somnathpattana and Dwarka

were pilgrimage centres of great sanctity. At Somnathpattana archaeological evidence of historical settlement dates to the fourth century

bce,

but religious structures, such as temples emerge only in

the fifth and sixth centuries

ce.

Thus clearly ‘imports’ need to be

contextualized within the parameters of patterns of distribution and consumption. Archaeological investigation in western India has provided information on several long-lasting coastal settlements. For example, the site of Mandavi on the estuary of the Rukmavati River at the entrance to the Gulf of Kutch has been known as a port town with links to both Oman and the East African coast since archaeological exploration conducted in the mid-nineteenth century. In addition to a range of ceramics, important finds include local and regional coins, as well as a Byzantium Solidus of Heraclius dated to 638 Arab Umayyad dinar of 716

ce

and an

.62

ce

Writing in 1836, Alexander Burnes (1805-41), the assistant resident in Kutch described maritime activities at Mandavi as follows: The principal seaport of Kutch is Mandavee, which stands in lat 22° 51 'N and long. 69° 34'E close to the Gulf. It has no fewer than 250 vessels belonging to it, and boasts a population of 50,000 souls, which is about one-eighth of that of the whole province of Kutch. It is an open roadstead with a creek. From Mandavee a maritime communication is kept up with Zanguebar and the whole east coast of Africa, with the Red Sea and Arabia and with the Persian Gulf, Mekrom and Sinde and with India as far as Ceylon. The vessels used in this extensive commerce vary in size from 100 to 800 candies or from 25 to 200 tons. They carry a large lateen sail, have two masts and are never decked.63

The account of Alexander Burnes suggests that an ancient mound existed at the site. Its position is remarkable: it appears to stand on an artificial mound; bricks have been found in deep wells in the midst of the city; and modern buildings are, in all probability, a superstructure on the very houses of the ancient Barygaza.... Colonel Tod has made it yield two rare and valuable coins of the Bactrians. He sent a messenger to search for them on account of what he had read regarding Barygaza in the ancient authors.64

Dwarka located on the north coast of Saurashtra was another contemporary site with a long period of settlement from the first

366

Himanshu Prabha Ray

century

bce

to almost the present. Its importance stems both from

its coastal location as well as the religious significance of its temples and sacred association as a centre of pilgrimage.65 Other continuously settled sites along the Gujarat coast include Porbander and Somnath and Valabhi at the head of the Gulf of Cambay. While sites such as Valabhi developed into political centres by the middle of the first millennium

ce,

others like Somnath and Dwarka were sacred pilgrim

centres of great sanctity. The characteristic ceramic of Gujarat was the Red Polished Ware (RPW), dated between 50 bce and 300 ce, which marked technological refinement over earlier pottery and represented a major change in the economic life of the region. RPW sherds have been found at almost 400 coastal and inland sites and represent a wide variety of rim shapes with 160 stylistic variations in jars alone.66 The distribution map of RPW shows at least four coastal clusters at the sites of Porbander, Somnath, Una and Talaja.67 Thus it is evident that these coastal centres by no means existed in isolation, but on the contrary maintained a symbiotic relationship with agriculturists based at inland centres. The products of farms and forests provided cargoes for the sailing ships and sustained trade with other centres along the coasts. RPW was produced by local potters to meet the requirements of their neighbours, the farmers and merchants and was produced in a variety of shapes. The fine-slipped ceramic indicates expanding trade networks associated with expanding agricultural activities and settlements, as also sea-going trade. It would seem that a general practice was for financiers in Egypt to underwrite voyages to India, as indicated by the Vienna papyrus, which has received considerable scholarly attention (P. Vindob. G 40822). The papyrus is unique even though the beginning and end part of the papyrus and the names of the parties involved are lost. The recto and verso are in different hands, but it is evident that the two sides are contemporary and were written in the second century ce.

The verso mentions three standard imports from India, viz.

Gangetic nard, ivory and textiles and the payment of one-fourth duty on import. The recto stipulates an agreement for transportation of the goods from Koptos inland along the desert road then loading them on to a boat and conveying them downstream on the Nile to

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

367

Alexandria. In addition, it records a loan agreement and a penalty clause in case the repayment of the loan is not done on the date specified in the agreement. The document in Greek was first edited by H. Harrauer and P.J. Sijpesteijn in 1985 and they suggested that the agreement had been made at Muziris on the Malabar coast and that the borrower was a ship owner named Hermapollon and the lender a merchant and that the former pledged his ship as security.68 In his response, Lionel Casson argued that there was nothing in the text to suggest that one of the parties involved was a ship-owner and that both parties to the agreement were merchants, one being resident in Egypt and the other in Muziris and it was the cargo that had been pledged as security. He also countered the claim of Muziris being the place where the agreement was made and instead suggested that the agreement was drawn up at a Red Sea centre soon after the arrival of the cargo.69 Gerrhard Thiir, accepted that the contract was drawn up in Egypt and that Hermapollon was the name of the ship, rather than of the owner.70 Dominic Rathbone explains that the transport route within Egypt by camel across the eastern desert and by boat on the Nile is well known from documents and archaeology and the Muziris papyrus is best analysed within the framework of these movements. Thus: at first sight the maritime loan differs little from the maritime loans of the fourth century BC attested in the Demosthenic corpus, but on closer scrutiny the Muziris papyrus does have some significant differences and the apparently single financier seems to have been a man of enormous wealth. . . . Thus while the legal forms of the contract are fairly traditional, the economic structure implied needs to be re-examined. Instead of a merchant planning a venture and seeking capital where he could find it, we have a financier investing in the trade with India who recruited merchants to run the individual trips.71

From Rathbones analysis it is evident that the lender himself purchased the merchant’s shipment, which came from India and paid the equivalent of slightly less than seven million sesterces, most of it probably paid through a bank as a paper transaction.72 This conclusion has important reverberations for the study of early trade between Egypt and India and the fact that the Vienna papyrus refers to transportation of goods imported from India within Egypt, rather than directly from Muziris. The larger question that it raises is the

368

Himanshu Prabha Ray

use of Greek as lingua franca across the Arabian Sea. An important source for this is the numismatic data. In the final analysis several conclusion may be highlighted. First that Greek continued as a language of discourse in the western Indian Ocean well into the seventh-eighth centuries, reflecting no doubt the salient position of Greeks in Egypt, as well as in the Persian Gulf. The fourth century saw the rise of both the Christian holy man and Christianity as a civic institution in Egypt. The presence of graffiti, Christian crosses, two major ecclesiastical inscriptions in Greek attest to the importance of Abu Sha’ar as a pilgrimage centre in Upper Egypt. In addition it was ideally located to facilitate travel to Sinai for St. Catherines Monastery or to Aila (Aqaba at the northern end of the Gulf of Aqaba) and onward to Jerusalem. In spite of this prominence, the Greeks were one of the several communities sailing across the Ocean, others including Arabs, Indians, Jews, etc. The evidence for partnerships in the early centuries

ce

is largely between

Greek-speaking groups, though this changes from the eighth century onwards. Temples and rock-cut caves in hills overlooking the coast mark the landscape of the western Indian Ocean littoral and there are indications of an ever-expanding domain of maritime travel.

NOTES 1. A.B. Bosworth, Conquest and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988, pp. 245-50. 2. PM. Fraser, Cities of Alexander the Great, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996, pp. 189-90. 3. Himanshu Prabha Ray and Daniel T. Potts (eds.), Memory as History: The Legacy of Alexander in Asia, Delhi: Aryan Books International, 2007; Himanshu Prabha Ray (ed.), Sanghol and the Archaeology of the Punjab, Delhi: Aryan Books International, 2010. 4. A.B. Bosworth, From Arrian to Alexander: Studies in Historical Interpretation, Oxford: Clarendon, 1988. 5. Grant Parker, The Making of Roman India, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008, p. 34.

6. Ibid. p. 39. 7. Ibid., p. 47. 8. Stanley M. Burstein, The Hellenistic Age, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985, p. 71.

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

369

9. Parker, 2008, p. 57. 10. Ray and Potts, op. cit., 2007. 11. Parker 2008, pp. 64-5. 12. William Robertson, Historical Disquisition Concerning the Knowledge Which the Ancients had of India, 1791: v. 13. W. Ball, Gazetteer of Afghanistan, 2 vols., Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1982. Edgar Knobloch, Beyond the Oxus: Archaeology, Art and Architecture of Central Asia, London: Ernest Benn, 1972. Susan Alcock, ‘Breaking up the Hellenistic World: Survey and Society’, in Ian Morris (ed.), Classical Greece Ancient Histories and Modem Archaeologies, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994, pp. 171-90. 14. Ibid., 92. 15. Bernard, 1994, pp. 106; P. Bernard, ‘An Ancient Greek City in Central Asia’, Scientific American, 246, 1 (January 1982): 148-59. 16. B.A. Litvinsky and I.R. Pichikyan, ‘Monuments of Art from the Sanctuary of Oxus (North Bactria)’, Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 28, 1980, pp. 25-83; ‘The Temple of the Oxus\JRAS, 1981, pp. 133-67. 17. Sherwin-White and Kuhrt, 1993, p. 185. 18. D.W. MacDowall and M. Taddei, Archaeology of Afghanistan, London: Academic Press, 1978; Sanjyot Mehendale, ‘Begram: New Perspectives on the Ivory and Bone Carvings’, Doctoral Dissertation, University of California, Berkeley, 1997. 19. Mortimer Wheeler, Rome Beyond the Imperial Frontiers, London: G. Bell & Sons, 1954, pp. 164-79. 20. Mehendale, op. cit., p. 247. ‘Begram: New Perspectives on the Ivory and Bone Carvings’, Doctoral dissertation, Berkeley: University of California, 1997, p. 247. 21. G. Fussman, ‘Southern Bactria and northern India before Islam’, Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 116, no. 2, April-June 1996, pp. 24360. 22. Narain, in F.R. Allchin and N. Hammond, 1987, p. 124. 23. Mehendale, 1997, p. 193. 24. Klaus Kartunnen, India and the Hellenistic World, Helsinki: Studia Orientalia, vol. 83, 1997, pp. 32-3. 25. John Marshall, Taxila, 3 vols., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951, Preface. 26. R.E.M. Wheeler, Still Digging, New York: EP Dutton & Co. Inc., 1956, p. 189. 27. A.H. Dani, The Historic City of Taxila, Paris: UNESCO, 1986, p. 81. 28. R. Coningham and Briece R. Edwards, ‘Space and Society at Sirkap, Taxila: A Reexamination of Urban Form and Meaning’, Ancient Pakistan, XII, 1997-8, p. 63.

370

Himanshu Prabha Ray

29. F.R. Allchin, The Archaeology of Early Historic South Asia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995, p. 131. 30. Thus cast copper coins ofTaxila of the three-arched hill and hollow cross type have been found at Adam in central India (Journal of the Numismatic Society of India 54) and bronze mirrors have a wide circulation from Taxila to Adam, Ter and Brahmapuri in the Deccan (East And West, 45, 1-4, 1995, p. 163). 31. Allchin, 1995, p. 127. 32. Reports on excavations in Afghan Studies, 1978, 1979, 1982. 33. S. Bhandare, ‘ATale ofTwo Dynasties: The Kshaharatas and the Satavahanas in the Deccan’, in Himanshu Prabha Ray (ed.), Coins in India: Power and Communication, Mumbai: Marg Publications, 2006, pp. 24-33. 34. Epigraphia Indica, VIII, pp. 36-49. 35. Ibid., XXXIV, pp. 197-203. 36. Elizabeth Errington and Joe Cribb (eds.), The Crossroads of Asia: Transformation in Image and Symbol, Cambridge: The Ancient India and Iran Trust, 1992, p. 9. 37. Thomas McEvilley, The Shape of Ancient Thought, New York: Allworth Communications, 2002, pp. 9-15. 38. Herodotus Book IV, 44. 39. Madhav M. Deshpande, Sanskrit and Prakrit: Sociolinguistic Issues, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1993, pp. 80-1. 40. M. Mitchiner, ‘India: Minute Silver Coins of the Early Mauryan Empire’, East and West, 33, 1-4, December 1983, pp. 113-23, 113: Specimens from Afghanistan include the Chaman Hazouri hoard, coins from Mir Zakah and those from Bhir mound, Taxila (EHC Walsh, Punch-marked Coins from Taxila, MASI, no. 59, 1939). Further to the east the kingdoms of Kasi and Kosala used the same weight standard, but the denominations used by them were the half satamdna (50 rattis) and the quarter s'atamdna (25 rattis). ... At a more southerly latitude lay Avanti on the Narmada Valley and a different weight standard was followed in this region where silver was tariffed according to the karsapana of 32 rattis (c. 3.6 gm). Coins of this region were always stamped with a single symbol (p. 114). The coinage of Magadha like that of Avanti was struck to the karsapana weight standard, but like its other neighbours, Kasi and Kosala, the Magadhan coinage was composed of several punch marks. After a period of evolution, Magadha was to adopt the characteristic 5-punch coin design that was to remain standard (p. 115). 41. Nupam Mahajan and R. Balasubramaniam, ‘Scanning Electron Microscopy Study of an Ancient Silver Punch-marked Coin with Central Pentagonal Mark’, Numismatic Digest, 22. 42. Lionel Casson, The Periplus Maris Erythraei, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989, pp. 75-81.

Trade Networks in North-West India and Bactria

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43. Karttunen, 1997, p. 42. 44. M. Kervran, ‘Multiple Ports at the Mouth of the River Indus’, in Himanshu Prabha Ray (ed.), Archaeology of Seafaring: The Indian Ocean in the Ancient Period, ICHR Monograph Series I, New Delhi, 1999, pp. 70-153. 45. S.M. Emstein,AgatharchidesofCnidus, London: The Hakluyt Society, 1989, 31. 46. Casson, 1989. 47. Ibid., sections 43-4. 48. In the first century ad ed-Dur has provided data for fishing and pearling activity with fish accounting for the largest portion of the faunal inventory followed by shellfish. A bell-shaped lead weight identical to the stone weights used by pearl divers was found in a house. The recovery of large pearl oyster shells in graves at ed-Dur also suggests that the pearl was a highly valued commodity. D.T. Potts. ‘The Roman Relationship with the Persicus Sinus from the Rise of Spasinou Charax (127 bc) to the Reign of Shapur II (ad 309-79),’ Susan E. Alcock (ed.), The Early Roman Empire in the East,

Oxford: Oxbow Monograph 95, 1997, pp. 92-3. 49. Casson, 1989, section 36. 50. David Whitehouse, ‘Ancient Glass from ed-Dur’, Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy, vol. 11, no. 1, May 2000, pp. 87-128. 51. E. Haerinck, ‘International Contacts in the Southern Persian Gulf in the late 1st Century Bc/lst Century ad: Numismatic Evidence from ed-Dur’, Iranica Antiqua, 33, 1998, pp. 293-5. 52. Ibid., p. 119. 53. P.L. Gatier, P. Lombard and K.M. Al-Sindi, x0l45Greek Inscriptions from Bahrain’, Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy, vol. 13, no. 2, November 2002: 223-33. 54. B.D. Chattopadhyay, ed., A Sourcebook of Indian Civilization, Delhi: Orient Longman, 2000, p. 278, ‘The western quest for luxuries in India and elsewhere in the east affected several regions; the north-west, the Ganges valley and the entire peninsula’. 55. Himanshu Prabha Ray, ‘Writings on the Maritime History of Ancient India, Sabyasachi Bhattacharya (ed.). Approaches to History: Essays in Indian Historiography, Delhi: ICHR and Primus Books, 2011. 56. Both literary and inscriptional sources of the tenth and post-tenth centuries indicate a range of commodities traded such as grains, pulses, salt, oil, ghi, textiles, betel leaves, areca nuts, coconuts, spices, incense, ivory, coral, gold, etc. V.K. Jain, Trade and Traders in Western India, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1990, p. 56.

57. Ashit Boran Paul, ‘The Early Historic Settlement and Subsistence Pattern in the Shetrunji River Basin, Bhavnagar District, Gujarat’, Puratattva 30 (1999-2000), pp. 99-105.

372

Himanshu Prabha Ray

58. S.R. Rao, Excavations at Amreli, Baroda: Museum & Picture Gallery, 1966. 59. These include sites such as Valabhi, Nagara, Dwarka, Somnath, etc. 60. Rajgor refers to finds of hoards of Roman coins from Ahmedabad and Kera, but none of these are available for study. D. Rajgor, ‘Roman Currency in Gujarat’, in R.N. Mehta (ed.), New Dimensions of Indology, New Delhi: Bharatiya Vidya Prakashan, pp. 197-203. 61. R.D. de Puma, ‘The Roman Bronzes from Kolhapur’, in V. Begley and R.D. de Puma (eds), Rome and India: The Ancient Sea Trade, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1992, pp. 101-2. 62. P.N. Vasa, ‘Find of a Late Byzantine Solidus and Arab Umayyad Dinara from Kutch’, Numismatic Digest, 1990, 14, pp. 30-3. 63. Alexander Burnes, ‘On the Maritime Communications of India as Carried on by Natives Particularly from Kutch at the Mouth of the Indus’, Journal of the Royal Geographical Society of London, VI, 1836, pp. 23-9. 64. Ibid. 65. Z.D. Ansari and M.S. Mate, Excavation at Dwarka, Poona: Deccan College Research Institute, 1966. 66. Nancy Pinto Orton, ‘Sea-Going Trade in Early Historic Gujarat (c. 100 bc

to ad 500)’, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Pennsylvania, 2001, pp. 125. 67. Orton, 2001, Figure 12. 68. H. Harrauerand P.J. Sijpesteijn, ‘Ein neues Dokumentzu RomsIndienhandel’, in P. Vindob G. 40822, Anzeiger der Oesterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschajten, 122, 1985, pp. 124-55. 69. Lionel Casson, P. Vindob G 40822 and the Shipping of Goods from India’, Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 23.3-4, 1986, pp. 73-9. 70. G. Thiir, Hypotheken Urkunde eines Seedarlehens fur eine Reise nach Muziris und Apographe fur die Tetarte in Alexandria, Tyche 2, 1987, pp. 229-45. 71. Dominic W. Rathbone, ‘The “Muziris" Papyrus (SB XVIII13167): Financing Roman Trade with India, in M. Abd-el-Ghani, S.Z. Bassiouni, and W.A. Farag (eds.), Alexandrian Studies II in Honor of Mostafa el Abbadi, Bulletin, Societe Archeologique dAlexandrie, 46, Alexandria, 2001, pp. 42-3. 72. Rathbone, 2001, pp. 39-50.

CHAPTER

14

From the Oxus to the Indus: Religion and Politics of the Bactrian and Indo-Greek Rulers SUCHANDRA GHOSH

The region between the Oxus and the Indus was under the political control of the Bactrian Greeks and the Indo-Greeks from second century

bce

to early first century

ce.

The geographical landscape

suggests constant interaction between the people of both the regions.1 The question of how much contact with the western Hellenistic world—and, indeed, ‘Hellenism’—the Bactrian and Indo-Greeks retained in the third/second century bce is one of the moot questions in the studies relating to the region. Another query could relate to the essential mechanisms by which culture spread, and in what areas might we expect cultural borrowing. In case of the Bactrian and Indo-Greeks, one can confidently say religious practices apart from art historical objects and other material remains suggest significant cultural borrowing as well as interaction. There was representation of Greek gods. Religious imageries were used for demonstrating power and patronage. Of all the tangible means by which a ruler could communicate with his subjects, coins were ideal. The reverse side of coins of all denominations would typically show a Greek deity or some possible representation, e.g. Dioscuri often represented by palms and piloi, Athena by her owl, Hermes by his caduceus and so on. This was a part of the Greek coinage tradition. Coins were an excellent medium for the propaganda of royal ideology. It is definite that there was a question of choice in the selection of reverse deities in the coins of the Bactrian and Indo-Greek rulers.2 For the Greek rulers, the depiction of the traditional deities perhaps helped in expressing their

374

Suchandra Ghosh

identities. In this essay we shall try to address the relation between religion and politics in the region. A brief review of the historical context would be in order. The Graeco-Bactrian and Indo-Greek territories were divided between rival rulers. There were additional sub-kings, joint-kings, expected kings and satraps or governors’, all of whom may have minted coins. This implies that there might have been at times simultaneous reigns of different monarchs in different areas. Their territory encompassed the regions of Sogdia, Bactria, Paropamisadai, Gandhara, Western Punjab and Eastern Punjab. A tentative territorial limit of the different kings could be mapped out from their coinages. Thus while Diodotus and Euthydemus ruled in both Sogdia and Bactria, Demetrius lost Sogdia but extended its rule till Gandhara. Euthydemus II ruled only over Bactria but his contemporary Agathocles, Pantaleon and later on Apollodotus I and Antimachus II were in control of Paropamisadai and Gandhara. Antimachus I and Demetrius II were in charge only of Bactria. Eucratides I again expanded his regime from Bactria to Gandhara. However his kingdom in Bactria was taken over by Eucratides II and the regions south of Hindu Kush by Menander I. Menander in fact further extended his control and his kingdom covered the most extensive area from Paropamisadai to Eastern Punjab. Plato and Heliocles I followed suit in Bactria and Heliocles I was the last ruler of Bactria. After Menander, his territory was then divided and ruled by several contemporary rulers. Among the later Indo-Greek kings mention should be made of Apollodotus II who recovered Taxila from Maues and also ruled in Eastern Punjab. Finally, by c. 57 bce only Eastern Punjab remained with the Indo-Greeks which they lost around 10 ce. It has been jusdy pointed out by Frank Holt that ‘the competition for personal power led them to “rule and divide” until no strong states remained to gamble for the relics of Alexander’s greatness.’3 With this backdrop of multiple rulers leading naturally to rivalry and conflict, the relation between religion and power may be studied. The reverse devices of the coins of these rulers along with art historical data, the extant temple remains, certain inscriptions, etc., may be used to address the question. Coins exhibit a continuous tradition of Greek religious iconography

From the Oxus to the Indus

375

harnessed to underpin the authority of the rulers.4 Zeus, Apollo, Athena, Dionysus, Heracles, and the Dioscuri were popular choices though other deities like Poseidon, Nike, Hermes,

Tyche, Helios

and Artemis were also less frequently represented. These gods were not mere monetary emblems. They represented the chosen beneficent deity. The first Bactrian Greek king Diodotus I adopted Zeus, striding to the left, bearing the aegis on his outstretched left arm and hold¬ ing in his right hand the thunderbolt, with the eagle at his feet. In the opinion of Lahiri5 the ‘thundering’ Zeus pose corresponds to the point in mythology when Zeus ‘using his two newly acquired terrorizing and devastating weapons, the aegis and the thunderbolt .. . [makes] his final bid to vanquish the almost invincible Titans’. Perhaps we can postulate a similarity with Diodotus’ own successful revolt from the Seleucids. Moreover the choice of Zeus suits the name of Diodotus, ‘the gift of Zeus’. On breaking away from the Seleucids, Diodotus called on the greatest of the gods to help him. The figure of Zeus wielding the thunderbolt may have been intended to intimidate his enemies. Apollo, the deity represented in the Seleucid coins was replaced by Zeus thereby bidding adieu to the Seleucid rule.6 Zeus is one of the most frequently represented gods and is seen occasionally holding goddess Nike with the kings using the title ‘Nikephoros’. This obviously signifies some kind of conflict between rival groups. Diodotus II issued coins with a balance between male and female divinities. The bronze coins of Diodotus represent Hermes. That Hermes was revered by the people of Ai Khanum is evident from the fact that there he is looked upon as the protector of gymnasium.7 The caduceus is associated with Hermes and has been used as a symbol for the god. Zeus’s son Apollo was also no less important. He is depicted, either in person or through his symbol, the tripod, on the coins of the Bactrian and Indo-Greek kings. Apollo is recognizable by his usual representation as a naked youth carrying a bow and an arrow. This representation suggests his role as communicator to mankind of the will of the gods through his shrine at Delphi. The tripod is the symbol of the Delphic oracle, as here the priestess of the oracle sat.8 We are aware of the importance of the Delphic oracle and Ai Khanum could boast of an inscription reproducing the Delphic oracle.9 The inscription

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Suchandra Ghosh

read: ‘As a child, be well-behaved. As a youth, be self-controlled. As an adult, be just. As an elder, be wise. As one dying, be without pain’. Two kings who used his image and the tripod also bore the name Apollodotus. Moreover he is important to the Greeks in Bactria and India because he was the patron deity of the Seleucids from whom the Greeks had wrested power in the region. It was thus a political statement along with other cultural importance of Apollo. The transformation from a mortal to immortal could be seen in case of Heracles (the glory of Hera) who was famous for his twelve labours.10 Heracles was used by Euthydemus I, Demetrius, and Euthydemus II and shown in a variety of poses, always with his club and lion skin. It was Euthydemus I who replaced Zeus with Heracles. There are two significant reasons behind his choice: firstly, the king was originally from Magnesia, on the Meander, in Ionia, where Heracles enjoyed much popularity; secondly, he wished to identify himself with Alexander, who was none other than a new Heracles, the mortal who was raised to the pantheon of Olympian gods for his bravery and courage." On the coins of Euthydemus I, Heracles was seated on a rock, and on the coins of Demetrius and Euthydemus II, Heracles was shown standing, holding his club in his left hand and with his right crowning himself with a laurel wreath. The types of Demetrius and Euthydemus II may indicate that the old Heracles, who on the coins of Euthydemus I was seated as if after his labours, stands up with fresh vigour to conquer new lands.12 Alexander’s soldiers had earlier attributed some importance to Heracles as their legendary precursor in Asia. Not only coins but also the archaeological remains of Ai Khanum suggest that a cult of Heracles was also in existence in the sanctuary of the indented temple. Here a statue of the hero, a club of bronze and an impression of a paw of lion have been found. Deification of the hero Heracles at Ai Khanum is also suggested from the fact that in the wall of a gymnasium, the centre of a traditional Greek establishment for physical and intellectual education, a dedication to Hermes and Heracles as protectors of the gymnasium, was discovered.13 Thus following the precedents in mainland Greece, Heracles was worshipped here as an Olympian deity as well as the patron deity of the gymnasium. The most interesting image of Heracles is a bronze statuette found at Ai Khanum where

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Heracles is posed in exactly the same manner as on Demetrius’s coins.14 The reverse type of Euthydemus II s silver coins is quite similar to that of Demetrius I, except for the fact that Heracles is shown already crowned and holding in his outstretched right hand another wreath. Holding of a wreath by Heracles meant that he was proclaiming Euthydemus II a king which in other words implied that Euthydemus II owed his kingship to Heracles. This particular pose for Heracles was popular throughout the Hellenistic world in the second century. The Heracles statue is an indicator of the extraordinary favour shown to the cult of heroes in Greek Central Asia. Representation of a boar’s head in an issue of Menander might link it with the fourth labour of Heracles, the capture of the gigantic boar of Mount Erymanthus and the palm branch on the reverse might signify victory.15 The symbolism of the obverse portrait with the elephant scalp and Heracles crowning himself on the reverse was so powerful that Lysias, a later Indo-Greek king, adopted the same iconographic design. We know that Menander I expanded his power base and inaugurated new mints to strike his innumerable coinages with new monetary types and system. He truly became the monarch of the whole IndoGreek kingdom integrating several areas of the north-west under a single rule. His dominant reverse type was Athena standing to his left, holding a shield and hurling a thunderbolt. Athena as goddess of war appropriating her father Zeus’s thunderbolt was an appropriate design for Menander. Tarn suggests that as Athena has been a principal deity of the Greek pantheon and was also widely represented on Alexander’s coinage, Menander adopted this device in order to emphasize that in spite of the predominantly Indian character of his empire he was still a Greek king.16 The war-like posture of Athena is accentuated by the fact that her shield is decorated by another of her attributes, the aegis, a monstrous goat skin, decorated with the head of the gorgon.17 According to Greek mythology, Perseus killed the gorgon Medusa. She had snakes for hair.18 The coiled form of the snake has been used as design for Menander’s helmet. The gorgon’s head seems to have had an independent existence as a magical symbol to ward off evil. Interestingly, the portrait of Menander on the obverse of the coin shows the aegis appearing on his shoulder and he brandishes his javelin in the same manner as Athena hurled her thunderbolt. It

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has been suggested that by choosing precisely the image of Athena, Menander wanted to make a direct reference both to Alexander as king of Macedonia and also to the Greek homeland. The representation of Athena on the coin is the same as that which appears on the Macedonian coins of King Antigonus Gonatas and on the Alexander portrait coins of Ptolemy. Though there is hardly any strong numismatic evidence to corroborate, the writings of classical writers show that the cult of Dionysus was also quite popular in some areas of Indo-Iranian borderlands. From the writings of Arrian19 we find that Alexander came across a city called Nysa, situated between the Kophen and Indus. According to a legend, this city is said to have been founded by Dionysus, when he subdued the Indians and named Nysa in honour of his nurse Nyse. The people of Nysa begged of Alexander to leave them free and independent. They claimed that since ivy grew nowhere in India but at Nysa, Dionysus must have been the founder of their city. According to Megasthenes, Dionysus was to the Indians bestower of wine who influenced them to devote themselves to Bacchic ecstasies. Only Pantaleon and Agathocles use him as a revered deity. On these coins Dionysus is recognizable by his ivy leaf wreath and diadem, his usual attributes. He also carries over his shoulder the thyrsus, his pine-cone tipped staff. The reverse design also depicts a panther, the animal Dionysus rode on his journey to the east.20 Representation of vine forms a part of the entire scheme of representing Dionysus. Perhaps they used the Dionysian device to celebrate their victory over Kabul to honour Dionysus, the mythical conqueror of the Kabul valley. That the cult of Dionysus had some impact in the region is also attested by the fact that Dionysiac themes are a far more common subject on drinking cups, bowls and reliefs. Some toilet trays from Sirkap, Taxila depict bacchanalean scenes which are reminiscent of Dionysian tradition.21 Poseidon’s representation was perhaps connected with his association with horses. He was not only the giver of water but the creator and protector of horses. The robe and palm in his left hand as depicted on the coins of Antimachus was perhaps a local innovation. The Dioscuri, Castor and Pollux, on Eucratides’ coins shown charging on horseback and holding spears provide the epitome for a

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motif running throughout the history of Bactrian kingship and warfare. Cavalry forces were a consistent part of Bactrian warfare, whether seen in the backlash Alexander received for seizing horses, in Eucratides’ cavalry helmet portrait, or in the cataphract horse armour found at Ai Khanum’s arsenal.22 Hellenistic kings were the leaders of armies and their kingship depended on military strength, which in Bactria was cavalry, and so for Eucratides, a king who experienced continued warfare, the Dioscuri represent his power base and, if all went well for him, his reason for success. It was a wellknown Seleucid type meaning in a very special sense saviour. According ‘to Tarn, Eucratides’ use of the type meant that he had come to the east as Soter, a saviour’.23 The Dioscuri were part of wider Hellenistic Bactrian culture. This is evidenced by a c. 150 bce temple at Dilberdjin where they are featured in two wall paintings. Though Buddhism must have had a presence in the territory of the Indo-Greeks, we hardly find any widespread evidence of interaction between Greeks and the indigenous population following Buddhism. Evidence from the Indo-Greek period regarding conversion to Buddhism is slim.24 There is only one donor with a Greek name from the north-west dating to the Indo-Greek period. A KharoshtI inscription from Swat in northern Pakistan, records the establishment of the Buddha Sakyamuni’s relics by the Meridarkha Theodotos (Theudota).25 The Indo-Greek coins do not bear any Buddhist symbol and we have no evidence of a Buddhist text being translated into Greek. The only text which gives us an account of King Menander debating with the Buddhist monk Nagasena is the Milindapanho, written in Pali.26 It is now well recognized that this text should not be taken as evidence of Menander’s conversion to Buddhism. Gerard Fussman27 argued that Menander should be viewed as a King who took interest in Buddhism but did not give up his own religious orientations. His coins do not bear any Buddhist symbol. Thus there was no concerted effort on the part of the Indo-Greek rulers to reach out to the Buddhist population of north-west India. In fact, the success of Buddhism in the north-west coincided with the end of the Greek rule, or a little later. On the contrary, rulers like Agathocles introduced brahmanical deities on their coins. The silver coins of Agathocles (185-170 bc)

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depict the brahmanical deities Balarama-Sarhkarsana and VasudevaKrsna, the earliest depictions of these two gods ever attested in India. Samnkarsana -Balarama is shown holding a musala (pestle) and a hula (plough) while Vasudeva-Krsna holds a cakra (wheel) and a sartkha (conch-shell). Samkarsana is depicted on the obverse with the legend in Greek while Vasudeva is represented on the reverse with the legend in BrahmI.28 This suggests a period when Samkarsana was at the head of the cult of the five Vrsni heroes (pancavlra) of the Bhagavata religion. Paul Bernard correctly observed that the way these gods are depicted on the coins is not in accordance with the contemporary Greek engraving as one can observe on the Attic standard tetradrachms of the same Agathocles showing Zeus holding Hecate. Claude Rapin opines that the strict frontal approach and the archaic style of these figures indicate a purely Indian manufacture. This has been refuted by Osmund Bopearachchi. He feels that it is engraved by a well experienced Greek engraver who knew perfectly well Greek technique of engraving, but he was looking at existing statues without grasping the symbology of the Indian iconography. There are many examples of the formative period to show that in early sculptures of the Bharhut and Sanchi stupas the feet are in side view like on these coins.29 The gods on Agathocles coins are lost in translation. A goddess with a lotus identified with Ekanamsa or Subhadra, Samkarsana’s sister is shown on a bronze coin of Pantaleon (190-185

bce).

The introduction

of brahmanical deities on the coins underlines that by issuing these coins Agathocles conveyed his respect for local beliefs which sent a positive message to his Indian subjects. Here it would be pertinent to refer to a suggestion made by Claude Rapin30 regarding the cult statues that were supposed to be in existence in the Jandial ‘C’ temple at Taxila. In his opinion, ‘the non-western deities worshipped at Jandial C could have been the pancavira of the Bhagavata religion and the cella should have sheltered images of the pantheon of this early form of Vishnuism, under the shape of statues’. Since this temple was situated near the city gate, this Hellenized temple could represent an Indian version of Heracles, the guardian of the doors. As mentioned earlier, Heracles was identified with Vasudeva Krsna as early as the time of Megasthenes and so the assimilation of Heracles image with that of Krsna represented power. Related to this instance is the

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inscription of Heliodorus from the court of Antialcidas ofTaxila who erected a garudadhvaja in honour of lord Vasudeva31 and thereby himself became a bhagavata, suggesting assimilation. Though the Iranian gods are not singularly represented on the coins of the Bactrian and Indo-Greeks, yet they find a place in the pantheon through assimilation. The representative example is the Iranian god Mithra. He has been assimilated with Zeus and also with Apollo.32 The coin of the Greek king Hermaeus shows Zeus wearing a Mithraic cap with rayed crown. Apollo appeared in the guise of the sun god. Originally the Greek sun god Helios had a separate identity but later he was assimilated in the representation of Apollo shown with a rayed head driving a chariot. Even on the issues holding bow and arrow, rays emanating from his head could be seen. Here Helios—Mithra perhaps converged forming a single identity of a sun god. Plato introduced in his coinage an unprecedented and unique reverse type in the Graeco-Bactrian coinage, Helios radiate, standing in a quadriga. Plato had a very short reign of perhaps five years (c. 145140

bce)

and his territory in southern Bactria would not have been

large. The use of sun god as a reverse device and the title ‘Epiphanes’ which in turn was used by Antiochus are attempts to legitimize his rule among the subjects. An interesting gold-plated silver plaque has been found in the temple at Ai Khanum. Here the medallion represents the goddess Cybele. She is dressed in chiton and a short himation. Goddess Cybele is represented in the plaque as crossing a mountainous region in a lion drawn chariot. Her association with lion emphasizes her war-like character. Nike, the goddess of victory, is seen to be driving the chariot of Cybele. Since Cybele is associated with Nike we can very well assume that the ruler of Ai Khanum considered her as a symbol of sure victory for his kingdom and so we find that this Cybele was not only a simple war goddess but a victorious one who could ensure victory for the kingdom. Another interesting feature of this plaque is the polos headdress of Cybele. We learn from Pausanius 33 that Tyche, the Greek goddess of fortune, had a polos on her head and held in her right hand the horn of plenty or keras amaltheias. The polos headdress of Cybele may connect her with Tyche, though she does not have the cornucopia. There is every possibility that an idea

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must have gained ground in this region that Cybele Nikephoros brought prosperity to the kingdom. So the victorious war goddess Cybele also becomes the goddess of prosperity, definitely for the kingdom of Ai Khanum. Thus in the conceptual and typological development regarding Cybele we find the emergence of an interesting deity in Greek Ai Khanum namely the goddess of the kingdom en¬ suring victory and prosperity.34 In the domain of religious architecture, Ai Khanum did not show any affinity to Greek temple architecture. However in the Temple with Indented Niches, a foot clad in Greek sandal decorated with winged thunderbolts has been found. It was carved in an impeccably Greek style. Thus the divinity in question was portrayed in a Greek form. For Paul Bernard, this could be a representation of Zeus Mithra.35 This assimilation is already pronounced in their coins. This is a pointer to a kind of mixed presence of Greek and non-Greek cultural forces in the city. Here one would also like to refer to the site ofTakht-i-Sangin, to the north of Oxus. The excavation at Takht-i Sangin (the stone platform) brought to light a monumental temple.36 The excavated temples include storerooms filled with votive offerings. One of the most striking finds of the temple was the discovery in votive store no. 2 of an ivory sheath of a miniature votive makhaira decorated with a relief of Alexander of Macedon depicted as Heracles. Examination of the Takht-i Sangin Alexander emphasizes its relation to his warrior image on his coins. Thus a mortal hero was elevated to immortality by being depicted as Heracles. This was a very common practice in the Greek world. Here hero worship was something of a precedent to the elevation of the hero to Godhood. Alexander the Great, had been extensively heroized before his death. Together with the sheath was found in votive store no. 4 a reliably datable stone altar, supporting a bronze figure of the Silenus-Marsyas playing a double flute. The Greek inscription on the altar base reads as follows: Atrosokes dedicated his vow to the Oxus’.37 Silenus, the foster father of Dionysus, is typically represented here with his enormous head, broad nose and projecting ears. The worship of Silenus may indicate the presence of the cult of Dionysus in this region. Again here is an interesting evidence of the deification of the river Oxus. Thus this is an attempt to pay homage to this great waterway. These offerings

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were manufactured over many years. Another dedication of an altar to the Greek goddess Hestia comes from the site of Kuliab, north of the Oxus in modern Tajikistan. This dedication is by a man named Heliodotus, in honour of the local Greek King Euthydemus and his son Demetrius ‘in the grove of Zeus’. Euthydemus is declared ‘the greatest of all the kings’. Furthermore, it refers to his son Demetrios Kallinikos, ‘the glorious conqueror’.38 Paul Bernard is probably correct in assuming that the glorious victories to which the inscription refers took place during the siege of Bactra by Antiochos III. In Polybius’ account (11.39), one should also note that at the time of the siege; it was Demetrius the son of Euthydemus I who was appointed to finalize the agreement which brought about a reconciliation between his father and Antiochos III. This Heliodotus must have been a royal officer who publicly sought protection for the royal family from the goddess Hestia. The name of Hestia appears in Greek script on ceremonial drinking-horns from the site of Nisa. Other than the deities, some of the helmets of the Bactrian and Indo-Greek rulers had a divine connection and was also representative of their power. The helmet with bull’s horn and ears owes its origin to Dionysus. It has been suggested that the bull’s horns came into visual prominence as part of Dionysus’s iconography in the Hellenistic period, when they were used to suggest Dionysus like divine and royal powers of the king.39 An interesting helmet with a notion of proclamation of power was the elephant scalp helmet modelled on the portrait of Heracles wearing the lion scalp used by Alexander on the obverse of his coinage. Demetrius I is shown on his silver coins wearing an elephant’s scalp. This elephant scalp helmet symbolizes conquest of regions to the south of the Hindu Kush. His reverse device standing Heracles crowning himself is instructive of the conquest of India. In fact Strabo, on the authority of Apollodorus of Artemita, includes, ‘Demetrius, the son of Euthydemus, the king of the Bactrians’ among the successful Greek kings in India (XI, II, I). The Indian conquest was possible due to the disintegration of the Mauryan empire around r.185

bce.

Another kind of headgear which

has some linkage with the symbol of sovereignty was the kausia. On his monolingual silver coins, Antimachus I depicts himself wearing the Macedonian kausia. The distinctive kausia, a flat, broad-brimmed

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felt hat, was worn by Macedonian soldiers, persons of high rank and, above all, by Alexander the Great himself, as a symbol of sovereignty. It has been suggested that the kausia was worn by tradition in Macedonia long before the time of Alexander III. However, an alternate view is that the kausia did not appear in the Mediterranean until 325/4

bc,

and that its adoption must therefore be related directly

to Alexander the Great.40 Eucratides is shown wearing the Boeotian cavalry helmet and a cuirass and on some issues is also hurling a spear from his right shoulder. The use of Medusa helmet by Menander has already been mentioned. These items seem to fit with a militaristic image of the Bactrian and Indo-Greek rulers. It appears from the foregoing that the gods chosen by the Bactrian and Indo-Greek rulers were those who represented symbols of royal power. For consolidation of their power these successors of Alexander used certain sets of deities who symbolized strength and power among the Olympian deities. Another criterion for choice was their association with Alexander or the Seleucids. These were closely associated with the intention of making the rulers to be accepted by the subject population, a sizeable number of who were Hellenists. Rulers like Agathocles and Pantaleon considered the Indian population too. Moreover one must remember that Heracles is also accepted by the Indians as he is often identified with Krsna and sometimes with £iva. It was also clear from the depiction of the gods and goddesses that the deity supported the right of the king to rule, most of the rulers had one or two patron deities. However they did not have any royal cult like the Seleucids nor did they built dynastic sanctuaries like the Seleucids or the Kusanas. The royal coinage was carefully designed to enhance the image of a courageous king, giving the public a chance to see the kings portrait, to identify the gods or heroes whose powers the king shared and wielded. The Hellenistic identity through the portrayal of the deities was very actively claimed and cherished.

NOTES 1. Suchandra Ghosh, Blurring the Boundaries: Movement and Migration at the Cross Roads of Asia (c. 5 th century BCE-c. 3rd century CE)’, Journal of Ancient Indian History, vol. XXVI, 2011. Also see Saifur Rahman Dar,

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‘Pathways between Gandhara and North India during Second Century BC-Second Century ad’, in Doris Srinivasan, ed.. On the Cusp of an Era: Art in the Pre-Kushana World, Leiden, 2007, pp. 39-40. 2. The study of the Bactrian and Indo-Greek coins are based on Osmund Bopearachchi, Monnaiesgreco-bactriennes et indo-grecques: Catalogue raisonne, Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale, 1991 and Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum, The collection of the American Numismatic Society, Part 9, Graeco-Bactrian and Indo-Greek Coins, New York: The American Numismatic Society, 1998. 3. Frank Holt, Thundering Zeus: The Making of Hellenistic Bactria, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. 4. Elizabeth Errington, From Persepolis to the Punjab: Exploring Ancient Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, London: The British Museum Press, p. 108. 5. A.N. Lahiri, ‘Religio-Mythical Bearing of the Representation of Zeus on Indo-Greek Coins,’ Journal of the Numismatic Society of India, 42, 1980, pp. 61-2. 6. A.K. Narain, The Indo-Greeks, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1980, p. 19. 7. Serge Veuve, Fouilles DAikhanoum, Le Gymnase, vol. VI, Paris, 1987. 8. Elizabeth Errington and Joe Cribb (eds.), The Crossroads of Asia: Transformation in Image and Symbol, Cambridge: The Ancient India and Iran Trust, 1992, pp. 78-9. 9. L. Robert, ‘De Delphes a 1’Oxus,’ CRAI, 1968, pp. 416-57. The list of maxims at Ai Khanum is incomplete. 10. John Pinsent, Greek Mythology, London: The Hamlyn Publishing Group, 1988, pp. 86-7. 11. Osmund Bopearachchi, ‘The Emergence of the Greco-Bactrian and IndoGreek Kingdoms’, in Nicholas L. Wright (ed.), Coins from Asia Minor and the East: Selections from the Colin E. Pitchfork Collection, Adelaide: Numismatic Association of Australia, 2011, p. 47. 12. Narain, op. cit., p. 23. 13. The inscription is a dedication to Hermes and Heracles, protectors of the gymnasium, by Triballos and Straton, sons of Straton. Veuve, op. cit., p. 28. 14. Osmund Bopearachchi, ‘Decouvertes recentes des sculptures hellenistiques en Asie central’, in Zemaryalai Tarzi and Denyse Vaillancourt, eds. Art et Archeologie des monasteres Greco-bouddhiques du Nord-Ouest del’Inde et de lAsie centrale, Paris, 2005, pp. 51-65. 15. Errington, op. cit., p. 111. 16. W.W. Tarn, The Greeks in Bactria and India, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1980 (1st Indian edition), 261. 17. Errington and Cribb, eds, op. cit., p. 83.

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18. Pinsent, op. cit., p. 64. 19. Arrian, Anabaseos Alexandrou, vol. I, 1-6. Loeb Classical Library edition, 2 vols, rpt. London and Cambridge, Mass., 1958 and 1961. 20. Errington and Cribb (eds.), op. cit., p. 82. 21. A.H. Dani, The Historic City ofTaxila, Japan, 1986, UNESCO and the Centre for East Asian Cultural Studies: 158-9. Also see H.P. Francfort, Les palettes du Gandhara. Memoires de la Delegation Archeologique Francaise en Afghanistan, no. 23, Paris, 1979. 22. Fr. Grenet, J.C. Ligeret and R.D. deValence, ‘L’Arsenal’, BEFEO, Paris,

1980, pp. 61-3. 23. Tarn, op. cit., p. 204. 24. Mark Allon, ‘Recent Discoveries ofBuddhist Manuscripts from Afghanistan and Pakistan: The Heritage of the Greeks in the North-West’, in Himanshu Prabha Ray and Daniel T. Potts (eds.), Memory as History: The Legacy of Alexander in Asia, Delhi: Aryan Books International, 2007, pp. 131-41. 25. Sten Konow, ed., ‘Swat Relic Vase Inscription of Meridarch Theodoras,’ Kharoshthi Inscriptions with the Exception of Those of Asoka. Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum, vol. 2.1, Calcutta: Government of India, 1929, pp. 1-4. 26. T.W. Rhys Davids, The Questions ofKingMilinda, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1890-4. 27. Gerard Fussman, ‘Upaya-kausalya’ L’implantation du bouddhisme au Gandhara’, in Fumimasa Fukui and Gerard Fussman (eds.), Bouddhisme et cultures locales: Quelque cas de reciproques adaptations, Etudes thematiques, vol. 2, Paris: Ecole francaise d’Extreme-Orient, 1994, p. 24. 28. R. Audouin and Paul Bernard, ‘Tresor de monnaises indiennes et indogreques d’Ai-Khanoum (Afghanistan) II’ Revue Numismatique, 1974,

pp. 6-41. 29. Osmund Bopearachchi, ‘Mauryans and Achaemenids: Numismatics and Plastic Arts’, unpublished paper. I am thankful to the author for allowing me to use it. 30. Claude Rapin, ‘Hinduism in the Indo-Greek Area’, in Antonio Invernizzi, (ed.), In the Land of the Gryphons, Papers on Central Asian Archaeology and Antiquity, 1995, p. 290. 31. J.Ph. Vogel, ‘Besnagar Pillar Inscription’, Archaeological Survey of India, Annual Report, 1908-9, Delhi, pp. 126-9. 32. Laurianne Martinez-Seve, Pouvoir et religion dans la Bactriane hellenisrique. Recherches sur la politique religieuse des rois seleucides et greco-bactriens, chiron mitteilungen der mmission fur alte geschichte und epigraphik des deutschen archaologischen instituts Sonderdruck aus Band 40, 2010, pp. 8-9. A.D.H. Bivar, ‘Mithraic Images of Bactria: Are They Related to Roman Mithraism?’, EPRO, 80, 1979, pp. 741-50.

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33. Pausanius, Periegesis tes Hellados, IV.30, Loeb Classical Library edition, 5 vols., London, 1959. See also B.N. Mukherjee, Nana on Lion, Calcutta: The Asiatic Society, 1969, pp. 71-4. 34. Suchandra Ghosh, ‘Cybele: Syncretistic Development in Aikhanoum,’ Yavanika, no. 4, Bareilly, 1994, pp. 77-9. 35. Paul Bernard, ‘La Decouverte Et La Fouille Du Site Hellenistique D’Ai Khanoum En Afghanistan: Comment Elies Se Sont Fakes’, Parthica, 11, Pisa, 2009, pp. 49-51. 36. B.A. Litvinsky and I.R. Pichikyan, ‘Decouvertes Dans un Sanctuaire du Dieu Oxus de la Bactriane Septentrionale’, Revue Archeologique, 1981, pp. 315-72. 37. B.A. Litvinsky and I.R. Pichikyan, ‘The Temple of the Oxus’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, London, 1981, pp. 133-67. 38. Paul Bernard et al., ‘Deux Nouvelles Inscriptions Grecques De L’Asie Centrale. Journal Des Savants, 2004, pp. 227-356. Also see Sevres, op. cit., pp. 13-14. 39. Errington, op. cit., pp. 109. 40. Bopearachchi, op. cit., 2011, p. 49.

REFERENCES Allon, Mark, ‘Recent Discoveries of Buddhist Manuscripts from Afghanistan and Pakistan: The Heritage of the Greeks in the North-West’, in Himanshu Prabha Ray and Daniel T. Potts, eds., Memory as History: The Legacy of Alexander in Asia, Delhi: Aryan Books International, 2007, pp. 131-41. Arrian, Anabaseos Alexandrou, V,I, 1-6. Loeb Classical Library edition, 2 vols. rpt., London and Cambridge, Mass., 1958 & 1961. Audouin, R. and Paul Bernard, ‘Tresor de monnaies indiennes et indo-greques d’Ai-Khanoum (Afghanistan) II’, Revue Numismatique, 1974, pp. 6-41. Bernard, Paul et al. ‘Deux Nouvelles Inscriptions Grecques De L’Asie Centra\e!Journal Des Savants-. 2004, pp. 227-356. Bivar, A.D.H, ‘Mithraic Images of Bactria: Are They Related to Roman Mithraism?’, EPRO, 80, 1979, pp. 741-50. -, ‘La Decouverte Et La Fouille Du Site Hellenistique D’Ai Khanoum En Afghanistan: Comment Elies Se Sont Fakes’, Parthica, 11, Pisa, 2009, pp. 49-51. Bopearachchi, Osmund., Monnaies greco-hactriennes et indo-grecques: Catalogue raisonne, Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale, 1991. -, Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum, The Collection of the American Numismatic Society, Part 9, Graeco-Bactrian and Indo-Greek Coins, New York, The American Numismatic Society, 1998, ‘Decouvertes recentes des sculptures hellenistiques en Asie central’ in Zemaryalai Tarzi and Denyse Vaillancourt

388

Suchandra Ghosh eds. Art et Archeologie des monasteres Greco-bouddhiques du Nord-Ouest del’Inde et de I’Asie centrale, Paris, 2005, pp. 51-65.

-, ‘Mauryans and Achaemenids: Numismatics and Plastic Arts’, unpublished paper. Dani, A.H., The Historic City ofTaxila. Japan, UNESCO and the Centre for East Asian Cultural Studies, 1986, pp. 158-9. Errington, Elizabeth and Joe Cribb (eds), The Crossroads of Asia, Transformation in Image and Symbol, Cambridge: The Ancient India and Iran Trust, 1992, pp. 78-9. Errington, Elizabeth., From Persepolis to the Punjab: Exploring Ancient Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, London, The British Museum Press, 2007, p. 108. Francfort, H.P., ‘Les palettes du Gandhara, Memoires de la Delegation Archeologique Francaise en Afghanistan, no. 23, Paris, 1979. Fussman, Gerard, ‘“Upaya-kausalya” L’implantation du bouddhismeau Gandhara’, in Fumimasa Fukui and Gerard Fussman (eds.), Bouddhisme et cultures Locales: Quelque cos de reciproques adaptations. Etudes thematiques, vol. 2, Paris, Ecole francaise d’Extreme-Orient, 1994, p. 24. Ghosh, Suchandra, ‘Cybele: Syncretistic Development in Aikhanoum’, Yavanika, no. 4, Bareilly, 1994, 77-9. Grenet, F.R., J.C. Ligeret and R.D. deValence , ‘L’Arsenal’, BEFEO, Paris, 1980, pp. 61-3. Holt, Frank, Thundering Zeus: The Making of Hellenistic Bactria, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1999. Konow, Sten., ed., ‘Swat Relic Vase Inscription of Meridarch Theodoros’, Kharoshthi Inscriptions with the Exception of Those of Asoka, Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum, vol. 2.1, Calcutta: Government of India, 1929, pp. 1-4. Lahiri, A.N. ‘Religio-Mythical Bearing of the Representation of Zeus on IndoGreek Coins’, Journal of the Numismatic Society of India, 42, 1980, pp. 61-2. Litvinsky, B.A. and I.R. Pichikyan, ‘The Temple of the Oxus’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, London, 1981, pp. 133-67. -, ‘Decouvertes Dans un Sanctuaire du Dieu Oxus de la Bactriane Septentrionale’, Revue Archeologique, 1981, pp. 315-72. -, ‘The Emergence of the Greco-Bactrian and Indo-Greek Kingdoms’, in Nicholas L. Wright (ed.) (2011), Coins from Asia Minor and the East: Selections from the Colin E. Pitchfork Collection, Adelaide, Numismatic Association of Australia, 2011, p. 47. Mukherjee, B.N., Nana on Lion, Calcutta: Asiatic Society, 1969, pp. 71-4. Narain, A.K., The Indo-Greeks, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1980, p. 19.

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Pausanius, Periegesis tes Hellados, IV.30, Loeb Classical Library edition, 5 vols., London, 1959. Pinsent, John, Greek Mythology, London: The Hamlyn Publishing Group, 1988,

pp. 86-7. Ramsey, Gillian Catherine, ‘Kingship in Hellenistic Bactria’, a thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts in the Department of Greek and Roman Studies, 2005, University of Victoria. Rapin, Claude, ‘Hinduism in the Indo-Greek Area’, in Antonio Invernizzi (ed.), In the Land of the Gryphons, papers on Central Asian Archaeology and Antiquity, 1995, p. 290. Rhys Davids, T.W., The Questions of King Milinda, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1890-4. Robert, L., ‘De Delphes a 1’Oxus’, C/M/, 1968, pp. 416-57. Seve, Laurianne Martinez, ‘Pouvoir et religion dans la Bactriane hellenistique. Recherches sur la politique religieuse des rois seleucides et greco-bactriens’, chiron mitteilungen der mmission fur alte geschichte und epigraphik des deutschen archaologischen instituts Sonderdruck aus Band 40, 2010, pp. 8-9. Tarn, W.W., The Greeks in Bactria and India, Delhi (1st Indian edition), Munshiram Manoharlal, 1980, p. 261. Veuve, Serge, (1987), Fouilles D’Aikhanoum, Le Gymnase, vol. VI, Paris. Vogel, J. Ph., ‘Besnagar Pillar Inscription’, Archaeological Survey of India, Annual Report, 1908-9, Delhi, pp. 126-9.

CHAPTER

15

The Influence of the Arthasastra on the Kamasutra WENDY DONIGER

INTRODUCING THE TWO TEXTS AND THE THREE GOALS Ancient Hindu texts often speak of three human goals (or purusarthas, also called the triple path or trivarga, or the Triple Set), which every human being was supposed to achieve in order to have a full life: dharma, artha and kama. The Manava-dharma-sastra or ‘Laws of Manu’ is supreme among Sanskrit texts about dharma, the Arthasastra similarly outstanding for artha, and the Kamasutra for kama} The Arthasastra (or ‘textbook of politics/profit/success’) is generally attributed to Kautilya (‘Crooked’), also called Canakya and Visnugupta, the minister of the Mauryan Emperor Candragupta in the fourth century

bce,

but it was completed in the early centuries of the

Common Era, perhaps by 200

ce.

The Arthasastra is a compendium

of advice for a king, and, in addition to much technical information on the running of a kingdom, it contains a good deal of thought on the subject of human psychology. The Kamasutra (or ‘treatise on pleasure’) is the oldest extant Hindu textbook of erotic love, and one of the oldest in the world. It was probably composed sometime in the second half of the third century of the Common Era,2 in North India, perhaps in Pataliputra (near the present city of Patna, in Bihar). Virtually nothing is known about the author, Vatsyayana Mallanaga, other than his name and what little we learn from the text. The Arthasastra is at least a century older than the Kamasutra and gives no evidence of knowledge of any Kamasutra, nor does it mention

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kama as an organizing system. The Kdmasutra explicitly mentions the Arthasastra, though it attributes it to the mythical Brhaspati, counsellor to the king of the gods, rather than to the quasi-historical Kautilya [.Kdmasutra, henceforth KS, 1.1.7], and regards it primarily as a text about merchants making money and superintendents of commerce and agriculture [A3 1.2.9-10], Though the Arthasastra is deeply suspicious of kama in any shape or form, the Kdmasutra has respect for artha as a goal, especially as far as courtesans are concerned. My argument is that the Kdmasutra is closely based upon the Arthasastra and that this connection strongly influences the worldview of the Kdmasutra. Other scholars have noticed the influence of the form of the Arthasastra on the Kdmasutra, but haven’t realized how extensively and closely the content of the Kdmasutra is constrained by that of the Arthasastra. I will explore first the evidence for this influence and then the ways in which the Kdmasutra pulls away from the Arthasastra. I’ll conclude with a brief speculation about the implications for the future of erotic literature in India, when the Kdmasutra applies to sex the principles of politics, more precisely the Machiavellian politics of the Arthasastra. Let me begin by pointing out the elements that the two texts have in common. Both the Arthasastra and the Kdmasutra pretend to care about dharma, and pay lip service to it at the start and finish of the book, like bookends, but on almost every page of the text they violate dharma, the Arthasastra by advocating violence and trickery, the Kdmasutra by violating the rules of sex and marriage. Moreover, both of them, in contrast with almost all other Sanskrit textbooks (Sastras) of this period, largely ignore caste and class, which are at the heart of the social law advocated in dharma texts, though we can read the same assumptions about class and caste behind them both. Both texts go to great lengths to justify their importance vis-a-vis the dharma texts, but in different ways. The Arthasastra devotes an entire, but rather short, chapter [.Arthasastra, henceforth AS, 1.3.1-17] to dharma, including varnasrama dharma (the laws for the four classes and the four stages of life), sadharana dharma (the general moral law that applies to everyone) and svadharma (the particular moral law that applies to particular castes). When Kautilya first mentions the three goals [^45 1.4.11], he lists them in the usual order, dharma first

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and kdma last, and he seems to rank them in that order when he returns to the subject and expands upon it: He should pursue kdma without transgressing dharma or artha-, he should not deprive himself of enjoyments. Or, he should pursue the Triple Set equally, each intimately linked to the others. For, among dharma, artha, and kdma, when one is pursued excessively, it harms itself as well as the other two. 1Artha alone is paramount,’ says Kautilya, ‘for artha is the foundation of dharma and kdma.' [AS 1.7.2-7]

After citing the usual politically correct statement about the goals, which he will soon identify as the viewpoint of other, wrong-headed people (the purva paksa), Kautilya stands up for what he really cares about: artha. He returns to the subject at the very end of the book: “This treatise brings into being and protects dharma, artha, and kdma, and suppresses lack of dharma [adharma], lack of artha [anartha], and hatred (vidvesa)” [AS 15.1.71-2]. This use of ‘hatred’ as the opposite of kdma—in place of what we might expect, ‘lack of kdma', meaning ‘lack of desire’ or ‘lack of pleasure’—is picked up by the Kamasutra [A7> 6.6.5-6]: ‘The three gains are artha, dharma and kdma, and the three losses are loss of artha [anartha], loss of dharma [adharma], and hatred [vidvesa].' This is a strange divergence from the expected pattern, and the convergence of the two texts strongly suggests that the Kamasutra has gotten it from the Arthasastra. The Kamasutra also echoes tht Arthasastra's lip-service to the ranking of the three goals: A mans lifespan is said to be a full hundred years. By dividing his time, he cultivates the three goals in such a way that they enhance rather than interfere with each other. Childhood is the time to acquire knowledge and other kinds of artha, the prime of youth is for kdma, and old age is for dharma and moksa. Or, because the lifespan is uncertain, a man pursues these aims as the opportunity arises, but he should remain celibate until he has acquired knowledge.... When these three aims—dharma, artha, and kdma—compete, each is more important than the one that follows. But artha, in the form of wealth, is the most important goal for a king—because it is the basis of social life—, and for a courtesan. [AS 1.2.1-6, 14-15]

The attempt to correlate the three goals with three ages is awkward (what does childhood have to do with the serious business of arthaV), and moksa is squeezed in alongside dharma and never mentioned

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again in this context. The only other time the Kdmasutra speaks of moksa is when it describes the courtesans success in achieving the release of an unwanted lover [AS 6.3.44], surely a sacrilegious use of the word; and the Arthas'dstra, too, never mentions moksa in a religious context, but only to designate the release from marriage, i.e. divorce! [^4S 3.4.27 and 30]. The unusual use of this highly spiritual word to designate sexual matters in both texts is surely a bit of blasphemy that the Kdmasutra picks up from the Arthasastra. It is also striking that the Kdmasutra gives pride of place not to its own subject, kama, but to artha, the subject of the Arthasastra, a clear carry-over from the parent text. And, like the Arthasastra, the Kdmasutra returns to the three goals at the very end of the book: A man who knows its real meaning sees dharma, artha, and kama, his own convictions, and the ways of the world for what they are, and he is not driven by passion. A man who knows the real meaning of this text guards the state of his own dharma, artha, and kama as it operates in the world, and he becomes a man who has truly conquered his senses. The man who is well-taught and expert in this text pays attention to dharma and artha-, he does not indulge himself too much in passion, and so he succeeds when he plays the part of a lover. [AS17.2.53, 58-59]

Again Vatsyayana privileges both dharma—which he has relentlessly ignored throughout his book—and artha, the privileged subject of the text on which he has based his own text.

ATTITUDES TO OTHER SCHOLARS The Kdmasutra models both its format and its rhetoric closely on that of the Arthasastra. The basic text is in prose, often followed, at the end of the chapter, by a few verses. More precisely, prose chapters containing down-to-earth, often non-dharmic or even anti-dharmic instructions, are capped by verses (in the simple sloka metre of the

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Epics and Puranas) that express often contradictory, generally dharmic exhortations. This hypocritical attitude to religion is one of the many unusual traits that the two texts have in common. Both texts begin with brief invocations, the Arthasastra to Sukra and Brhaspati, the gurus of the demons and the gods, respectively, and the Kamasutra to dharma, artha, and kama, which the thirteenth century commentator Yasodhara defines as three divinities. This invocation is followed in both texts by an acknowledgement of their debt to previous texts on their respective subjects. Thus the Arthasastra states: ‘This singular Treatise on Success has been composed for the most part by drawing together the Treatises on Success composed by former teachers for gaining and administering the earth’ [AS 1.1.1]. And there follows a list of the contents. But in the final verse of the whole work [AS 15.1.73], he is not quite so generous to his predecessors: ‘Seeing the many sorts of mistakes in the writers of commentaries on the Sastras, Visnugupta himself [i.e. Kautilya, author of the Arthasastra] made the text and the commentary too!’ Vatsyayana, too, before listing the contents, begins by invoking his academic ancestors, first in a brief reference, after the list of the three ‘divinities,’ to ‘the scholars who made known the mutual agreement among the three’ [KS 1.1.3], and then in a long paragraph [AS 1.19-12] that mentions the predecessors by name.3 The Arthasastra does not name them in its initial invocation, but does name them elsewhere, as, for instance, in the long argument about whether or not the king should kill his sons as soon as they are born [AS 1.17.443],4 and in another argument about the people who are eligible to be ministers. [AS 1.8.1-29]5 Correspondingly, the Kamasutra invokes its authorities, one by one, in an argument about what women are and are not eligible as sexual partners [AS 1.5.22-26]. But the word for ‘scholars’ (acdryas), normally a term of great respect in ancient India, almost always has a pejorative tone in the Kamasutra, perhaps best translated as ‘pedants,’ and these ‘scholars’ form what Hindu logic calls the opposing school [purva paksa]. Both texts employ the technique of representing the possible arguments of opposing schools of‘scholars’, setting them up as straw men and then demolishing them. But sometimes, on the other hand, both Kautilya

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and Vatsyayana will use the ‘opposing schools’ to say rather extreme things they really think but do not want to own as their own, to get them on the table and then say, oh no, don’t do that, in much the manner that a lawyer might reveal evidence to a jury and then, when reprimanded by the judge, say, ‘The jury will disregard those remarks.’ It is not always easy to tell apart these two agendas—setting up fall guys to demolish and using straw men to say what you yourself do not dare to say outright—since they both take the same form: ostensible disagreement. Kautilya uses this ambiguous technique, for instance, when he quotes the usual list of authorities as advocates of various measures for dealing with the king’s newborn sons, starting from the suggestion that the king kill them at birth.6 In the end, Kautilya objects to the more bloodthirsty suggestions: ‘That is a living death, says Kautilya; ‘for, like a piece of wood eaten by worms, the royal family with undisciplined sons will fall apart the moment it is attacked [AS 1.17.22-23]. And then he caps the argument with his own, more reasonable, suggestion: ‘If he is an only son who is dear to him, the king should imprison him. If he has many sons, the king should banish him to the frontier or to another region’ [AS 1.17.4142]. The same sorts of arguments among authorities also occur in the Kdmasutra, which cites its standard list of‘scholars’ in a debate about whether or not women have orgasms as men do, presenting the cockamamie theories of Audalaki and Babhravya (such as that women don’t have orgasms, but have worms inside them that produce an itch that must be scratched) before stating, and defending against objections by several unnamed interlocutors, Vatsyayana’s own sensible opinion (that they do have orgasms like those of men) [KS 2.1.8-30]. Vatsyayana also cites Babhravya, and censures Suvarnabhadra, in a discussion of the more unusual sexual positions [AS 2.6.13-35],7 before he launches into a more general tirade of verses against sexual excess [2.7.24-35]. Two chapters later, he states: ‘Vatsyayana says: ‘Since learned men disagree and there are discrepancies in what the dharma texts say, one should act according to the custom of the region and one’s own disposition and confidence’ [AS2.9.34]. Note Vatsyana’s casual scorn for the smrtis, the texts of dharma, and his preference for individual conscience.

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STRIKING POINTS OF AGREEMENT Within this shared framework there are also a number of incidental passages in which the Arthasastra has clearly provided the paradigm for the Kamasutra. The Arthasastra advises the king to make use of actors dressed as gods of fire and water, to demoralize the enemy during a siege: The seeker after conquest, when he desires to capture an enemy settlement, should embolden his own faction and terrify his enemy’s faction by proclaiming his omniscience and his intimacy with gods. The proclamation of his intimacy with gods, however, is as follows: conversing with and worshipping agents posing as gods of a fire sanctuary, agents who have entered the hollows of divine statues in the fire sanctuary through an underground tunnel; or conversing with and worshipping agents disguised as Nagas [serpent deities] and Varuna [god of the waters] emerging from water [13.1.1-3]

The Kamasutra prescribes similar play-acting to a man laying siege, as it were, to a virgin: he should have a friend dress up not as a god but as a fortune-teller and describe the ‘mans future good luck and prosperity’ to the girl’s mother to earn her favor [AT 3.1.6]. The use of black magic is strikingly similar in the two texts, both of which discuss it at length at the end of the text, as a kind of afterthought or last resort. The Arthasastra [4.13.28] permits a man to use lovemagic on a disaffected wife or a wife to use it on her husband, while the Kamasutra does caution wives not to use it on adulterous husbands [AT 4.1.19-21 ] but, on the other hand, devotes an entire book [AT 7] to the magic that a man can use on women, while the corresponding book of the Arthasastra [A$ 14] is devoted to magic used for various purposes, mostly murder, but never love. Still the magic techniques overlap in interesting ways. Both the Arthasastra [14.2.6-8, 14.3.1] and the Kamasutra [5.6.24-25, 7.1] offer magic spells to make you invisible, using an ointment that you put on your eyes, projecting sighdessness onto the person who looks at you. The Arthasastra, like the Kamasutra, is concerned that, when you make yourself invisible, your shadow, too, must be invisible. [AT 14.3.5-8-14] (The Arthasastra, but not the Kamasutra, says that you should burn the ingredients for this ointment in a woman’s vagina.) And both texts [AT 14.2.6-8 and

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KS 7.2.41,47] offer formulas for magic to make you white, the purpose of which is unclear in both cases.

SPYING The paranoid psychology of the political text casts its shadow powerfully over the erotic text. Though the Arthasdstra is often said to be Machiavellian, Kautilya makes Machiavelli look like Mother Theresa. Suspicion, treachery, and trickery pervade the Arthasdstra, and some of this carries over into the Kdmasutra. The Arthasdstra list [1.14.2] of people in the enemy’s territory who are dissatisfied and can be seduced politically is the model for the Kdmasutra lists of women [5.1.51-55] in their husbands territory, as it were, who are dissatisfied, or unsatisfied, and so can be seduced sexually. Both texts often imagine the possible choices being considered in the mind of someone who might be plotting mischief. The internal debate of potential adulterers, in the Kdmasutra, persuading themselves of the moral justice of their actions [1.5.5-21; 5.1.21-42], mirrors the similarly imagined meditations of spies in the Arthasdstra [1.16.2931] and the king’s self-persuasions and justifications for seizing power [AS 6.2.38; cf. also 7.15.12; 9.2.3- 6; 9.3.39; 9.4.8], Another trait that the Kdmasutra clearly picks up from the Arthasdstra is the constant use of male and female messengers, which makes little sense in the Kdmasutra except as a replication of the far more meaningful constant employment of male and female spies in the Arthasdstra* Both texts recommend the use of monks, nuns, and religious mendicants as spies (.Arthasdstra) or go-betweens (Kdmasutra), in neither case demonstrating the least bit of respect for the possible actual religiosity, or reputation, of such people. Both texts play close attention to peoples’ involuntary gestures and revealing facial expressions as betrayals of hidden political or, as the case may be, sexual emotions. All of this spying casts a presumption of dishonesty and betrayal over erotic relationships, which remains a part of Hindu erotic discourse for centuries and centuries. The Arthasdstra uses spies to deal with problems posed by officials, noting the particular character flaws of each official that causes each problem:

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He should have their procedures overseen by spies. For, an official may cause a loss of revenue—through ignorance, if he is unacquainted with the procedures, customs, and canons; through laziness, if he is incapable of enduring the travails of entrepreneurial activity; through carelessness, if he is addicted to sensual objects such as sound; through fear, if he is scared of agitations or of acting against dharma or artha\ through love, with regard to those who come to plead their cases, if he is inclined to favor them, and through anger, if he is inclined to hurt them; through arrogance, if he relies on his learning, wealth, or connection to a royal favorite; and through greed, if he inserts discrepancies in weights, measures, estimates, and accounting. [AS 2.7.9-10]

The Kamasutra cleverly adapts this template into a precise and rather cunning psychology of devising approaches for women who are differently resistant to adultery, tailoring each approach to the particular source of resistance [AS 5.1.17-42]: A man should eliminate, from the very beginning, whichever of these causes for rejection he detects in his own situation. If it is connected with her nobility, he excites more passion. If it is a matter of apparent impossibility, he shows her ways to manage it. If the problem is her respect for him, he becomes very intimate with her. If it stems from her contempt, he demonstrates his extraordinary pride and his erudition. If it comes from his contempt, he prostrates himself before her. If she is afraid, he reassures her. [AS 5.1.43-49]

In another pair of closely parallel texts, the Arthasastra presents a four-fold typology of repentant traitors: Those who have left and returned are of four types: one who left and returned for a proper reason, and the opposite of this; one who left for a proper reason but returned without a proper reason, and the opposite of this. [A$ 7.6.2337]

It is but the work of a moment for the Kamasutra to convert this into a six-fold typology of lovers who leave the courtesan and then may or may not be taken back: If he has gone elsewhere, she must find out about him; he may belong in any of the six possible categories, according to the circumstances: He left her of his own accord and he left the other woman, too, of his own accord. He left both her and the other woman because they got rid of him. He left her of his own accord and he left the other woman because she got rid of him. He left her of his own accord and stayed with the other woman. He left her because she got rid of him and he left the other woman of his own accord. He left her because she got rid of him and he stayed with the other woman. [KS 6.4.3-37]

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The influence of the Arthasastra on the Kdmasutra is particularly visible in the techniques of testing. With the concern for particular individuals that we have noted as a property of effective spying, the Arthasastra suggests different ways to deal with young princes— variously susceptible to hunting, gambling, liquor, and women (which it defines elsewhere [AS 1.6.5-6] as the four vices that spring from lust): The secret agents... should guard [the prince], saying, ‘We are yours.’ If he sets his mind on other peoples wives out of youthful insolence, they should make him recoil by introducing him at night in deserted houses to squalid women posing as Arya ladies. If he takes a fancy for liquor, they should make him recoil by administering a doctored drink. If he takes a fancy for gambling, they should make him recoil with the help of crafty-student agents. If he takes a fancy for hunting, they should frighten him through agents posing as bandits [AS 1.17.34-38]

More specifically, however, the Arthasastra advises the king to test his potential ministers of various departments to make sure they are impervious to the temptations of each of the three goals of life (dharma, artha and kama). He also tells him to test the candidate against a fourth goal, not moksa (liberation, the fourth goal in most lists) but fear (often listed as the fourth emotion, after the primary triad of desire, anger, and greed) [AS 1.10.3-12.].9 The third test, the test of kama, is this: A female wandering ascetic who has won the confidence of and is received with honor in the royal residence should instigate each high official individually: ‘The chief queen is in love with you and has made arrangements to meet with you. You will also receive a lot of money.’ If he rebuffs it, he is a man of integrity. That is the secret test relating to kama. [/4S 1.10.7-8]

And any man whose integrity has been proven through the secret test relating to kama is to be made a guard of the harem. [AS 1.10. 13] This program then appears in the Kdmasutra as just a single test for the guards of the harem, but this one test combines the four elements, including fear, that the Arthasastra used to test four different sorts of ministers: Scholars say: ‘Guards stationed in the harem should be proved pure by the trial of kama.’ Gonikaputra says: ‘But fear or artha may make them let the women

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use another man; therefore guards should be proved pure by the trials of kama, fear and arthaVatsyayana says: Dharma prevents treachery. But a man will abandon even dharma because of fear. Therefore guards should be proved pure by the trial of dharma and fear. [A3 5.6.40-42]

In the end, therefore, and in contradiction of Kautilya (whose opinion Vatsyayana cites under the disdainful rubric of scholars’), Vatsyayana decides that imperviousness to kama is not the most important quality for a harem guard, after all; fear and dharma trump kama. Kautilya, by contrast, states that the men who guard the harem need not be tested for kama since they should be ‘at least 80 years old’, fatherly, or elderly celibate10 stewards [AS 1.20.21]. On the other hand, he suggests that the women of the harem must themselves be tested for ‘honesty and dishonesty,’ lest they prove a danger to the king. For Kautilya is primarily concerned not so much to protect the king’s wives as to protect the king from his wives [AS 1.17.2]: Going to the inner chamber, he should meet with the queen after she has been inspected and cleared by elderly women. For Bhadrasena was killed by his brother hiding in the queens chamber, and Karusa by his son hiding under his mothers bed. The king of KasI was killed by his queen with puffed grain mixed with poison disguised as honey; Vairantya with an anklet smeared with poison; Sauvira with a girdle-jewel smeared with poison; and Jalutha with a mirror smeared with poison. And the queen killed Viduratha by hiding a weapon in her braids. Therefore, he should avoid these situations. [AS 1.20.14-17]

There is no direct parallel to this list in the Kamasutra, which never warns men about dangers from the women themselves, though, as we shall soon see, the form of the warning—the list of mythical and historical characters who were destroyed by kama—does indeed appear in both texts to make a related point: the danger to men posed by their own kama, usually in the form of attacks by the men whom they have cuckolded. But there is another close parallel that appears in the context of this testing. The Arthasastra, speaking of testing the ministers, warns against the danger that one might corrupt the uncorrupted, Tike water with poison; for it may well be that a remedy may not be found for a person who has been corrupted. Once the mind is tainted by the four kinds of secret tests, moreover, it will not cease until it has reached its goal, abiding in the firm resolve of spirited men’ [AS

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1.10.18-19]. So, too, when other ‘scholars’11 suggest that the young prince be tested by tempting him to attack his father and seize the kingdom, Kautilya objects: ‘To awaken one who is not awake is gready detrimental,’ says Kautilya; ‘for a fresh object absorbs anything smeared on it. In like manner, a prince, whose mind is fresh, will accept anything he is told as if it were the teaching of a Treatise. Therefore, one should teach him what accords with dharma and artha, never anything that is contrary to dharma and artha' [AS 1.17.29-33]. This same concern appears when the Kamasutra speaks of testing the chastity of wives: The followers of Babhravya say: ‘To find out about his own wives’ purity or impurity, a man should test them through charming women who have deeply hidden their own involuntary signals and who will report what other people say.’ But Vatsyayana says: Because corrupt people can succeed among young women, a man should not set in motion, without a reason, the corruption of a person who is not corrupt. [A3 5.6.43-44]

And so the Kamasutra suggests better ways to control women, primarily through knowledge of the Kamasutra.

THE NEED TO CONTROL THE SENSES One would have thought that the concern for the control of the senses would make far more sense in the Arthasastra context than in the Kamasutra, but not so. An emphasis on the need for a man to control not (or not just) his women but his own senses pervades both texts. The Arthasastra sees as more dangerous than any other threat the enemy within, more precisely the ‘six enemies’: desire, anger, and greed—the original triad of emotions—plus pride, conceit, and excitement. Mastery over the senses results from training in the knowledge systems and is to be accomplished by giving up desire, anger, greed, pride, conceit, and excitement [the “six enemies”]. . .. This entire treatise boils down to the mastery over the senses. A king who behaves contrary to it and has no control over his senses will perish immediately, even though he may rule the four ends of the earth. [A3 1.6.1, 3-4]

Again and again, the Arthasastra speaks of the need for control: ‘Therefore, he should gain mastery over the senses by abandoning the

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set of six enemies’ [1.7.1]. Spies, in particular, are advised to avoid women and liquor, to stay sober and sleep alone [1.16.18-23], for people reveal secrets through the indiscretions of love affairs [1.15.11]. The Arthasastra's list of kings who were destroyed by treacherous women (with mirrors smeared with poison and so forth) is matched by another Arthasastra list of kings who were destroyed by the far more dangerous enemies within: The Bhoja king named Dandakya, for example, who violated the young daughter of a Brahmin through desire, was destroyed along with his kinsmen and kingdom; so also Karala of Videha; Janamejaya assailing Brahmins out of anger, as also Talajangha assailing the Bhrgus; Aila extorting money from the four social classes out of greed, as also Ajabindu of the Sauviras; Ravana not returning the wife of another out of pride, as also Duryodhana not returning a portion of the kingdom; Dambhodbhava treating people with contempt out of conceit, as also Arjuna of the Haihayas; Vatapi assailing Agastya through excitement, as also the Vrsni confederacy assailing Dvaipayana. These and many other kings, addicted to the set of six enemies and not having mastered their senses, came to ruin along with their kinsmen and kingdoms. Having abandoned the set of six enemies, Jamadagnya, who had mastered his senses, as well as Ambarisa, the son of Nabhaga, enjoyed the earth for a long time. [AS 1.6.4-12]

The Kamasutra uses an abbreviated version of the very same list, beginning with a word-for-word quotation of the tale of the first unfortunate sinner on the list: For instance, when the Bhoja king named Dandakya was aroused by a Brahmins daughter, desire destroyed him, along with his relatives and his kingdom. And Indra the king of the gods with Ahalya, the super-powerful Kicaka with Draupadi, Ravana with Sita, and many others afterwards were seen to fall into the thrall of desire and were destroyed. [AS 1.2.34-36]

But Vatsyayana in this passage is not speaking for himself; he is quoting ‘people who worry too much about artha [arthacintakas], people we might call Pragmatists, but in any case people of ‘other schools’ whom Vatsyayana imagines as objecting to his book about kdma. (He answers these objections by pointing out that, despite its dangers, kdma is as necessary to human beings as food is.) But is Vatsyayana just imagining such people? Is it not more likely that here he is actually quoting the Arthasastra, and obliquely criticizing

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Kautilya for worrying too much about arthai Certainly Kautilya’s definition of the shortcomings of kama—‘Pleasure consists of disgrace, the depletion of resources and association with undesirable people: robbers, gamblers, hunters, singers, and musicians’ [AS8.3.15]—seems to be precisely what Vatsyayana quotes the ‘people who worry about artha as saying: Kama makes a man associate with worthless people and undertake bad projects, impure, a man with no future, as well as careless, lightweight, untrustworthy and unacceptable.’ [AS 3.1.2]. Elsewhere, Vatsyayana cites, with agreement, some anonymous sage (Kautilya?) voicing other, similar warnings, not about kama in general but about certain forms of it that are politically dangerous: The man in power should not enter another man’s home [to take his wife], “For when Abhira, the Kotta king, went to another man’s home, a washerman employed by the king’s brother killed him. And the superintendant of horses killed Jayasena the king of Varanasi.” So it is said. [AS 5.5.28-9]

Since neither Abhira nor Jayasena appears in the extant Arthasastra, literal citation of Kautilya is unlikely, but the form is Kautilyan, and Kautilya may in fact be the person Vatsyayana has in mind when he remarks, ‘So it is said.’ The Kdmasutra also uses this same formula—the citation of mythical tales of people who died in sexual situations—to warn men about the harm that they may do to women: One should also avoid, even in the region where it is used, anything that is dangerous. The King of the Colas killed Citrasena, a courtesan de luxe, by using the ‘wedge’ during sex. And the Kuntala king Satakarni Satavahana killed his queen, Malayavati, by using the ‘scissor.’ Naradeva, whose hand was deformed, blinded a dancing-girl in one eye by using the ‘drill’ clumsily. [KS 2.7.28-30]

And it caps this passage with several cautionary verses: For, just as a horse in full gallop, blinded by the energy of his own speed, pays no attention to any post or hole or ditch on the path, so two lovers blinded by passion in the friction of sexual battle, are caught up in their fierce energy and pay no attention to danger. And so a man who understands the text

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will apply it only after he has come to know the delicacy, ferocity, and strength of his young woman, and his own strength.

[AS 2.7.33-34],

Yet the inflicting of physical pain by scratching, biting, and slapping is an important part of the sexual act, according to the Kamasutra. And so is its aftermath: When a woman sees the scars that nails have made on her hidden places, her love even for someone given up long ago becomes as tender as if it were brand new. When passions have been given up long ago, love may disappear unless there are wounds made by nails to prompt memories of the abodes of passion. Passion and respect arise even in another man who sees, from a distance, a young girl with the marks of nails cut into her breasts. And a man who is marked with the signs of nails in various places generally disturbs a womans mind no matter how firm it may be. There are no keener means of increasing passion than acts inflicted with tooth and nail.

[AS 2.5.27-31]

The lover displays his or her scars as a warrior displays his battle scars. The Arthasastra, by contrast, is concerned only about damage to women as property, primarily virgins but also, in passing, wives; it has no interest in protecting them from physical abuse of other kinds.

ARTHASASTRA AND KAMASUTRA ON SEX Our final concern is the area in which the texts most explicitly converge, which is in the treatment of sexuality; for though the Kamasutra has, as we have seen, absorbed a great many political

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attitudes from the Arthasdstra, it never discusses politics explicitly, while the Arthasdstra does explicitly address sexual issues at various points. On some points the two texts agree; on many they disagree. Let us begin with the agreements. The Arthasdstra definition of the mastery of the senses speaks of the need for control, a concern that we have seen shared by the Kdmasutra-. Mastery over the senses consists of the senses—ear, skin, eye, tongue, and nose—not wandering inappropriately among sounds, touches, visible forms, tastes, and smells. [A$ 1.6.2]

Almost the same exact wording is turned on its head in the Kdmasutra definition of kama: Kama, in general, consists in engaging the ear, skin, eye, tongue, and nose each in its own appropriate sensation, all under the control of the mind and heart driven by the conscious self. [A3 1.2.11-12]

Where the Arthasdstra does not want the senses to ‘wander inappropriately’ among the objects of the senses, which it enumerates, and cites this passage in the context of an argument that one should give up kama, the Kdmasutra uses this same enumeration of the senses in its argument for the enjoyment of kama—under the control of the conscious mind. In the Arthasdstra, sex is merely the background for political power, whereas, in the Kdmasutra, political power is merely the background for sex. But the Kdmasutra’s list of reasons that justify adultery include many that are far more political than erotic. This is what the wouldbe adulterer says to himself: ‘This woman has her husband entirely under her control, and he is a great and powerful man who is intimate with my enemy. If she becomes intimate with me, out of her affection for me she will make him reverse his allegiance.’ Or, ‘That powerful man has turned against me and wishes to harm me; she will bring him back to his former nature.’ Or, ‘If I make him my friend through her, I will be able to do favors for my friends, or ward off my enemies, or accomplish some other difficult undertaking.’ Or, ‘If I become intimate with this woman, and kill her husband, I will get for myself the power of his great wealth, which ought to be mine.’ Or, ‘There is no danger involved in my having this woman, and there is a chance of wealth. And since I am useless, I have exhausted all means of making a living. Such as I am, I will get a lot of money

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from her in this way, with very little trouble.’ Or, ‘This woman is madly in love with me and knows all my weaknesses. If I reject her, she will ruin me by publicly exposing my faults; or she will accuse me of some fault which I do not in fact have, but which will be easy to believe of me and hard to clear myself of, and this will be the ruin of me; or she will cause a break between me and her husband, who is a man with a future and under her control, and she will get him to join my enemies; or she herself will become intimate with them.’ Or, ‘This womans husband is the seducer of the women of my harem; I will pay him back for that by seducing his wives, too.’ Or, ‘By the king’s command, I will kill his enemy, who is hiding inside.’ Or, ‘My enemy is united with this woman’s husband. Through her, I will get him to drink a potion.’ For these and similar reasons one may seduce even the wife of another man. But nothing rash should be done merely because of passion.’ [A3 1.5.8-21]

Thus the Kamasutra dismisses lust as an insufficient reason for adultery, and regards using a woman to protect a king or to kill an enemy as a sufficient reason for adultery. And, as we have seen, the basic distrust of passion is a quality that the Kamasutra shares with the Arthasastra. Both texts accept the generally accepted concept of eight forms of legal marriage (as in the laws ofManu, 3.27-34), though the Arthasastra [AS 3.2.1-10] ranks them slightly differently from Manu, and the Kamasutra [A3 3.5.1-30] rearranges the last two marriages, as if to say that drugging a girl is not as bad as killing her relatives; the Arthasastra accepts the more violent forms of marriage, but the Kamasutra does not. The Kamasutra, however, predictably ranks as best of all the form of marriage the one that consists of nothing but the sexual union of two people who mutually desire one another, a form of marriage which the Arthasastra ranks fifth (and Manu sixth). Both texts offer detailed, but not identical, lists of the skills of a courtesan [AS 2.27.28; 1.3.15]. Both texts, oddly, speak about the use of male statues as dildoes, though the Arthasastra [4.13.41], specifying that the statues are of the gods, disapproves of it, while the Kamasutra [5.6.3] does not specify gods and thinks that such statues might come in useful in the harem. The Arthasastra [4.12.36-40] regards as fair game a woman whom a man has rescued when she has been carried away by a flood, or abandoned in the wilderness during a time of famine or left there for dead, or rescued from robbers, from

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the current of a river, from a famine, from an upheaval in the region, or from a wild tract, or when she had been lost, abandoned, or left for dead. Similarly, the Kamasutra [5.4.42] suggests that a man might pick up a woman during the spectacle of a house on fire, the commotion after a robbery, or the invasion of the countryside by an army. Sometimes, rarely, the Arthasastra is more sexually permissive than the Kamasutra. Ihe Arthasastra [3.2.31] takes for granted the woman with many husbands, who poses a problem even for the Kamasutra [AaS 1.5.30], But almost always, the Arthasastra toes the Dharmasastra line on sexuality, often closely following Manu, where the Kamasutra diverges wildly from it. The Arthasastra [1.3.9] insists that a man has to have sex with his wife during her season; the Kamasutra [3.1.1] makes a point of separating sex from fertility. The Arthasastra (like Manu) regards the deflowering of virgins to whom one is not married [4.12.1-9] as a legal crime; the Kamasutra [4.2.1-34] regards it as a psychological opportunity to initiate a young girl into the pleasures of the bedroom. The Arthasastra [4.12.37-41] specifies punishments for a man who has sex with a female wandering ascetic or with a prostitute by force, or with a woman in a place other than the vagina, or for ejaculating in a man, or in vaginas of animals, or for many men raping a single prostitute. Manu [ 11.174] forbids a man to ‘shed his semen in non-human females, in a man, in a menstruating woman, in something other than a vagina, or in water’. The Kamasutra ignores some of these acts and regards others as non-criminal, though in bad taste. But in place of the conventional law against sex between men, which the Arthasastra accepts, the Kamasutra first describes, entirely non-judgementally, an openly cross-dressing male, with his stereotypical female gender behaviour and male partners, and then goes on to discuss the fellatio technique of a closeted homosexual man in considerable sensual detail, in the longest consecutive passage in the text describing a physical act, and with what might even be called gusto [2.9.6-11]. The most significant divergence between the two texts on the subject of sexuality is their attitude to adultery, which the Arthasastra [3.3-4] regards as a legal crime as Manu does [5.161-4 and 8.352378], though the Arthasastra [4.12.34] goes into far more detail than Manu when it comes to the punishment of the adulterous couple: If she is not forgiven, the woman’s ears and nose should be cut off,

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and her paramour shall be put to death.’ And the Arthasastra tells you how to smoke out the guilty couple: Adultery is indicated by the caressing of each other’s hair; or else by circumstantial evidence of carnal enjoyment, through experts in these matters, or through the woman’s confession.’ [AS 4.12.36] None of this is in the Kamasutra, which devotes a whole book [AS 5] to minute and psychologically acute instructions to the man who wishes to commit adultery, and merely pulls back at the very end to warn the man not to do it, and to guard his own wife.

CONCLUSION The Machiavellian base of the Kdmasutra’s portrayal of the relationship between the sexes is expressed by the astounding statement, ‘They say that sex is a form of quarrelling, because the very essence of desire is argument, and its character is perverse’ [AS2.7.1]. Who is the ‘they’ in ‘they say? Kautilya and his friends? In any case, this agonistic view of sex is the essential mythology of the Kamasutra. What happens to gender issues when one applies to sex the Machiavellian politics of the Arthasastra? The resulting agonistic and duplicitous view of sex set the stage for much of the mythological substructure of later Indian erotic drama, poetry, and narrative. The idea that sexual desire in general, and women in particular, are dangerous does not of course originate in our two texts. It is well documented in ancient India in the Mahabharata and Rdmayana, centuries before the period in question, and it dominates the mis¬ ogynist traditions of Hindu dharma forever after. But the particular concept of a sexual relationship as a war with no Geneva conventions, a conflict in which the two parties try to deceive and outmanoeuvre one another, an encounter that requires ambassadors and truces, a battle in which the combatants conceal or display the wounds they receive (from bites, slaps, and scratches [AT5 2.4, 5, and 7])—these major themes of Indian erotic fiction owe as much to the Arthasastra as to the Kamasutra. In addition, both texts may draw upon a more general culture of violence and skepticism that thrived in India in that period outside the more idealistic world of the dharma texts. The Kautilyan Kamasutra was a major influence upon the erotic literary traditions of India, particularly but not only court poetry,

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which reveled in the suffering of the abandoned heroine, the tragedies caused by careless or lustful messengers, the deceptions and betrayals. But it played a less obvious but more important role in the eroticism of the bhakti tradition, particularly but not only in Bengal, with its emphasis on divine abandonment, deception, betrayal, and even violence. The surface metaphor of heterosexual desire, with its cliches of nail marks betraying infidelity, leads to the dark implications of divine desire, the god who is not merely caught with lipstick on his collar but who is not there for you as a god, the god who desires your pain—walking on fire, swinging from hooks—and who deceives you with his power of illusion (maya). This, too, may be the legacy of the Arthasastra.

NOTES 1. Unless otherwise noted, I will cite Patrick Olivelle’s translation of the AS and my own translation (with Sudhir Kakar) of the KS. Arthasastra of Kautilya. (critical edition. Ed. R.P. Kangle. Bombay: University of Bombay, 1960);

Kamasutra of Vatsyayana, with the commentary of Yasodhara. Edited with the Hindi ‘Jaya’ commentary by Devadatta Shastri. Kashi Sanskrit Series 29. Chaukhambha Sanskrit Sansthan, Varanasi, 1964. The one change I have made is to leave dharma, artha, and kdma in Sanskrit rather than translating them in English, as the two cited translations do. 2. The Kamasutra must have been written after 225 ce because the western Indian political situation that Vatsyayana describes shows the Abhlras and the Andhras ruling simultaneously over a region that had been ruled by the Andhras alone until 225. Its style seems very close to that of the Arthasastra, also of uncertain date, but generally placed in the 3rd century ce; it cites the Arthasastra explicitly at 1.2.10, and implicitly elsewhere. The fact that the text does not mention the Guptas, who ruled north India from the beginning of the 4th century ce., suggests that the text predates that period. The Kamasutra is mentioned by name in the Vasavadatta of Subandhu, composed under Candragupta Vikramaditya, who reigned at the beginning of the 5 th century ce. 3. There are nine: two general editors (Svetaketu Auddalaki and Babhravya of Pancala) and the individual editors of each of the seven books: Carayana, Suvarnanabha, Ghotakamukha, Gonardiya, Gonikaputra, Dattaka, and Kucurhara. The texts cited here no longer exist, but almost certainly existed at the time of Vatsyayana, since he and, later, Yasodhara often quote directly from them.

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4. There he names Bharadvaja, Visalaksa, Parasara, Pisuna, Kaunapadanta, Vatavyadhi, and the Ambhlyas. 5. Here the same group testifies, one by one, in the same order, except that the Ambhiyas are replaced by Bahudantiputra. 6. The passage is quite appalling: ‘From their very birth, he should maintain surveillance of princes, for princes and crabs share the same nature; they eat their progenitors. Before love toward them has been kindled in the father, it is best to subject them to the silent punishment.’ So states Bharadvaja. ‘That is cruel; it involves the killing of the innocent and the eradication of the Ksatriya race,’ says Visalaksa. ‘Therefore, it is best to confine them in one location.’ ‘That is like the danger posed by a snake,’ says Parasara; ‘for the prince, realizing, “My father is confining me because he is afraid of my prowess,” will get him into his clutches. Therefore, it is best to make him reside in the fort of the Frontier Commander.’ ‘That is like the danger posed by a ram,’ says Pisuna; ‘for, realizing that this is precisely the means of his return, he will ally himself with the Frontier Commander. Therefore, it is best to make him reside outside his territory in the fort of a neighboring lord.’ ‘That puts him in the position of a calf,’ says Kaunapadanta; ‘for as one milks the cow with the aid of the calf, so the neighboring lord will milk his father. Therefore, it is best to make him reside with his mother’s kinsmen.’ ‘That puts him in the position of a banner,’ says Vatavyadhi; ‘for, by means of that banner, his mother’s kinsmen will make demands. . . .Therefore, he should let him loose amidst vulgar pleasures; for sons, enslaved by pleasures, will not turn hostile against their father.’ [AS 1.17.4-21] 7. Sometimes Vatsyayana assigns the deviant views not to previous ‘scholars’ but to people from the wrong parts of India, such as Andhra [A3 2.6.22], Bahlika and the South [A3 2.6.45 and 49], or the East, Ahichattra, Saketa, the City, and Surasena [A3 2.9.28-4.] Similarly he chides several South Indian kings for their sexual excesses [22.7.28-30]. 8. AS 1.16 and throughout the book; A3 1.5.35-6, 3.4.32-33, 3.5.1-11,3.5.1927, 5.4. 9. The Hindus generally formulated a group of three emotions, usually desire, anger, and greed [Bhagavad Gita 7.101.14] or, occasionally, desire, anger and fear. But they often added a fourth, metaphysical, epistemological emotion: delusion (moha). The Arthasastra speaks of desire, anger, and greed (the original triad) plus pride, conceit, and excitement, as the ‘six enemies’. 10. Olivelle renders varsadhara here as ‘eunuch’ but I don’t think there were eunuchs in harems at this time, and prefer to render the term ‘celibate’. 11. In this case it is the Ambhiyas.

CHAPTER

16

Women at Work and their Enemies: A Reappraisal of the Kamasutra V, 5. 5-10 GYULA WOJTILLA

"The idea of enquiring into the role of family, especially women in the process of production, has more than once been raised by the late Prof. R.S. Sharma. Even in one of his latest books he had laid emphasis on the task of writing a detailed analytical history of the working population.1 The main obstacle behind undertaking such a work is the sheer paucity of literary sources depicting women at work. This may be a good reason why the problem of women at work has been totally ignored in A.S. Altekar’s comprehensive book.2 A cursory glance at classical Sanskrit literature reveals that this kind of data, allusions or hints has almost exclusively been attested only in the Kamasastra, in the Arthasdstra of Kautilya, and in those parts of the kdvya literature which are purely of the erotic genre. However, a closer examination of these scattered data shows that only the relevant passages of the Kamasutra of Vatsyayana are of the greatest value. Therefore it is no accident that R.S. Sharma made important comments on it in 19593 and this idea reappears in his later works too.4 Just the title of the chapter, ‘On the Love of Persons in Authority Towards Other Mens Wives’, which contains the sutras to be discussed, is significant. As K.M. Panikkar promptly puts it, the life of the nagarika ‘a leisured man about town’ is central to Vatsyayana’s teachings, whose counterpart is the nayikd, i.e. women of enjoyment’.5 Being so, these sutras seem to form an independent excursus in which Vatsyayana goes beyond the world of the rich middle class city dwellers

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and deals with the seduction or sexual assault of ordinary women committed by various officers in special situations in a village or in a town. A common feature of these situations is that the women in question appear to be women at work, peasant women, wives of working people, widows, women without protectors and female ascetics. As I can see, the existing translations of these sutras are not quite exact or they are even faulty, and substantial comments on these passages are missing. Even Moti Chandra is content with the terse remark, ‘village women of loose morals fell prey to petty officers’.6 Accordingly, a fresh translation with a running commentary is well in order. This commentary must include a scrutiny of the key terms which occur in these sutras together with a comprehensive review of the parallel passages in other Sanskrit texts. It is hoped that this interpretation offers a sound picture of women at work in the age of the Kdmasutra (200-400 ce).7 The sutras to be analysed are as follows: V, 5. 5. gramadhipaterayuktakasya halotthavrttiputrasya yuno graminayosito vacanamatrasadhyah. tascarsanya ityacaksate vitah. R. Burton and EF. Arbuthnot render it as follows. ‘The head man of the village, the kings’ officer employed there, and the man whose business it is to glean corn, can gain over female villagers simply by asking them. It is on this account that this class of women are called unchaste women by voluptuaries.’8 R. Schmidt’s translation is as follows. ‘Fur den jugendlichen Schulzen, Beamten und Sohn des Getreidemeisters sind die Frauen der Bauern auf ein blosses Wort in zu gewinnen. Diese nenne die Lebemdnner Untreue (carsani).9 Following the Jayamangald commentary of Yasodhara Indrapada, R. Schmidt rightly connects yuno with gramadhipater, dyuktasya and halotthavrtti. For the latter he coined the term Getreidemeister ca., the master of corn, which I regard somehow speculative. S. C. Upadhyaya understands it as follows: ‘The women of the villages can be won over by a mere word of the village headman, the village revenue officer, or the agricultural officer’s sons. Such women are named Carsanls by the Vitas.’10

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The interpretation of gramadhipati is right in all the three translations; Upadhyaya produces an accurate rendering of dyuktaka-, Burton and Arbuthnot offer an ingenious but not compelling solution to halotthavrtti. All of them simply forgot to construe yuno with the proper words. Being a hapax legomenon, halotthavrtti has been translated differendy by other translators. K. Mylius’ Feldaufseher (supervisor of fields)11 is rather far-fetched; A. Ya. Syrkin’ stareyshin (ca. head of the clan/a chieftain)12 is certainly mistaken; Mrs C. Pieruccini’s un responsahile dei campi (a person responsible for the field),13 seems to borrow Mylius’ translation. Yasodhara Indrapada, who lived in the thirteenth century,14 in his Jayamahgala commentary, interprets halotthavrtti as gramakuta Vil¬ lage headman’. The term can be attested in the twelfth century Parisistaparvan III, 108 and 11915 in the compound gramakutasuta Village headman’s son’; however, this interpretation is not satisfactory because gramakuta appears to be a synonym of gramadhipati. It cannot be ruled out that Yasodhara Indrapada might have kept in mind the officer mentioned by Hemacandra. Moti Chandra believes that halotthavrttiputra means ‘the son of one who received the ploughshare from the village’ which sounds authentic.16 In the first place, hala never denotes ‘ploughshare’. Rather, the literal meaning seems to be ‘a livelihood by what comes from the plough’. The term reminds me of the compound halajivaka or haldjiva, literally ‘one who lives upon a plough’, ‘an agriculturist’.17 The trouble is that this meaning does not fit into the context. Consequently, the quite exact meaning of gramadhipati and dyuktaka remain ambiguous for the time being. First, if gramadhipati is a synonym of gramamahottara, a village headman who is also a member of the village council, then dyuktaka can be, as D.N. Jha puts it,18 an officer connected with land administration. R.S. Sharma rightly says that in the given passage of the Kamasutra he is an officer who ‘lived upon a share of the agricultural produce of the village people, probably sending the major portion thus realised to the king.’19 In Yasodhara Indrapada’s reading he is clearly a revenue officer. Second, if gramadhipati is an equivalent of gramapati or gramakuta in the sense of the owner or jagirddr, and dyuktaka is a revenue

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officer collecting taxes for the king, it indicates a special case: the tax-collecting rights of the king and his subordinates are not mutually exclusive. Such a case can be attested in Hemacandra’s Dvyasrayakavya III, 2 from the twelfth century ce.20 Third, if gramadhipati is a superintendent appointed by the king like in the Manavadharmasastra VII, 11521 or in the Agnipurana 223, l,22 then he stands above the ayuktaka who can still be an officer responsible for the royal revenue. Fourth, it is not quite impossible that Vatsyayana’s sentence is incoherent which totally lacks the historical or social reality in the context of an ancient India village. Fifth, ifgramadhipati ayuktaka is taken as one term, as R.S. Sharma believes, it denoted an all-powerful officer.23 For grammatical reasons and on the grounds of the Jayamahgald commentary, this interpretation is improbable. Above all, the ayuktaka is one of the five sources of apprehension to the subjects, says the Kamandakiyanitisastra 5, 81.24 As togrdmaniyosit, I propose the meaning ‘peasant woman’ instead of‘female villager’ or ‘women of the village’. They are called carsani, commonly translated as ‘unchaste woman’.25 It definitely denotes an unfaithful wife in the Rdjatarahgini VII, 102.26 It is a pity that Yasodhara Indrapada does not comment upon the word. Perhaps the meaning is unambiguous to him as it is to Hemacandra (Abhidhanacintamani III, 102: pumscali carsani bandhyakyavinita tu pamsuld.)27 It is a relatively rare word even in Sanskrit dictionaries. Pandit Madhavacarya has good reason to add to his Hindi translation that 'ye khet adike kamonko kiya karti hairi,2S because carsani mfn. means ‘cultivating, active, agile, swift’.29 Even in the Rgveda V, 86, 2 and VII, 15, 2 and IX, 101, 9 it seems to stand for those people who are opposite of nomads, i.e. settled people or perhaps agriculturists.30 It is also noteworthy that the Amarakosa II, 6, 10 does not contain the word and uses pumscali, dharsini bandhakyasati kulatetvari for a disloyal or unchaste woman.31 There are obvious slight differences of meaning even among these synonymous words. Among these the word dharsini deserves particular interest. This form is connected with the noun dharsam which, among others, means ‘violation (of a woman)’.32 It is noteworthy that in the sixteenth

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century Saradiyakhya-Namamala of Harsakirti 394 where dhrsta ‘disloyal woman’, in my reading also ‘a violated woman’ and carsani are listed in one verse.33 I may add to my assumption that the judgement of the vitas, who are shady characters, may represent a peculiar approach not shared by others.34 A tentative translation would be as follows. ‘The peasant women can be available by a mere word of the young village headman (village revenue officer), and the (young) son of the officer in charge of the products/living on the products coming from the plough/cultivation {halotthavrtti). They are called ‘unchaste/women working on the field’ by the’ voluptuaries. V, 5. 6. tabhih saha vistikarmasu kosthagdrapravese dravyanam niskramanapravesanayorbhavanapratisamskare ksetrakarmani karpasornatasisanavalkalddane sutrapratigrahe dravyanam krayavikrayavinimayesu tesu tesu ca karmasu samprayogah R. Burton and F.F. Arbuthnot render it as follows. The union of the above-mentioned men with this class of woman takes place on the occasions of unpaid labour, of filling the granaries in their houses, of taking things in and out of the house, of cleaning the houses, of working in the fields, and of purchasing cotton, wool, flax, hemp and thread and at the season of the purchase, sale, and exchange of various other articles, as well as at the time of doing various other works.35

In this rather free translation the interpretation of kosthagdrapravese and karpasorndtasisanavalkalddane is inaccurate and valkala ‘bark’ has not been translated. R. Schmidt’s translation is as follows. Mitdiesen zusammen findet diegeschlechtliche Vereinigungstatt bei den Fronarbeiten, bei dem Betreten der Getreidespeicher, bei dem Herausschaffen und Hineinschaffen der Sachen, dem Schmucken der Hauser, bei der Feldarbeit, bei dem Abliefem von Baumvolle, Schafivolle, Lein- und Hanfbast, bei dem Abholen des Games, dem Kaufe, Verkaufe und Tausche von Waren und diesen und jenen anderen GeschdfienA6

This translation is faultless, but the overlooking of valkala ‘bark’ as a separate item cannot be swept under the carpet.

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S.C. Upadhyaya understands it as follows. These Carsanis may be won over while they are engaged in pounding grain, cooking food, entering a granary, taking things out or into the house, cleaning or tidying up the house, sowing seeds or transplanting, purchasing raw cotton, wool, flex, hemp, and thread for spinning, or when receiving these yarns, or while selling and purchasing other material or while engaged in other similar acts.37

This is a rather free translation where the translator arbitrarily borrows explanations from the Jayamarigald commentary instead of translating the words visti or ksetrakarmani. He wrongly translates karpasornatasisanavalkaladdne. It is a pity that he misunderstands what the Jayamarigald commentary says upon ksetrakarmani. Interpreting this passage, D.N. Jha rightly observes that this unpaid work formed a part of the remuneration of the village headman. One kind of this work was the filling of the granaries of the village headmen. This kind of forced work differs from that of the pre-Gupta period when sudras, artisans and various people were employed in communal works. This new phenomenon ‘may have anticipated the medieval feudal tyranny.’38 In the light of the interpretation of V, 5, 5 where ayuktaka likely figures as a revenue officer, I do not ascribe the granaries only to the village headmen as D.N. Jha observes. I take the compound kosthagarapravesa as a general term which may refer to the granaries in the villages belonging to the three persons in question. According to the Jayamarigald commentary visti comprises works (■karmani) which are done without just addiction {saktamatrena (?) vina) such as pesana (grinding), kuttana (pounding) and randhana (cooking). In this sense the other occasions not necessarily belong to the category of unpaid work/forced work. More precisely, they can be unpaid or paid works or works. The Jayamarigald commentary seems to support the latter assumption. Entering the granary means that they enter it to carry out the works of that place which the Jayamarigald commentary does not specify. I presume that they work there with any of the implements used in a magazine/granary (kosthagara) such as rocanidrsad (grinding-stone), musala (pestle), ulukhala (mortar), kuttakarocakayantra (pounding and crushing machine), patraka (shovel used for fanning or fanner), surpa (winnowing basket), cdlanikd (sieve), kandoli (cane-basket),

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pitaka (box) and sammarjani (broom).39 The taking in and out refers to grain (dhanya). Working in the field (ksetrakarma) embraces the preserving of seeds, weeding, etc. (bijandm raksanotpatanagadi. . . r). The preserving of seeds forms a basic element in the process of agricultural work. Accordingly there is a long chapter (Chapter 11, verses 340-407) devoted to the methods of how to collect various seeds in the Kdsyapiyakrsisukti datable from the early medieval period.40 The process of weeding is referred to in verses 545-6 of the same work and verses 189-92 of the Krsipardsara!1 which I date together with Lallanji Gopal from the middle of the eleventh century.42 Taking away (adana) cotton, etc., means taking out from the treasury (bhan dagara) and giving for spinning threads. Receipt (pratigraha) means acquiring the threads spun by the spinners. Things (dravya) refer to grain (dhanya) to be purchased, etc. At various works {tesu tesu ca karmasu), i.e. by reason of entering the royal court. A tentative translation would be as follows: The sexual union with these [peasant women] takes place at the occasions of unpaid work/forced work, at entering the granary, at taking things in and out, at repairing houses, at working in the field, at taking away cotton, wool, flex, hemp and bark, receipt of thread, at purchase, sale and exchange of things and at various works.

V, 5. 7. tat ha vrajayosidbhih saha gavadhyaksasya. R. Burton and F.F. Arbuthnot render it as follows: ‘In the same way the superintendents of cow pens enjoy the women in the cow pens.’43 This translation is very vague. R. Schmidts translation runs thus.1Ebensoseitensdes Hiirdenmeisters mit den Hirtenweibern,44 S. C. Upadhyaya understands it as follows. ‘In the same way the officer in charge of cattle is able to win over the wives of shepherds.’45 It is an almost accurate translation, however, the second half of the sentence is somehow imaginative. The Jayamahgala commentary clarifies it by saying that such things may happen on the occasion of churning of milk and other works.

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The officer called gavadhyaksa is the go dhyaksa in the Arthasastra. The description of his duties forms book II, chapter 29 of the Arthasastra. According to II, 29 1-2 he is responsible for the total produce of milk and among others supervises the work of the churners {manthaka). It is not specified here whether the churners are men or women. A tentative translation would be as follows. ‘So the superintendent of cattle [may have sexual union] with the cowherd women.’ V, 5. 8. vidhavanatha pravrajitabhih saha sutradhyaksasya. R. Burton and F.F. Arbuthnot render it as follows: ‘And the officers, who have the superintendence of widows, of the women who are without supporters, and of women who have left their husbands, have sexual intercourse with these women.’46 This translation obviously depends on a variant reading established by Pandit Bhagavanlal IndrajI on the basis of manuscripts from Calcutta, Benares and Jaipur and which was never printed. For this reason I leave it without critical remarks. R. Schmidt understands it as follows. ‘Des Webemeisters mit den Witwen, Schutzlosen und Bettelnonnen,47 This translation is basically correct. Only the term sutradhyaksa requires a more subtle interpretation. S. C. Upadhyaya understands it as follows. ‘The officer in charge of yarn is able to win over widows, destitute women, or those who have renounced worldly life.’48 This translation is all right. Only the term sutradhyaksa requires a more subtle interpretation. Both the relevant chapter of the Arthasastra (II, 23) and the Jayamahgald commentary speak for interpreting sutradhyaksa as ‘the superintendent of [the royal] yarns’. The latter clearly states that sa hyadhisthaya rajakiyasutrani vidhavadibhih kartanikabhih kartayati, i.e. Since, having appointed, he makes the widows and other spinners spin royal threads. This passage is worth comparing with the proper passage of the chapter of the Arthasastra called ‘The Superintendent of Yarns’. The Arthasastra II, 23, 2 says:

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He should get yarn spun out of wool, bark-fibres, cotton, silk-cotton, hemp and flax, through widows, crippled women, maidens, women who have left their homes and women paying off their fine by personal labour, through mothers of courtesans, through old female slaves of the king and through female slaves of temples whose service of the gods has ceased.

The Arthasastra II, 23, 11-15 reads so. And those women who do not stir out - those living separately, widows, crippled women or maidens - who wish to earn their living, should be given work by sending his own female slaves to them with (a view to) support (them). Or, if they come themselves to the yarn-house, he should cause an interchange of goods and wages to be made early at dawn. The lamp (should be there) only for the inspection of the yarn. For looking at the face of the woman or conversing with her on another matter, the lowest fine for violence (shall be imposed), for delay in the payment of wages, the middle fine, also for payment of wages for work not done. If a (woman) after receiving the wage does not carry out the work, he should make her forfeit the tongs formed by the thumb (and the middle finger), also those who have misappropriated or stolen and then run away.49

Tliere are marked differences in the two statements. In the first place, from the Arthasastra a much more detailed and exact picture of the various categories of women involved emerges and here I failed to see the category broadly termed ‘women without protection’. Second, the types of women enumerated in the Arthasastra are not all possible victims of sexual violence. On the other hand, the superintendent is liable to a serious fine even for looking at their faces or for making conversation with them, and similarly he is fined for any delay in paying for their work. Third, women who do not carry out the work for which they have been paid or steal material or articles produced must suffer a cruel penalty. Fourth, having regarded the situation from a special point of view, the Kdmasutra alludes to the possibility of seducing or raping all working women by the superintendent of yarn, while the standpoint of th t Arthasastra remains in the sphere of the official behaviour governed by law. The behaviour of this officer so depicted in the Kdmasutra is only plausible if he is a petty officer responsible for a spinnery in a village or small town. A tentative translation would be as follows: ‘The superintendent of a spinnery [may have sexual intercourse] with widows, women without protectors and female ascetics.’

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Gyula Wojtilla V, 5, 9. marmajhatvadratravatane catantibhirndgarasya.

R. Burton and F.F. Arbuthnot render it as follows: ‘The intelligent accomplish their object by wandering at night in the village, and while villagers also unite with the wives of their sons, being much alone with them.’50 This translation obviously depends on a variant reading established by Pandit Bhagavanlal IndrajI on the basis of manuscripts from Calcutta, Benares and Jaipur and which was never printed. For this reason I leave it without critical remarks. R. Schmidt’s translation is as follows: 'Des Stadtaufiehers, da er die schivachen Seiten kennt, bei dem nachtlichen Umherschweifen, mit den umherschweifenden Frauen. ’5I This is a correct translation. S. C. Upadhyaya understands it as follows: ‘The city officer is able to win over unattached women through his knowledge of their secrets during his night tours.’52 I do not know why Upadhyaya translates atani as ‘unattached woman’. I do not think that rdtravatane must be connected with ndgara. The Jayamangala commentary explains nagarasya as nagare niyuktasya dandapasikasya, i.e. ‘the head police officer appointed in a city’. The office of nagaraka (= ndgara) is well-known from the Arthasastra. In book II, chapter 36 he appears as an omnipotent head of a city whose office covers that of the police-chief, tax collector, governor, head of firemen. This chapter refers to such cases when guards (raksin) rape women who can be slaves, not slaves and women from respectable families (II, 36, 41). The chapter neither speak of women roaming about in the night nor a nagaraka/ndgara who may rape them. On the contrary, his duty is to inflict a punishment on the guards who commit such crimes. It is possible that the Kdmasutra and also the Jayamangala commentary reflect a situation where the head police officer like the guards (policemen) are guilty of such crimes. A tentative translation would be as follows: ‘The police chief of the town (ndgara) [may have sexual intercourse] with women roaming about in the night because he knows their vulnerability.’

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V, 5, 10. krayavikraye panyadhyaksasya. R. Burton and F.F. Arbuthnot render it as follows: ‘Lastly the superintendents of markets have a great deal to do with the female villagers at the time of their making purchases in the market.’53 This translation is good as far it goes. The only question is whether here actually female villagers are meant. I shall dwell upon this issue for a while. R. Schmidt’s translation is as follows. ‘Seitens des Marktmeisters bei dem Ein- und Verkaufe. ’54 This translation is basically correct, however, the interpretation of panyadhyaksa is quite happy; the German word means ‘the inspector of a market’. S. C. Upadhyaya understands it as follows: ‘The market officer is able to win over the wives of buyers and sellers in the market while he is engaged in his work of buying and selling articles for the royal household.’55 This translation implies the interpretation offered in the Jayamahgald commentary. The Jayamahgald commentary explains it so that the superintendent appointed to make royal goods (rajakiyapanyani) to buy and sell may have sexual intercourse with women of the buyers and sellers/or women buying and selling {kretruikretrstribhih). As to kretrvikretrstribhih, I find plausible both grammatically and contextually R. Schmidt’s interpretation, i.e. the wives of the buyers and sellers can be seduced. It may happen anywhere in a village, in a town at a market. The second interpretation maintained by Madhavacarya Pandita56 and A. Ya. Syrkin57 is also grammatically admissible, however, it presupposes a situation where the women have full independence to make transactions with the superintendent. Such a situation appears in Chapter 4, Part I of the Kdmasutra where Vatsyayana presents a very vivid picture of the activity and financial responsibility of a devoted wife. It is clear from the sutras 30 and 32 that she is familiar with financial position of her family, moreover ‘She should budget her annual income and spend it with discretion.’58 As part of her duties is the act of buying a great variety of things indispensable to a well-to-do household. Consequently, in theory.

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she may get into contact with officers of the market. The problem of this interpretation lay in the hard fact that this type of women are not labelled by Vatsyayana as carcanis. On the contrary, they are regarded as faithful ladies by him on whom the stability of the family rests. In Vatsyayana’s train of thought there are the ndyikds who may fulfil the increased sexual appetite of their husbands. The officer called panyadhyaksa in the relevant chapter of the Arthasastra (II, 16) is a real superintendent whose sphere of activity extends to both inland and foreign trade at a countrywide level. However, under him there are the officers in charge of royal goods called punyadhisthatarah whose sphere of activity at least partially covers the function of the officers called panyadhyaksa in the Kdmasutra. The Cdnakyatikd commentary on the Arthasastra II, 16, 14 calls them adhyaksapurusahP ‘officers whose duty is the inspection of a given segment of the economical life.’ A tentative translation would be as follows. ‘The superintendent of markets [may have sexual intercourse with women] at buying and selling.’ POSSIBLE CONCLUSIONS 1. The examined sutras fall into two groups: the scene of sutras 5-7 is a village while that of sutras 8-10 is likely a town. The common feature of women depicted in these sutras is that they seem to be victims of various officers. 2. Although serious scholars righdy recognize the striking resemblance in structure and contents between the Arthasastra and the Kdmasutra,60 a careful comparison of the relevant passages shows that attitude of the officers bearing the same name to women is basically different in the two texts. 3. Vatsyayana represents situations very much unfavourable to women, while the situations where the mentioned officers and women may meet are fairly regulated in the Arthasastra and therefore they are harmless. 4. These differences are mainly due to the different historical and social milieu described in the two texts and partly to the fact that

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the officers bearing the same name have a different scope of authority; they are heads of department of state in the Arthasdstra and petty local officers in the Kdmasutra. 5. Taking Vatsyayana’s statements in the Kdmasutra for granted, the relevant sutras mirror a historical milieu where the ruthless rape of working women by various officers does not meet with obstacles. 6. For reasons why he included these sutras I would refer to his learnedness, rich life-experience and perhaps social suscepti¬ bility. 7. I admit that this assumption may be challenged from different points of view. One can argue that including these sutras, Vatsyayana simply joins the queue of Sanskrit authors who consider womanhood as such unchaste by nature. There is a unique approach to Vatsyayana represented by Tieken who believes that the sutras investigated belong to the amusements of a gathering of nagarakas ‘is implicitly compared to one of specialists in statecraft sitting in conclave discussing possible candidates for the position of trusted courtier. I believe that we should reckon with the possibility that the Kdmasutra was intended as parody (italics mine) of the Arthasdstra.’6I While the first idea may have some weight, Tieken’s inference based on the comparison of these sutras with the Arthasdstra 1.14 ‘Winning over the seducible and non-seducible parties in the enemy’s territory’ is too far-fetched. This alleged parallelism has already been observed by F. Wilhelm who compares women liable to be seduced by the king with men in the empire of enemies who live in fear or who are made angry. The above-mentioned women are those whose men are put in jail or who live in need or fear.62 8. A real problem is the correct interpretation of the key terms occurring in these sutras. In sutra V, 5. 5 the term halotthavrtti still resists a convincing interpretation in itself and in the relation to the two other terms. 9. The Jayamahgald commentary is of considerable help at places, however, being a text from a much later period one must proceed with utmost care while using it.

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10. All in all, these sutras throw much more light on the possible harassment of women at work than any other Sanskrit text in ancient India.

NOTES 1. R.S. Sharma, Rethinking India’s Past, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009, р. 12. 2. A.S. Altekar, The Position of Women in Hindu Civilization, Banaras: Motilal Banarsidass, 1956. 3. R.S. Sharma, Aspects of Political Ideas and Institutions in Ancient India, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1959, p. 211. and R.S. Sharma, Indian Feudalism: с. 300-1200, Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1965, p. 23. 4. Sharma, Rethinking, p. 39. 5. R. Burton and F.F. Arbuthnot, tr., The Kama Sutra ofVatsyayana, edited by W.G. Archer, Introduction by K.M. Panikkar, London: Book Club Associates, 1963, pp. 57, 61. 6. Moti Chandra, The World of Courtesans, Delhi: Hind Pocket Book, 1976, p. 118. 7. S C. Upadhyaya, tr., Kama Sutra ofVatsyayana, Bombay: D.B. Taraporevala, 1963, p. 54. 8. Burton and Arbuthnot, The Kama Sutra, p. 231. 9. R. Schmidt, tr., Das Kamasutram des Vdtsydyana. Die indische Ars amatoria nebst dem volbtandigen Kommentare (Jayamarigald) des Yasodhara., Fiinfte, verbesserte Auflage, Berlin: Barsdorf Verlag, 1915, p. 367. 10. Upadhyaya, tr., Kama Sutra, p. 194. 11. K. Mylius, tr., Mallanaga Vdtsydyana: Das Kdmasutra-. Leipzig: Reclam, 1987, p. 122. 12. A. Ya Syrkin, tr., Vatsyayana Kamasutra, Moskva: Nauka, 1993, p. 108. 13. C. Pieruccini, tr., Vdtsydyana Kdmasutra, Venezia: Marsilio, p. 169. 14. M. Winternitz, History of Indian Literature, vol. Ill, part II (Scientific Literature), Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1967, p. 624. 15. H. Jacobi, ed., Sthavirdvalicarita or Parisistaparvan, Being an Appendix of the Trisasti-Saldkapurusacarita by Hemacandra, Calcutta: Asiatic Society of Bengal, 1932. 16. Moti Chandra, The World, p. 118. 17. R. Schmidt, Nachtrage zum Sanskrit—Worterbuch in kiirzerer Fassung von Otto Bohtlingk, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1991, p. 377. 18. D.N. Jha, Revenue System in Post-Gupta and Gupta Times, Calcutta: Punthi Pustak, 1967, p. 181. 19. Sharma, Aspects, p. 212.

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20. L. Gopal, Economic Life of Northern India, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1965> p. 251. 21. P. Olivelle, tr., The Law Code ofManu, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004, p. 114. 22. A.B. Upadhyaya, ed., Aenipurdna, Varanasi: Chowkhamba Sanskrit Series, Office, 1966. 23. Sarma, Aspects, p. 212. 24. S. Bhaskaran Nair, ed., Maha-Subhdsita-Samgrahah, vol. Ill, Hoshiarpur: Vishveshvaranand Vedic Research Institute, 1977, p. 1238. 25. R.K. Rai, Encyclopedia of Indian Erotics, Varanasi: Prachya Prakashan, 1983, p.93. 26. M.A. Stein, tr., Kalhana's Rdjatararigini. A Chronicle of the Kings ofKasmir, vol. I, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1979, p. 275. 27. Hemacandra, Abhidhanacintamani of Sri Hemachandracharya, edited with an Introduction by Nemichandra Sastri and the Maniprabha, Hindi Commentary by Sri Haragovinda Sastri, Varanasi: Chowkhamba Sanskrit Series Office, 1964. 28. Madhavacarya Pandita, ed. and tr., Srivdtsydyanamaharsipranitam kamasutram sriyasodharaviracitaya jayamangaldkhyavyakkhyayd sahitam, vol II, Kalyana —Bambai: Laksmlvenkatesvar Stim Press, samvat 1991, sake 1856 [1934], p. 846. 29. M. Monier-Williams, A Sanskrit-English Dictionary, Oxford Clarendon Press, 1960, p. 391. 30. A.A. Macdonell and A.B. Keith, Vedic Index of Nams and Subjects, vol. I, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1967, p. 256. 31. N.G. Sardesai and D.G. Padhye, eds., Amara’s Namalingdnusdsanam, Poona: Oriental Book Agency, 1969. 32. Monier-Williams, A Sanskrit-English Dictionary, p. 513. 33. Harsakirti, Saradiydkhya-Ndmamald, edited by Madhukar Mangesh Patkar, Poona: Deccan College Postgraduate and Research Institute, 1951. 34. V.S. Apte, The Practical Sanskrit-English Dictionary, eds. P.K. Gode and C.G. Karve, Poona: Prasad Prakashan, p. 1435: vitah ‘a paramour’ ‘a voluptary’, ‘a sensualist’ ‘a rogue’, ‘a cheat’. 35. Burton and Arbuthnot, The Kama Sutra, p. 231. 36. Schmidt, Das Kamasutram, p. 367. 37. Upadhyaya, Kama Sutra, p. 194. 38. Jha, Revenue System, pp. 68-9. 39. The Kautiliya Arthasastra, part I. A Critical Edition with a Glossary, edited by R.P. Kangle, Bombay: University of Bombay, 19692, II, 15, 62. 40. Kdsyapiyakrsisukti, A Sanskrit Work on Agriculture, edited with an Introductory Study by Gy. Wojtilla, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2010, p. 11.

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41. Krsi-Pardsara, edited and translated by G.P. Majumdar and S.C. Banerji, Calcutta: The Asiatic Society, I960. 42. Gy. Wojtilla, History of Krsisdstra, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2006, p. 34. 43. Burton and Arbuthnot, The Kama Sutra, p. 194. 44. Schmidt, Das Kdmasutram, p. 368. 45. Upadhyaya, Kama Sutra, p. 194. 46. Burton and Arbuthnot, The Kama Sutra, pp. 231-2. 47. Schmidt, Das Kdmasutram, p. 368. 48. Upadhyaya, Kama Sutra, p. 194. 49. The Kautiliya Arthasastra, part II, An English Translation with Critical and Explanatory Notes by R.P. Kangle, Bombay: University of Bombay, 19722. 50. Burton and Arbuthnot, The Kama Sutra, p. 232. 51. Schmidt, Das Kdmasutram, p. 368. 52. Upadhyaya, Kama Sutra, p. 194. 53. Burton and Arbuthnot, The Kama Sutra, p. 232. 54. Schmidt, Das Kdmasutram, p. 368. 55. Upadhyaya, Kama Sutra, p. 194. 56. Madhavacarya Pandita, Srivdtsdyanamaharsipranitam, p. 848. 57. Syrkin, Vdtsydyana Kdmasutra, p. 108. 58. Upadhyaya, Kama Sutra, p. 165. 59. A. Pohlus, Two Commentaries on Arthasdstran: Jayamahgald & Cdnakyatikd, Critically re-edited from Harihara Sastris Fascicle Editions, Halle-Wittenberg: Universitatsverlag, 2011, p. 102. 60. M. Winternitz, History of Indian Literature, vol. Ill, part II, Delhi, Varanasi and Patna: Motilal Banarsidass, 1967, p. 621. Quite recently: H. Tieken, The Arthasastra as a Fount of Fun’, Samskrtavimarsah World Sanskrit Conference Special, Delhi: Rashtriya Sanskrit Sansthan, 2012, pp. 118-20. 61. Tieken, ‘The Arthasastra’, p. 120. 62. F. Wilhelm, Die Beziehung. Zwischen Kamasutra und Arthasastra, Zeitschrift de Deutschen Morgendlandischen Gescllscha.fi, vol. 116, 1966, p. 300.

CHAPTER 17

The Socio-Sexual World of The Vesavdsa and Antahpura: A Study in Contrast* SHALINI SHAH

If for the Marxists ‘workplace’ was the primary arena where class relations were fashioned then ‘household’ occupies the same centrality for scholars whose primary concern is to unravel what it means to be a woman. Women live their lives enclosed within households and it is here that gender relations are conceived, practised, their normativity established and also disputed and controverted. But even while households have been pivotal in women’s lives, not all women have lived, in same or similar households. It stands to reason then that an analysis of the variance in the structures of the households and its specific ideology will also enlighten us about variegated social reality. This paper looks at how social and sexual norms were constructed differently in the vesavdsa household of the vesya whereas the kuldhgana of the patriarchally regulated domestic spaces, the antahpura lived by another set of norms. One of the primary distinctions between the samanya/bahya nayika and the kuldhgana/abydntara nayika is determined by the nature of the household in which they are born and raised. Our sources, the classical Sanskrit sources of early medieval period, allow us to recover

* An earlier version of this paper was presented at the international conference on ‘Looking Within, Looking Without: Engendering the Pre-Colonial Household’, Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, 24-6 February

2011.

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some of the characteristics of these households. The gender equation in the vesavasa was very different from the patriarchal antahpura. For one, the daughters were highly prized over sons. A bawd says in Kuttanimatam' that ‘the birth of a daughter is desirable (duhita eva slaghya) and to be satisfied with the birth of a son is worthy of criticism’. This disregard for sons in the prostitute household is strikingly brought out in the Mrcchakatika. In this play when Maitreya on his visit to a vesya household asks his escort (bandhuld) as to who they are,2 they respond by saying that ‘we are reared in other peoples’ houses (paragrhalalita), fed on others’ food {parannapusta), begotten by other men upon stranger women (parapurusearjanita parahgandsu), enjoy others riches (paradhananirata), and possess no merit to speak of (gunesvavdcyd) ’.3 Yet again when Maitreya is introduced to Vasantasena’s brother, he remarks4 ‘I must not think highly (of him) for although he is gaily dressed, gentle and well-perfumed, still he is to be shunned by the people just like a campaka tree growing in the enclosure of a cremation ground.

In fact, children in the prostitute household,

unlike the patriarchal household where they belonged to the father’s lineage, were completely under their mother’s control.5 On the other hand, in the patriarchal antahpura only sons were valued and all the birth rights were primarily directed towards the conception and protection of the male foetus. Furthermore, in the law books, the sons born of the wedded wives were entitled to perform the sraddha ceremony, while the progeny born of the vesya were denied this prerogative. Medhatithi,6 in his commentary on the Manusmrti, while describing varnasamkara (the progeny of miscegenation) who would not have right to perform udakakriyd, i.e. the ritual offering of water to dead persons, includes the offspring of the vesya in it. Evidently, then, such children were not claimed by fathers for ritual needs. In feminist theory, women’s work has traditionally been seen as geared over long and short run to the needs of the household and its perceived social value does nothing for their status. The kuldhgana of antahpura were not only required for their reproductive role, but also for their domestic services of cooking, cleaning, tending. In fact, one of the epithets of wives in our sources is sramebhujisyd, i.e. one who is capable of working in the household like a slave. The prostitute, on the other hand, was spared the drudgery of housework. Yet her

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work, i.e. ‘sex work’ was ‘the work’, and was not subsumed under the category of unpaid housework. The ves'yas work gave her access to resources and allowed her to be perceived as both owner and disburser of resources. In Dasakumdrcarita7 vesyd Kamamanjari’s mother, says that in the absence of the earning of her daughter the entire family (kutumba) would be without support and sustenance. In Bhoja’s Srngaramahjarikathd,8 the vesyd’s mother bemoans that now that her daughter has been killed by her paramour, the head of the family has gone, and they are without sustenance. In fact, the prostitute’s command over her own resources ‘masculinized’ her. As Carudatta observes in Mrcchakatika9 ‘through (the absence of) money a man becomes a woman; and she who is a woman becomes a man also through (the possession of) money’ (arthatah puruso nan yd ndri sd’rthatah puman). In Dandin’s Daiakumdracarita,10 assiduous accumulation of wealth by prostitutes is given the status of kuladbarma. This fact also made prostitutes an autonomous subject of taxation by the state. Nammayasundarikathd,n a twelfth-century text, refers to the state receiving 25-30 per cent of the prostitute’s income as tax. Since the state was a beneficiary of tax income from the prostitute, it had a vested interest in giving prostitutes certain protective benefits. The Naradasmrtin also states that the ornaments of the prostitute cannot be confiscated probably as they were seen as tools of the trade. The entire corpus of the law books of early medieval period make much of the notion of stridhana or property rights of the women of the patriarchal household, and particularly enumerate jewellery as women’s ‘exclusive’ property. But beyond this legal sanction of exclusive stridhana was an entire ideology of a pativrata wife who helped her husband out in his crisis mostly with the only wealth she had at her command, i.e. her jewellery. Thus, in Mrcchakatika,^ the good wife Dhuta, in order to clear her husband Carudatta of his debt, gave away her bejewelled necklace, feeling secure in her patriarchally acculturated belief that ‘my husband alone is my ornament’ (aryaputra eva mamdbharana). Interestingly enough, since the play Mrcchakatika aimed at depicting the transformation of ganikd Vasantasena into a kulavadhu, we see the metamorphosis occurring with Vasantasena giving up her ornaments (i.e. her pride in her ownership of wealth).

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In the play14 her lover Carudatta’s son refuses to recognize her as ‘mother’ because his mother does not wear ornaments. Vasantasena not only takes off her jewels, she also fills the toy clay cart of the little boy with them. In that moment of maternal generosity Vasantasena transgresses the kuladharma of ganikd. This act transforms her psy¬ chologically and symbolically thus preparing for her entry into the patriarchal household as wife. The significance of this event in the play is evident from the fact that it gives the play its title Mrcchakatika (‘the little clay cart’). Vasantsena’s generosity may have been directed by personal feelings, but prostitutes as a rule actively pursued the aim of enriching themselves. Given the reality of the prostitute’s existence in an essentially hostile patriarchal social world from which they were ritually and socially ostracized but to which they were inextricably linked,15 there was a need to consolidate the position of the vesya household. This consolidation was achieved through an intricate system which, seen from a male client’s perspective, was based on falsehood, deception and deceit. Damodaragupta says in Kuttanimatam16 that vesyds are deceitful and this is a slander current among people (vahcakavrtta vesya ityapavado janesu yo ruda). The functioning of prostitute is derisively17 called Vaisika Tantra in overwhelmingly male sources. Maitreya describes a prostitute’s profession as one ‘which is the birthplace (janmabhume) of perfidy, hypocrisy, deceit, treachery and falsehood.18 Fritz Blackwell19 notes about the prostitute strategy that ‘perhaps most dangerous thing about her is the fact that her dharma is not passive, built upon devotion to husband and family like the wife’s; it is quite active, designed by its very nature to destroy the man, at least financially, and even his family if necessary’.20 It was this dangerous and subversive potential of the prostitute strategy which made men warn ‘respectable’ women of patriarchy against it. Yasodhara21 quoting Katyayana in his Jayamahgald commentary talks of acts (vesa) which are fit for prostitutes (vesya) but not for the women of the household (kulayositd). Because of these acts the former are called vesya. It is thus obvious that men feared the selfaffirming power of these strategies and were eager to ensure that at least they were not practised by their household women so as to keep the patriarchal authority within the grha intact. Ironically enough,

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while prostitutes were castigated for their wiles, the domesticated women under patriarchy were not spared either. They were at the receiving end of the male vitriol for their strisvabhava. The entire range of patriarchal brahmanical literature has condemned women for being sinful, dishonest, heartless, and the root of all evils.22 This campaign of misogyny against triya caritra or womanly character was used by the patriarchs to keep women psychologically subjugated. But while the prostitutes used the opprobrium against them to their own advantage, to create greater space for themselves, they had little incentive to obey the ethics of the dominant culture to which they were only liminally connected. So they invented their own standards and lived by their own directives to achieve greater economic and social independence for themselves. The kulangana on the other hand for all their submission to the patriarchal diktats, still had to carry the stigma of being unreliable and dishonest. The vesyd household was also marked by a spatial autonomy as also fluidity of domestic arrangements for its residents. On the other hand antahpura represented the spatial confinement of the kulangana who lived a life closed upon itself in the domestic space. In this universe the identities of the kulangana were defined by their ties to men as mother, wife or daughter. Although there was some dispersal of power to the suitable age-group and category of women, it was according to male-defined rules. So while there could be room for women, at every level there was no ‘room of her own’. The prostitute, on the other hand, was defined by a space of her own. She had her own place (vesavasa) over which she had complete command. It is interesting to note that when Maitreya visits ganika Vasantasenas house,23 her maid introduces Vasantasenas mother and brother in relation to her mistress (dryd) Vasantasena. In Kathasaritsdgara24 we read the tale of the vesyd Kumudika who gives refuge to even a defeated king like Vikramasirhha. It was this autonomy of the vesyd household and her subversive potential which made her house get perceived as dangerous. The Smrti literature which represents the patriarchal brahmanical viewpoint25 underlines this; Manu as well as his commentator Medhatithi26 agree on the threat that the vesyd household represented. It would not be an exaggeration to state that vesavasa culture was considered dangerous enough by the patriarchal household,

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and the patriarchal state would not allow any transgression of the boundaries separating the patriarchal domain from that of the prostitute household. Prostitutes as far as patriarchy was concerned, were located in the space of the erotic and were denied any familial spaces. The patriarchal household used the mechanism of purity and pollution to achieve this. In Mrcchakatika, ganikd Vasantasena visits Carudatta’s house twice but never gains entry into his inner apartments or meets his wife. Carudatta himself27 says that even Vasantasenas ornaments cannot be taken inside the inner apartments for safe keep¬ ing since they have been worn by a prostitute {prakasandri). From prakasandri to a kulavadhu of the inner apartment was a Rubicon that could not be crossed over with ease. In Buddhasvamin’s Brhatkathaslokasathgraha28 it is said for a prostitute that the blemish of her appellation as a courtesan {ganikasabdadosastu) does not leave her even now. Sarvilaka tells Madanika29 that the title of a bride (;vadhu) is hard (durlabha) to obtain. Given the subversive potential of the ves'avdsa, if an individual prostitute was to achieve a change in her status to that of a wife, the permission of the state was required for it. In both Mrcchakatika30 and BrhatkathasLokasamgraha'1 the permission for a ganikd to become a kulastri was given by the king himself (rajadesa). In Bhoja’s Srngdramahjarikathdyl again it is the king who gives vesya Asokavatl permission to become the wife of Caddalaka who was a feudatory of the king. In bhdna PadmaprabhrtakeP3 for a particularly loyal vesya it is hoped that she soon earns a veil (avagunthanabhdgini) at the hands of the queen (mahisi). It is of course obvious that all these instances of royal permission34 came after it was made sure that the vesya in question had internalized the pativrata ideology of the patriarchal household. In Yasodhara’s commentary35 we are told that a vesya could be given in marriage to one who could provide special musical assistance to the establishment, for such a marriage leads to greater prosperity. The marriage bond here was not governed by patriarchal ideology, and marital ties were only notional. The obverse side of this shutting out of the vesya36 from patriarchal domesticity was that prostitutes could create their own counter-culture with their own value-system against the ethics of the dominant patri¬ archal culture. Their ostracism within this patriarchal universe simul-

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taneously ensured their greater independence and autonomy within their own space. Prostitutes led an independent life (svddhina) and though they took others’ money they did not become slaves. On the contrary, they were clever enough to overpower men (vasikartum narani) and were, therefore, proverbial as persons who did not suffer under anybody’s authority.37 It is also my submission that while the patriarchal household was marked by the domination of the male head of the family over all members, the vesya household, a rigorously matrifocal institution, was marked by a synergy between all the members as also the male hangers-on (vita, in particular). The sources of our period clearly underline the advisory and managerial role of the vesya's mother referred to as kuttani. Mugdhopadesa talks of mantrijaratkuttani, while Samaymdtrka and Kuttanimatam show the managerial skills of the old bawd in running the vesya household profitably. The vita, Sulapdla, etc., acted as escorts and pimps for the vesyds, and in the gosthi of the ganikd the vita also had an important role as great aesthetes (kdma tantra kala kovidd), but at no point did they usurp a coercive role for themselves.38 The spatial and economic autonomy of the vesya household also generated an intellectual space for the inmates. Unlike the kulastri who had to have a low voice39 or be altogether silent, the prostitute is marked by an articulate voice. In most works of poetics belonging to our period, in the delineation of the character of sadharana stri there is emphasis on her articulate tongue. Dasarupakam of Dhananjaya40 describes her as aganikd whose attributes are knowledge and accomplishments (kala), chutzpah and eloquence (pragalbhata) and a crafty cleverness (dhurtata). Although in the sub-classification of the astanayika in the text on the poetics we get a pragalbha type even among the non-samanya nayika, the logic of her delineation is different. This pragalbha is one who is at the full development of youth and is, therefore, no longer marked by the restraining force of bashfulness,41 which is the inherent trait of girls of good families. Eloquence of speech is not her inherent trait, which is that of the ganikd. This is evident from the fact that in literary works, the ‘clever speech’ of the courtesans has a proverbial status even if non-prostitutes were resorting to it. This was how the speech of princess Vegavati was

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described in Buddhasvamin’s Brhatkathaslokasamgraha!'1 Sternbach43 quotes a Sanskrit verse which establishes the intellectual aura which ganika personified: ‘In the presence of a sovereign, among scholars and on meeting with the courtesans even an eloquent man is embarrassed for fear intimidates his heart.’ Not only were the prostitutes articulate as a rule, they were among the few who were entitled to speak the ‘masculine language’, i.e. Sanskrit. Thus, Bharata44 underlines that ‘for the pleasure of all kinds of people, and in connection with the practice of arts, the courtesans are to be assigned Sanskritic recitation which can be easily managed’. In Mrcchakatikam Vasantsena alone speaks Sanskrit while all other female characters are assigned Prakrit speech.45 The vesavasa, in contrast to the antahpura, was also a site for a radically different socialization. ‘Motherhood’, the most important social role for the kuldhgand, went a begging in the world of the vesavasa. In Ksemendras Samayamatrka,46 the bawd expresses the view that giving birth {prasava) is a curse (srdpa) for a woman’s youth (yauvana) and the beauty of her body parts like breasts. But if she is condemnatory of one of the most cherished goal of patriarchy it is because she sees this as something that completely circumscribes womans personal growth. In fact, the bawd contrasts4 the attractiveness of the vesyd who knows the art of dressing up and of enlivening the gathering by her smiling (satatasmitasu) demeanour with the kulavadhu who are seen as constantly pregnant (nityaprasuti) with their youth (yauvana) destroyed (hata) and who have no taste for the pleasures of cultured gatherings (gosthivildsasarasakeli niradaresu). Although this different socialization of the prostitutes did not radicalize their status in the wider society, it did provide a space and platform from which to mock the existing positions, roles and ideologies of patriarchy. Patriarchal ideology has looked upon prostitution as a safety valve of patriarchal social life, an adjunct that preserved the stability of family life. In Kuttanimatam48 it is stated that sex with the wife is necessary for the sake of progeny, and intercourse with a prostitute for avoiding sickness (vyadhi), i.e. excessive sexual desire. Some among the patriarchs, displaying a conflicting stance, aspired for a wife who could slave like a dasi in the household (srame bhujisya) and at the

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same time act like a prostitute in the bed (sayane tu vesyd). Notwithstanding this schizophrenic attitude, patriarchal society as a rule set much in store by systematically separating the notion of sexuality of a ‘whore’ and ‘madonna’, i.e. the vesyd and kulahgand of our sources. In fact, those women of the family who had the temerity to assert their desire were promptly branded as asati, kulata, svairini, prakdsavinistd, and classified under the category of prostitutes. If the kulayosita who gave vent to their erotic desire were to be treated as prostitutes, should it be interpreted to mean that prostitute sexuality is a free and liberated one? There is a school of thought in feminist theory which argues that since prostitution supports the objectification of women’s sexuality and is linked to violence against them, prostitutes are no more than abused49 bodies. Pateman50 argues that prostitute sexuality is a public recognition of men as sexual masters; it puts submission on sale as a commodity in the market. Luce Irigaray51 sees a prostitute, merely as an ‘obliging prop’ for the enactment of male fantasies. For Mackinnon52 since heterosexuality institutionalized male sexual dominance and female sexual submission there can be no scope for prostitute ‘agency’ in her commercial sexual encounters. A careful analysis of the sources, however, allows us to critique these views. If one juxtaposes the socialization of the kulavadhu against the vdravadhu the latter appears far removed from ‘domination’. The notion of shame (lajja) is an important element in controlling female sexuality under patriarchy. Here the female body is controlled and regulated both at the level of the individual and the social body. In fact, patriarchy rests on the foundation of the controlled female body. Along with purity and pollution, honour and shame are two of the most prominent cultural ideologies of brahmanical patriarchy, and have played an important role in controlling women’s behaviour and the spaces that they can occupy, as also the limits of their socio-sexual relations. In the bahya and the abhydntara classification of the nayikd we see the operation of the purdah system. Sociologically speaking53 purdah delimits the spheres that women can legitimately occupy. Kuttanimatam54 tells us that the veil (vadandvrttijalika) was what distinguished respectable (drya) ladies from ordinary (anarya) ones. These ordinary women were usually prostitutes. In Samayamdtrkd,55

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Ksemendra refers to a mischievous courtesan who passed herself off as the daughter of a high-ranking royal officer by half-covering her face. In Dhurtavitasamvada,56 a kulavadhus veil is tellingly referred to as lajjd-pata (i.e., what covers the shame). A woman of a good family not only had to have a veil (avagunthana) on their faces but they were also required, says Kuttanimatam,57 to have humility, a low voice and slow movements. The bdhyd on the other hand was without the veil. In Mrcchakatika, Vasantasena was without a veil till the king’s announcement declared her to be the bride (vadhu) of Carudatta, and immediately58 upon this announcement Sarvilaka veiled her. The system of the veil also affected the way the sexuality of women was perceived. In the Ndtyas'dstra59 it is said that when the bdhyd goes out to meet her lover, she decorates her body with various ornaments, and displays much passion and joy. The abhyantara nayikifi® on the other hand, walked the street covering her face with a veil, and walked timidly with her limbs contracted, and very often she turned her face away and looked back. According to the Ndtyas'dstra,61 a bdhyd nayika could be depicted displaying her love: ‘She expresses her passion by casting side-long glances (katdksa), touching her ornaments, itching ears, scratching the ground with her toes, revealing the breasts and the navel, cleaning the nails and gathering her hair’, whereas in a high-born lady (kuldhgana) the signs of love are to be depicted differently:62 ‘She looks continuously with laughter in her eyes, conceals her smile, speaks slowly (mandavakya) and with a downcast face (adhomukhi), gives a reply with a smile, conceals her sweat and appearance, with throbbing lips, and trembling limbs.’ Not only was a prostitute allowed greater freedom of expression of her sentiments, but was also entitled to greater freedom as far as her bodily gestures were concerned. Bharata notes in the Natyasastr,a63 that high class women could not be shown using cosmetics (unguents and collyrium), painting the body, coyly handling their breasts and combing their hair. They also could not be shown dressed poorly (ndpdvrta) or wearing only one piece of garment (ekavastra). They could also not use colours for their lips. This was done to distinguish them from women of inferior types who, with a view to exposing their charms, dressed scantily and took pleasure in using cosmetics. Furthermore the entire notion of‘shame acquired a totally different

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meaning for the prostitute, In the KuttanimatamM we are told that ‘for a vesya covering the lower part [jaghandvarana) is not out of “shame” but to arouse desire in others’. Prostitutes were also quite open in discussing their sexual experiences with all types of clients. In one such comic verse,65 a vesya tells others how when she closed her eyes in the ecstasy of sexual pleasure, her inexperienced paramour ran away, thinking her to be dead. The above data would lend itself to the interpretation, that as compared to the circumscribed sexuality of the household women who had to be virgin daughters, chaste wives, and desexualized widows, the prostitutes enjoyed greater freedom of sexual expression. In fact, in the prostitute household being a sati acquires a completely different meaning, i.e. as a term of abuse—satildhchana.bb It must also be remembered that prostitutes were a ‘speaking subject’ who actively intervened in the male exchange economy (which had the exchange of women at its foundation). A prostitute took herself to the market and named her price, and in so doing she disrupted the male exchange economy (since she was breaking the silent exchange of women (in the patriarchal form of marriages like brahma, arsa, daiva, and prajdpatya) the authority (svdmya) of the father over the kanya was greater, and marriage rights involved kanyadana. Although it is true that a prostitute negotiated sexuality only as a commercial exchange inside the male exchange economy, but she did negotiate it. Should the prostitutes then be seen as an empowered lot (her sexuality being used as a bargaining chip), who had the power to set the terms of her sexuality and demand substantial payment for her time and skills? In the sources of our period the sexual life of the prostitute—the unlimited freedom and the unbounded pleasure of intercourse with any man they like—is often portrayed in a positive light. Ksemendra in Kaldvilasabl says that because of this independence they are envied by some women who think sighing that ‘fortunate are courtesans [vesya dhanyeti) who enjoy life without restrictions with many young men’ [bahuvidhatarunanirgala sambhoga sukharthabhogini). This view does attribute a degree of agency to the vesya which the kuLzhgana did not have. This reality is very pithily underlined in Isvaradatta’s Dhurtavitasamvadab8 where a young man tells vita that he is about

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to be married. Vita expresses surprise that the young man wants to leave vesya mahapatha for kulavadhu kumdrgena. The vita further asks how can pleasure be had from consorting with kulavadhu who are blind to sexual pleasures (jatyandham suratesu), who talk inaudibly (antaramu kha b has inf), who are so shy that they have never seen their own lower part {jaghana), and are no better than a yoked animal {strirupabadhampasu) ? Thus, the prostitute’s sexuality is not so much a deviant or abused sexuality; rather she has to be seen as an erotic teacher. Scholars also subscribe to the view that romantic love alone can be interpreted as liberating, and this is something that prostitutes by the nature of their profession could not profess. Kuttanimatam69 states that ‘Prostitutes are adroit in yielding their bodies {sarvangarpanadaksa) but not their hearts {asamarpitahrdayd). As Kuttanimatam70 notes, ‘The wealth of the paramour is the barometer on which the prostitutes (varastn) attachment (rdga), love (prema) and sexual desire (madanaruja) can be measured. In Dasakumaracaritct1 a vesya’s desire to reserve herself only for a true lover is castigated by her mother as acting against svakuladharma, i.e. vesavasa code,72 and to enact the role of a household woman (kulastrivrta). But can one really say that kulastri were more ‘free to love’? If the vesya love was circumscribed by the vesavasa code, the kulavadhu s love was circumscribed by the patriarchal pativrata ideology. A wife was not required so much to love as to show devotion to her husband. Amrtamatl, in Yasastilakap describes the marriage rite for a woman as being ‘sold by her parents in the presence of the gods, the brahmana and the fire (devadvijagnisamaksam matrpitrvikritasyd)'. Old kuttani Visamsila exposed this myth of liberated romantic love for kulastri. She tells her daughter that love is threefold—once born on hearing, once on sight and the third on union. All the three, says Visamaslla, ‘should be abandoned from a distance, for by these even family women are made objects of contempt’.74 We thus see that love as an autonomous emotion was something which women could not or dared not experience under patriarchy. The prostitute commodified her love for material gain, and the kulastri erased hers or bartered it to accommodate herself in the patriarchal household. But even if a prostitute used her love as a strategy she alone was in a position to choose to display this emotion

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fearlessly. Vasantasena shows such affection for Carudatta in Mrccha¬ katika.71 She knew that Carudatta was poor (daridra) yet she was in love with his virtues (gunanirjitadasi). It is significant that in the play Vasantasena did not see her involvement with Carudatta in the light of a prostitute-client relationship at any point of time. When Vasantasena’s maid Madanika asked her who it was that had to be served by her,Vasantasena replied that she wanted to enjoy to sport and not serve (rantumichdmi na sevitum).76 Yet again when Vasantasena prepares7 to pay a visit to Carudatta of her own accord she uses the terms sporting and enjoying (carudattamabhirantum gacchavah) to describe her tryst as an abhisarika who does not care even for the gathering clouds and incessant rain.78 This tie of genuine love between ganika Vasantasena and Carudatta is also recognized by Vasantasena’s mother. When she was called upon to give testimony in the court and the judge asked her about the whereabouts of her daughter, she too replied that her daughter was enjoying the pleasures of youth with her friend (mitra) Carudatta {tatra me darika yauvanasukhdnu-

bhavati).79 This juxtaposition of two different households, one firmly entrenched in the patriarchal social world, and the other on its margins, is a small effort to show the centrality of the forms of households and socialization therein in reproducing a differing social reality for all its inmates. NOTES 1. Kuttanimatam, verse 146. 2. Mrcchakatika, Act IV.28. 3. Amrit Srinivasan (1988: 187) in her sociological survey of the devadasi household, points out that men in such households stayed as appendages of either their sister or mother, only on sufferance. 4. Mrcchakatika, Act IV.29. 5. Srinivasan (1988: 180) points out that in the devadasi household, the young woman did not owe her paramour either any household service or her offspring. 6. Manubhdsya, 5.88. 7. Dasakumdracarita, p. 137. 8. Srhgdramahjarikathd, p. 40. 9. Mrcchakatika, Act III.27. 10. Dasakumaracarita, p. 174.

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11. Sukumari Bhattacharji, 1999: 203. 12. Ndrada Smrti, 28.10. 13. Mrccchakatika, Act VI, p. 216. 14. Ibid., Act VI, p. 218. 15. In Mrcchakatika (Act 1.31) vita tells Vasantasena that the courtesan quarter is dependent on young men for help (tarunajanasahdya). 16. Kuttanimatam, verse 485. 17. Ksemendra in Kaldvildsa satirizes the prostitute strategies as their practice of sixty four arts (cited in Sternbach, 1953: 45-7). 18. Ibid., Act V.36. 19. Blackwell, 1977: 39. 20. Ibid. 21. Jayamahgald, 6.3.45. 22. Sternbach, 1953: 74-5. 23. Mrcchakatika, Act IV, pp. 166, 168. 24. Kathdsaritsdgara, vol. V, p. 16. 25. Even the non-brahmanical texts are no exception. In the Buddhist sources, inspite of the greater prominence of ganikd, prostitution is regarded as nicakamma and the brothel as nicaghara (Tyagi, 1994: 146). 26. Manubhdsya, 4.85. 27. Mrcchakatika, Act III.7. 28. Brhatkathdslokasamgraha, 11.86. 29. Mrcchakatika, Act IV.24. 30. Ibid., Act X, p. 402. 31. Brhatkathdslokasamgraha, 12.83, 13.1-2. 32. Srhgdramahjarikathd,

p.

78.

33. Srngdrahata, p. 41. 34. In the sixth tale of Srhgdramahjarikathd we find a kulastri—lavanyasundari —taking to the life of a vesyd of her own accord in order to make money to free her imprisoned husband. And when her objective of getting 100 elephants was realized, she left the life of a vesyd to once again become the wife of her husband. This is the only exceptional instance in our sources of a crossover twice by a woman at her own initiative of the kulastri-varastri divide. 35. Jayamahgald, 7.1.22-3. 36. Not only were vesyd living in their own household variously described as ga nikakutumba, vesydgrha (Sternbach, 1945: 135-8), in most cases they were in separate areas of the town. We get a reference to vesyavithi (Srhgarahdta, p. 32) in our sources. Mdnasolldsa refers to vesyd houses on the outskirts of the town (cited in Roy, 1999: 215). 37. Sternbach, 1953: 64. 38. Shalini Shah, 2009, p. 136.

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39. Kuttanimatam, verse 848. 40. Dasarupakam, ch. 2, p. 148. 41. Raghavan, 1951: 22. 42. Brhatkathdslokasamgraha, 15.46. 43. Sternbach, 1945: 16. 44. Ndtyas'dstra, 18.41. 45. This is not to valorize Sanskrit as a language over Prakrit, but only as a comment on a certain culture where Sanskrit alone was associated with prestige and status. 46. Samayamdtrkd, 8.101. 47. Ibid.: 8.93-4. 48. Kuttanimatam, verse 789. 49. In Mrcchakatika, ganikd Vasantasena was strangled by the king’s brotherin-law for repulsing his overtures. On regaining consciousness Vasantasena perceived her state as one that befits the profession of a prostitute (yatsadrsam vesabhdvasya). In the eleventh tale of Bhoja’s Srhgdramahjarikatbd, vesyd Malayasundari’s paramour Pratapasimha physically abused her, and instead of being punished by the king he got away scot-free, and it was vesyd Malayasundarl who became an object of ridicule. Prostitutes were also vulnerable because of their movable wealth such as ornaments. Samaya¬ mdtrkd refers to prostitutes (panyangand) being vulnerable in every city to those who covet their jewels (bhusanalubdhe). While the sources amply demonstrate violence against prostitutes, this does not mean that women of the patriarchal household were beyond abuse. Violence against them could be both mental, as also physical; it was ensured by exacting patriarchal norms and the reality of patrilocal residence. 50. Cited in Overall, 1992: 722. 51. Cited in Bell, 1994: 74, 88. 52. MacKinnon, 1982: 515-44. 53. Papanek and Minault, 1982. 54. Kuttanimatam, verse 895. 55. Samayamdtrkd, 2.54. 56. Smgdrahdta, p. 74. 57. Kuttanimatam, verse 848. 58. Mrcchakatika, Act X, p. 402. 59. Ndtyasastra, 24.223. 60. Ibid.: 24.224. 61. Ibid.: 24.160-2. 62. Ibid.: 24.163-4. 63. Ibid.: 24.236-8. 64. Kuttanimatam, verse 306. 65. Ibid., verse 399.

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66. Kavyamimarhsa, ch. 6, p. 71. 67. Sternbach, 1953: 65. 68. Spigarahdta, p. 74. 69. Kuttanimatam, verse 313. 70. Kuttanimatam, verse 303. 71. Dasakumdracarita, p. 174. 72. In Brhatkathaslokasamgraha, a prostitute bent on constancy (sativratam) is described as a bad woman (duracareva). In Mrcchakatika, m describes Vasantasenas rejection of paramours like Jiakara as vesavasaviruddha which was dependent on young men for help (tarunajanasahdya). He, therefore, advises Vasantasena to wait upon all equally (vesyasi sarvam bhaja). 73. Handiqui, 1949: 51. 74. Srhigaramehjarikatha, p. 88. 75. Mrcchakatika, Act VI, p. 218. 76. Ibid., Act II, p. 68. 77. Ibid., Act IV, p. 174. 78. Ibid., Act IV.33. 79. Ibid., Act IV.33.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bell, Shannon, Reading, Writing and Rewriting the Prostitute Body, Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1994. Bhattacharji, Sukumari, ‘Prostitution in Ancient India’, in Kumkum Roy (ed ) 1999: 196-228. Blackwell, Fritz, ‘Misogyny and Philogyny: The Bifurcation and Ambivalence of the Stereotypes of the Courtesans and the Mother in Literary Tradition’, Journal of South Asian Literature, XII(3-4), Spring-Summer 1977: 37-43. Brhatkathaslokasamgraha, of Buddhasvamin, ed. and tr. R.P. Poddar, Varanasi: Tara Printing Works, 1986. Dasakumdracaritam, of Dandin, ed. and tr. Kedarnath Sharma, Chowkhamba, 1965. Dasarupakam, of Dhananjaya, ed. and tr. Shrinivasa Shastri, Meerut: Sahitya Bhandar, 1969. Handiqui, K.K., Yasastilaka and Indian Culture, Sholapur, 1949, Jayamangald, Commentary on Kdmasutra by Yasodhara, ed. and tr. Madhavacharya, 2 vols. Bombay: Khemraja Shrikrishna Prakashan, 1995. Kathdsaritsdgara, of Somadeva, ed. Penzer, tr. C.H. Tawney, 10 vols., Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, rpt. 1968. Kavyamimarhsa, of Rajasekhara, ed. and tr. Gangasagar Rai, Varanasi: Chowkhamba, 1964. Kuttanimatam, of Damodaragupta, ed. and tr. Atrideva Vidyalamkara, Varanasi:

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Indological Book House, 1961. Manubhdsya, of Medhatithi, tr. Ganganatha Jha, vols. 1-5, Calcutta University, 1920-6. MacKinnon, Catherine, 'Feminism, Marxism, Method and State: An Agenda for Theory’, SIGNS: Journal of Women and Culture in Society, 7(3), 1982: 515-44. Mrcchakatika, of Sudraka, ed. and tr. M.R. Kale, Bombay, 1962. Naradasmrti, tr. J. Jolly, Bhartiya Publishing House, 1978. Ndtyasdstra, of Bharatamuni, ed. and tr. N. Punni, vols. 1-4, Delhi: Nag Publishers, 1998. Overall, Christine, ‘What’s Wrong with Prostitution? Evaluating Sex Work’, SIGNS: Journal of Women and Culture in Society, vol. 17, no. 4, 1992: 705-24. Papanak, Hanna and Gail Minault (eds.). Separate Worlds: Studies of Purdah in South Asia, Delhi: Chanakya, 1982. Roy, Kumkum (ed.), Women in Early Indian Societies, Delhi: Manohar, 1999. Samayamatrkd, of Ksemendra, ed. and tr. Ramashankar Tripathi, Varanasi: Chowkhamba, 1967. Shah, Shalini, Love, Eroticism and Female Sexuality in Classical Sanskrit Literature: Seventh - Thirteenth Centuries, Delhi: Manohar, 2009. Srinivasan, Amrit, ‘Reforms or Conformity? Temple Prostitution and the Community in the Madras Presidency’, in Bina Agrawala (ed.), Structures of Patriarchy, Kali for Women, 1988: 175-98. Srngdrahdta: Caturbhdni ed. and tr. Motichandra and V.S Agrawala, Bombay: Hindi Grantha Ratnakar, 1960. Jrhgdramahjarikathd, of Bhoja, ed. and tr. Kalpana Munshi, Singhi Jaina Series, no. 30, Bombay, 1959. Sternbach, Ludwik, ‘Vesya: Synonyms and Aphorisms’, Bhartiya Vidya, Bombay, vol. IV (parts 1 & 2), 1942, pp. 104-14 and pp. 157-68; vol. V, 1945, pp. 115-48 and Supplement pp. 1-19. Sternbach, Ludwik, Ganikavrttasamgraha: Texts on Courtesans in Classical Sanskrit, Hoshiarpur: Vishveshvarananda Institute Publication, 1953. Tyagi, A.K., Women Workers in Ancient India, Delhi: Radha Publications, 1994.

CHAPTER

18

Re-Constructing the Social Histories of the Puranas: Kings and Wives as Upholders of Propriety in the Matsyamahapurana JAYA TYAGI

Hie Puranas are a massive hermeneutical exercise in sifting through existing brahmanical and epic traditions and myths, juxtaposing them with ritual practices and observances. This brahmanical overhaul in the manner in which observances are to be carried out actually underlines the ideological changes that the Puranic texts seek to bring about in the rapidly changing world of the early centuries of the Common Era. There is a discernible shift within the brahmanical ideology when one compares the early Dharmasastras with the early Puranas, although they are seemingly part of a continuing tradition. The Dharmasastras seek to ‘codify’ norms with an attempt to give clearly defined roles for diverse social categories and are actually elitist and exclusive while the Puranas are inclusive and populist. This shift in ideological thinking in the early centuries of the Common Era, a period from when we can trace the earliest Puranas, can also be traced in the manner in which the usage of Sanskrit becomes more dispersed. The trend towards disseminating knowledge and ideology to a much wider audience indicates a shift in modes of thinking and language use. It is represented in the emergence of new literary styles, the shift from Sastras to Kavyas ‘as the prestige economy of Sanskrit expands’, traced by Sheldon Pollock quite comprehensively.1 It finds ample reflection in the myriad literary works of this period, the Puranas are part of this larger trend.

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The Matsyamahapurdna (henceforth, MSP) is one of the early Puranas. Matsya, the fish incarnation of Visnu, is the popular deity, however the text is balanced between the two theistic cults of Visnuism and Saivism. The date of the Purana is debatable. While R C. Hazra gives us a stratified chronology ranging from 350 to 1100 ce,2 Kane refers to it as one of the best preserved and earliest of the Puranas, suggesting dates between 200 and 400 ce and says that it has existed in its present form long before 1000 ce.3 R.C. Hazra feels that the prominence given to the region around the Godavari River suggests that it may have been composed around the region of Nasik; according to him it was probably composed by people living around the river Narmada.4 There seems to be a conscious obfuscation related to the place of origin, and this must have been to give the text a more expansive geographical identity rather than a restricted regional one. The reason for choosing an ‘early’ Purana is that it is the early texts which reveal why there was a need for a new genre altogether and the actual deviations from earlier Brahmanical ideology, and the tactics that they adopt to combat external and internal challenges. The later Puranas seek to replicate an already successful model (with their own modifications, of course). A characteristic feature of brahmanical tradition is that in the compilation of texts, once one genre of text becomes accepted, many texts appear over a period of time to replicate and reiterate but also to compete and bring in alternative discourses. Thus there is not one, but four Vedas and many Brahmana texts, Sutras, Upanisads and Dharmasastras.The end result is a ‘canonization’, even though there would be no one canonical text but several which would compete and complement simultaneously. Fixing the chronology of these texts is difficult, but some of them refer to other texts which simplifies our task; very often they dip into already existing, floating material. Further, authorship is problematic as the texts attempt to project themselves as divine and where authors are mentioned, they are names of already accepted venerable and possibly fictitious authors (Manu, Vyasa are some favourite authors, including the ubiquitous Suta, the favourite narrator). The different Puranas contain elaborate theological discussions which reinforce each other but also bring in changing ideas and attitudes; they seem to be similar to each other

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but also espouse particular theistic cults. The MSP mentions that there are eighteen Puranas, and a number of Upapuranas and lists them out.5 The purpose of this taxonomical exercise seems to be to collate these texts but also eliminate subsequent claimants, so that there can be clearly demarcated boundaries related to which texts qualify as ‘Puranas’. The need for introspection and elaboration within brahmanical traditions and the conscious effort made towards ‘reaching’ out, which is evident in the MSP and other Puranas, was a result of multiple factors. Brahmanical groups seem to have been smarting under the onslaught of rival sects which were competing for the capture of resources (and the imagination) of constantly diversifying and new categories of patrons. The possibilities that emerged in the changing socio-political scenario in the subcontinent in the period after the Mauryas—the emergence of the states in different parts of the subcontinent and the resources they could command, along with the growth in trade, commercial activity and communications—facilitated the proliferation of new elite, propertied classes and allowed for larger stakes involved in the dispersion of largesse. Competition amongst the prospective recipients of this largesse was also more severe as disparate ideologies spread to different parts, through the percolation of ideas facilitated by migrations, inter-regional trade and communications. There were different ideas and practices filtering in the aftermath of the interaction with Greeks, Sakas, Pahlavas, Kusanas, just to name a few ‘migrant’ groups who came into contact with a varied and heterogenous indigenous populace. All these factors and also the fact that brahmanical tradition by itself was never monolithic but constandy changing, meant that Puranic tradition emerged as a result of some inner need for reform and transformation in the rapidly changing socio-political milieu of these early centuries of the Common Era.

THE KALI YUG A UTPATA (UPHEAVAL): A BRAHMANICAL CONSTRUCT Our understanding of the early Christian centuriees has been greatly enriched by the works of Prof. R.S. Sharma, to whom this volume is dedicated. He has referred to this period as one which witnesses the

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beginnings of the ‘Kali Age crisis’6 and has shown how the crisis, as it is reflected in Puranic texts, is one in which there will be neglect of rituals, a predominating influence of ‘heretical’ sects, dominance of foreign and non-brahmanical rulers and refusal of varna groups to perform their traditionally demarcated functions. This description of the ‘crisis’ shows that it seems to be a crisis for the brahmanas, and not for the other varnas and ‘heretical’ sects. While Prof. Sharma and other scholars have elaborated on the larger overarching social and political developments in this period and have linked it to economic and political transitions leading to the subsequent ‘early medieval’ period,7 this paper will attempt to focus on two specific concerns, relating to patronage and, as found in the Matsyamahdpurdna. The paper will explore how attempts to regulate these two aspects of social life were represented in the form of a deeper crisis, which was, however, faced primarily (and perhaps onlyX) by elite and erudite brahmanas who were trained in Vedic and post-Vedic rituals and were dependent on patronage. The compilers of the Puranas attempt to thwart this brahmanical crisis, manifest in the paucity of patronage and popularity, by deviating from restrictive Dharmasastric norms. They make a conscious attempt to expand brahmanical spheres of influence, both geographically and demographically. These texts by incorporating diverse social categories, varied forms of worship and religious observances, tap into new resource bases. The Puranic references to the Kali Age reveal that while the early centuries of the Common Era were a rather challenging time for brahmanas, they seemed to be an interesting time for many other social categories, holding the possibilities of immense social mobility and resource mobilization, especially amongst social groups which had been designated as ‘lower’ categories and also (mainly upper class) women. The assimilativeness of the Puranas was thus directed towards inclusion of new groups and areas, their gods and ritual observances. This was accompanied by the introduction of their own (duly modified and diluted) brahmanical thought systems to these new people and places.8 This initiative was not one-sided. Hitherto ‘lower’ social groups seem to have been able to ‘Sanskritize’ (if one may use the term, with reservations) and integrate themselves into brahmanical traditions by latching on to Puranic lineages, patronizing Puranic theistic cults which assimilated their personal gods and goddesses

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within their fold, and even had their local sacred ‘spaces’ included in Puranic pilgrimage lists. If we turn to the MSP for an understanding of the ‘crisis’ and see what the Kali Age was supposed to entail, we will find evidences for this ‘social mobility’ in the section on how the tenth incarnation of Visnu, Kalkin, will manifest itself. The MSP states that: Kalkin will destroy the wicked and the pasanda and with a large army of brahmanas, he (Kalkin) will kill the sudra kings and then with his army, on the 28th of the Kaliyuga, after purifying the sudras, he will cross the ocean where he will destroy the mixed castes and fulfilling his mission, educate the people. The people, enraged with each other will kill each other to fulfil the future destiny. Afterwards, people will become enraged and deluded with each other and will kill (each other). In time the Kalki will vanish and future kings will be destroyed through the rebellion of their subjects. The people, not finding any protector, will fight amongst themselves, all cities and villages will be devastated and the var nasramadkarma will be destroyed. Men will sell boiled rice in markets and brahmanas will sell the Vedas and the women will earn their living by selling their hair (virtue, according to some). People will be of short stature and will live in the forests by rivers and hills, living on roots, fruits and leaves. They will clothe themselves in rags and animal skins, there will be mingling of all into one mass, people will be troubled with trials, tribulations and upheavals, utapdta. After having undergone these troubles, all will be annihilated at the end of the Kaliyuga. Satyuga will follow the Kaliyuga. Interestingly, now brahmana-sudra conflicts are being discussed where the brahmana armies take on sudra kings. The sudras are being elevated to royal status and being ‘purified’ and this does seem to hint at rivalry of two equally powerful categories, showing that sudras had access to power and resources. In some ways, it reflects the tacit acceptance of sudra kings by the text. The notion of the Kali Age then reflects brahmanical anxieties, such as—mixing of varnas, having to ‘buy goods and commodities (rather than getting them freely as ddna), the need to ‘hard sell’ the Vedas and repackage them in a more acceptable manner in the form of Puranic tradition. That women had to earn their living (by whatever means) is also a cause of worry in the MSP, and it reveals that the crisis was related to sustenance and economic survival. The reference to ‘educating’ the people seems to hint at a need for disseminating the ideology amongst the populace, which is what the Puranas actually attempt. The construct of Kali Yuga thus seems to be more of a critical phase

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for brahmanas rather than a generic one. It was related to the financial crunch being faced by brahmanas in the wake of other sects’ popularity and capturing of elite resources by them, something that is evident in textual, epigraphical, architectural and sculptural evidences got from the early centuries of the Common Era. It was a ‘crisis of patronage and patrons and possibly of followers because of which brahmanical self-appraisal and revamp was essential. Puranic doctrines represent a need to reassess brahmanical value systems in order to explore the possibilities of expanding their financial backing and support base. The concern related to thepasanda sects certainly reflects the anxiety related to how they were capturing resources for themselves. The problem was sought to be resolved through a newly-revamped ideology put forward in the assimilative Puranas and this shift must have had some degree of success, if the ‘brahmanical resurgence’, the land donations being made to the brahmanas, the popularity of the theistic Puranic cults (represented in inscriptions, monuments and texts) and the subsequent ebbing of other cults, are any indication. We have tried to explore the socio-historical milieu in which Puranic tradition emerged. We can now turn towards a more detailed analysis of what Puranic ideology represented.

UNRAVELLING PURANIC TRADITION One can discern a purpose behind the compilation of Puranas, the crisis amongst the brahmanas relating to patronage and popularity has been already discussed. The texts represent some kind of a pan¬ subcontinental project to assimilate and classify regions and different cults, rituals and practices into overarching theistic categories so that ultimately they are identified with the cults of Brahma, Visnu, Mahesa and also the cult of the Devi. The compilation of a Purana thus involved an elaborate theological enterprise, undertaken to satisfy multiple tasks, viz., to rationalize the diverse practices within Brah¬ manism and carry them forward to different regions and commu¬ nities, to include other practices within their purview in order to extend the scope of brahmanical intervention to different regions, and to combat competitive cults for patronage.9 Puranic assimilation goes to the extent of including mythologies

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of the Great Flood; the idea of the incarnations also seems to be one which is borrowed. This process of assimilation was not unidirectional, while sifting through and absorbing local cults, the texts introduce brahmanical practices like vamasramadharma, purusarthas to new areas and the mediation of brahmanas in these areas. There is a rationalization and elaboration of ritual observances associated with sraddhas, dana, pujdfapa, tapa, tirthas, sthanas and temples. Surprisingly, these texts rarely discuss rites of marriage, upanayana or the samskaras and this may be because they have already been dealt with in different texts like the Brahmana texts and the Grhya-sutras. The emphasis is thus on ritual observances related to worshipping-a deity and there is an elaboration of the manner in which idols are to be made and worshipped; the aim seems to focus on observances that deviate from the Vedic practices and the Vedicyajna (sacrifice). The attempt was to expand the arena of the sacred space from the sthandila, the fire altar used for conducting sacrifices, and shift religious observances from within the spatial domains of the household to outside it. Religious practices and observances were no longer confined, either to one region or just the domestic spaces but spilled into larger geographical realms and community spaces where they would get optimum coverage. The Puranas were meant to be recited in full public view, without any taboos or purificatory rituals meant for the individual yajamana (sacrificer) in the Vedic yajna (sacrifice). The observances were meant to be conducted by all—many vratas end with a specific note that women and lower categories should also conduct it. The style that is adopted is thus a narrative one where ritual observances are included in relation to learned sages and interested listener/s. Orality as a mode of transmission seems to be an accepted phenomenon. Suta is the favoured orator, followed by other literary personas like Saunaka and others. The intention behind using such favoured, possibly mythical personas, is to legitimize the contents of the legends and to bestow them with sacrality. The audience is projected as ideally zealous in the quest for information and the legends always begin with an attempt to acquaint the audience with information they themselves are seeking. This is in order to underline the importance of speaking to an interested, inquisitive audience.

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The legends do not ostensibly have a moral unlike the Jataka tradition or the Biblical parables but there is an underlying, subtle subtext. One of the reasons why the text itself does not underline the moral may have been to keep the texts ‘open ended’ in contravention of the sanctimonious Sastra style and also because the role of the knowledgeable Puranic reciters as intermediaries for transmission of Puranic knowledge was not to be dispensed with. Thus, though the stories are simplified and not as obscure as the Brahmana texts, they would still need a mediator who would elaborate on the morals and the context of the legends. The Puranas are stylistically different, concerned about reaching out and assimilating. By elaborating on the need for knowledge and expertise in ritual observances, the texts are diverting attention from the Vedic yajrias, which had faced considerable flak in the preceding period, but also trying to give credence to Puranic scholars as a social category. These reciters could facilitate social mobilization by constructing lineages and underlying the power of certain social categories over others. There is also an attempt at classifying and cataloguing different areas and spaces associated with religiosity, some of them probably already existed as sacred spaces.10 Including places as tirthas, sthanas and emphasizing on certain temples that these places began to be linked to deities promoted in the Puranic cults and in this way sacral spaces gain Puranic religiosity while Puranic ideology seeks to infiltrate these regions. Romila Thapar, in another context, has elaborated on how new religious sects take over an existing venerable space either by osmosis or by force. Osmosis points to the underlining of the continuance of the sacred space, force generally implies the usurpation of such space.11 The religious ideology that the Puranas seek to disseminate shows an attempt at both ‘usurpation and osmosis’. This helped in extending Puranic tradition to disparate areas but also carrying the practices and cults of one region to another. The Puranic notion of spaces has to be explored in order to understand the reasons why there is this emphasis on sacrality of places and the need to include lists of pilgrimage centres, tirthas. This is not only to appropriate existing sacred spaces as they existed, but also to highlight the expansive ideology of these times. Sheldon Pollock shows how ‘the geographical mode of thought’ had become so

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important to the Sanskrit literati that, ‘space not only became an object of knowledge to be fully organized in their discourse’ but, ‘wound up organizing discourse itself by providing a basic framework for structuring cultural knowledge’. The process by which larger conceptual spaces such as Jambudvlpa or Bharatavarsa were constructed was gradual and halting according to Pollock. While older geotypes—like the Pancanada, the land of the Five rivers, or the Aryavarta, ‘the Congregating place of the Aryas’ may have been absorbed and displaced by newer ones, they were never completely demoted as preeminent cultural-political frames of reference. The same process led to the expansion of such spaces. Thus while for Patanjali, Aryavarta was bounded by the Himalayas in the north, the western Vindhyas in the south (Pariyatra), in the east by present day Jharkhand forests (Kalaka) and on the west by Punjab between the Beas and Ravi (Adarsa); for Samudragupta in the middle of the fourth century, the eastern limit was the Bay of Bengal (at Samatata).12

The MSP is part of an ideological tradition which tries to include this new geographical expanse as its sphere of influence, rather than being limited to Patanjali’s Aryavarta. It seems that in the attempt to assimilate and incorporate new aspirants to royal and elite classes as patrons, the Puranic texts seek to maintain elaborate records of vamsavalis (genealogical lists). In spending so much time in tracing these hereditary lineages, the compilers seem to be suggesting that privilege underlines social order, that birth was the essential feature for assuming kingship. However, if one explores this a little further, it will appear that having such sequential records of lineages also implies a deliberate attempt towards ‘social engineering’ and constructing lineages in order to legitimize those who have access to power. Persons seeking privilege and power or attempting to gain legitimacy could attempt to trace back their antecedents by merely hitching one of their ancestors to the branches of the lineages that were constructed. The Puranic penchant for lineages seems to be conducive to multiple additions—any person who wanted to legitimize his existence and claim divinity could have a well-constructed social ladder connecting him to the beginning of time and Brahma himself. AH that was then required was to have specialist chroniclers use this ready made (and deliberately half baked) construction and prefix it to the lineage of a royal aspirant. These

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specialist chroniclers would be brahmanas, learned in Puranic traditions and genealogies. Thus, in swift masterstrokes, divinity and legitimacy was ensured for the royal classes and patronage for the Puranic scholars. Once this formula had been developed, it could be applied anywhere, anytime and would lead to competition amongst the royal elite for seeking connections to these mighty lineage(s) and give a fillip to the demand for Puranic scholars. The proliferation of states with aspiring rulers claiming divine origins linking them to the solar and lunar dynasties from the middle of the first millennium ce onwards seems to be a fallout of this. The number of Puranas that are compiled and the manner in which they become popular through Puranic reciters also shows that it seems to be a successful model. The Puranas, conscious of divisions of caste, class, gender and ethnicity perpetuate social differences and help in reinforcing them but also attempt to include all these disparate elements in their social and cultural constructs. In spite of the penchant for including women and ‘lower’ categories, the aim is not to closely monitor them, regulate them and to tap them as possible sources of support and patronage. What is interesting then is that diverse groups find some kind of a voice in these texts—the voice is of course, a patriarchal and brahmanical one which underlines Puranic traditions. Whether it is devas, asuras, brahmanas or s'udras, men or women, all have a visible and palpable presence and each has an opportunity to subvert the traditions that bind them, as long as they are in sync with the overall ideology of the Puranas. The texts then seem to be sensitizing their audience to social change and acceptance of fluidity in social relations while also reinforcing and upholding traditional hierarchies and divisions. The Puranas seem to show a major shift in the approach of brahmanical religion towards the masses. The inclusion of women who can perform the ritual observances, vratas shows that the texts are clearly more inclusive than the Dharmasastras which find ways in which to restrict women from performing vratas and rituals. Many Dharmasastras categorically deny women the right to carry out any religious observances, Manu and Visnu state that there is no separate sacrifice, vrata (fast) for a woman and she attains heaven if she serves her husband. Visnu Dharmasastra (25.16) goes so far as to state that if a woman conducts a vrata with a fast (upavasa) while her

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husband is alive, she deprives her husband of life and goes to hell (also Arigiras ).13 Further, the Dharmas'astras state that if she conducts any act without the consent of her father, husband or son, then the act yields no fruit for her. To further elaborate, the Manusmrti (henceforth MS) states that —‘No rite is performed for women with the recitation of ritual formulas—that is well established law. Without strength or ritual formula, women are the untruth—that is the fixed rule.’14 The MS’ also seeks to control women from joining other sects by denying libations for them when they have died and states that Libations are omitted in the case of people born through capricious caste mingling (vrthdsankarajatdndm), those who live in ascetic orders (pravrajydsu); suicides (dtmanastyagindm); and women who have joined heretical sects (pdsandamasritanam), roam about at will (carantindm), harm their foetus or husband (garbhabhartrdruham), or drink liquor {surdpinam) P

The anxiety with which the issue is addressed, seems to relate to the social implications of women carrying out observances and joining the ‘heretical’ sects—it would be affecting social relations, patronage, the popularity and dissemination of certain cults over others. It also seems as if women were actively carrying out these activities otherwise there would hardly have been any need to prohibit them. This seems to be hinting at some degree of agency that women were exercising, possibly forcing their inclusion, taking the adhikara to perform ritual observances into their hands and also moving towards other cults for spiritual engagement. The emphasis on vratas and vratakathds, legends associated with ritual observances, is an interesting aspect of the Puranas. The social context in which the ritual observances are discussed, the efficacy that is attributed to them and the agency that they seem to generate are all open to interpretation. Ritual observances have been said to delineate social hierarchies16 but in the Puranas, rather than creating social hierarchies, they may well be serving as a device constructed by the brahmanas to explain why certain already existing social categories have more power and control over resources than others. The compilers seem to be dealing with fait accompli and attempt to explain the reason why certain categories wield power. Associating power and agency with the performance of particular rituals allows

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these texts to be used as propaganda. It is no wonder that kings, elite and to a limited extent, propertied upper class women are then said to command agency, not because of the rituals and rigorous austerities they have actually performed; but that is how the brahmana authors would like to explain their enhanced social standing. It is interesting to see that while in the world view of the Puranas and other such texts, it is rituals that accord them power, actually it may well have been that it is these powerful categories who are being solicited by being made the protagonists of these vratas and who, with their patronage, legitimize these rituals with their patronage. The study of ritual observances in texts becomes crucial because they help us understand which social categories the compilers are most obsessed with—it helps explain social relations and power structures and identifies the areas from where the brahmanas had expectations of patronage; thus throwing light on the manner in which wealth and property were concentrated in society. Of course, as these are two-way processes, once these textual traditions became well established, the performance of rituals would have become popular and helped legitimize and uplift certain categories.

PURANIC NOTIONS OF DHARMA: WAS DHARMA THE SAME AS ‘PROPRIETY’? The emphasis in the MSP seems to be on performativity as an expression of religiosity. Dharma karya is a term used in the text which implies that dharma in this sense seems to relate to propriety and religiosity—it is ‘correct behaviour’ coupled with proper ritual observances rather than only a fixed religious or ideological belief system. The importance of correct behaviour is seen from the fact that there is a complete chapter on karma-yoga and kriya-yoga.’

Ihe

chapter eulogizes karma-yoga as compared to jhana-yoga stating that karma-yoga is superior to a thousand jndna-yogas and that divine knowledge of Brahma springs from both combined. Eight spiritual qualities that produce dharma are elaborated upon and these are— • clemency to all living beings • forbearance • protection for him who seeks aid in distress

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• freedom from envy • external and internal purification • calmly meeting emergencies in all works • not practising niggardliness in the case of distress and with regard to one’s earnings • not hankering after riches or wives of others. These eight guidelines seem to be regulating proper behaviour and it would mean that Puranic notions of dharma was associated with propriety rather than worship of a particular kind. There is a considerable overlap with the eightfold path of Buddha, yet another example of the assimilativeness of the Puranas. Performance of ritual observances were part of one’s dharma and in keeping with earlier traditions, it is also recommended to follow correct dharma and perform five sacrifices was everyday. These included worshipping the devas, the pitrs, feeding men and the animals and also honouring the rsis. The learned should perform the prescribed rites, which are—adoring the devas by performing sacrifices to the fire; worshipping the rsis by the recitation of the Vedas; the pitr by sraddha offerings; honouring fellow men by showing hospitality to guests and honouring all lower living creatures by scattering food for them on the ground. The five sacrifices have to be performed for expiation from the sins that householders incur. The text refers to these sins—the threshing of grain; grinding of grain; lighting the fireplace; fetching of water by the water pot, and sweeping with the broom. These five sins are known as the pahcaguna and according to the MSP, one does not go to heaven without freeing himself from the sins which can only be wiped out by the five sacrifices. One of the preoccupations with propriety seems to be involving rajyadharma (the nature of kingship). The concern is not so much with the manner in which administrative issues related to the state are to be conducted, but more with royal propriety and how kings are to conduct themselves. The preoccupation with the king’s behaviour seems to tell us about the expectations and anxieties related to patronage that the Puranic authors have. However, it will be wrong to assume that the Puranas merely have a self-serving materialistic agenda. In fact, the enterprise that they undertake is so ambitious and far-reaching that it can challenge our own understanding, limited

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as we are with our boundaries pertaining to social, religious, economic, ideological and the political. These texts deal with all of these issues and put them under the generic category of correct dharma. The other preoccupation seems to be with pativrata dharma, projecting the suvratapativrata model for women. The fact that the suvratapativrata wife is made to speak on larger issues related to proper conduct, rajyadharma, the need for maintaining social divisions (as we shall see subsequently in the section on Savitri), gives her an agency wherein she becomes the upholder and vanguard of correct dharma. It is this preoccupation and juxtaposition of the king and the suvratapativrata wife as the exponents of Puranic dharma, which is an interesting and often ignored aspect of Puranic traditions—it makes one understand that not only are these two seen as setting the codes of social propriety, but are also the two categories being tapped as potential patrons and propagators of Puranic cults. Kings and elite women who were the very special and privileged social categories that seem to have supported the cults of Buddhism and Jainism and others, now become the objects of attention in Puranic traditions. Of course, kings and elite men had always been the source of brahmanical patronage, but the crucial change is that women and lower categories were also being included in a considerable manner in these texts. This is not to state that these texts are in anyway overthrowing brahmanical social hierarchies, but there seems to be an underlying anxiety to include new economic categories which may not have been high up in the varna system but were significantly resourceful. Canonical texts aim at creating competition amongst the patrons, the protagonists and promoters of religious ideologies by keeping the standards of achievement high, difficult to attain and just that bit elusive, so that there is always pressure to perform and deliver. The expectations from kings and suvratdpativrata wives are particularly rigorous.The Puranas use these two categories to try to reiterate and create new norms of propriety for social, familial and individual behaviour. They are not only laying down the rules for social propriety, identifying women as the possible vehicles who could be ideologically motivated and tapped as patrons and propagators for these norms of propriety, but also showing how kings should behave. The texts endorse conjugality and monogamy, not only for women but for the

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men too and attempt to structure the family around the suvratapativrata wife by elaborating on the notion of saubhagya (good fortune) and auspiciousness of the wife. Thus it would seem that the texts identify kings and wives as the two categories that are the most significant in terms of patronage and propagation of dharma, but the expectations from these two categories also seems to be rigorous. However, we will also see in the course of this paper that the two categories, i.e., the kings and wives cannot be treated as the same. The former have more access to power, decision-making and resources while the latter have the burden of maintaining social propriety but not individual tangible rewards that come with positions of power and authority. We shall take myths related to two protagonists, Yayati and Savitrl, to explore the social possibilities (and limitations) that the texts see in the persona of the king and the suvratapativrata wife.

Yayati

The first part of the MSP, after going through the theories of cos¬ mogony, traces divine and royal lineages. It is followed by a section on the legends around Yayati which refer to the manner in which a king, and other persons are to conduct themselves, but the primary concern is with the behaviour of the king. According to the texts, upholding of dharma by the king was imperative for maintenance of social order. The emphasis on royal propriety is reiterated when Yayati states that the gates to heaven are available through the following— asceticism, charity, self-control, restraint, modesty, honesty and kindness to all living creatures. He says that even acts like the performance of agnihotra, observing the vow of silence, acquiring of knowledge and performance of sacrifices are negated if accompanied with indulgence in drinks and conceit.18 Thus, Yayati says that amongst the twice born, one who is greater in learning and asceticism or older is more respectable. When his grandson Astaka quizzes him saying that learning and asceticism are to be venerated, not age, he replies that it is good behaviour that is venerable.19 The four stages of life are then endorsed, the text refers to how persons in the brahmacarya, grhastha, vanaprastha and samnyasa stage of life are to conduct themselves.20 The member of the first category needs to study diligendy

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and show reverence and obedience to his guru, control his passions and keep himself steady rather than being fickle. The grhasthin is expected to earn an honest living, perform sacrifice, entertain guests, give alms, not beg from others and ask for nothing and accept nothing unless given unasked and also constantly study the Upanisads and the Puranas. It is interesting that having progeny or looking after them and the kin members is not a priority for the householder, unlike texts like the Dharmasastras and Grhya-sutras. This shows how far the theoretical formulations of the Brahmanas have come from the time of the Grhya Sutras, there is no need to define the household or the members or to project conception as a sacred activity. The vdnaprasthin should live in the forest on his daily earnings, be regular in his diet and activities and thus becomes a muni. A samnyasin is to subsist on begging, not resort to any craft, not own any house, check his passions, keep devoid of company, sleep under a tree, have limited ambitions and while travelling all the time, should restrict himself to one set of clothes. Such a person is called a true bhiksu who does not indulge in passions, in the night when all are indulging in sensual pleasures, he is in the forests. This latter seems to be endorsing the path of celibacy. The text seems to endorse living in the forests (aranya) as well as in grama (the settlements). One who lives in the former, turning his back on the grama, or one who lives in the latter turning his back on aranya are both regarded as munis.2' Further, the MSP clearly states that between the two, the samnyasin and the vdnaprasthin, it is the former who is superior and attains the status of a deva, even though he may live in the settlement and not in the forest.22 Varna hierarchies are also sought to be maintained, the MSP states that no other varna can be a recipient of alms, except a brahmana.23 Even a brahmanas wife is not allowed to accept alms, while she has a vira (courageous?) husband. A person of another caste, no matter how poor cannot accept alms. This seems to be a conscious attempt to ensure that brahmanas channellize resources towards themselves, even the women are not allowed to compete as recipients of largesse (whereas as performers of vratas they are encouraged to dole out largesse). The legend of Yayati’s marriage to DevayanI, sage Sukra’s daughter, and subsequent marriage with Sarmistha (as a result of which he

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incurs Sukra’s wrath and is cursed with the desire for everlasting youth), underlines the imbroglios that kings get into because of their unrestrained passion and inability to be monogamous.24 The legend also goes on to explain the expectations from a king.25 Indra asks Yayati what advice he gave to his youngest but obedient son, Puru, who amongst his five sons agreed to exchange his youth with his father’s old age and was rewarded when he left the kingdom to him. Yayati states that he left him the most important portion of his kingdom, the land between the Ganga and Yamuna which would make him sovereign over his other brothers and the adjoining lands. He advised him on how anger was wrong, forgiveness towards others a virtue, and that one should not use speech that hurts others. Yayati also tells him that one should not accept anything from a low caste man and should try and win the admiration of a people of high status. The story of Yayati seems to underline the need for propriety and restraint amongst the royalty, however in another section there are insights being given on proper behaviour and the king’s dharma by another protagonist who seems to be wielding immense agency— Savitri.

Savitri

The MSP has a large section on the qualities of a pativrata., discussed in the context of Savitri.26 The vrata associated with Savitri is to be performed in the month of Jyesta on a full moon day.2 The myth of Savitri seems to invoke the agency of women, that they can thwart even death with their devotion, but also plays on the anxiety of loss of the husband’s life. The reference to the pativrata wife as a ‘protector of the husband’ while seemingly giving her a unique agency, has to be seen in the context of the social and economic dependence of the wife on her husband’s ‘protection’ which is what gives her a social status and identity. The loss of the husband means social discrimination and ostracism in the absence of the ‘male protector’. In the Mahdbhdrata legend, Savitri goes on a tour to select her husband, likes Satyavana, and chooses to marry him in spite of the prophecy of his imminent death after a year. Three days before the end of the year, she undertakes

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a fast and when Yama, the God of Death comes to take her ailing husband propped against the vata tree, she impresses him with her arguments, so much so that he is forced to bring her husband back to life. The pativratd dharma that is underlined in the Savitrl legend is so significantly put forward that it becomes ingrained in social norms and is repeated in subsequent texts and commentaries and the observance is practised to this day in some places. The fact that the vrata is sought to be reiterated with considerable embellishment in the MSP even though it is comprehensively covered in the Mahabhdrata, shows that there is an attempt to constantly repeat and revisit those traditions which have a direct bearing on social anxieties of the Puranic compilers. The legend is placed right before the section explaining the dharma of a king. Does this mean that the maintenance of pativratd dharma was essential to social order, even more than rajyadharma and thus was placed so strategically in the text? Then there is also the unique juxtaposition of the pativratd dharma with dharma in general and with rajyadharma when Savitrl is made to wax eloquent on kingship. The reference to pativratas taking on Dharmaraja, the God of Death, seems to imply that the energy of these women was being tapped to defy death. It would seem as if this placed immense power in the hands of women; however in this case, power is a double-edged sword, as it also placed the onus of early deaths and bad fortune on the negative energy of hapless women. The male-centredness of the texts is apparent from the fact that it is the longevity of the male which is always an anxiety. Remarriage seems to have been frowned upon and widowhood meant being relegated to the margins in family hierarchies. The husband (and later the son) was projected as the source from whom a woman derived her identity within the family hierarchies. The fact that Savitrl is given a voice in these passages is significant, one needs to take note of the instances when women are given voices in textual traditions. However, one has to be careful about identifying women’s voices as truly theirs—mostly it is patriarchal voices using women protagonists and giving voices to them in order to pass on their ideology. In fact, it exposes the fact that brahmanical texts are not reticent about using women protagonists for propagating their notions of dharma and their moral and ethical norms.28

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The vivid images of conjugality which are depicted in the MSP version are juxtaposed with the horror of the impending death of Satyavana. The reference to Savitri as a pativratdmahdbhdgdrdjakanyaka, rajaputri and rajasuta shows how she has ‘good fortune’ because of her pativratd qualities, in spite of (or because of?) her belonging to a royal lineage. By showing the upper echelons to be leading an ideal life and following the pativratd dharma and also taking care of the interests of her in-laws, the text reveals the kind of woman that has to be used as a role model. They not only want to tap this class of woman as a prospective patron of the vratas but also hope that other women will follow suit in the quest for gaining pativratahood. In the story, while in the forest, Satyavana begins collecting wood feels restless with a sudden pain in his head. He then puts his head in Savitri’s lap. The pativratdmahdbhdgdrdjakanyaka sees Dharmaraja coming to that spot. He comes followed by Death and Kala and takes out the thumb sized purusa, ties it with a noose and takes possession of it. Savitri sees Satyavana lifeless and carefully follows Dharmaraja. Following him, she says with folded hand: By devotion to the mother one gets happiness in this world, by devotion to father in Madbyaloka and by devotion to the Guru, in Brahmaloka. But the master of the house in which these three are honoured, honours all the Dharmas; where they are not honoured all works become futile. Till these three are alive and when devotion is paid to them no other Dharma is necessary. They should be served most devotedly. They should be informed duly when one wants to do some act out of ones’ free will. So that their hearts not be wounded, thus everyone should behave towards his mother, father and preceptor.29

It is significant that she begins her debate with her knowledge of dharma, that the parents and guru are venerable. Later in the legend, in response to Dharmaraja addressing her as sadhvi and pativratd, asking her to go serve her gurus, she responds with words that reveal the importance of a husband for the wife. She calls her husband her lord, her refuge. In an impassioned plea which reflects upon the status of women, she shows how father, brothers and sons can give only limited things to a woman, whereas it is husbands who can give unlimited things. This seems to refer to women’s proprietary rights, social status as well as sensual pleasures. In words chillingly reflective of presupposing sati, she claims that no woman aspires to live on after

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her husband has died; shorn of ornaments and of social stature, she would rather die. When Dharmaraja asks Savitri to ask for a boon, instead of desperately seeking the life of her husband, she prefers to first ask for boons for the reinstatement of her father-in-law’s kingdom and then for sons for her father (she is his only child) and only after these are granted, does she ask for the life of her spouse. This shows how the texts project that the pativratd wife is actually wedded more to her family than only to her husband. It is significant that throughout the dialogue, the God of Death is virtually imploring Savitri, repeatedly urging her to leave. She stays on, fearlessly steadfast, choosing instead, to describe why the rich deserve their good fortune, virtually justifying their lifestyles because of their good karma. They have a golden complexion, riches, stature and wealth; high class seats, golden vases, good food and drink, music, servants, good smell, grain, jewels, fine garments, handsome form, generosity, high attributes, beautiful wife—these are all attained by virtuous persons. The virtuous are blessed with palatial mansions that are decorated with the perforated work with gold because of their virtues. These virtues are—asceticism, sacrifices, charities, control of passions, forgiveness, celibacy, travelling in sacred places, the reading of the Vedas, the service of the good, worship of God, devotion and service of the Guru, veneration of the brahmanas and humility—these are all the signs of virtue.

Savitri, by virtue of her explanation again impresses the Dharmaraja who asks her yet again to ask for a boon and finally she asks for a hundred sons from Satyavana. Trapped, Dharmaraja has to accede to her request but not before Savitri makes a long statement about his glory and how he keeps people within their social boundaries (maryada). Finally, Dharmaraja not only brings Satyavana back to life but also says that he will rule for 500 years and then will be followed with her numerable sons. He further declares that her brothers will be known by her mothers name, Malavas. The legend ends with this caveat. This way the pativratd lady fulfils all the ambitions of her fathers and delivers both the families of her husband and father and saves the life of her husband from the hands of Death. People should revere and worship such sadhvis as they maintain the universe. The words

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ofpativratas never go false, the people who are expecting their desires to be fulfilled should always revere such ladies.30 Women seem to have been given some agency here, but this also has to be earned rather than given freely. Savitri is able to win over the God of death only with her wisdom—it is her wisdom related to the correct dharma that allows her to impress Yamaraja and overcome the imminence of Death. Her interaction with Yama is based on her impressing him because she speaks according to dharma, bhdsasidharmasamhitam, wherein she gains five favours from him first benefitting her father-in-law, then her own father and then her husband. Savitri is a sadhvivadhuh, a good wife/daughter-in-law and hence Satyavana’s aged parents are optimistic even when they are searching for the two when they do not return from the forest. That a woman is given a voice—being made to initiate the discourse on dharma shows how the text identifies women as the primary propagators of Puranic ideologies. The legend also reveals that tapping women’s potential as patrons and promoters was not an easy task. The intelligence, sensitivity and sense of familial responsibility that Savitri is endowed with shows the grudging respect of Puranic compilers for womens potential and their ability to use their agency to uphold social norms. Her discourse with the Dharmaraja begins with her display of knowledge of dharma—that the mother, father and preceptor are to be venerated and that no action should be undertaken without their permission. This shows the need for women to take permission before doing any task. The Puranic compilers seem to be depending on devout women who have internalized Puranic social and soteriological goals, the dependence was for patronage as well as for carrying forward their ideology. The manner in which the dialogue is projected shows how for women things do not come naturally, they have to negotiate and plead for their causes, wrest it from society by using their wits. That they are even ‘entertained’ is because of their virtue; implying that women who do not comply would be outrightly dismissed. This is underlined in the legend which ends with the stipulation that the pativratd lady fulfils all the ambitions of her fathers and delivers both the families of her husband and father and saves the life of her husband from the hands of Death.

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The socio-cultural implications of this male-centric ideology which idolizes the sumahgala, pativrata and suvrata needs to be explored further. It means that the identity of every married woman was inherently linked to her living husband and living children. If they died or some misfortune befell them, she was considered inauspicious and had to face social death. The onus for the well-being of the household fell on her. In this ideological construct, the role of a woman was severely limited to her reproductive and sexual role as a progenitor and her other roles as provider, contributor towards the household and society through wealth generation were negated. This is interesting as the reason why the devout’ wife is given so much leverage in these texts is probably because of the patronage elite women could provide to religious orders. There seems to be a conscious and deliberate need for including women, both as patrons and as carriers of Puranic traditions. Vratas were the mechanism by which this was done, and the fact that it is not only the married women but also widows and unmarried women who are especially mentioned and encouraged to perform these vratas shows that they were being solicited for the patronage that they could offer. Women felt compelled to live out devout roles, not only as wives, but also in other capacities, for example, as temple women.

THE KING VIS-A-VIS THE WIFE The ideology that promotes the king and the pativrata as role models is related to the complex notions of auspiciousness and inauspiciousness that develop in social practices, which brings us back to the intriguing juxtaposition of the king and the pativrata wife as the harbingers of good fortune. Scholars like Frederique Marglin have shown how one needs to distinguish between pure and impure and auspiciousness and inauspiciousness. According to Marglin, women are harbingers of auspiciousness, a state which unlike purity does not imply status or moral uprightness but of well-being and health or, ‘more generally of all that creates, promotes, and maintains life’.31 While elaborating on auspiciousness and inauspiciousness, she relates these to fertility, birth, growth, death and decay.3' She also states that they are the manifestations of a certain type of power which can be identified

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with saktiP Marglin refers to a more recent work of Carman (1983) in which, deriving from Dumonts model of the encompassed and the encompassing, he constructs a model for depicting ‘the Hindu orders of value’ in three concentric squares. The central square is made up of the ‘Temporally Auspicious’ which include—‘Good luck or well being in the present temporal world, symbolized in the wedding, mahgala, in married women whose husbands are living, in the king or the prince’. The fact that married women and their auspiciousness is placed along with the prince and king is noteworthy—and Marglin seems to agree with this.34 This celebration of the auspiciousness of married women and comparison with the king needs more attention. Auspiciousness does not necessarily mean an enhanced status, even though married women with living husbands are placed along with the king or prince. It would seem as if in both cases, propriety is linked to prosperity and men and women have to live up to these role models. However, the analogy runs into problems when we see that the most important difference is that while kings are sovereign, the identity of wives is linked to the husband (thepati) for whom her life should be dedicated in a lifelong vrata, and thus it is his life which is important. All categories of women (even goddesses and daitya women) have to live up to the pativrata yardstick. Even as role models, mythical kings are allowed to have many flaws, indicating that they can break away from social norms, men are given leverage to find justification for their actions. The notion of women being ‘husband-protectors’35 (through their devout pativratasuvratd agency), is inherently linked to them having husbands-as-protectors. In this ideological construct, it is in the woman’s interest to protect her husbands life, Savitri’s legend in the MSP shows how status, property, progeny, securing progeny’s interests, sensual pleasure are all linked with the husband while he has no such dependence on the wife. One can understand that kings had to lead a morally correct life, but why were women ideologically motivated to become devout pativratas? One of the reasons women may have felt the need to underline their piety in domestic roles is to deal with the natural and obvious advantages that men have in societies with polygynous social practices (the presence of which is amply reflected in the sources).

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Men, especially the rich and powerful, could and did take multiple wives and had many children while women would be constantly negotiating for stature, space and resources in households with other women and children. The projection of the virtuous and chaste savarna first wife in the Puranas was in order to control the men, to make them morally responsible towards this wife and the children that came from this marriage. Thus, the wives were expected to perform myriad vratas to highlight their agency in keeping the household prosperous and thriving, granting long lives to the men and keeping rival women at abeyance. In this scenario, there would be a clear demarcation of the rights of the devout wife and her progeny, it was hoped that men would be socially obliged to refrain from giving equal status or legitimacy to the ‘other’ wives, concubines and their progeny. Thus, women used ritual observances to underline their sacral status in the household, so that they could maintain their tenuous hold over the household in whatever way that the men in the household allowed them to. What the Puranas attempt is to bring the initiative back to domestic women as patrons and promoters of Pauranic ideology, along with the king and elite men. The Puranic texts also seem to be setting new standards of propriety for men along with women, promoting monogamy amongst men and urging the cause of the chaste pativratasuvrata wife by urging that such a wife is not to be replaced or superseded. The reasons for the ideological shift from polygyny to monogamy for elite men were economic. As land became prized, there was need to prevent too much division amongst competing inheritance claims of progeny. Puranic morality seems to control men’s morality and promiscuity which may have been causing concerns related to devolution of property and inheritance. The texts are replete with examples of ignominies and complications caused by lustful and overzealous males who cannot control their libido and jeopardize the rights of their rightful progeny from proper savarna wives. The significance of turning to Puranic and other textual traditions is that they allow us to explore the ‘historicity of representations’, and how texts represent the ‘normativity of the actual’ as well as the ‘actuality of the normative’ for as Pollock has stated, in another context, texts both reflect and regulate practice.36 The errant king and the

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sumahgald, pativrata and suvrata wife are constantly projected in Puranic traditions so that the notion becomes impinged in the consciousness of the audience of the Puranas, a clear effort to promote and propagate this ideological role model. David Morgan regards consciousness as a shifting fabric of representations37and while he is referring to the visual; even oral and textual ritual traditions can have as much of a social influence as the visual, and in the context of the Puranas it seems as if the effort is to impinge on the consciousness of the audience who must have listened to Puranic reciters. The social impact of the texts is difficult to assess but if the popularity of Puranic theistic cults, the proliferation of states with an obsession with tracing the genealogical lineages of emerging kings, and the notions of the devout wife is any indication, it seems as if Puranic traditions had a profound impact in shaping the social ‘psyche’ of many early Indian societies.

NOTES 1. Sheldon Pollock, The Language of the Gods in the World of Men: Sanskrit, Culture and Power in Premodern India, Delhi: Permanent Black, 2009 paperback edn., p. 59. 2. Chapters 1-12, 23, 24, 43-51, 114, 124-8, 141-5, 271-3 belong to the last quarter of the third or the first quarter of the fourth century ce (except chapter 7, verses 6-30), chapter 52 earlier than 650 ce; chapters 161-3,169-78 earlier than 700/750 ce; chapters 146 (except verses 1-40), 147-148, 153 (except verses 1-221 and 228b to the end), 154, 155-60 earlier than ce 1100 and probably earlier than 800 ce; chapters 13-15, 129-40, 204, 290, and also 115-20 are all earlier than 1100 ce, chapters 208-14 are late interpolations. R.C. Hazra, Studies in the Puranic Records on Hindu Rites and Customs, Dacca: University of Dacca Publication, Bulletin no. XX, 1940, pp. 50, 51. 3. P.V. Kane, History ofDharmasdstras, vol. V, pt. II, Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1962, p. 899. Kane shows how extensively it quotes texts like the Manusmriti and the Mahdhharata and is quoted extensively in other texts like the Mitdksara on Yajnavdlkya 1.297 and the Krtyakalpataru. 4. MSP 114.37-9. 5. The List of Puranas is in MSP LIII. 6. For details of Prof. Sharma’s elaborate and systematic discussion on the Kali Age crisis as depicted in textual traditions, refer to the chapter on ‘A Period of Social Crisis’ in his book, Early Medieval Society: A Study in Feudalism, Delhi: Orient Blackswan, 2003 edn. (2001), pp. 45-76.

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7. See D.N. Jha, The Feudal Order: State, Society, and Ideology in Early Medieval India, Delhi: Manohar, 2000. Some scholars point to more gradual social shifts related to integration of different parts of the subcontinent into complex state systems, the growing cultural variegation spurred by migrations and settlement of different people and communities. B.D. Chattopadhyaya emphasizes on the period as being one of progressive transformation and not one of breakdown of an earlier social order while empasizing on the political and cultural integration of different regions. B.D. Chattopadhyaya, The Making of Early Medieval India, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1998. 8. The inclusion of women and other lower social categories is an important aspect of the Puranas. Feminist scholars have shown how the inclusion of women in normative texts represents social upheaval and all such references are not innocuous. Some have commented upon how the emphasis on the feminine in religious ideologies is aggravated when there is social upheaval. 9. Kunal Chakrabarti, Religious Process: The Puranas and the Making of Regional Tradition, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2001. 10. Jonathan Smith refers to how ‘humans are not placed, they bring place into being’. To transform a location into a sacred ‘space’ seems to be done consciously. Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987. 11. Romila Thapar, Somanatha, Delhi: Penguin Viking, 2004, p. 219. 12. Pollock, The Language of the Gods, p. 191. 13. Visnu DS 25.16; Arigiras V.40. 14. Manusmrti 9.18; Patrick Olivelle, Manus Code of Law: A Critical Edition and Translation of the Manava Dharmasastra (2005), Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006, pp. 191, 748. 15. MSP 5.89 & 90; Manu 11.176; Ydj 1.99,100, 102 show that devapuja is quite different from homa. Manu DC. 18 states that women could not offer homa with mantras. 16. Brian K. Smith, Reflections on Resemblance, Ritual and Religion, New York: Oxford University Press, 1989, p. 46. 17. MSPUl. 18. MSP XXXIX. 22-5. 19. MST5XXXVIII.1-10. 20. MSP XL. 1-9. 21. MSP XL.9. 22. A/5PXLI.2. 23. Ibid. 24. Yayati had two sons, Yadu and Turvasu from Devayani and three sons, Druhyu, Anu and Puru from Sarmista. The text records his mariage with the sage Sukra’s daughter Devayani and her conflict with his other wife

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Sarmistha in which the former prevails. Ultimately, as Yayati succumbs to £armisthas advances and has three sons with her in spite of sage Sukra’s warnings, he has to face the latter’s wrath who condemns him to a life of yearning for everlasting youth. Yayati, crazed by this need to be youthful, begs each of his sons to give him their youth—they all refuse except Puru, the youngest. Of course, in this case, !$armisthas progeny seem to have an advantage as she is the savama partner whereas with DevayanI, it is a pratiloma alliance which Yayati enters into very hesitatingly and only because of Devayani’s insistence and fulcra’s assurances. 25. AfSPXXXVI.5-13. 26. MSP CCVIII-CCXIV. The story is also mentioned in the Mahdbhdrata, Vana Parva 293-9 and in the Skanda Purdna, Agni Purdna (194.5-8). 27. In later times it involves a one to three-day festival, worship of the vata tree, of Savitri (from head to toe), of Yama and Narada. Some women make drawings of figurines. 28. MSP CCIX. 29. MSP CCX. 30. MSP CCXIV. 31. Frederique Apffel Marglin, Wives of the God King: The Rituals of the Devaddsis of Puri, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1985, p. 19. 32. While she is referring in the contemporary context to the devaddsis of Puri, she shows how there is a disjunction between status and auspiciousness. Further she elaborates that rank is passed on through the male and not the female. She goes on to state that status seems to be associated with masculinity; auspiciousness with feminity and the two intimately intermingle in marriage (Marglin, Wives of the God King, 19). She states for example, that on one hand birth entails purity for the mother as well as for the wider kin group, but it is an auspicious event. She goes on to show how Dumonts notion of purity and impurity underlying the hierarchy of caste can be integrated in this argument because of the maleness of hierarchy and status (and caste?) which is an ‘inescapable fact’ in the Dharmasastra literature. Thus, all women are to be relegated to the sudra status. 33. Marglin, Wives of the God King, p. 21. She regrets that until recently, the distinction between auspiciousness and purity has not been given enough attention by scholars even though M.N. Srinivas in an early work on Coorgs (1952) presented the concept of mahgald on one hand and pole and modi on the other. Dumont and Pocock sought to reduce the difference and it was left to scholars like John Carman to highlight this. Carman differentiates between the state of ritual purity required to carry out certain religious acts and the state of auspiciousness which is fully realized in the state of marriage and most clearly symbolized in the emblems which the married woman is allowed and expected to wear. However, Carman himself moved away from

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this distinction and according to Marglin, it was picked up again only in Khares work on food. Carman and Luke (1968: 32) cited in Marglin, Wives of the God King, p. 283. 34. Reflecting on the difference between the fasts and festivals observed by women and the spiritual fasts observed by men, Marglin citing Khare states that . . the value of ritual purity that must be ultimately directed towards either maintaining or catering to religious aims of the individual appears conceptually distinguished from auspiciousness which represents a dominant Hindu value of collective life.’ Khare associates ritual purity with renunciation, whereas for the householder, auspiciousness is more important (Khare, 1976: 157 cited in Marglin, Wives of the God King, pp. 284-94). 35. Women perform vratas to be good ‘husband-protectors’, if the husband dies, it is a statement on the inability of the woman to channellize good fortune. Lindsay Harlan, Religion and Rajput Women: The Ethic of Protection in Contemporary Narratives, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992. 36. Pollock refers to the fact that at the heart of the pre-modern textual tradition is a distinction between expression and content, performance and contestation, imagination and information. Thus, Heidegger’s philosophical aesthetics, the ability of a text to reveal ‘a particular being, disclosing what and how it is ; can be differentiated from its documentary dimension; texts can be used for different readings and give us multiple meanings. Pollock, The Language of the Gods, 2009, pp. 3, 7. 37. David Morgan, The Sacred Gaze: Religious Visual Culture in Theory and Practice, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005, p. 2.

CHAPTER 19

Alternatives Marginalized: Fluctuations in Brahmanical Paradigms on the Niyoga SMITA SAHGAL

According to Manu, women were created to bear children and men to carry on their lineage, that is why the revealed canon prescribes a joint duty [for man] together with his wife.1 Early Indian literature prescribes procreation as the foremost religious and social duty of men and women. Begetting was not envisaged as a simple act of bio¬ logical reproduction nor sex reckoned as an autonomous realm. Right from the time of the Rksamhitd, the coming together of a man and woman in a heterogeneous sexual union was envisioned to per¬ petuate lineages.2 Human beings were superior to/different from other animals. They could procreate in all seasons and therefore it was considered essential to formulate certain rules with which to regulate their sexual behaviour.3 The social preoccupation with procreation during that time appears to be rooted in concrete economic logic. Human resource was precious in the days of uncertain material reserves. Each member of the band/ household was a unit of production. More food could be secured with more hands and available labour. Therefore fundamental anxiety was to ensure population growth. To paraphrase Foucault, a very basic concern of sexuality had been to reproduce labour capacity, to perpetuate the forms of social relations, to constitute a sexuality that would be economically useful and politically conservative.4 No wonder food and progeny occupied an equal space in their prayers and rituals. But between daughters and sons the latter were preferred as they were seen as the inheritor of property, perpetuators of the lineage as well

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as redeemers of the ancestors in the other world. It was the obsession with procreation of sons that necessitated a discourse on sexuality and within the context of early India on niyoga as well. What was niyoga? For a grammatical etymology one would invariably refer to Panini s Astadhyayi. Even as Panini has not referred to the word niyoga, his sutra is useful in studying the etymology of the word. The word niyoga has evolved fron nih upsarga and yaj dbatu [root] with ghyan as a suffix. The term may have a couple of impli¬ cations that could vary from one context to another. For instance in the Rdmayana it has appeared in the sense of an ‘acceptance of a command’; tvayamaya vaidehya laksmanena sumitraya putriniyogena sthatavyamesadharmmah sandtanah—II.21.49. You, me, Vaidehl, Laksamana and Sumitra should stay [be obedient] with father s order [rule].

In the Raghuvamsa the word niyoga appears to give a sense of ‘certainty’: tat siseveniyogenasavikalpaparanamukha—XVII.49. In the Kurma Parana, in one verse it appears in the context of a rule or a norm. caturvidhdnibhutdnisthavaranicaranicd niyogadevavanartantedevasyaparmatmanah’—XII.6.42. All the four categories of living beings, the inert and the animated, are under the rule of the great god supreme self.

At another place within Kurma Purana, the import of the word niyoga is ‘ordainment’. pradadauica mehesayeparvatimbhagyagaurvat niyogadbrahmanam sahvimdevdnamcavsamnidhau—1.11.323. At the ordainment of Brahma, through his good fortune he gave unto Mahesa the virtuous Parvati in the presence of gods.

Niyoga or levirate has been defined by P V. Kane as the ‘appointment of a wife or a widow to procreate a son from the intercourse with an appointed male’.5 There seemed to be a divergence of views in the

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narrative tradition and normative (sdstriya) literature on the issue of its genesis and purpose. But what comes out clearly is that it is hailed as a ‘strategy of heirship’.6 It was a method employed by childless men to secure sons. The method or strategy had a legal and social sanction with the details of the procedure often being delineated in the texts or followed as a method of tradition. Levirate union has also been defined as a form of non-marriage invented in order to accomplish the most important goal of marriage: the birth of a son. By and large it was the wife of an impotent or dead man who was asked to cohabit with another man to produce an heir for the husband. However, in rare circumstances the equation could be reversed wherein the husband of a barren woman (one without sons) could also enter into an alliance with the wife of another man to produce an heir.7 The participants in the niyoga scenario were the ksetra8 (field) or the wife; ksetrin (also called ksetrika) or the husband who owned the field, the ksetra. The person who was appointed to produce the offspring or offered his seed was called the bijirP or niyogin10 and the product/ son was called ksetraja. The chronological span taken up for the study is largely from what is understood as the early ‘Vedic age’ to the post-Gupta period, that is from 1500 bce to 700 ce. However, references to continuation of the practice in the medieval, modern and contemporary times may creep in by way of comparison. The material for examining the issue is sourced for the most part from brahmanical texts. The sources for our study start from the earliest text, the Rksarhhita, cover the later Vedic corpus, take into account Smrtis especially the Manusmrti, move on to Puranas, the epics, commentaries on the Smrtis and Satydrtha Prakasa of Dayanand Saraswati along with the census gazeteers of British India.

I In any essay on niyoga, it is essential to dwell upon the issue of sexuality, how different it is from sex and what space it has been accorded in early Indian literature. Sexuality is something that can be viewed from a number of vantages—gender, class, and family being a few. More often than not, it may also get tied to the religious identity

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(or lack of it) of the principal participants. A study of ancient Indian texts reveals that sex and sexuality have been issues of societal, religious and state concern.11 Individual views and responses rarely find their expression in a normative discourse on sexuality.12 These have to be read as subtexts. It is true that early Indian literature does view sex and sexuality in contexts beyond reproduction but it is also equally correct that reproduction was construed as the primary function of the act of sex and sexual desire. In fact, kdmali (sexual desire) along with dharma (social duty), artha (acquisition of material resources), and moksa (salvation) had been enumerated in early Indian tradition as one of the four goals or purusartha of human life. What was kama and what was its real purpose? The early Vedic tradition hardly distinguishes kama from reproduction. Dharmasastriya literature of early India that includes the Dharmasutras and Smrtis was quite clear that the function of kama should only be reproduction. However, we also come across Kamasastrlya literature such as Vatsyayana’s Kdmasutra that took cognizance of non-procreative factors such as pleasure and love in its discussion on kama. We must, however, remember that Kamasastrlya literature with its largely urbane setting of the early centuries of the Common Era may not have been quite accessible to the populace. Where do we locate women’s sexuality in the narratives and normative discourse of early India? While epics and Puranas provide us glimpses into alternative though infrequent forms of sexual arrangements, the law books allowed a woman a sexual identity primarily within the context of the institution of marriage.14 Reproduction and becoming a mother of sons was the ultimate goal of her sexual/social existence as is clear from a reference in Dharmasastras. The changes in the terms used to designate a wife reflect a shift from positive linkages with procreation to a negative, passive, role in the process. From jaya, with its emphasis on the procreative role, to patni, envisaging her as a counterpart ofpati, to bharya, literally the one to be borne, a woman’s role in procreation and consequently her sexuality was devalued.15 The prospect of recognizing sons other than the natural ones was also an attempt to accord emphasis to patriliny at the cost of natural matrilineal descent. Niyoga or levirate was one such practice that bestowed legitimacy on commissioned procreation where a woman

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479

appeared to be no more than an appointed apparatus of reproduction and the progeny was designated the lineage of the spouse of the woman and not the natural begetter. The lineage of the woman/ mother did not enter the orbit of discussion at all. A study on niyoga certainly beckons an understanding of issues such as sexuality, a woman’s control over her sexuality and rights and responsibilities accorded to her in an alternative procreation process as the niyoga.

II The genesis and rationale of the practice largely fits in as a strategy of heirship. Where do we place niyoga among a range of such strategies of heirship? Niyoga, appeared to be one of the alternative schemes for securing continuity of lineage and inheritance and, perhaps, shared its purpose with other practices such as polyandry, polygamy and widow marriage. A study of available textual material indicates that it was a well debated issue both within the context of folk lore traditions as well among the custodians of the society. The social relevance of the practice is shown by placing the progeny born of such unions’ right after the natural progeny/heir in the normative and legal texts.16 Clearly the arrangement emanated from the need to procreate within a specified context; the context of an issueless (sonless to be specific) marriage. We have already seen that marriage was designated as one of the highest goals of social existence for a woman and the brahmanical law makers also deemed a household {grhastha) existence crucial to a man (especially a brahman). But all marriages might not have culminated in the birth of a son, who was looked upon as the perpetuator of a lineage, the one who assured the man an assured place in heaven by offering ancestral rites and most importantly was the one who inherited his property. One of the reasons for the failure to reproduce could be the impotency of the man (husband), the other his early death. Socially this appears to have led to the growth of the practice of surrogacy in levirate. We would have to compare niyoga with other strategies of heirship especially polyandry, adoption and widow remarriage and locate its relevance within the changing material environment. In the days of uncertain healthy births, there would be a preoccupation with utilizing

480

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the procreative capacity of all eligible women. In the material en¬ vironment of unsure food supply, extra hands would be welcomed to contribute to productive activities. So wife of an impotent man or a widow was encouraged to enter into alliances outside marriage but within strict specification. We are referring to a social formation marked by tribal pastoralism and early agriculture that evolved its own set of moral behaviour and social codes and catered to the socio¬ religious environment of the day. Some scholars are of the opinion that economic motives did not at all form the origin of the practice.17 ‘The practice was a relic from the past and probably owed its origin to several causes, which are now obscure, but one of which was hankering for a son evinced by all in the Vedic times.’18This view holds religious factor as the most potent reason for allowing the practice. There are also scholars who link the genesis of the practice to the recognition of a woman as a species of property, which is passed into her husband’s family on her marriage. She was married no doubt to a person, but also into his family. So if husband died, his brother or any other near relation would take to wife, or raise children on her . . . and it was the sacred duty of the brother to see that a son was raised on his sister-in-law to perpetuate his brother’s memory and ensure him a seat in heaven. If this was not done, there was also the danger of widow marrying a stranger and being lost to the family.19

Overt economic motives were not given any space in such an argument. If that were the case, one wonders why the entire terminology for those involved in the practice came from the world of agriculture. Whether it was a reference to the womb, ksetra, or the owner of the field, i.e ksetrika (the husband of the woman), the product (son) ksetraja, or the one appointed to inseminate, i.e. the bijin, there seemed to be an overlap between the imagery of com¬ missioned procreation and agrarian production. The husband appears to be the owner of the field and if he was not able to fecundate his field, ‘he could freely import another’s seed and enjoy the harvest that the borrowed seed engendered’.20It is not a coincidence that the practice received its prescribed validation from the time Dharmasutras were being formalized, that is from the fifth century

bce

onwards.

This appears to be the period, in middle Ganga region, of growing agrarian concerns and property transmission. Somewhere the two

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issues could have got linked up. In the absence of a biological heir to the man an alternative was worked out by which the family could get an heir who could look after agrarian operations apart from inheriting the land, continue the lineage and participate in ancestral rights. The presence of a ksetraja would also deal with social and psychological implications of being without a son in a social set up that revolved around the presence of a male heir. The practice of niyoga, hence, addressed economic, quasi-legal and familial issues simultaneously. The next issue is how pervasive was the practice or in other words how frequently was this alternative adhered to?

Ill REFERENCES OF NIYOGA IN THE NORMATIVE TRADITION We need to start our examination with references in the normative tradition that draw heavily on the Vedas for validation and seek to provide an ideal societal framework for the continuity of the institution but primarily from a brahmanical perspective. The allusions to niyoga come largely in the section on heirs and inheritance norms. Sometimes it is also mentioned in sections on ancestral rites. Even as references garnered here come from normative or legal repertoire, there may be few from the epic collection if these could reiterate an argument. One issue that seemed to have dominated the minds of the ancients was who could be an ideal surrogate for producing the heir. Even as we seek to focus primarily on the dharmasastric views on the niyoga, we may have to trace our arguments back to the Vedic texts from where the sutras and Sdtras would often draw their inspiration.

Devara: The Preferred Surrogate

There is little doubt that the entire practice of niyoga was highly regulated. What appears clear is that the consent of the husband/kin was essential in the decision about a womans entering into another sexual union and also in the choice of the mate. The mate was more often than not the younger brother of the husband, the devara or didhisu. There are obvious allusions to the practice in the Rksamhita.

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The normative texts are clearer in the recognition of the potential relationship between the woman and her younger brother-in-law, especially as a stand in for the husband. However, the circumstances that allow such a relationship are also clearly stated. Gautama Dharmasutra, a text of the post-Vedic period, informs us, ‘A woman whose husband is dead and who desires offspring may secure a son from her brother-in-law [devara]. She should obtain permission of the elders and have intercourse only during the menstrual period [excluding the first four days—nartumatiyat] .. .’.21 The Mahabhdrata also states that if a woman loses her husband then she could marry the brother-in-law.22

Other Surrogates: Gods, Kinsmen and Brahmanas

Apart from brothers-in-laws there were other mates available for women who were expected to enter the niyoga. Gods would often oblige the women. Historically speaking this may be a way of camouflaging the issue of real paternity or of ascribing divinity to the son born of a union. In the Rksamhita Asvins were sought after as good surrogates. In the rcas 1.111.19,1.117.20 and X.39.7, we get a sense of Asvins not just assisted sage Vimada in acquiring a bride Purumitra, but also helped the ‘weakling’ (Vimada) in getting a son. The dharmasatric texts inform us that a surrogate could also be a sapinda (a kinsman), sagotra (of the same lineage) or a sapravara (exogamous kinship grouping) or one who belongs to the same caste, if the brother-in-law is not available.23 Similarly, the twins also aided Vadhrimatl in getting a son called Shyava.

The hymn IV.42.8-9

possibly refers to Indra and Varuna coming to the aid of Purukutsa’s wife in getting a son Trasdasyu, through niyoga when Purukutsa was held in captivity. Gautama Dharmasutra does allow a woman to cohabit with other kinsmen but also states that ‘[declare that she shall cohabit] with nobody but a brother-in-law’.25 Visnusmrti,26 a work not earlier than the third or fourth century ce, contains an innovation which is not found in the sutras of Gautama and Vasistha, viz., the ‘ksetraja is the one who is procreated on the appointed wife or a widow by a sapinda of the husband or by a brahmana’. Brahmanas presumably stood in for ksatriya rulers in the niyoga assignations described in the Mahabhdrata.17

Alternatives Marginalized

483

The commissioning of the arrangement as well as the tenure of the relationship remained under the scanner of kinsmen. The Dharmasutras, Dharmasastras, Arthasastra and the normative sections of the Mahabhdrata have delineated the practice at some length, stating the rationale of its genesis, the form of its procedure and the rights of progeny (sons) born thereof. Conscious effort was made to distinguish it from incest or adultery. It was an agreement supposedly devoid of any mental attachment or emotional involvement. The Vasistha Dharmasutra informs us, The father or brother of the widow [or the woman’s husband] shall assemble the gurus who taught or sacrificed for the deceased husband and his relatives and shall appoint her [to raise the issue for the deceased husband]. Let him not appoint a widow who is mad, not a master of herself [through grief] or is diseased or is very old [up to sixteen years after puberty is the period for appointing a widow]. Nor shall an appointment be made if the person who is to approach her is sickly. Let him approach the women in the muhurat [last watch of night, three quarters of an hour before sunrise] sacred to Prajapati like a husband, without dallying with her and without abusing or ill treating her. No appointment shall be made through a desire to obtain the estate [ rikthdlobhanndstiniyogah].28

Manusmrti elucidates that the commissioned man, silent and smeared with butter, should beget one son upon the widow in night and never the second. Some people approve of a second begetting on [such] women, for they consider the purpose of the appointment of the couple incomplete in terms of duty.29 But when the purpose of the appointment with the widow has been completed in accordance with the rules, two of them should behave towards each other like a guru and a daughter-in-law. If the appointed couple dispense with the rule and behave lustfully, then both fall as violators of the bed of the daughter-in-law and guru?0 All texts and commentaries focus on dutiful and detached procreation of a healthy, viable heir as the sole purpose of the institution. Issues such as who was the rightful owner of the ksetraja have also been undertaken in the texts. Brhaspati, a law giver of Gupta or postGupta period, refers to the fact that the Manusmrti first described the ancient tradition and then forbade it and added that in former ages, men possessed tapas and knowledge and could strictly carry out the rules while in dvapara and kali ages there was great deterioration of power and so men of those times cannot now practice niyoga.31

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Interestingly what has been also been suggested is that ‘a wife practicing religious austerities, fasting and preserving her chastity, and selfcontrolled always, goes to heaven even though she may have no >

son.

\7

What appear pervasive is the multiplicity of views on the validity of niyoga and the issue of ownership of the son and his inheritance rights. This confusion often reigns within the same text. Most of the texts evaluated so far have been the law books or prescriptive texts that attempt at giving social and legal instruction for the populace to follow. The process of codification seems to be very protracted and reflective of numerous social formations. Even if these texts have been attributed to a single author there would have been, in reality, multiple authorships. The Sutras and Smrtis can be viewed as a part of the process of defining social relations and this process does not appear to be uncontested or homogeneous. The long compilation time of the texts implied that the ideas, notions and practices were reviewed over and over again by different men though they might have hailed from the same class. One can easily discern the near absence of female voice in the process. Changing notions of morality, conditioned by fluctuating perceptions of milieu by the members of brahmanical class, would have ensured revisiting the sanctions on niyoga as well. While some might have grudgingly acknowledged the relevance of the institution, others may have rejected it outright. Still others would have sought to limit its practice by adding numerous riders to it. The apparent confusion on the continuation of the practice can, thus, be rationalized. However, what comes out clearly is that the institution of levirate in early India was connected to the politics of reproductive biology. One needs to examine the references to the practice within the narative tradition. We shall start our discussion with the Mahdbharata.

1. The Mahabharata

Within the Mahabharata the issue of levirate is discussed in the context of threatened continuity of the Bharata lineage. The Adiparva abounds in niyoga-related myths. One of the earliest contexts of citing the

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practice of niyoga was the dialogue between Bhlsma, the eldest son of King Santanu, who vowed to remain celibate and his step-mother Satyavati, who was worried about the fate of the Bharata line after the demise of her son Vicitravirya, who died without leaving an heir. While Bhlsma refused to enter into such a relationship, he suggested the use of the services of a good brahman. The availability of brah¬ man surrogates as well as their renowned virility was further acclaimed by Bhlsma citing the example of the blind sage Dlrghatamas who was recruited to sire sons for Vali.33 Satyavati finally saw reason from Bhlsma’s perspective and summoned her other son Veda Vyasa from a relationship with Parasara to do the needful. Veda Vyasa accepted his mother s request though warned her that his being ugly and smelly needed to be endured by her daughter-in-law.34 Satyavati was more worried about her duty towards the lineage than such a possible problem. Having commissioned her son as the bijin, she attempted to convince her elder daughter-in-law Ambika to have a sexual union with a man appointed by the elders to procure the son. Ambika assumed the man to be Bhlsma. When Vyas came to the room, the lamps were still burning and seeing his tawny hair, fiery eyes, and red beard and overall ugly appearance, she closed her eyes.35 The intercourse happened but Ambika chose to keep her eyes shut. Vyasa predicted that the son he sired upon her would be blind. Asserting that no blind man will be an able and a fit king of Kurus, Satyavati convinced her ascetical son to try again with the other daughter-inlaw, Ambalika. The rsi went to Ambalika in the same way. When she saw him approach, she became dejected and became pale. Observing her depression and pallor, Satyavati s son Vyasa said, ‘Since you have become pale at beholding my ugliness, you will have a son who will be pale. And Pandu [the pale/white one] will be his name.. . .’36The next time when Vyasa was forced upon her, Ambika sent in her maid and the wise Vidura was born. The problems of potency and procreation which had plagued the Kuru dynasty did not end with the birth of three sons. Pandu convinced his elder wife to enter into relationship with gods to reproduce sons for him or else the door of heavens would be shut on him as he had been cursed with impotency. He cited examples of SaradandayanI and MadayantI who were shown to be women who went out to oblige their impotent husbands. He even brought up the

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case of Svetaketu, the son of Uddalaka, who was himself a product of niyoga and created a moral code to ban a promiscuous existence for women but endorsed the practice of niyoga, if the husband deemed it fit. Pandu’s case is extremely complex; he was a product of such an alliance and had apparently been affected by double paternity but eventually forced his wives to bear children through levirate. What had been Kuntl’s response to Pandu’s request? She balked at the idea of establishing a sexual relationship with any man other than her husband. She cited her own precedent in the story of the queen Bhadrakasivatl, whose dead husband magically reinhabitated his corpse in order to impregnate his widow.37 In fact the story of king Vyusitasva and his wife Bhadrakasivatl also represents an extremely strange case of niyoga, where the husband who could not impregnate his wife while being alive but could do so after his death. KuntI was convinced that the spiritually powerful Pandu might also manage a similar copulation. Pandu, however, did not get convinced of this argument and continued to cite cases (mentioned above) of how rightful the practice of niyoga was in ensuring the succession of lineages. He stood by what he had told Kunti about the time when women were free, uncloistered, naturally wanton and not true to their husbands, but times have changed.38 Niyoga received a moral sanction even as Kunti applied moral reasoning to resist it. In fact, this subtle tension over the issue of the righteousness of the practice would stay and would eventually result in its legal negation. But for the moment the practice of niyoga received its greatest legitimation when Kunti submitted to Pandu’s request. She did not cohabit with a brahman but told Pandu of the magical boon she possessed by which she could call upon gods to grant her a son. She had tested it before her marriage, invited the sun god who sired Kama. Unfortunately, she had to abandon him out of shame. But this boon came in handy now and with the consent of Pandu, rather at his behest, she first called Dharma whose progeny was Yudhisthira, then came Vayu from whom Kunti got the mighty Bhlma and finally Indra surrogated the archer Arjuna. These are clearly instances of niyoga but according to the myth, Kunti did not have to cohabit with any brahman to procure them. Not only did it give her sons a semi-divine status but also avoided a situation when she would

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be forced to mate with ugly, and obnoxious men like Veda Vyasa. And here one wonders if the twist concealed something else; her rebellion to get sexually involved with men unacceptable to her (or to women like her). There may actually have been instances of open resistance against such partners ordained by the family or husband, which the redactors of the text would have eventually obscured by mystifying the tale with minor plot twists that would function both to confound the audience as well suspend future questioning on the issue. There is another aspect of niyoga that can be looked into; how brahmanas gradually replaced kinsmen as good surrogates. We also need to dwell upon the growing tension among brahmanas and ksatriyas in working as stud bulls in the levirate practice. Does it have something to do with the brahmanization of folklore that allowed the brahman mythmakers to exhibit their superiority over the ksatriyas and other social groups as they began appropriating popular trad¬ itions? The tension amongst brahmanas and ksatriyas in the field of niyoga practice may actually have been an extension of their conflicts over the issue of resource appropriation in general.

2. Niyoga in Puranic Tradition The reference to niyoga is quite limited in these texts but there are cases where the practice is covertly mentioned. In one tradition it is clubbed with yet another little known cultic practice, that ofgodharma. The myth that obliquely refers to the niyoga is possibly drawn on the Mahabhdrata, but has apparently got intertwined with some rituals and myths of local bull cults. The myth revolves around Dirghatamas, Saurabha bull and King Bali who requests Dirghatamas to sire his children on his wife Sudesna. According to the myth, sage Usij s wife Mamata was carrying his child in her womb and he had become well versed in the Vedas and other texts. Usij’s younger brother Brhaspati, though learned and wise, set his heart on Mamata and sought to impose himself on her. She remonstrated and said that she was carrying his brothers child but Brhaspati paid no heed. His unborn nephew also protested on the pretext that there was no space for two children in the womb.

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Brhaspati in turn cursed him to long lasting blindness and to old age. He was, therefore called Dirghatamas. Dirghatamas led a chaste life at his brothers home. Once a bull, who was the son of divine cow Surabhi, wandered into their house and consumed darbha grass meant for a ritual. Dirghatamas caught him by his horns. The bull apologized but also asserted that he had not done anything wrong. The bull said, Sire, I have committed neither a sin nor any theft. There is no hard and fast rule laid down for us animals, what to eat and what not to eat, what to drink and what not to drink. Many of these duties are imposed on bipeds and not on us the quadrupeds. We are not guided by any such restrictions what should be done and what should not be done;39 and whom should we approach for sexual intercourse and whom not.40

Dirghatamas released the bull. Thereafter he meditated on the law of cattle and convinced by it, he imposed himself on the wife of his younger brother. She and others did not appreciate this act and as a punishment41 he was put into a casket and thrown in the river Ganga.42 The asura king Bali rescued him and in turn was offered a boon by the sage. Bali besought him to beget progeny from his wife Sudesna. She initially felt repelled by the sight of the old and blind sage, and sent in her maid instead, but eventually consented to interact with him. Without overt sexual contact (yet with subde implications), she finally had sons. Surabhi, the divine cow was so pleased with Dirghatamas that by smelling him relieved him of his old age and blindness. She said, As you have followed the cattle law deliberately and took it to be superior to all, O sinless! I am pleased with you and hereby remove your blindness by smelling you. The sin of Brhaspati is inherent in you. I, however, relieve you of your old age, death and loss of vision, by merely smelling you.43

How does one interpret the myth around godharmai A recent editor has interpreted godhrama as ‘an obscure bull-cult’ in his introduction to the translation of Vdyu Parana.44 One may fine tune it to imply a cultic practice centred on fertility rites of one/some dominant local bull cults in early India. Dirghatamas and Saurabha myth seem to be validating a significant social process, the osmotic process of assimilation and acculturation of numerous local traditions

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within brahmanical framework.45 The process may have commenced around the early centuries of the Common Era. The myth around godharma reflects an ongoing conflict of interest among the dominant mythmakers and the practitioners of local bull cults. The local cults may have endorsed unrestrained sexual and fertility rites and practices while the brahmanical theologians may have sought to control sexuality of the populace. The cults appear to have had considerable antiquity and possibly stretched in peripheral areas right up to the Gupta period. Then came the time and need to accommodate them within the brahmanical system and this in turn implied adjustments at the cultic and mythic planes. It is significant to note that the practice of niyoga or levirate, which was possibly losing its social appeal, was none the less, chosen as the adjustment device. This could be because historically speaking niyoga still retained a brahmanical stamp of approval and may have come closest to brahmanical understanding of sexual practices outside the context of matrimony. Niyoga has been obliquely referred to in a couple of myths in the Visnu Parana. There is a myth in the text that refers to the practice of niyoga and its coming to the aid of both a childless king as well as the inseminator. The story is especially interesting with reference to the bijin in this case. In a gathering of the Yadavas, their clan priest Syala called another brahman, Gargya, impotent, to which all Yadavas laughed. Gargya was offended and repaired to the shores of a western sea, where he engaged in arduous penance to obtain a son, who should be a terror to the tribe of Yadu. Propitiating Mahadeva and living upon dust for twelve years, he succeeded in pleasing the deity who eventually granted him the boon. The king of Yavanas who was childless befriended him and asked him to sire a son through his wife. The son was black as a bee and was called Kalayavana. Years later he destroyed the city of Mathura and forced the Yadavas to relocate to Dwarka.46 The story is significant from the perspective of the man commissioned to procreate and for him it was an opportunity to prove his masculinity and avenge insult. For once the practice did not only come to the aid of a childless king but gave the progenitor in the arrangement to prove his manhood through procreation. Another myth within the Visnu Parana dwells on the issue of ksetraja at some length.47 The issue figures in another later Purana, the Bhdgvata Parana as well. The Agni Parana too makes references

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to ksetraja and the practice of niyoga in its section on inheritance norms.48

IV MARGINALIZATION OF THE PRACTICE IN NORMATIVE TEXTS A cultural approach to levirate may change over time. Attitudes toward and willingness to engage in niyoga relationships could be influenced by a number of factors. A shift in community’s construction of mar¬ riage and sexuality may lead to rejection of remarriage or sexual unions following the death of the spouse. Temporary sexual alliances could also experience shrinkage in support with changes in economic environment or fluctuations in political equations. The relocation of women in growing patriarchies, reassessment of their procreative functions, or changing notions of masculinity along with amendments in the inheritance laws could all contribute to diminution or marginalization of an institution that had considerable antiquity. Despite the attenuation in its popular advocacy, niyoga might have still continued in some pockets in a modified way as an emergency strategy of heirship. From the middle of the first millennium ce, fewer references of niyoga appeared in the law books as well in mythology. The trend must have started much earlier because the law books had begun giving a confusing picture of their take on the practice. Texts such as the Manusmrti and Brhaspatismrti, which were later quoted by other commentators, attempted to limit the practice ostensibly on the ground that in earlier times men were far more controlled in their execution of niyoga duty compared to kaliyuga where there was deterioration in their discerning ability. What exacdy happened in this age to have compelled the law-makers revisit the issues of niyoga and widowhood? Could it have something to do with the changing production relations and social formations? Could it have its rationale in the social crisis that the texts of the time refer to as kaliyuga? There was a gradual decline in the advocacy of the practice of niyoga among upper caste women and seemingly it was connected to changes in the material milieu. The prosperous post-Mauryan period

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assured relative security of resources, both material and human. Access to procurement and distribution of resources by men of upper castes and their need to confirm the paternity of progeny implied that their women be removed from productive activities and public spaces and confined to home with the ostensible occupation of reproduction only. Even within the framework of reproduction norms, some changes appeared. Relative stability in population growth implied that some women could be spared an optimum utilization of their reproductive functions; something that niyoga had primarily aimed at. Some wombs could, now be dispensed with, especially when these ceased to be of a wife. The death or impotency of the husband among such social groups could then actually spell out social death for widows. Somewhere the principle of niyoga that allowed women multiple sexual partners came to be gradually contrasted to the concept of monogamy and chastity. The post-Mauryan prosperity gave way to the times when the process of global urban decline was set into motion and gradually gave way to decline in urbanism, growing realization and closing in of the economy. Grants of land in marginal areas led to absorption of numerous tribes. The brahmanical upper castes may have found it difficult to hold on to a social order that was not subscribed to by many newly-absorbed tribes. The myth of kaliyuga was perpetuated where the ruling groups were enjoined to treat the recalcitrant or truant elements with a new set of harsh rules and the use of danda or coercion. An attempt was also made to review inheritance laws since landed property was also gravely threatened. In lean times, there would be greater possibility of drawing up more exclusive boundaries for the distribution of property. As Jack Goody has pointed out, management of inheritance is not simply a matter of proliferation of heirs, for property must be shared amongst all claimants.49 Even as the eldest son was given a larger share by the law-givers, the common practice may have been to divide it equally among all male heirs.50 Coparceners may not have liked that additional sharers in the family property should arise in this manner.51 In such a scenario there would have been a clear preference for one’s own son (aurasa), while ksetraja and dattakas (adopted son) would only add to the list of potential claimants. One way of reducing many claimants to restricted resources

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then was to decry niyoga and derecognize likely claimants to family property. Women in the new scenario would have found further checks on their sexuality. Niyoga may have allowed some the opportunity of reintegrating within their families and hoping to secure their old age with the birth of sons. But the decline in the support of practice and rise of asceticized widowhood and later the practice of sati meant a bleaker future for them.

V Despite an attempted marginalization of niyoga in the ancient brahmanical texts there were continued representations of niyoga in medieval and modern texts. The continuity of this practice does merit analysis in order to rationalize the relevance of a practice that may have had genesis in remote times.

1. Medieval and early Modern textual references

We do get stray mention of niyoga in some travelogues. Alberuni, the eleventh-century traveller, confirms the presence of levirate in north India. He was aware of the theory, ‘if a stranger has a child by a married woman, the child belongs to her husband, since the wife being, as it were, the soil in which the child has grown, is the property of the husband, always presupposing that the sowing, i.e the cohabitation, takes place with consent’.52 This clearly seems to be a reference of commissioned procreation with due recognition by the family. He also knew of polyandry and the story about Pandavas being polyandrous. Even as monogamy had become an ideal, he informs that unnatural kinds of marriage still existed as they existed in times of Arab heathendom among the inhabitants of mountain stretches of Panchir (possibly Hindu Kush and Chitral ranges53) and Kashmir.54 Even Marco Polo, a thirteenth century navigator, had remarked that that all Indians had the custom of marrying the brothers widow.55 These remarks become significant from the point of view of presenting objective observations of the practice that left an indelible mark on the minds of men who did not hail from the given social

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set up. These observations also confirm the continuation of the practice even as these were critiqued by brahmanical law givers. Even among the lawgivers or commentators not everyone was completely against suggesting it as an alternative way of acquiring an heir. It may be worth observing what Smrti commentators of the period had to say about the practice. Certainly a debate on its relevance was in question with a variety of views, sometimes conflicting, coming through. The acceptance of the practice of niyoga in the Manusmrti was at best reluctant, and the text appears to prohibit it at least for the twice born. Medhatithi, in his commentary denies giving injunctive value to these statements, and bolsters his case by citing the Mahdbharata, specifically the example of Vyasa and his offspring, Dhrtarastra, Pandu, and Vidura, all of whom were evidently accorded social recognition. He is also dismissive of niyoga as animal-like behaviour.56 While commenting on Manu. IX.64, Medhatithi reads niyoga as an optional practice. He observed that if a man did not opt for it he would remain bereft of the benefit due to him on the birth of a son. Medhatithi has even referred to the Rgvedic verse X.40.2 to show how a kinsman comes to the rescue of a widow. He was aware of growing brahmanical injunctions against the practice but was less ambivalent of the use of niyoga than the Manusmriti. However, his views did not tantamount to rejection of patriarchal norms. Even as niyoga did not represent a womans complete control over her sexuality it could be perceived as potentially threatening to family unity or patrilineage as it brought within its ambit issues of interpersonal relationships and family property. Therefore, the conflict over the usage of niyoga continued. Even Medhatithi, while recognizing the existence of a daughter born of such unions (niyogottapanna) did not ascribe her respectable status. He mentioned that a daughter born out of niyoga was not an ideal match for a man. The commentators on Ydjnavalkyasmrti, however, began questioning the continuity of this practice both from the social as well as legal vantages. Visvarupa (eighth-ninth ce) in his authoritative commentary on Yajnavalkya held that niyoga was a practice of sudras and also of ksatriyas when there was no male to succeed in a royal family. In Rju Mitdksard, Vijnanesvara (late eleventh century-twelfth century) denies Dharesvara’s ruling based on Manu that a widow had to submit to

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niyoga and give birth to a son who would be entitled to take all the property of the deceased ruling. However, there were others who allowed a qualified use of the institution. Haradatta, a sixteenth-century commentator of Apastamba Dharmasutra, suggested the possibility of resorting to niyoga in certain cir¬ cumstances. While commenting on II.6.135

reference of a Vedic

gatha that the son belongs to the genitor/begetter and not the husband, he added that the verse did not refer to or prevent the appointment of a eunuch’s wife or a childless widow to the relation. Nilakantha in his seventeenth-century commentary on the Mahabharata,58 acknow¬ ledges the practice of niyoga in that he recognized the progeny born out of such alliances. One of the references is to bandhudayada, that is, sons who are kinsmen (belong to the family) and are entitled to inherit, he makes reference to both sathyogita, or aurasa as well as to pranita (brought by wife to the husband and as the commentary states begotten by the grace of a better man). There is also a reference to parikrita. This according to Nilakantha is an allusion to a son begotten with the wife by another man, who has been paid for the seed.59 We need to dwell upon the fact whether this was so because the practice seemed to have become prevalent at the mass level and many may have come to recognize its social value despite the proposed mar¬ ginalization in some brahmanical legal texts. Other brahmanical texts themselves have highlighted the escape clauses by which the use of the practice could get its sanctity.

2. Advocacy of Niyoga in the Context of Indian Nationalism and Social Reform Movement

The debate on the institution of niyoga received a fresh lease of life, within the context of a social advocacy, in the writings of the nineteenth-century social reformer Dayananda Saraswati. His promotion of niyoga has to be gauged from the perspective of intertwining of patriarchal and nationalist interests that also implied a reinforcing of a certain image of womanhood and her sexuality. Dayananda Saraswati, the founder of Arya Samaj, was a practical social reformer and he looked at India’s past in a slightly different way from other exponents of India’s golden age theory. While the rest

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spoke of a golden age of India to awaken their fellow subjects to pride in their past, Dayananda wished to venerate the past in colonial India. In Satydrth Prakdsa, published in 1875, he proposed an overall theory of the state, and expressed his understanding of society, history and religion. The book starts out with a panegyric to the golden age in the Aryavarta which had subsequendy degenerated.60 The emasculation of the state and cultural regression of the Hindus was due to the loss of their original Aryan qualities which they had shared with Westerners.61 Dayananda proposed a regenerated Hinduism, coining the term Arya in place of Hindus in order to signify the restoration of purity to the community. The term Arya came to acquire racial overtones and this was, in a sense, responsible for its growing popularity. Niyoga easily tied up with a range of issues; the problem of widow¬ hood and female sexuality, the importance of motherhood, the issue of property inheritance and the need for reproducing a stock of healthy and pure breed of Aryan progeny for the creation of a strong state. The practice of niyoga is discussed within a dialogic framework where Dayananda seemed to have evolved an argument in favour of this ancient practice.62 The issues of marriage, remarriage, multiple marriages and niyoga are thrashed out between Dayananda and an objector. Like the ancient practice, the unique aspect of the modern niyoga arrangement advocated by him was its temporary arrangement where the woman would not leave her marital home or enter into a lasting relationship with her mate. The progeny would not belong to the begetter but to the husband who may be dead or alive. The progeny would inherit the name and property of his mothers husband. Impotency on the part of the husband was an approved reason for a woman to enter into a surrogate relationship for the sake of acquiring children. The couple also needed the sanction of elders and was required to perform niyoga in consonance with Vedic injunctions. It is to be solemnized publicly as a marriage is.63 However, there were points of serious departure as well. Unlike the ancient period where the practice was largely envisaged as a strategy of heirship that ensured the sustenance of lineage, Dayananda’s version of niyoga was one form of the nationalist resolution to women’s sexuality’: to use her biological potential for child bearing in the

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service of the physical regeneration in what was seen as now as a weakened Aryan race.64 The underlined idea was that relationships should remain temporary and utilitarian and commitment to one’s spouse should not wither away. We are also told with whom the niyoga relationship should be forged. It is interesting to note that while on other counts of the practice, Dayananda was willing to view the situation from the perspectives of both men and women involved; his response to this query gave away his misogynist stance. He states, ‘ A woman should contract niyoga with a member of one’s own class or with that of a higher class, that is a vaishya woman with a brahman, a kshatriya or a vaishya; a kshatriya woman with a kshatriya or a brahman; a brahman woman with a brahman.’ What really gets reflected is Dayananda’s staunch brahmanical/‘Aryan’ world-view with the dominance of caste institutions. It may also be worth looking at the response Dayananda got from his followers and others on the issue. The concept of niyoga had attracted considerable attention not only from orthodox Hindus but from other social reformers and Christian missionaries also.

VI NIYOGA-UKE PRACTICES IN MODERN AND CONTEMPORARY INDIA Levirate, in some or other form, has continued to sustain itself in some regions of the Indian subcontinent and especially among some classes and social groups. Interestingly it seems to have validity among both patrilinial as well as matrilineal societies. In many cases it has either taken the form of widow-remarriage or has acquired a polyandrous identity. On the other hand, in some societies the temporary sexual arrangement has continued. For instance, till recently, tradition among Nambudari brahmans in Kerala allowed only the eldest son to marry. The younger sons provided a pool of consorts for another lower, matrilineal caste, the Nayars, the women of whom sustained only a formal, legal marriage with the husbands of their own caste.65 The perpetuation of Nayar caste depended upon these extra-marital unions which were frequently established between

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Nayar women and Nambudari men. Brahmans were certainly considered ideal surrogate fathers, though a Nayar woman could have high sub-caste Nayar men as her partners as well. Royal Nayar women had for most part unions with Nambudari men. ‘Social’ and biological’ paternity may be shared among a number of different men, the tali tying partner (with whom marriage-rite happens) and the sambandham (levirate) partners who were often brahmans. In case of Nayar-Nambudari unions, the institution of marriage, and legitimacy are asymmetrically constructed—i.e. what is ‘marriage’ from the viewpoint of the Nayars was mere ‘concubinage’ for the Nambudaris, while the children born from the union were regarded as legitimate members of the mother’s matrilineal descent group, but not of the fathers of the patrilineage.66 The property in such unions would be passed on in the line of wife and daughter and men had only a procreative function to perform. The relations between the sambandham partners (also called the visiting husband) could be terminated by either’s consent. In Jaunsar Bawar region (Uttarakhand) the practice of levirate has fused with polyandry. Interestingly the brahmans and Rajputs of the region are also polyandrous. Agricultural land being limited, property is held in common by the household consisting of patrilocal and patrilineal family. Brothers collectively own children borne by their polyandrous wife. The eldest brother is the head of the Khasa household, and its external representative. If any one of the men decides to leave the group and set up a household of his own, he is not allowed to take any of the collective children. Increasing contact with non-polyandrous society of the plains is making serious inroads into their distinct family organization and their polyandry is on its way to comparative obsolescence.67 Even among Lepchas and Bhotias, widespread levirate ideology has paved way for polyandrous marriages’.68 Levirate is most commonly seen among contemporary low caste labouring classes.69 The continued participation of a low caste widow in the reproductive process carves out a slightly different social trajectory for her. In her works on high caste Rajput widows and low caste chuhra untouchable women, Pauline Kolenda has shown that the latter can practice levirate which is unthinkable for the former. The ability of chuhra widow to support herself and her children

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through work (many are sweepers) ensures that no dramatic change comes in her lifestyle or standard of living. However, levirate here may not be out of choice. The insistence of such a practice was in part a reinforcement of closely guarded upper caste privileges where enforced widowhood ensured higher ritual status to men of upper caste.70 Levirate as a widow remarriage has continued among many caste groups in Punjab and Haryana.71 The custom of widow remarriage is well known among Jats and brahmans since the colonial period. The peasant economy of the region has made a woman an economic asset and marriage an ‘economic necessity’ as happens in the case of lower castes. The custom of levirate here is known as karewa or chaddarandazi where a white sheet with coloured corners was thrown by the man over the widow’s head, signifying his acceptance of her as his wife. Symbolically this brought the woman once again under male protection, her being given his shelter or roof. With this gesture he again subordinated a woman who had become relatively autonomous. The custom represents social consent for social cohabitation. Sometimes rituals are performed to legitimize the union, at other times where widows remained within the family even cohabitation was considered enough to legitimize the relationship. Interestingly an attempt is made to distinguish between adultery and karewa. The cohabitation has to happen in the man’s house. Mere visits to the woman have been considered adulterous and it is clearly understood that karewa should happen only with the widow and not an unmarried woman. The records show that even brahmans declared their adherence to the practice.72 ‘Such appropriation by brahmans shows reverse Sanskritization taking place through gender’.73 The brahmans of this province are land owners and not from a priestly class. Even the achuts or untouchables follow it. It is not a coincidence that the castes that approve of widow remarriage through karewa, condemned sati in the local proverbs. On the other hand, some castes such as those of baniya and kayasthas have disapproved karewa and have supported sati. It is interesting to note that material and social requirements could decide the pursuance of practices that may or may not have brahmanical sanction. Both brahmans and untouchables followed practices which

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were tabooed by the dharmasastric literature as the local custom appeared to have greater validity for their social existence than archaic norms, many of which were unknown to the local population. The practice of levirate continued among many medieval and contemporary societies and there appears to be significant socio¬ economic factors for the continuity. The kind of niyoga practised in early India may have undergone modifications, yet certain aspects of the early institution continued and it remained a part of the historical memory to be transmitted in the name of custom or caste-culture.

VII RESPONSES TO THE INSTITUTION OF NIYOGA The institution of niyoga might not have gone unchallenged in each society that it had emerged in and also at different points of times. The contestations must have come up from within the system as well as from those who observed from the outside. Women participants were seemingly most affected because it directly implied the control of their body, of their sexuality. Yet we cannot deny that men who fell within its ambit also required a social readjustment. We have purposely avoided the usage of the term ‘feminist perspective’ because feminist consciousness draws attention to the pervasive patterns of subordination, limitations and confinement that have hampered and crippled the development of the female half of the humankind.74 It grants women a kind of realization that they have been continuously and purposely been segregated from power and also grants them a sense of‘agency’. The idea of a woman’s ‘agency’ may become prob¬ lematic both in theory and practice in early India because women were simultaneously class differentiated and subjected to the frequent cross-class expansion of patriarchal ideologies. Their agency may not remain open to self-evident modes of collectivization.75 In fact given the kind of source material at our disposal, which is largely brahmanical in nature, we can risk a generalization. There seems to be an absence of self-conscious women ‘agents’ with transformative potentialities. All the same they may have occasionally utilized their agential competence to question existent patriarchal prescriptions.

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It may also be important to point out that protest against some aspects of patriarchal subjugation often came along with consent to others. The world that we are looking at was very complex. Today consent may be recognized as a major impediment to organized resistance but it seemed to have been a survival tactic in a day and age where women were socialized into subordination early in life. Women would have tolerated, accepted patriarchal values and even contributed to their sustenance in return for personal protection and privileges. Right from the time of her birth, a girl child’s identity was linked to her reproductive potential. Her reproductive potential made her an asset as well an object of panic for the custodians of state and society. The possible control of her own sexuality implied that she would use her procreative faculties in her own way and that could leave men in a quandary about the identity of their own progeny/ heirs. So in relatively prosperous societies where she could be removed from primary production and public spaces as was the case among upper caste societies, she was removed and made completely dependent on the men within the natal or marital homes. One way of reducing her autonomy was by framing norms and creating myths that censured her mobility and sexuality. Even in societies where she had a productive presence, the aspiration of men for upward mobility ensured an attempt to limit her say in matters associated with sex and pro-creation.76 It may be worth dwelling upon how niyoga was viewed by women across the board in early India? We need to acknowledge that views of women across social groups, castes and culture specific patriarchies are difficult to assess given the kind of textual material that we have at our disposal. Most of the material that we possess is reflective of the views of upper caste men. Therefore to access literature that airs the views of women and that too from the lower castes is a tough task. Non-brahmanical literature may assist us in some ways but niyoga was not rigorously discussed therein even when there is preoccupation with issues related to female sexuality. The brahmanical literature did give the issue enough space especially in the early narratives. Womens voice may not really surface here except in indirect ways. The legal texts primarily echoed the views of male custodians of society but the narratives do give us a peep into how some women participants evaluated the issue.

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We have seen that Kunti openly aired her ideas against it. She questioned the design of niyoga for someone who had been too much in love with her husband. In a way she protested against the segregation of the pleasure of love from sex and finally resorted to having a sexual union only with gods and thereby not allowing men to exercise their control over her body. Ambika, Ambalika and Sudesna protested against niyoga in oblique ways. Their resistance to mate with men chosen for them registered their protest at not being included in the decision over who their niyoga partner would be. Then we are also informed of the tales of SaradandayanI and Madayanti who did not openly oppose the practice but entered in it very reluctantly, as a favour to their husbands. In other words there were ways and ways in which women in the myths managed to convey their sense of indignation at being subjected to a practice that was aimed apparently at mere clinical sexual interaction but would actually amount, in their perception, to an obvious transgression of their private selves The problem would have got complicated in the context of a household where a woman would be subjected to shifts in emotional and social equations with her brother-in-law. From treating him as brother when her husband was alive, she would have to look up to him as a potential husband on his death. This could confound her sense of social propriety. It is also important to review the complexities involved in the subject as we also have instances where women characters actually seek such alliances. The compliance of women in such matters of sexuality could also have been linked to the notions of morality current in societies of early India. However, there could have been another pragmatic social factor that prompted women to give in their consent to the niyoga practice; that was an assurance of a safe future for themselves and their children, if they could procure sons of levirate unions. Moreover, compared to celibate widowhood or worse still the possibility of forcing to commit sati, an alliance of niyoga would have been preferable. The niyoga practice, or practices aldn to it, continued especially among women of low castes and some other social groups in contemporary societies. It is quite likely that many women would have followed it out of their consent even in early India. It may then be difficult to generalize an absolute exploitative

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marginalization of women in all possible niyoga situations. Even as there appears to be a stronger context for a patriarchal subjugation of women and their sexuality and the containment of womens protest on the issue of niyoga, there also appears to be the case of occasional concurrence in it by women participants. Niyoga, with its foremost aim of ensuring reproductive continuity was not unproblematic for the populace and especially for the formulators of norms who kept the debate alive by promoting, modifying, rejecting or accommodating the practice throughout the course of early Indian history and perhaps later too. There is another issue related to niyoga alliance that needs to be given some consideration. What happened to the girl child born out of a niyoga alliance? The mythmakers and law formulators had been so obsessed in their orientation towards a male heir that they had very little to say about a female child born of such unions. By and large the texts are silent about her. We come across only rare references to her being. Medhatithi is not completely dismissive of a girl born of niyoga (niyogotpanna), but at the same time takes the view that one should not voluntarily marry such a girl.77 It may be worthwhile to juxtapose the niyoga daughter with the putrika and evaluate their social status. While on the issue of gendered perspective on niyoga, it would be unfair to keep the voice of male participants and subjects out of discussion. The complexities that pervaded the attitude of law makers and women participants seemed to have also permeated the thinking of those men who were directly associated with it. Pandu was agonized at inheriting distinct traits from his two fathers especially that of his legal father, Vicitravlrya, from whom he inherited the passion of hunting and whom he indirectly held responsible for his ruined fate. Yet he was the one who pushed KuntI to enter into a niyoga arrangement for his spiritual betterment. Arjuna, who himself was a product of a niyoga union, questioned the one between Kalmasadapada’s wife and his teacher, Vasistha. Duryodhana ridiculed Pandavas as niyoga progeny (referred to in Bhasa’s play Dutavakyani) and refused to share the kingdom with them though his own father was born of such a union. Among the principal male actors who acted as niyogins we have the case of Veda Vyasa who was also uncomfortable

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with the process involved. He was willing to enter the alliance to help his mother and endow her family with illustrious progeny but was equally apprehensive to face the rejection by his mates on account of his ugliness. Dlrghatamas too seemed to have convoluted views on the issue. On the one hand, he questioned Brhaspati for forcing himself on his mother, but did precisely the same on an unwilling Sudesna. VIII AN APPRAISAL Niyoga was an alternative strategy of heirship devised/legitimized within brahmanical circles to overcome the absence of a successor. The practice allowed the reproduction of a son who would inherit property, continue the lineage and satisfy in the situation of non¬ existence of a biological heir of a man. While it was primarily related to the issue of heirship, it was equally linked to the question of sexuality, of both men and women. The strategy was largely invented from a male perspective and women were expected to fall in line. This may have appeared to be exploitative to them for most part of it but there were occasions when the practice of niyoga might have come to their succour as well. For the men it breached and healed their masculinity simultaneously. With the consolidation of patriarchy, growth in population and greater resource generation the issue of multiple sexual relationships of women would have acquired new dimensions for the brahmanical lawmakers/norm setters. Niyoga would have implied a formal acknowledgement of such relation¬ ships and hence there was an increased attempt at marginalizing it within the legal framework. Yet our survey shows that the practice did continue, at times with formal/reluctant acknowledgement of brahman lawmakers themselves. At a popular level its persistence seemed to be marked by the utilitarian aspect of the institution. This was well explored by the Hindu reformist Dayananda Saraswati himself. He was open to the idea of utilizing the practice to produce ‘aryas’ for a stronger Aryan nation. The continuation of the practice in its modified form among many contemporary social groups to date only reiterates its social relevance. Interestingly, the issue of surrogacy

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which the practice addressed in the ancient times has found its echo in the contemporary medical world as well. Today the possibility of donor- artificial insemination is often recommended as a way out of the problem of impotency and childlessness. This practice too has its social implication, though different from the early times.

NOTES 1. Manusmriti, IX.96. The Laws ofManu, Wendy Doniger and Brian Smith, Delhi: Penguin Classics, 1991. 2. Rk Samhitd, X.85. 27, 38,43. The Hymns ofRgveda, tr. by Ralph T.H. Griffith, Delhi: Motilal Banarasidas, rpt., 1991. 3. Kdmasutra tells us that that women, unlike females of other species do not have a specific mating season and that has necessitated rules to be framed. Kdmasutra of Vdtsyaydna, ed. and tr. Madhavacarya, The Kdmasutra (two parts), Bombay: Laxmi Vanketeshwara Steam Press, 1934, vol. I, p. 20. 4. Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality: An Introduction, London: Penguin Books, 1990, p. 37. Foucault has made this observation in the context of Victorian sexuality in western Europe. However, the observations hold water, possibly more so in the context of early cultures. 5. P.V. Kane (ed.), History of Dharmasastra, vol. II, Chap. XIII, Pune: Bhandarker Oriental Research Institute, 1974, p. 599. 6. The term has been borrowed from Jack Goody’s Production and Reproduction: A Comparative Study of Domestic Domain, Cambridge University Press, 1976, who has shown that polyandry, polygyny, adoption and concubinage are among some of the ‘strategies of heirship’ in the ancient and modern societies of Eurasia and Africa. 7. Agni Parana, 256.14-15 8. Manusmrti, IX.32, Apastamba Dharmasutra, [Sacred Books of the East, tr. Georg Buhler, Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass, vol. 2. II, p. 131; Dharmasutras, Patrick Oliville, ed., Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass, 2000] 6.13.6 employs the word ksetra for the wife even as he differs from Manu on the subject of who owns the son. 9. Gautama Dharmasutra (Sacred Books of the East, vol. 2, p. 196; Oliville, op. cit., p. 310), IV.4 10. Vasistha Dharmasutra (Patrick Oliville, op. cit., p. 420), XVII.64. 11. Focauldian thesis suggests that ancient and universal connections between the sacred and sexual are primarily a function of modern language games— that is we see such things in history because modern forms of social experiences and consciousness, embodied in modern technical vocabularies and economic arrangements encourage us to do that. This theory has been

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critiqued by scholars who have worked on ancient cultures and shown that ancient societies were well aware of‘sexual orientations’ and created categories to distinguish persons and identities. In fact, there existed not just culturally determined sexual expression and identity but also their attendant religious and metaphysical meanings. Cf. Jeffery J. Kripal, ‘Sexuality: An Overview Further Perspectives’, Lindsay Jones (ed.). Encyclopedia of Religion, rev. edn., vol. 12, New York: Macmillian, 2005, pp. 8241-7. 12. However, one may agree with Foucault that in the earlier times sex and sexuality were not matters of public discourse as they were to become in eighteenth-century western Europe. 13. Kdmasutra, 1.1.1. 14. This is not to suggest that other kinds of sexual alliances do not find any mention in the law books. These have been referred to, rather accommodated but certainly not lauded. 15. Kumkum Roy, The Emergence of Monarchy in North India: Eighth Century to Fourth Century BC, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1997, p. 254, fn. 16. Manusmrti, IX. 166-71. 17. Kane, op. cit., pp. 606-7. 18. Ibid. 19. A.S. Altekar, The Position of Woman in Hindu Civilization: From Prehistoric Times to the Present Day, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, rpt. 2005, p. 144. 20. Gail Hinich Sutherland, ‘Bija (seed) and Ksetra (field): Male Surrogacy or Niyoga in the Mahabharata', Contributions to Indian Sociology [n.s], 24 January 1990, p. 82. 21. Gautama Dharmasutra, XVIII.4-8. 22. Mahabharata, XIII.12.19. 23. Vasistha Dharmasutra, XVIII.4-8, Manusmrti, IX.59, Gautama Dharmasutra, XVlil.6. 24. Rksamhitd, X65.12, 1.116.13. 25. Gautama Dharmasutra, XVIII.7. 26. Visnusmrti, XV.3. 27. Max Miiller has given the date for its first editing as not earlier than third century ce, though he has shown that some passages may have been earlier in composition. The lower date is not after eleventh century ce, as it has been referred to in early Medieval commentaries on the Smritis. Cf. Max Muller (ed.), The Institutes ofVisnu, Sacred Books of East, Delhi, rev. edn. 1980, vol. 7, pp. ix-xxxvii. 28. Vasistha Dharmasutra, XVII.56-65. 29. Manusmrti, IX. 60-1. 30. Ibid., 62-3, P.V. Kane interprets it as father-in-law and daughter-in-law, Kane, op. cit., p. 606. 31. Ibid., XXIV.12-13.

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32. Ibid., XXV. 1.10. 33. Mahabharata, 1.98.1-5. 34. Ibid., 1.99.342-3. 35. Ibid., 1.100.1-6. 36. Ibid., 1.100.15-17. 37. Mahabharata, 1.113.2. 38. Ibid., 1.113.4. 39. Brahmanda Purdna, tr. G.V. Tagare, under J.L. Shastri, Ancient Indian Tradition and Mythology, vols. 22-6, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1984,2.3.74. pp. 54-5. 40. Matsya Purdna, ed. and tr. Taluqdar of Oudh, Sacred Books of the Hindus, 2 vols. Allahabad, 1916-17, rpt. Delhi, 1980, 48-50. 41. Brahmanda Purdna, 2.3.74.59-62. 42. In the Mahabharata version it is his wife, Pradvesi, who banished him for imposing himself on his daughter-in-law. 43. Matsya Purdna, 48.80-82, in the Vdyu Purdna it is the Bull himself who absolves Dirghatamas of the curse, Vdyu Purdna, tr. G.V. Tagare, under G.P. Bhatt, ed.. Ancient Indian Tradition and Mythology, vols. 37-8, Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass, 1988, 37.89-90. 44. Ancient Indian Tradition and Mythology, vol. 37, p. xlii. 45. There is always the fear of being caught in the Great (read brahmanical) and Little (read non-brahmanical) tradition debate if we attempt to view the entire process within the ‘Brahmanization framework. Yet we cannot deny that the sources at our disposal provide largely a brahmanical perspective. A closer scrutiny does enable us to sift the views of the populace but essentially as subtexts in the form of proscription, grudging accommodation or through plain rejection. What needs to be emphasized is that the acculturation process would always be a two way process and even as we get to see one version clearer than the other, the ‘other’ would have always existed. See also Smita Sahgal’s thesis titled, ‘Cults of the Bull in North India: A Socio-Religious Study up to c. ad 500’[unpublished], University of Delhi, 2004. 46. Visnu Purdna, Chapter XXIII. The story is also found in the BhdgavataPurana and the Harivamsa with slight modifications. 47. IV.6.5-19, Visnu Purdna, op. cit. 48. Agni Purdna, Chapter 256, Ancient Indian Tradition and Mythology, ed. J.L. Shastri, vol. 29, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1986. 49. Goody, op. cit., pp. 89-90. 50. Kane, op. cit., vol. Ill, pp. 621-39. 51. A.S. Altekar, The Position of Women in Hindu Civilization, op. cit., p.l48a. 52. E. Sachau (ed.), Alberuni's India, Delhi, vol. I, p.107. 53. Ibid., vol. II, p. 295.

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54. Was Alberuni referring to the pre-Islamic [?] practice mentioned by Meyers, op. cit., p. 73, ‘Of the Arabs we are told that there is a form of marriage according to which a man says to his wife when menstruation is over, “‘Send a message to such a one, and beg him to come and have an intercourse with you”. And he himself refrains from intercourse with her until it is manifest that she is with child from the man in question.’ 55. Henry Yule, The Book ofSer Marco Polo: The Venetian Concerning the Kingdoms and Marvels of the East, London: John Murray, 1875, vol. II, p. 376. 56. Commentary on Manusmrti, IX.66. 57. Apastamba Dharmasutra. 58. Srimanmahabhdratam with the Bharatabhavadipa of Nilakantha, 8 vols. (including the Harivamsa), Poona: Citrashala Press, 1929-36. 59. Ibid., I. 120.32-34, also cf. Meyers, op. cit., p. 174. 60. J.T.F. Jordens, Dayanand Saraswati: His Life and Ideas, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1978, p. 110. 61. Ashis Nandy, Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self Under Colonialism, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1983, p. 25. 62. Dayananda Saraswati, Satyartha Prakash, tran. Chiranjiv Bahradwaj, Agra: Agra Pratinidhi Sabha, 1915, pp. 129-40. 63. Ibid. 64. Uma Chakravarti, Everyday Lives Everyday Histories: Beyond the Kings and Brahmans of Ancient India, Delhi: Tulika Books, 2005, p. 28. 65. G.H. Sutherland, ‘Bija [seed], and Ksetra [field]: Male Surrogacy or Niyoga in the Mahabharata', Contributions to Indian Sociology [n.s.], Delhi: Sage, vol. 24, January 1990. 66. E. Kathleen Gough, ‘The Nayars and the Definition of Marriage’, in Patricia Oberoi, (ed.), Family, Kinship and Marriage in India, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1993, pp. 237-56. 67. For details see, D.N. Majumdar’s Himalyan Polyandry, Bombay: Aisa Publishing House, 1962; and Gerald D. Berreman, ‘Himalyan Polyandry and Domestic Cycle’, in Family, Kinship and Marriage in India, ed. Patricia Oberoi, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994, pp. 257-72. 68. Chie Nakane, ‘A Plural Society in Sikkim: A Study of the Interrelations of Lepchas, Bhotias and Nepalis’, in Furer-Haimendrof (ed.), Caste and Kin in Nepal, India and Ceylon, Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1966, pp. 243-5 and Nancy E. Levine, ‘The Dynamics of Polyandry, Kinship, Domesticity and Population in Tibetan Border, The University of Chicago Press, 1988. 69. Pauline Kolenda, ‘Widowhood Among “Untouchable Chuhras’, in Akos Oster, Lina Fruzetti and Steve Barnett (eds.), Concepts of Person: Kinship, Caste and Marriage in India, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1982, pp., 172-220 and Pauline Kolenda, Caste, Marriage and Inequality: Essays on North and South India, Delhi: Rawat, 2003.

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70. Uma Chakravarty, Rewriting History: The Life and Times of Pandita Ramabai, Delhi: Kali for Women, 2000, pp. 52-3. 71 • For details see Prem Choudhary, The Veiled Women: Shifting (Sendee Equations in Rural Haryana, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994. 72. Haryana District Gazeteer, Kamal District, 1976, Chandigargh: Govt, of Haryana, 1976, p. 85, cited in Choudhary, op. cit., p. 200. 73. Choudhary, op. cit., p. 200. 74. Nannari O. Keohane, Micholle Z. Rosaldo and Barbara C. Gelp (eds.), Feminist Theory: A Critique of Ideology, Chicago University Press, 1982, pp. ix-x. 75. Kumkum Sangari, Politics of Possible: Essays on Gender, History, Narratives, Colonial English, Delhi: Tulika, 2000, p. 364. 76. The process of Sanskritization or Brahmanization entailed an attempt at upward mobility by lower caste men. This necessitated an aping of social norms and ritual practices of the higher castes. Constriction of womens mobility or decision making were steps in that direction. 77. Manubhdsya, op. cit., IX.59.

REFERENCES

Primary Text A. Sanskrit Works Agni Parana, ed. J.L. Shasrti, tr. N. Gangadharan, Ancient Indian Tradition and Mythology, vols. 27-30, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1987. Apastamba Dharmasutra, in Dharmasutra, ed. and tr. Partrick Olivalle, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2000; G. Buhler, Sacred Books of the East (SBE), II, Oxford, 1896. Aitareya Brdhmana, ed., Th. Aufrecht, Adolph Marcus Bonn, 1879; tr. A.B. Keith, HOS, XXV, 1920. Baudhayana Dharmasutra, in Patrick Oliville, op. cit., Delhi, 2000; tr. G. Buhler, SBE, XIV, Oxford, 1882. Brahmanda Parana, ed. J.L.Shastri and tr. G.V. Tagare, Ancient Indian Tradition and Mythology, vols. 22-6, Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass, 1984. Brhadaranyakopanisad tr. F. Max Muller, SBE, vol. 15, Oxford, 1884, rpt. Delhi, 1969. Brhaspatismrti, tr. J. Jolly, SBE, XXXIII, Oxford, 1889. Chandogyopanisad, tr. F. Max Muller, SBE, vol.l, Oxford, 1889, rpt. Delhi, 1969. Gautama Dharmasutra, ed. and tr. Patrick Oliville, op. cit., Delhi, 2000.

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Kdmasutra ofVdtsydyana, ed. and tr. Madhavacarya, The Kdmasutra (2 parts), Bombay: Laxmi Vanketeshwara Steam Press, 1933. Mahdbhdrata, critical edition published by Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 19 vols., Poona, 1933-66. Markandeya Parana, tr. F.E. Pargiter, Asiatic Society, Calcutta, 1904, new edn., Delhi, 1995. Manusmrti, ed. J. Jolly, London: Trubner, 1887; tr. G. Buhler, SBE, XXV, Oxford, 1886; tr. Doniger Wendy with Brian Smith, Delhi: Penguin, 1991; Patrick Olivelle (ed.), Manus Code of Law, a critical edition and translation of Mdnava-Dharma Sastra, Oxford University Press, 2005. Matsya Purana, ed. and tr. Taluqdar of Oudh, Sacred Books of the Hindus, 2 vols. Allahabad, 1916-17, rpt. Delhi, 1980. Medhdtithi’sManubhdsya, ed. Ganganath Jha, 2nd edn., Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1999. Ramayana, critical edition published by Oriental Institute, Baroda, 1960. Panini-Sutra-Patha and Parisistas with word Index, compiled by S. Pathak and S. Chitra, Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1935. Rgveda Samhita, ed. and tr. H.H. Wilson, Delhi: Nag Publishers, 1st edn., 1977, 2nd edn., 1990; tr. Ralph. T.H. Griffith, Benaras, 1896-7, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1991. Satapatha Brahmana, tr. J. Eggeling, SBE, XII, XXVI, XLI, XLIII, XLIV, Oxford, 1882-1900. Satyarth Prakasa by Dayanand Saraswati, tr. Chiranjiva Bharadvaj, Agra: Arya Pratinidhi Sabha, 1915. Taittiriya Samhita, ed. A. Weber, Berlin: F.A. Brockhaus, 1871-2. Vdyu Parana, ed. G.P. Bhatt, tr. G.V. Tagare, Ancient Indian Tradition and Mythology, vols. 37-8, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1988. Visnu Purana, tr.. H.H. Wilson, 5 vols., London, 1864-70, Indian edn., 2 vols., Delhi: Nag Publishers, 1980, rpt. 1989. Ydjhvalkyasmrti, tr. J.R. Gharpure, Bombay, 1936.

Secondary Sources Altekar, A.S., The Position of Woman in Hindu Civilization: From Prehistoric Times to the Present Day, Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass, rpt. 2005. Brereton, Joel P„ ‘The Race of Mudgala and Mudgalani’, Journal of American Oriental Society, vol. 122, no. 2, Indie and Iranian Studies in Honor of Stanley Insler on His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, April-June 2002. Chakravarti, Uma., ‘Women, Men and Beast: The Jatakas as Popular Tradition’, Studies in History, vol. IX, no. I, N.S., 1993, pp. 43-70. -, ‘Whatever Happens to Vedic Dasi? : Orientalism, Nationalism and a

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Smita Sahgal Script for the Past’, in Everyday Lives, Every Histories: Beyond the Kings and Brahmanas of‘Ancient’ India, Delhi: Tulika Books, 2005.

-, Rewriting History: The Life and Times ofPandita Ramabai, Delhi: Kali for Women, pp. 52-3. Choudhary, Prem, The Veiled Women, Shifting Gender Equationsin Rural Haryana, Delhi: Oxford Univeristy Press, 1994. Foucault, Michel, The History of Sexuality: An Introduction, London: Penguin Books, 1990. Gagnon, J.H. and W. Simon, Sexual Conduct: The Social Sources of Human Sexuality, London: Hutchinson, 1973. Goldman, Robert P. and Sally Sutherland Goldman, The Ramayana ofValmiki: An Epic of Ancient India, Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass, 1996. Goody, Jack, Production and Reproduction: A Comparative Study of Domestic Domain, Cambridge University Press, 1976. Gough, E. Kathleen, ‘The Nayars and the Definition of Marriage’, in Patricia Oberoi (ed.), Family, Kinship and Marriage in India, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1993, pp. 237-56. Halperin, D., J.Winkler and F. Zeitlin (eds.), Before Sexuality: The Construction of Erotic Experiences in the Ancient Greek World, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1990. Jordens, J.T.F., Dayanand Saraswati: His Life and Ideas, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1978, p. 110. Kane, P.V. (ed.), History of Dharmasastras, Poona: Bhandarker Oriental Research Institute, 1974. Keohane Nannari, Michalli Z. Rosaldo and Barbara C. Gelpi (eds.), Feminist Theory: A Critique of Ideology, University of Chicago Press, 1982. Kolenda, Pauline, ‘Widowhood Among “Untouchable Chuhras”, in Akos Oster, Lina Fruzetti and Steve Barnett (eds.), Concepts of Person: Kinship, Caste and Marriage in India, London: Harvard University Press, 1982. Kosambi, D.D., Myth and Reality, Bombay: Popular Books, 1962. Levine, Nancy, E.,The Dynamics of Polyandry Kinship, Domesticity and Population in Tibetan Border, The University of Chicago Press, 1988. Mathur, Ashutosh Dayal, Medieval Hindu Law: Historical Evolution and Enlightened Rebellion, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007. Majumdar, D.N., Himalyan Polyandry, Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1962 Meyers, J.J., Sexual Life in Early India, Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass, 1971. Nakane, Chie, ‘A Plural Society in Sikkim: A Study of the Interrelations of Lepchas, Bhotias and Nepalis’, in Furer-Haimendrof (ed.). Caste and Kin in Nepal, India and Ceylon, Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1966. Nandy, Ashis, Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self Under Colonialism, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1983.

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O’ Flaherty, W.D., Sexual Metaphors and Animal Symbols in Indian Mythology, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1981. Padgug, R., ‘Sexual Matters: On Conceptualizing Sexuality in History’, Radical History Review, 1979, Spring/Summer. Roy, Kumkum., ‘Unravelling the Kamasutra’, Indian Journal of Gender Studies, vol. 3.2, 1996, pp. 155-70. Roy, Kumkum (ed.). Women in Early Indian Societies, Delhi: Manohar, 1999. Sachau, E.C. (ed.), Alberuni’s India, vol. I, 4th rpt., Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005. Sangari, Kumkum, Politics of Possible: Essays on Gender, History, Narratives, Colonial English, Delhi: Tulika. Sarkar, S.C., Some Aspects of the Earliest Social History of India (Pre-Buddhistic Ages), Humphrey Milford, London: Oxford University Press, 1928. Sen-Gupta, Nares C., ‘The History of Sonship in India, Man, vol. 24 (March 1924, pp. 40-3). Shah, Shalini, ‘Gender and Sexuality in Early Medieval Sanskrit literature’, in D.N. Jha and Eugnia Vanina (eds.), Mind Over Matter: Essays on Mentalities in Medieval India, Delhi: Tulika, 2009. Sharma, R.S., Early Medieval Indian Society A Study in Feudalization, Delhi: Orient Longman, 2003. Singh, S.D., Polyandry in Ancient India, Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass, 1988 (rev. edn.). Sutherland, Gail Hinich, 'Bija (seed) and Ksetra (field): Male Surrogacy or Niyoga in the Mahabharata', Contributions to Indian Sociology [n.s], Delhi: Sage, 24 January 1990. Yule, Henry, The Book of Ser Marco Polo: The Venetian Concerning the Kingdoms and Marvels of the East, London: John Murray, vol. II, 1875.

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CHAPTER 20

Caste, Gender and Ideology in the Making of Traditional India* SUVIRA JAISWAL

The resurgence of caste and other primordial collectivities in India in the post-Independence scenario is paradoxical in the face of considerable progress of the forces of modernization in many areas, such as, service, technology, industrialization, urbanization, etc. Annihilation of caste discrimination has been one of the main priorities of national agenda as it is a highly exploitative and undemocratic system of social stratification. Nevertheless, there is no denying that it continues to impact in a major way not only in the sphere of personal relations but also various aspects of public arena—legal, political and economic—including access to land, water resources,1 etc. In order to understand the reasons of its tenacity and stranglehold it is important to probe into its historical roots and inner dynamics, which have made it a unique system of class and gender exploitation. The post-modern and neo-colonial critiques of caste visualize it as a relatively modern phenomenon, a product of the British colonial rule, traceable not to the ancient, the so-called ‘Hindu’ period of Indian history or to the Purusa-sukta of the Rgveda and the Manusmrti but to the British Census Reports.2 Hierarchy-cum-interdependence, occupational specialization, endogamy and commensal restrictions, which the earlier Indologists and sociologists regarded as the defining features of the caste system, were from this point of view, OrientalistColonial readings motivated by the desire to systematize diverse forms *This is an enlarged version of my address to the Indian History Congress as General President of its 68th session held at the University of Delhi on 28-30 December 2007.

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of local social realities and identities into a holistic theory ‘essentializing’ it as a unique culture. Despite this criticism of ‘essentialization’, endogamy is recognized implicitly or explicitly3 by these scholars as the essence of the caste system, without which the formation of ‘discrete categories’ or the allegedly modern process of ‘ethnicization’ or ‘substantialization’ of caste—which according to Nicholas B. Dirks4 make it ‘a worthy synonym of community in the best sense’—would not have taken place. The question arises: Is endogamy then an irreducible trans-historic phenomenon embedded in the psyche of the Indian people or it evolved through a historical process and has continued to survive through the ages in a favourable material environment? In the first decade of the twentieth century the British census commissioner Sir Herbert Risley ascribed the origin of an endogamous caste structure to the desire of the Aryan conquerors to retain their racial purity from contamination of the blood of defeated aborigines. A hierarchical gradation of people born of mixed unions is said to have evolved in proportion to the admixture of aboriginal blood in them with the brahmanas at the top representing the purest of Aryan blood. Later, the principle of endogamy was strengthened, perpetuated and extended to all ranks of society by the fiction that people who speak a different language, dwell in a different district, worship different gods, eat different food, observed different social customs, follow a different profession, or practise the same profession in a slightly different way, must be so unmistakably aliens by blood that inter-marriage with them is a thing not to be thought of.5

The thesis of Aryan invasion and racial origin of caste is no longer subscribed, but the impact6 of Risley’s ideas may be still seen in explanations offered for the prevalence of endogamy. Thus, according to one view the caste system may be defined as a form of differentiation in which the constituent units justify endogamy ‘on the basis of putative biological differences which are semaphored by the realization of multiple social practices’.7 Risley’s notion that castes (i.e. jatis) considered each other ‘aliens by blood’ was an elaboration of his theory of racial origin of the system. It is curious that although the theory of racial origin is no longer accepted, the perception that there exists a ‘mythical notion of biological differences’8 in the ideologies

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of all castes is retained, and it is argued that because of this notion, castes value the principle of endogamy very highly’.9 However, I may point out that the idea that there are inborn, biological differences which distinguish one varna or jdti[0 from the other is a typically brahmanical concept invented to justify the hereditary nature of varnas,n and it cannot be regarded as part of all caste ideologies, particularly of the subaltern castes, which in their origin myths almost invariably trace their descent from a brahmana or a ksatriya ancestor. It is not a biological difference but the fact that the original ancestor was cheated or had violated some rule inadvertently which is regarded as the reason for the present predicament of his descendants.12 Moreover, the rise of a new endogamous unit through the processes of fusion and fission owing to the adoption of some new technological, professional, religious or cultural practice, and emergence of a new social group in medieval times is a feature well known to historians and sociologists, but this cannot explain the origin of caste endogamy. Nevertheless, the view that caste endogamy is a residue of the tribal past of communities integrating with the expanding Aryan society is quite common,13 perhaps because history does provide many instances of tribal groups being transformed into endogamous castes. But this only shows that as a rule, assimilation into a caste society could take place only on a group or community basis with the new entrants retaining their distinctive identities, for the general society was already fragmented into social groups differentiated on hereditary principles. Attributing the origin of endogamous customs to incomplete fusion of tribal elements would imply that caste identities were biologically constructed, but in my view caste society was not a biological but social construct. I have argued elsewhere14 that caste endogamy was not a borrowing or survival of aboriginal practice. It evolved and consolidated in the process of regulating hierarchical subordination of social groups and reproduction of patriarchy. It is not possible to agree with Dumont’s strongly idealistic view15 of caste which makes it ‘above all a system of ideas and values’ embedded in the Indian mind, the Homo Hierarchies, presenting a perfect contrast to the Western HomoAequalis.16 In my view17 hierarchy, defined as separation and superiority

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of the pure over the impure, of the priest (brahma) over the warriorruler (ksatra), which forms the keystone of Dumonts model, derives from the material context of the ecology of cattle-keeping tribes, among whom two groups of specialists emerge, one claiming to mediate with gods through specialization over rituals and thus increase the cattle-wealth of the tribe and ensure success in tribal wars, the other of warriors who provide protection and increase the wealth of the tribe through cattle raids. Both groups, initially functional, claim and are able to acquire privileged positions. Caste ideology evolves gradually in consonance with changing material conditions and is not a mental invention unrelated to its material roots. Nevertheless, I agree with Dumont that ‘endogamy is a corollary of hierarchy, rather than a primary principle’,18 although for me caste hierarchy is not simply a matter of superiority of the pure over the impure but a form of exploitation which evolved in the process of enforcing subjection of women and weaker social groups.

II The beginnings of the twin processes may be seen in theRgveda. D.D. Kosambi in a perceptive article ‘UrvasI and Pururavas’19 analysed a number of Rgvedic hymns containing traces of a matriarchal culture, which was suppressed and superimposed by the Aryan patriarchy. In his view, the conflict and transition is reflected in the earliest stratum, the matriarchal elements came from a pre-Aryan culture and early Rgvedic society was formed from a combination of the conquered pre-Aryans and their Aryan conquerors. Kosambi identifies the preAryans as survivors of the Harappa culture, not the elite trading or ruling classes but the ‘women with their cults .... either as wives or slaves, which would account for all the traces of their cults’. He adds that in any case Aryan means a particular manner of life and speech and not a race.20 The thesis of direct confrontation and conquest of the Harappans by the Rgvedic Aryans is now generally discounted,21 but there are strong grounds to believe22 that pre-Vedic elements were accommodated in the later sections of the Rgveda, particularly in Book VIII, which is supposedly authored by the Sage Kanva and his lineage.

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Although it is plausible that certain external matriarchal components crept into Rgvedic narratives through absorption of pre-Aryan elements—the Apala Sukta (RV, VIIL91), which is a female puberty spell,23 is a case in point—not all traces of womens autonomy and subjectivity need to be attributed to external sources. There is a general tendency to force interpretations suited to patriarchy even when hymns suggest more equitable gender relations24 owing to the presumption that patriarchy was deep-rooted among the warring ‘bronze-age pastoral invaders’. Generally speaking the Rgvedic poet does reflect a patriarchal attitude and speaks contemptuously of his adversaries as having been deprived of their manliness (e.g. RV X. 48.12). Nevertheless, systematic displacement of women from Srauta rituals and appropriation of their role by male priests in later Vedic texts has been pointed out by a number of scholars,25 and it is difficult to explain away all traces of earlier practices as derived from a nonAryan/pre-Vedic source. The apologists of Vedic tradition have argued that marginalization or exclusion of women is only one side of the story, but in fact women were central to Rgvedic concerns, the desire for progeny, material wealth, etc. Vedic yajna ritual required the presence of the wife of the sacrificer too, and much of the Hindu women’s deep identification with religion, her ‘positive selfimage .... stemmed from the Rgvedic Age’.26 Such an essentialist, ahistorical approach, apart from creating a homogenized category of ‘Hindu Women’ regardless of their position in terms of caste, marital status, etc., does not take into account the material environment which may have induced women to internalize the patriarchal values of the brahmanical culture. Moreover, one cannot ignore the fact that the stereotyping of women as sensual creatures lacking in wisdom and self-control and acting as temptresses to reluctant males, who are devoted to higher moral and ascetic goals, has its beginnings in the hymns of the Rgveda, as illustrated in the dialogue between Yama and Yami (7?VX.10) and Agastya and Lopamudra (1.179).

Ill However, the consolidation of patriarchy and a hierarchically differentiated society comprising four varna divisions is an ongoing

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process in later Vedic texts, and the two developments were closely linked. Sedentary agriculture and availability of servile labour of the defeated and enslaved Dasa and Sudra tribes made it possible for the men and women of the Vedic elite lineages to withdraw from manual labour and be contemptuous of those who had to serve others and perform physical, filthy tasks. They were categorized into a distinct sudra vama in later Vedic times. The Purusa-sukta hymn, which is undoubtedly a late insertion in the Rgveda27 ascribes the lowest position to the sudra, but it has an organic conception of society and traces his origin from the feet of the same Cosmic Being whose mouth, arms and thighs produce brahmana, rajanya and vaisya respectively. But several later Vedic texts attribute divine origin to only three upper vama. The Taittiriya Brahmana states that the sudras sprang from asura (demons).28 The same text says at another place that the sudras sprang from ‘untruth’ or ‘non-existence’ (asat).29 Emphasis on the ‘otherness’ and evil character of the sudra may have been partly due to ethnic prejudice but also because of his dependence on slavish manual work and marginal location. It is generally held that the sudra vama arose out of defeated Dasa, Sudra and other aboriginal nonAryan tribes reduced to various degrees of servitude. The Sudra tribe30 is not mentioned in the Rgveda but it speaks of the capture and enslavement of a large number of dasa men and women31 with the result that the tribal name ‘dasa became a signifier of‘slave’. Rgvedic chieftains made liberal gifts of male and female slaves to priests and composers of the hymns and, as Kosambi has argued,32 the assignment of slave-labour to the priestly and warrior lineages by the tribal chieftain played a catalytic role in the growth of social differentiation within Aryan tribes and emergence of a class structure in the form of four original castes, i.e. the varnas. Kosambi explains that the subjugation of the Dasa, Sudra and other tribes gave rise to a generalized form of servitude in the form of the sudra vama and not chattel slavery, for the tribal influence was still strong and individual property had not developed sufficiently yet. Internal differentiations among the Vedic tribes emerged with the priestly and warrior lineages uniting to exploit both the ‘Aryan peasant (vaisya) and non-Aryan helot (sudra)’. The cooperation and interdependence of the priesdy and ruling

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groups and their exploitation and subjugation of the vaisya and sudra producers is a well-known feature of the later Vedic epoch. What deserves note is the fact that the varna ideology from its very inception plays a political and not just religious role in the hierarchical structuring of social relations. The varna system, and later its expanded version the jati system,33 regulated the class structure of early India and as such was a powerful instrument functioning in the interest of the ruling classes. Its strong links with contemporary political powers and politics have been maintained, as we shall see, throughout its long history. Here it is necessary to examine carefully historical evidence relating to the evolution of the concepts of varna and jati in order to comprehend the reasons of their enmeshing in defining the same social structure. It is not without significance that the two terms have been used indiscriminately in brahmanical law-books composed in the first decade of the Common Era as well as medieval works such as the Varnaratnakara of the fourteenth century ce written in Mithila. To consider this as a puzzling error34 is to look at the issue through a modern prism and is anachronistic. If we apply the touchstone that a theory must always be ‘what the people themselves think and believe’ as Dumont asserts,35 we may note that in common parlance the Hindus apply the term jati to all levels of the caste system, beginning with varna to what is described as ‘sub-caste’ by the sociologists.36 The interchangeability of the varna and jati in our sources derived from the fact that both the terms demarcated and were defined on the same principles, hereditary occupation, exclusiveness in matters of connubium and commensality and hierarchical gradation. Hence, even Manu uses the term jati when he means varna and vice versa. He asserts that there are only (out jatis and there is no fifth and goes on to describe the fifteen lowly ‘mixed castes’ as fifteen varnas?1 I have shown elsewhere38 that Dumont’s argument that heredity was less important than function in the varna scheme is not sustainable. The desire to secure and preserve the rights and privileges of the priestly and warrior elites on a hereditary basis was the prime mover in the crystallization of these varna categories among the Vedic tribes, and the word varna, which has been used in the Rgveda to draw a sharp distinction between the Arya and the Dasa tribes, began to be

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applied to the emerging four social classes in order to emphasize their disjunction and distance from each other. As long as the raising of cattle-wealth and other occupations, priesthood or warfare, were not genealogically closed professions, the term varna was not used in relation to them. Even the precedence of the priesdy category over all others, which became the norm in later times, was not observed in the initial stages as is evident in Rgveda 1.113.6. However, with the transition in the organizing principle from ‘kinship to territory’, the latter as ‘dominion, the realm of‘sovereign power’, to use the language of Marshal Sahlins,39 and the emergence of territorial states in later Vedic times, a fourfold class structure evolved. The elaboration of Vedic sacrifices into rituals of great complexity made it a preserve of specialist lineages, and the impartation of expertise to one’s descendants and disciples gave rise to the brahmana varna,40 The Vedic ritual specialists played a crucial role in providing religious justification for the superior claims of the Vedic chieftain and his rajanya kinsmen over the vis commoners reducing the need for the use of force, which undoubtedly underpinned such claims.41 As the tribal structure disintegrated and socio-economic disparities grew, the rajanyas emerged as a separate privileged group and formed alliances with similar groups of other tribes giving rise to the ksatriya varna. There is enough evidence to show that the brahmana and ksatriya varnas did not originally come from pre-historic separate marriage circles as averred by some sociologists but through integration of priesdy and warrior lineages of different tribes into close-knit, hereditary high ranking groups in specific historical conditions.42 The constitution of brahmana varna through the assimilation of Aryan and non-Aryan elements may be inferred from a passage of the Brhadaranyaka Upanisad which recommends different types of diet to brahmana parents depending upon their desire to have a black-complexioned (syama) son with the ability to recite the three Vedas or a tawny {pihgala) son with reddish brown {pihgala) eyes with similar proficiency.43 The oligarchical lineages of the gana-rdjyas of the age of the Buddha claimed to belong to the ksatriya varna and described their lineages as jdtis, to wit, Sakya jdti, Licchavi jdti, Jnatrika jdti and so on. But these were not jdtis in the modern sense of the term constituting separate endogamous units. Endogamy was practised within the

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ksatriya varna with marriage cross these jati boundaries.44 The term jati was used initially in a literal sense to emphasize birth in a particular group, hence we have references to hinajati or ucca jati, birth in a low or high social group. But the operation of the principle of heredity in establishing the identities of the brahmana and rajanya categories is clearly indicated in the Satapatba Brahmana45 and early Upanisads such as the Chandogya. The latter text links it to the doctrine of transmigration and karma. It is said that those who have pleased the gods with their pleasant conduct enter a pleasant womb’. They are born either as a brahmana, or a ksatriya or a vaisya. But those whose conduct has been evil enter a ‘stinking womb’ such as that of a bitch, a pig or a candala./'b Thus birth in higher varnas was considered the fruit of meritorious acts performed in the previous life.

IV In an illuminating lecture47 published posthumously, late Professor A.L. Basham meticulously examined the Upanisadic passages which revealed the gradual evolution of the doctrine of rebirth from inchoate speculations into a well-developed ideology. He shows that this doctrine was first adumbrated by the brahmana and the ksatriya intellectuals in an age, which was characterized not only by great material progress but also disintegration of tribal social life and the rise of varna divisions. The developments created a sense of insecurity and pessimism among many thinkers, who opted out of society and became ascetics and wanderers trying to discover ‘the ultimate meaning of existence’. To this, one might add that the emergence of wide socio-economic disparities must have been an important cause of disillusionment. It is said in the Chandogya UpanisacP8 that in this world one’s greatness depends on catde, horses, elephants, gold, female slaves, fields and houses. The doctrine of karma, rebirth and moksa —the idea that “the individual soul keeps on passing from one body to another to reap the fruits of the good or bad deeds—and this is an unending cycle from which one can find release only through a realization of the impersonal brahma or Truth—developed in this environment. The significant point is that it was an ideology which germinated in the elite circles. Not being rooted in early Vedic thought

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it was taught initially as a secret knowledge discussed by a few, but later became the basic principle of the ideological explanation of the cosmos (samsara) preached by the brahmanas, wandering ascetics and mystics filtering down from them to lower orders. Basham is quite emphatic that it was not a borrowing of a pre-existing idea from non-Aryan, indigenous peoples having animistic beliefs as was suggested by earlier scholars but an invention of the Upanisadic thinkers. It had its sceptics in the form of Carvakas, Lokayatas and Nastikas but soon became the ideology of the mainstream, and at the time of the rise of Jainism and Buddhism it was accepted by everyone in the Gangetic valley. However, the texts available to us are documents of the upper castes and it is difficult to infer on their basis the extent to which this ideology was internalized by the depressed groups. Max Weber wrote49 that the inexorable logic of this doctrine reconciled the poor and the depressed to their lot in the hope that through good conduct they could improve their destiny in their next birth. But field studies conducted among the ‘untouchable’ castes by a number of sociologists50 show that although the ideas of transmigration and karma—that is, sins committed in previous lives are the causes of misfortunes in the present one—are accepted generally, the low status of their caste is not explained in this fashion. Their origin myths ascribe their present degraded social ranking to some historical accident or trickery of the high castes played on their ancestors or genealogical founder. We shall be doing less than justice to the common sense of the exploited if we imagine that there would have been no resistance even in thought let alone practice. Traces of resistance are not altogether lacking despite the nature of our sources. These have been overlooked generally owing to the preconceived notions of the Orientalist and Nationalist historiographies. If colonial reconstructions emphasized the static, stagnant nature of Indian society immune to changes owing to a rigid caste structure rooted in religious beliefs, the nationalists presented an idealized picture of social harmony and contentment with castes engaged in their traditional occupations without any social tensions or conflicts. However, R.S. Sharma’s analysis of the Kali age crisis51 mentioned

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in the Mahabharata, Ramdyana and some early Puranas clearly shows that the varna order and its ideology faced serious challenge in the early centuries of the Common Era from the lower orders, and although generally the upsetting of the social order is attributed to the vaisyas and the sudras, some passages also speak of the antyas (untouchables) in this context. The earliest reference to a revolt by the menial labourers pertains to the slaves of the Sakyas who had carried away ‘married women, unmarried girls and daughters-in-law of high families of their masters’. Devaraj Chanana is of the view that the way Buddha reacted to this incident suggests that it was not the only occurrence of its kind.52 One may presume that since the slaves acted in a collective manner in retaliation to their exploitation, they formed a collectivity, perhaps a defeated and enslaved tribal population, but their integration as a depressed caste within the varna framework cannot be taken for granted, for the dasakammakaras of the Pali sources constituted an economic category. Although the varna categories had hardened into exclusive hereditary statuses in the age of the Buddha, thcjati structure within the varna framework was yet to develop. The category of untouchables grew rather slowly,53 and the first untouchable groups seem to have been food-gatherers and hunters living on the periphery of agrarian settlements. In the list¬ ing of social groups in early Buddhist sources they are mentioned separa¬ tely and not as a part of the sudra varna. The Jataka tales54 depict Candalas being engaged as musicians, night watchmen, executioners, corpse-removers and sweepers removing garbage from the streets, but not in agricultural work. They were kept away from Aryan homes as their sight and proximity was considered polluting.55 However, in brahmanical perception they all formed part of the sudra varna; for Panini, who is generally assigned to the fourth century bce, speaks of two groups of sudras the ‘excluded’ and the ‘unexcluded’ (s'udranam aniravasitdndm—Astadhyayi, II.4.10), and, as Patanjali’s comment on it shows, the former included Candalas, Mrtapas, etc.

V Contrary to ideological interpretations which attribute the origin of the caste system to the Indian psyche, a careful scrutiny of our sources

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shows that condemnation of certain peoples as of despicable and impure birth (jati) begins much earlier than the formulation of religious concepts ascribing permanent impurity to certain occupations and practices. The most polluting task according to Hindu notions of impurity is cleaning of human excrement, latrines, etc., a task imposed upon the lowliest of the untouchables known by different names in various regions as Bhangi, Balmiki, Chuhra, Paid, Hadi, etc. Dumont argues that the Hindu belief in the desecrating nature of organic activities makes the Hindu of good caste temporarily impure and leads to attribution of massive and permanent impurity to those categories of people who have specialization in impure tasks, in practice or in theory,56 In other words, even without being actually engaged in ‘polluting’ occupations, theoretically they are associated with such tasks and hence regarded as permanently impure. However, we may point out that in brahmanical theory impurity does not arise from specialization in impure tasks but from impure birth. Those whose putative ancestors are deemed to have violated the varna norms and contracted mixed pratiloma unions or marriages are condemned to subsist on impure vocations, and their impurity is not removed even when they are not engaged in occupations ascribed to them by brahmanical tradition. Dumont completely ignores the instrumental nature of the ideology of purity/impurity invented by the brahmanical ideologues for justifying a system of class exploitation. This becomes evident from the fact that from the early medieval down to late medieval times, the work of manual scavenging in the houses of the well-to-do people57 was done by domestic slaves who were of ‘clean’ castes58 and the same person had to do other type of housework as well such as fetching drinking water, grinding corn, cooking food, etc., without any prejudice,59 a situation unthinkable in modern-day conventional Hindu homes. This shows that notions of pure/impure could be modified or elaborated depending upon circumstances to suit the convenience of the exploiting classes. The creation of a caste of manual scavengers is linked with the growth of towns and closed dwellings without open spaces60 and the process seems to have been accelerated in the nineteenth century perhaps aided to some extent by the Government of India Act V of 1843 abolishing slavery, despite the opposition of the landed aristocracy on the ground that it was an

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ancient custom for slaves to do all manual labour for respectable people.61 Moreover, army cantonments too required such services and the municipalities and cantonments created official posts of manual scavengers. It is rightly remarked62 that the British did not invent the caste of manual scavengers, but they intervened to institutionalize it; and ‘the technology of sanitation was structured to deepen social prejudice in India’. A similar inference can be drawn from an enquiry into the emergence of a caste of Chamars (cobblers). In the early Buddlist sources leather work is regarded as hina (low), sippa (craft or occupation) of low status value;63 but leatherworker or carmakara does not figure in the list of hinajatis enumerated in the Vinaya texts. The hinajatis or nica kulas (low lineages) repeatedly mentioned64 are Candala, Nesada, Vena, Rathakara and Pukkusa, who with the possible exception of Rathakara65 seem to have been aboriginal tribes living on the margins of the Aryan settlements. Although tanning of hide is an ancient profession and is known to the Rgvedtftb and the later Vedic texts, there is nothing to show that leather or leatherworkers were considered polluting even in later vedic times. We have references to leather bags filled with milk and clarified butter ighrtd) for use in sacrificial ritual.67 According to Vivekanand Jha,68 the carmakara, the rajaka (washerman) and similar craftsmen and manual workers appear as untouchables only in texts datable between 600 and 1200 ce. The Manusmrti refers to the mixed caste of leather workers with three different names, Carmavakartin,69 Dhigvana70 and Karavara,71 which is taken as indicative of the existence of subcastes among leather workers; but the dating of these passages is problematic. Professor Ram Sharan Sharma suggests a time bracket of 220-400 ce with later portions added in the fifth century and even later.721 would like to point out that a Buddhist Prakrit inscription73 from Amaravati speaks of a cammakara (carmakara) Vidhika, who describes himself as the son of an updjhaya (upadhyaya, apparently a brahmana teacher) Naga. He made the gift of a slab with a filled vase. Palaeographically the inscription is assigned to the early centuries of the Common Era and it shows that in the Deccan, leather work was still a respectable profession. Patanjali commenting upon Panini’s sutra mentioned above, assigns Candalas and Mrtapas the lowest position, placing the

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carpenters, washermen, blacksmiths and weavers above them74 but does not speak of the carmakara in this connection. Apparendy, defining of untouchability/impurity with reference to leather work is a later development.

VI However, notwithstanding the evidence of the Amaravati inscription, it is not possible to accept the thesis of B.R. Ambedkar that the Chamar and other Dalit communities of modern India had been originally Buddhists and were degraded as untouchables by the brahmana law-givers, as they continued to eat beef even after it was given up by the brahmanas and brahmanical communities.75 The brahmanical law-givers, poets and playwrights continued to countenance the eating of animal flesh including that of cow till the end of the first millennium ce,76 and in the sixth century, Varahamihira especially recommended to the king to eat the flesh of the bull, buffalo and other animals on ceremonial occasions. 7 But references to untouchable communities have been traced in sources datable several centuries earlier, and crystallization of social groups earning their living by leather work as specific castes of low status may be seen in the Manusmrti.7S In later Smrtis the carmakara is clearly an untouchable.79 So leather work, beef-eating, or eating of carrion cannot be regarded as having given rise to the phenomenon of untouchability, although, later, condemnation of such practices was undoubtedly used80 to relegate large sections of lower classes and aboriginal communities to untouchable status. This is obvious in the case of present day Chamars. This large caste spread over a vast area of northern India seems to have been formed through assimilation of a number of tribes, artisanal groups, local castes, etc. Only a small proportion of this caste lives on leather work, the rest subsists on agricultural labour in rural areas.81 However, following the theory of Ambedkar, a number of Dalit scholars visualize a glorious Buddhist past of the ex-untouchables. The more cautious among them do not attribute the origin of un¬ touchability to the brahmanical ostracization of the Buddhists but argue that the revival of Brahmanism under the Guptas and the

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persecution of the Buddhists was largely responsible for the large increase in the number of untouchable castes in Gupta and post-Gupta times.82 The thesis is emphatically espoused by Gail Omvedt,83 who asserts that the ‘defeat of Buddhism in India was the result of the alliances between the brahmanas and the kings and violent persecution of the Buddhists. She hypothesizes that the Candalas were indigenous to Bengal, they had been speakers of a proto-Munda language, their name being strikingly similar to the Mundari-speaking Santhals. The Candalas had spread out from Bengal to central India and into the regions of the Ganga plains where under Brahmanic hegemony they had been defeated and reduced to untouchable status. In Bengal, communities like the Kaivarttas and the Candalas had been supporters of Buddhism ‘imbibing its equalitarian high tradition’. Later, many of them converted to Islam to avoid persecution and being made untouchables. However, those who were unable to convert for whatever reason were reduced to untouchable rank. Omvedt does not accept Basham’s explanation that the decline of Buddhism may be attributed to the decadence of Buddhist monasteries, hold of the brahmanas on the performance of life-cycle rituals, reformed character of Brahmanism with the adoption of ahithsa doctrine and its syncretistic attempts in making the Buddha the ninth incarnation ofVisnu. She is also critical of Kosambi’s view84 that the brahmanical individual priests were more suited to meet the needs of the self-contained villages of the agrarian economy rather than the large Buddhist monasteries, which had become uneconomical, dependent upon the patronage of higher classes and out of touch with the common people, and that these institutions were now ‘mired in wealth and superstition’. Omvedt argues that Buddhist monasteries were not any more unproductive or ‘parasitical than the Brahmanic priests living off innumerable gifts from believers’. In her view Buddhism did not ‘decline’ but was ‘defeated’ and eliminated by the brahmanas in collusion with the kings. This is not the place to go into the causes of the decline of Buddhism—which is no doubt an important question and needs a separate treatment notwithstanding the meticulous work of R.C. Mitra85 but it needs to be mentioned that the attitude of the early Buddhist and Jaina writers towards the Candalas as well as all those

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who are dubbed as hinajatis was no different from the brahmanical authors of the Dharmasutras. This is amply shown by Richard Pick, Devaraj Chanana, Vivekanand Jha and Uma Chakravarti in their studies cited above. The theory of karma, which is taken for granted by Jainism and Buddhism could be used effectively to rationalize discriminations on account of birth in a family or caste,86 and as Irfan Habib had argued87 in his General President’s Address to the Indian History Congress given in 1982, the principle of ahimsa could legitimize the hostility of the land-based peasantry towards hunting tribes of the forests living on the borders of the agrarian settlements and justify their ostracism providing the basis for untouchability. The hatred towards such communities is fully reflected in the early Jaina and Buddhist sources. The myth of a harmonious and conflict-free Golden Age of India has been exploded in a number of studies,88 and there is no doubt that there is evidence of tensions, conflicts and a few instances of persecution of Buddhists too in early medieval times.89 For instance, Bhudeva, a king of Katyuri dynasty ruling over the regions of Kumaun and Garhwal in the tenth century took pride in describing himself as a great enemy of Buddhist monks (paramabuddhasramanaripu) and a great patron of the brahmanas.90 Several rulers of this region assumed the title of paramabrahmanya,91 which according to D.C. Sircar should be translated as ‘highly devoted to brahmanas’.92 We have also sculptures from Bihar and Orissa depicting Buddhist deities trampling the brahmanical gods under their feet,93 unmistakably a reflection of acute hostility between Buddhism and Brahmanism. However, it will be a mistake to think that sectarian conflicts, denunciations and violence were directed against Buddhists alone. The Periya Parana speaks of the impalement of eight thousand Jainas at the instance of the Saiva saint Nanasambandar; and a festival to commemorate the ‘gruesome event’ is observed to this day in the Madura Temple.94 Even if the story is the invention of a sectarian mind, it reflects extreme hatred. The Tamil Alvar and Nayanar saintpoets denounced Jainism and Buddhism, but the attacks on the former were particularly vehement. Attempts were made to appropriate the worship of Jina/?sabha too, while imprecating the Jaina sramanas at the same time.95 According to a Saiva hagiographical work God

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Sankara had incarnated himself as the philosopher Sarikaracarya to destroy heretics, particularly the Jainas, who were massacred and their books and temples destroyed.96 The Basava Parana and the Panditaradhyacaritra too speak of the severe persecution of the Jainas and destruction of their temples.97 The inscriptions of the tenth-eleventh centuries testify to the persecution of the Jainas in the south. It is believed that Tailapa II of the Calukya family, who overthrew the Rastrakuta dynasty, persecuted the Jainas and destroyed their shrines in the process.98 Later the Cola armies overran the Calukya country causing extensive destruction of Jaina temples.99 The underlying causes may have been political, but greed for the wealth stored in religious institutions was no less a motivating factor. The Rajatarahgini narrates the iconoclastic activities of several kings, ^arikaravarman,100 Ksemagupta,101 Kalas'a102 and his son Harsa, who, astonished at the amount of wealth stored in a deserted shrine, was tempted to loot the rich temples of gods and appointed especially an ‘officer for uprooting the gods’.103 Religious literature of this period gives expression to acrimonious theological disputes among the Jainas, Buddhists, Saivas and Vaisnavas denouncing each other in strong terms. If there are traces of conflicts,104 there are many examples of syncretism105 and equal veneration of deities of different and opposing religions,106 giving grist to the mill of those who wish to paint a picture of a tolerant, harmonious and homogeneous ‘Hindu’ India; although it is possible to argue that in many cases these may have been attempts at reconciliation and resolution of conflicts. Nevertheless, the crucial question is, faced with similar challenges why did Buddhism decline whereas Jainism was able to survive and retain its social base? It seems to me that the answer lies not in the conspiracy theory of the brahmana—king collusion107 but the way the two ‘heterodox’ religions responded to the caste system. Both Jainism and Buddhism denounced the cult of Vedic sacrifices and challenged the superior position of the brahmanas in the varna system but did not reject the division of society into varna categories.108 Enumeration of the fourfold division of society is a regular feature of the early Buddhist texts.109 However, Buddhism had a more liberal attitude towards the

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sudras and untouchables and it allowed them admission into its monastic organization. Although the majority of the monks mentioned in the early Buddhist sources came from the brahmana and the ksatriya background, quite a few, such as Upali and Subhadda (barber), Canna (dasiputra), Talaputa (nata), Dhaniya (potter) and Sati (fisherman) were born in nica-kulas.'w In the Theragatha the monk Sunita speaks of his birth in a ‘low family’ of sweepers (pukkusa)}u It has been argued that it was not possible for the Buddha to bring about a radical change in society owing to the limitations of the existing mode of production; but he tried to create an egalitarian order of monks, which was open to all, irrespective of rank or varna, to even those who had been slaves.112 The Jataka stories tell us of the bodhisattvas born in the low families of potters and Candala.113 Buddhism as a religion retained its catholicity and criticism of the caste system even in its later phases, despite the fact that the Buddhist kings of early medieval period, like Dharmapala and Vigrahapala of the Pala dynasty of Bengal, took credit in their inscriptions for re¬ establishing the varnasrama dharma and stopping any deviation from it, apparendy because caste provided a useful mechanism for controlling and regulating the economic and political resources. However, Buddhism seems to have had a large following among the lower classes. Kumarila Bhatta (eighth century) wrote that the teachings of the Buddha were followed by those who belonged to the fourth varna, i.e. sudras or by outcastes (niravasitas).114 Puranas denounced the Buddhists as pasandins, who were adept in argumentation and wilfully transgressed the duties arising out of the distinctions of caste and order of life.115 The example of Rahulabhadra, the disciple of Aryadeva, shows that even a sudra monk could rise to the position of the abbot of the Nalanda monastery and control immense amount of wealth.116 The Vajrasuci of Asvaghosa117 makes a trenchant criticism of the caste system and the selfishness of the brahmanas. In the Latakamelaka of Sarikhadhara, a Buddhist monk rejects the idea expressed by a Digambara monk that anyone can become polluted by the touch of somebody, who is of a ‘dissimilar caste’ (asadrsa-jatisparsa).118 Contrary to the Buddhist attitude, the Jainas fully endorsed the caste system. Ravisena in his Padma Parana, which is the Jaina version

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of Rdmdyana written in Sanskrit in 676 ce, credits Rsabhadeva for creating the four varnas from different parts of his body and assigning them their respective duties.119 The theme is further developed in the Adipurana120 of Jinasena (ninth century) and Adisvaracarita121 of Hemacandra (eleventh century) with some variations. The Jaina texts condemn the intermixture of varnas, as strongly as do the brahmanical law-books.122 Somadeva Suri (tenth century) in his Nitivdkyamrta recommends that everyone should stick to one’s hereditary occupation determined by his caste123 and restricts religious initiation to the upper three varnas only.124 Jainism also evolved rituals for its laity. Jaina domestic rituals were similar to brahmanical ones officiated by the Jaina brahmana priests.125 Kosambi’s pithy comment on the survival of Jainism and decline of Buddhism is typical of his deep understanding. ‘Jainism survives in India to this day for the same reasons that prevented its spread outside the country... it soon came to terms with caste and rituals, as Buddhism did not.’126 Caste system ensured the structured dependence of the agricultural and artisanal labour, which was to the great advantage of the land-owning and ruling elite.127 Movements of protest could not be sustained for long without basic changes in material conditions.

VII The upper class contempt of manual labour has been one of the basic organizing principles of the vama-jati hierarchy. It is held128 that the Buddha forbade the monks manual labour in order to free them from worldly preoccupations. The prohibition could have been also under the influence of the doctrine of ahimsa (non-violence), as levelling the soil, watering fields, gardens, etc., destroyed ‘lives’.129 Hence, Buddhist monasteries were gifted dramikas (monastery-slaves) and to supervise their work, a monk was elected as drdmika-pessaka (supervisor of dramikas)}y] Manual work was avoided by the nuns too and domestic work was declared an offence by a pacittiya rule.131 Such a negative attitude distanced the monk-philosophers of Mahayana Buddhism from physical work to such an extent that they developed a philosophy which took into cognizance only the ‘mental’ nature of our experiences arguing that everything is essentially no more than

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a ‘mental construction [prajnaptimatra).132 Debiprasad Chattopadhyaya describes it as a revolutionary philosophy passing into its opposite.133 In material terms the effect of this ideological turn of Buddhism was to further devalue and depress those who earned their living through physical labour; and ultimately it gave rise to Sahajayana form of Buddhism popular among the lower castes.134 In Jainism too there was an excessive emphasis on non-killing of all forms of life leading to the prohibition of agricultural and other types of manual activities from the very beginning. I have shown elsewhere135 that in post-Vedic times with the depression of the peasantry, the well-to-do members of the vis community became traders and adopted Jainism in order to emphasize their disassociation from agriculture, with the result that in course of time only merchants and traders came to be known as vaisyas. The shift from the later Vedic to the post-Vedic connotation of the term is indicative of the decline in the status of those communities which were engaged in the cultivation of the soil and artisanal activities involving manual work. In Brahmanism, as we have seen, the servitude of the sudra was the foundation stone of the varna system. Disdain towards him was extended to cover all the jatis subsisting on manual work and primary production in post-Vedic times and the attitude was further hardened with the adoption of the principles of ahimsd'ib in neo-Brahmanism and its use in ascribing impurity to menial occupations and communities. The Manusmrti not only ranks hunters and gatherers as low-born outcastes but lays down that if a brahmana or ksatriya is unable to earn his livelihood by his own specific vocation, he may earn his living by the vocation of a vaisya by trading in uncondemnable wealth-increasing articles but should not practise agriculture. ‘(Some) declare that agriculture is something excellent (but) that means of subsistence is blamed by the virtuous; (for) the wooden (implement) with iron point injures the earth and (the beings) living in the earth.’137 The ideology had serious implications for women. According to Manu the householder (grhastha) has five ‘slaughter houses’ [pafica suna) the fire-place (culli), the grinding-stone, the broom, the pestle and mortar and the water-pot. Using these he is bound with the fetters of sin, so he should expiate by performing the five great sacrifices [pafica mahayajnas) daily.138 But these are the ‘sinful’ sites around

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which revolves the life of a common housewife. It is not surprising that women were regularly clubbed with the sudras in brahmanical texts.139 The pain and drudgery of a life around the ‘pestle and mortar’ is vividly expressed is some songs of the Buddhist nuns included in the Therigatha}AQ Manus ‘attitude to work presents a striking contrast to the Rgvedic poet, who worshipfully invokes the mortar set to work in every house to give a clear loud sound like the drum141 of conquerors and compares the mother-goddesses Usas (in plural) to women singing as they perform visti, apparently working in the fields.142 In later medieval literature the term visti means forced labour; but in the Rgvedic hymn it is a collective activity with no trace of scorn.

VIII Attribution of impurity to tasks involving manual labour gave religious sanction to the exploitation of the working classes and helped in the evolution of a brahmanical paradigm of social integration143 of diverse communities into a highly stratified caste society with an ideological tool with which to measure and justify the ranking of a particular social segment. The role of brahmanas in the spread of this ideology from its home in the Ganga Valley to the various regions of the subcontinent is duly stressed; and R.S. Sharma has laid particular emphasis on the consequences of landgrant to brahmanas in tribal areas in early medieval times. However, brahmanas alone were not the carriers of caste ideology which was useful in the restructuring of tribes into an hierarchical society legitimizing the claims of the tribal elites as superior status groups based on heredity. It may be noted that in Sri Lanka caste system developed under the influence of the Buddhist monks,144 who had carried with them the theory of karma and a notion of the functional hierarchy of social groups based on birth, but as there were no brahmanas or a caste of priests, castes were not defined in terms of pure/impure communities. The Sri Lankan example shows that the opposition of the brahmana to the untouchable, i.e. the ‘pure’ and the ‘impure’, is not the founding principle of the caste system as assumed by Dumont. Rather, it is a superimposition on a structure of rigid class differentiations; and castes can exist without the help of the ideology of pollution.

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Expansion of the caste society in various regions of India took place through multiple processes;145 and a few studies146 have underlined the role of tribal chieftains, who emulated the ksatriya model in order to legitimize their political power and control over community-resources and took initiative for the diffusion and broad acceptance of brahmanical norms in Orissa in early medieval times. In some regions the dominant ideology could have been disseminated through Jaina and orthodox Saiva monastic orders. It has been argued147 that in the backward tribal territory of Rayalseema in south¬ western Andhra Pradesh, the transition from tribe to state took place in the sixth-seventh centuries ce, when this area was exposed to outside influence owing to its strategic importance in the power struggle between the Calukyas of BadamI and the Pallavas of Kancl. The region did not attract any brahmana settlements (agrahdras) but was penetrated by the Jaina monks and the Saivas of the Kalamukha sect, who used the local vernacular to spread their message. They were patronized by the emerging local elite and chieftains, who also showed preference to the local language in their inscriptions in order to assert their separate ethnic identity and local roots vis-a-vis the Calukyas and the Pallavas. These developments contributed not only to the growth of Telugu language and literature but also integrated this region with the panIndian culture through ideologies which were opposed to the caste system. While we agree with the broad generalizations of this argu¬ ment, we may point out that neither the Kalamukhas—who are wrongly confused with the Kapalikas148 nor the Jainas in these centuries were opposed to the caste system. In fact, the Kalamukhas were thoroughly imbued with the dominant ideology and many of them became the preceptors of kings (rajaguru) or family priests of the village headmen (gavundas). They actively promoted construction of temples, which apart from being places of worship also imparted Brahmanical education to people and received grants for the purpose.149 It is not surprising that a Kalacuri inscription of the twelfth century praises Vimalasiva, the Saiva rajaguru of King Jayasimha, as one whose counsel had made even more distant people pay taxes.150 Nevertheless, the basic point that the initiative of the brahmana caste is not the essential condition for the spread of the brahmanical ideology of caste

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is substantiated by the example of the numerically large caste of Kallars located in the southern districts of Tamil Nadu. Hutton describes it as a cultivating and predatory Tamil caste notable for their efficient agriculture, expert thieving, cattle lifting, etc.151 Dumont did intensive fieldwork among the Pramalai Kallars, a subcaste of the Kallars, and published a monograph152 on them from a social anthropological point of view. He writes that the Kallars are relatively unaffected by Brahmanic ideas and customs. They bury their dead, and although they have warrior pretensions, they willingly allow themselves to be classed among the sudra.153 However, in the local hierarchy they occupy the middle rung of the caste ladder. They seem to have migrated from the Andhra country and founded the kingdom of Pudukkottai between Tanjavur and Madurai in the last quarter of the seventeenth century. Nicholas B. Dirks, who has made a detailed study of the kingdom of Pudukkottai,154 compares them with the Rajputs of northern India and cogently argues that the assumption of power led to a restructuring of the Kallar caste which got divided into a number of sub-castes graded hierarchically not on the basis of their ‘purity/ impurity but with reference to their relative proximity to the royal power and control over land’.155 Pramalai Kallar was the royal sub¬ caste. It is endogamous and is also known as Tevar (from Sanskrit deva), originally a political designation but now a general title. The domination of the Kallars in the areas occupied by them manifested itself in the imposition of extremely humiliating and discriminatory prohibitions upon the ‘exterior’ castes, who worked on their fields as labourers living in ‘serf-like’ conditions. Dumont describes these impositions upon untouchables as ‘customary’ but as recorded by Hutton,156 the prohibitions had nothing to do with the notions of pure/impure and were merely expressions of arrogant power. Dirks speaks of the increasing trend towards patriarchy and adoption of some of brahmanic practices by the royal family of Kallar, such as seclusion of women, disapproval of widow-marriage, etc. But the field work of Dumont shows157 that widow marriage prevails among the Kallar and divorce is extremely easy. It could be based on nothing more than the desire of one of the spouses, male or female. It follows that the brahmanical influence was perhaps confined to the royal family and sankritizing efforts had very limited impact on the caste.

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Dirks assertion158 that caste as a social system, whether in the political milieu of pre-British period or in its ‘increasingly brahmanical forms under colonial rule’ was a most pervasive form of oppression directed against women is valid in general; but as far as the Kallar women are concerned, the impact of caste formation is yet to be worked out. Nevertheless, the twin pillars that sustain the caste system are firstly, subordination of women and secondly, its capacity to reinvent itself in changing social formations in the service of the powerful and the dominant. It has been shown that in spite of its apparent rigidity the system was able to enroll new members and create new caste categories at various levels. There was scope for political or economic mobility through processes of fission and fusion as examplified by the formation of the Rajput and Kayastha categories. In these processes control over woman’s sexuality was critical, endogamy as well as hypergamy was used to create a distinct caste identity and raise its status. In the preBritish period fission rather than fusion was adopted for upward mobility; but the trend in modern India has been towards fusion to form numerically large caste identities by integrating subcastes and groups having parallel positions.159 It is said that the Census Reports have played a crucial role in this development by generating greater caste consciousness and an awareness for the bargaining possibilities of larger sodalities. Whatever the case may be, the change of trend underlines the real nature of this form of social stratification, which is its capacity to reconstruct itself as an instrument of power for the new elite in a different political formation. It is being argued160 that caste should not be disavowed or sought to be erased, as a ‘site of identity and power’; for it has possibilities for political mobilization that would transform the prevailing relations of state and society in favour of the oppressed; and it provides a potent ideological tool for the assertion of Dalit identity. Such post-modernist arguments are in fact arguments in favour of the status quo pleading for the replacement of one set of power elite with another without bringing about any revolutionary change in the politico-economic patterns of domination and exploitation. These do not take into consideration the fact that caste is no longer tied with occupation. Post-Independence changes in the political and economic set up and industrialization have had their impact on the internal homogeneity of castes which have thrown up their own elite, who may use the ideology of caste for narrow

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political interests without effecting any radical transformation in the condition of their caste in general. It is not without significance that the caste battles are fought these days on issues of reservation in jobs and institutions of higher education, but there is no strong movement around the questions of land-reform and primary education which would transform the lives of the Dalit masses. Ambedkar seems to have foreseen this possibility when he criticized the view that abolition of sub-castes should be the first step towards caste-reform. He categorically wrote, ‘abolition of sub-castes will only help to strengthen the castes and make them more powerful and therefore more mischievous’.161 He argued for the annihilation of caste162 for which he thought the real remedy lies in inter-caste marriages. The fact that he taught the Dalit communities self-respect and organized them for collective political action does not mean that he wanted to nurture caste identities. For Ambedkar social and cultural emancipation of women and men was as important as political and economic empowerment. It is unfortunate that in the unabashed pursuit of political power today the holistic vision of Ambedkar is completely forgotten; and the pernicious strength of caste and patriarchal mentalities in our society is not seriously combated.163

NOTES 1. On 19 and 20 June 2007 the TV Channel Aaj Tak showed a Dalit named Ramlal of Tonk in Rajasthan being badly beaten up resulting in multiple fractures. He was apparently punished by the upper caste villagers for his ‘crime’ of drinking water from a nearby borewell. This is not an isolated case. Incidents of this nature are still frequently reported from various parts of the country. 2. Ronald Inden, ‘Orientalist Constructions of India’, Modem Asian Studies, vol. 20, no. 3 (1986), pp. 401-46. As Aijaz Ahmad remarks ‘Colonialism is now held responsible not only for its own cruelties but, conveniently enough, for ours too’, In Theory, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994, pp. 196-7. Inden has, however, in a later work, Imagining India, (Basil Blackwell, 1990, p. 82), modified his position a little by linking the formation of ‘modern form’ of caste to ‘the collapse of Hindu Kingship’ in the thirteenth or four¬ teenth century. For a devastating critique of Inden’s book, Aijaz Ahmad, ‘Between Orientalism and Historicism: Anthropological Knowledge of India’. Studies in History, vol. 7, no. 1 (January-June 1991), pp. 135-63.

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3. In her essay entitled ‘The Changing Caste System in India’ Pauline Kolanda writes, ‘the persistent feature of Indian society, its basic building block, is the endogamous group, which has now become a segmentary one rather than an organic one’, Pauline Kolanda, Caste, Cult and Hierarchy: Essays on the Culture of India, Meerut: Folklore Institute, 1981, p. 83. Dipankar Gupta speaks of the castes as ‘discrete categories’, which ‘value the principle of endogamy very highly’ without explaining that these discrete categories could not exist without practising endogamy. (Interrogating Caste: Understanding Hierarchy and Difference in Indian Society. Delhi: Penguin, 2000, p. 70). For a detailed discussion. See Suvira Jaiswal, Caste: Origin, Function and Dimensions of Change (hereafter, Caste), Delhi: Manohar, 1998, Introduction. 4. Nicholas B. Dirks, Castes of Mind: Colonialism and the Making of Modem India, Delhi: Permanent Black, 2002, paperback, 2006, pp. 7-8. 5. H.H. Risley, Census of India, vol. I, p. 1, 1901 quoted in Dirks, ibid.,

p. 222. 6. For references, see Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 40-1. 7. Dipankar Gupta, ‘Continuous Hierarchies and Discrete Castes’, Economic & Political Weekly, vol. 19, no. 46 (17 November 1984), reprinted in Dipankar Gupta (ed.), Social Stratification, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991, p. 137, Also see idem, Interrogating Caste: Understanding Hierarchy and Difference, pp. 70, 84. 8. Ibid., p. 70. However, earlier Gupta ascribed the origin of the varnas to the attempt of the Aryans to maintain their social distance from the indigenous community. ‘From Varna, to Jati: The Indian Caste System from the Asiatic to the Feudal Mode of Production’, Journal of Contemporary Asia, vol. X (1980), pp. 249-71, reprinted in K.L. Sharma (ed.), Social Inequality in India: Profiles of Caste, Class, Power and Social Mobility, Delhi: Rawat Publications, 1995, pp. 159-91. 9. Ibid. 10. I have shown that the two terms are used interchangeably in early Indian texts. Caste, pp. 42-3. Also see below. 11. P.V. Kane quotes Suta Samhitd, Siva Mahatmya Khanda, 12.51.52, which states that ‘a man belongs to a caste by birth and no action of his can alter that fact, that several castes are like the species of animals and that caste attaches to the body and not to the soul’—History of Dharmasastra, vol. II, pt. I, Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1941, p. 52. The Bhagavadgita (XVIII.41) clearly says that owing to their natural (inborn) qualities (gunas) the four varnas have been assigned different functions. For a detailed discussion, See S. Jaiswal, The Making of a Hegemonic Tradition: The Cult of Rama Ddsarathi, S.C. Misra Memorial Lecture, Indian History Congress, 67th session, March 2007, pp. 26-7 n. 54. For the implication

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of the theory of gunas for the hereditary nature of varna organization, idem, ‘Caste, Ideology and Context’, lndologica Taurinensia, vols. XXIII-XXIV (1997-8), p. 611. 12. See the origin myths current among Chamars, Dacca Candals, Kayasthas, Vaniyans, Bharigis, etc. cited by Dipankar Gupta to show that there were many and not one caste ideology, Interrogating Caste, pp. 73-7. 13. D.D. Kosambi, Introduction to the Study of Indian History, Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1956, p. 25; Morton Klass, Caste: The Emergence of the South Asian Social System, Philadelphia: Institute for the Study of Human Issues, 1980, p. 175; Irfan Habib, Essays in Indian History: Towards a Marxist Perception, Delhi: Tulika, 1995, p. 165; S.M. Michael (ed.), Dalits in Modem India: Vision andValues, Delhi: Sage, 1999, 2nd edn., 2007, Introduction, p. 17. 14. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 9f, 157-8. 15. Louis Dumont, Homo Hierarchicus: The Caste, System and its Implications, first published, 1966, complete revised English edition, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1988. 16. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 34-8, 103 n. 54; 118 n. 207; idem, ‘Caste: Ideology and Context’, lndologica Taurinensia, vols. XXIII-XXIV (1997-8), pp. 611-15. Also see Gerald D. Berreman’s excellent critique, ‘The Brahmanical View of Caste’, Contributions to Indian Sociology (n.s.), no. V (1970), pp. 16-25. 17. S. Jaiswal, ‘Varna Ideology and Social Change’, Social Scientist, vol. 19, nos. 3-4, March-April 1991, pp. 4If. 18. Dumont, op. cit., p. 113. 19. D.D. Kosambi, Myth and Reality: Studies in the Formation of Indian Culture, Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1962, pp. 42-81. 20. Ibid., pp. 68, 76. 21. Romila Thapar, Ancient Indian Social History, Delhi: Orient Longman, 1978, p. 18; R.S. Sharma, Material Culture and Social Formations in Ancient India, Delhi: Macmillan, p. 157; D.N. Jha, Ancient India in Historical Outline, Delhi: Manohar, 1998. For the latest summing up of the archaeological and linguistic arguments respectively, See Jonathan Mark Kenoyer. ‘Culture and Societies of the Indus Tradition’, and Madhav M. Deshpande, ‘Aryan Origins: Brief History of Linguistic Arguments’, in India: Historical Beginnings and the concept of the Aryan, New Delhi: National Book Trust, 2006, pp. 41-97, 98-156. 22. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 136-7, 195; idem, ‘Inventing a Culture of Patriarchy: An Aspect to Brahmanism’, Mamidipudi Venkatarangaiya Memorial Lecture-14, Proceedings of the Andhra Pradesh History Congress, XXVI Session, Anaparti, 2002, Appendix I, pp. i-xv. 23. Suvira Jaiswal, ‘Reconstructing History from the Rgveda: A Paradigm Shift?’, Social Science Probings, vol. 18, no. 2 (December 2006), pp. 15-16. 24. For example, see Hans-Peter Schmidt on RVX..27.12 which speaks of a

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beautiful woman choosing her spouse among the suitors of her own free will (svayam sa mitram vanute jane cit). According to Schmidt the hymn shows the prevalence of bride-price and the girl goes to the highest bidder. Hans Peter Schmidt, Some Womens Rites and Rights in the Veda, Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1987, pp. 76-7. He translatespanyas as bride-price, but Monier-Williams equates it with paniyas meaning ‘very wonderful (Sanskrit-English Dictionary), s.v. panyas and Sayana glosses it as one who is eulogised with praise’ (panyasd stotrena). For a detailed discussion, see S. Jaiswal, Process of Gendering in the Brahmanical Tradition’, Prajna Bharati, vol. XI, in Honour of Prof. Ram Sharan Sharma, Patna: K.P Jayaswal Research Institute, 2005, pp. 21-5. 25. Sadashiv Ambadas Dange, Sexual Symbolism from Vedic Ritual, Delhi: Ajanta Publications, 1979, pp. 73-4; Fredrick M. Smith, ‘India’s curse, Varuna’s Noose, and the Suppression of Women in the Vedic Srauta Ritual’, in Julia Leslie (ed.), Roles and Rituals for Hindu Women, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1992, pp. 17-45; Kumkum Roy, Emergence of Monarchy in North India: Eighth to Fourth Centuries B. C. as Reflected in the Brahmanical Tradition, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994, p. 67. 26. Katherine K. Young, ‘Hinduism’ in Arvind Sharma (ed.), Women in World Religions, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987, p. 64. M.N. Srinivas speaks of the considerable empowerment of high-caste women through their meticulous observance of purity-pollution rules, performance of periodical rituals, etc., which are considered necessary for the material and spiritual welfare of the household. The Changing Position of Indian Women, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1976, pp. 17-18. Nevertheless, high-caste women’s assertion or celebration of self-worth through the performance of Hindu rituals can hardly be linked to Rgvedic vision. Women were debarred from listening to the Vedas. The Brhannaradiya Parana says, ‘A man who reads the Vedas in the proximity of women and sudras goes to hells successively during thousands of crores of kalpas', XIV. 144, quoted in R.C. Hazra, Studies in the Upapuranas, vol. I, Sanskrit College, Calcutta, 1958, p. 325. The prohibition is restated in the Rdmacaritamdnasa of Tulasiddsa (1.109.1), published by Hanuman Prasad Poddar, Gita Press, Gorakhpur, Samvat 2050, thick print, p. 107. 27. For the remodelling of an ancient myth regarding the creation of the cosmos through the original sacrifice of the primordial being to justify the fourfold social differentiation, S. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 135-6. 28. Taittiriya Brahmana 1.2.6.7 quoted by U.N. Ghoshal, A History of Indian Political Ideas, Madras: Oxford University Press, rpt. 1966, p. 31. 29. Taittiriya Brahmana III.2.3.9 quoted in Jogiraj Basu, India of the Age of the Brdhmanas, Calcutta: Sanskrit Pustak Bhandar, 1969, p. 12. Some other

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texts speak of the birth of the sudra from Evil, Kdthaka Samhitd, XXXI.2; Maitrayani Samhitd, IV. 1.3 quoted in Ghoshal, op. cit. 30. For the name of the Sudra tribe becoming a generic term for the fourth vama, R.S. Sharma, Sudras in Ancient India, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2nd rev. edn., 1980, pp. 34f. 31. Rgveda, 1.126.3 speaks of ten chariots carrying vadhiis given to Kaksivan as part of his daksina. These were apparently women captured from defeated alien tribes, presumably Dasas. Rgveda, VIII. 19.36 mentions a gift of 50 vadhiis given to the composer of the hymn by king Trasadasyu. Griffith translates the term as female slaves. For women of the Dasa tribes participating in wars against Aryan enemies, S. Jaiswal, ‘Process of Gendering in the Brahmanical Tradition’, pp. 25-7. Also see Rgveda, VIII, Valakhilya 8.3: X. 62. 10. In RV 1.92.3 the poet beseeches the Dawn goddess to grant him ample wealth in the form of brave sons (suvirdh), horses and troops of slaves (ddsa-pravarga). 32. Introduction to the Study of Indian History, pp. 93, 104. 33. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 167, 196-7. 34. P.V. Kane, History ofDharmasdstra, vol. II, pt. I, p. 55; Kumar Suresh Singh, ‘Tribe into Caste: A Colonial Paradigm (?)’ in Dev Nathan (ed.), From Tribe to Caste, Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 1997, p. 32. 35. Homo Hierarchies, p. 37. 36. Adrian C. Meyer, ‘The Indian Caste System’, in David L. Sills (ed.), International Encyclopaedia of the Social Science, II, New York, 1968, rpt. 1972,

p.

340.

37. Mansmrti, X.4; 31, Varanasi: Chowkhambha Sanskrit Sansthan, 5th edn. 1997. 38. Caste, p. 103, n. 54. 39. Marshal D. Salins, Tribesmen, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, 1968, pp. 5-6. 40. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 146-62. 41. Rgveda VII.6.5 describes agni using force (baliniruddhya) to make vis give tribute to Nahusa. R.S. Sharma, Aspects of Political Ideas, and Institutions in Ancient India, 3rd rev. edn., Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1991, pp. 178-80. Sharma cites several passages from the Mahabharata and Manusmrti which recommend the use of coercive measures to compel the lower varnas to discharge their vama duties and thus ensure the stability of the vama order. Early Medieval Indian Society: A Study in Feudalisation, Hyderabad, Orient Longman, 2001, pp. 63-5. 42. R.S. Sharma, The State and Varna Formation in the Mid-Ganga Plains: An Ethnoarcheological View, Delhi: Manohar, 1996, pp. 62f.

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43. Brhaddranyaka Upanisad, IV. 4-16 quoted by D.D. Kosambi in Combined Methods in Indology and Other Writings, ed. Brajadulal Chattopadhyaya, Delhi: Oxford University Press, p. 320. Also see S. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 5961. 44. According to a Tibetan tradition, the Sakyas and the Licchavis were branches of the same tribe. The origin myths of both the groups attribute brother-sister marriage to the founders; and the origin of the Koliyas of Ramagama too is traced from a Sakya girl in such texts as Sumangalavildsini and Mahdvastu. Quoted by S.N. Misra, Ancient Indian Republics, Lucknow: The Upper India Publishing House, 1976, p. 46. Suddhodhana, the father of the Buddha, is said to have married two Koliyan princesses, Maya and Mahapajapati Gotaml. Kosambi discounts this tradition on the ground that the Sakyas were too proud to marry outside their tribe. He cites the story of Pasenadi, the king of Kosala, who was tricked into marrying Vasabhakhattiya, the daughter of Mahanama Sakya by a slave girl named Nagamunda. However, this only shows that the Sakyans did not want to displease Pasenadi, who had asked for the hand of a Sakya girl, but at the same time they did not wish to give a girl of pure Sakya lineage in marriage to him, who belonged to the lowly Matanga-kula. The tribe of Matangas was later equated with Candalas. In the Digha Nikdya, the Buddha tells brahmana Ambattha that the khattiyas (ksatriyas) are more rigid and refuse to accept in their own group a man who is not pure by birth for seven generations on the side of his both parents, but the brahmanas accept sons born of partial non-brahmana origin on either side and allow them to participate in yajha, sraddha, sthdlipaka, etc. Digha Nikdya, vol. I, pp. 92-7 quoted in N. Wagle, Society at the Time of the Buddha, Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1966, pp. 101-3. However, the Licchavis and Jnatrikas, both members of the Vajjian confederacy, are known to have had marriage relations. Licchavi chief Cetaka’s sister Trisala was married to Siddhartha of the Jnatrikas, the father of the Jaina tirthankara Mahavira. Cetaka’s daughter Cellana was married to Bimbisara, the king of Magadha and Ajatasatru was her son. Cetaka had several daughters whom he gave in marriage to ksatriya rulers of the time. No doubt kings took wives from other vartias too but the mother of the heir-apparent or claimant to the throne had to be of ksatriya lineage as is shown by the story of Vidudabha, son of Vasabha-khattiya. Also see S. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 15; 27 n. 83. Wagle speaks of Sakyas, Licchavis, etc., as extended kin-groups which slowly ossified into castes by the time of the Manusmrti. That the ksatriyas too had become a caste like the brahmanas is shown by the feet that an inscription from Andhra Pradesh palaeographically assigned to the early centuries of the Common Era speaks of ksatriya marchants. K. Gopalachari, Early History of the Andhra Country, Madras, 1941, p. 91. The Manusmrti, X.43-4 speaks of ksatriya jdtis in plural indi-

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eating the existence of a number ksatriya castes within the broad varna category. 45. Satapatha Brdhmana, II. 1.4.4; XI.5.7.1; XII.4.4.6; 4.4.7; XIII. 19.1-2, ed. Ganga Prasad Upadhyaya, Delhi: The Research Institute of Ancient Scientific Studies, 1970, tr. J. Eggeling, Sacred Books of East Series, vols. 12, 26, 41, 43, 44, rpt. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1988. 46. Chandogya Upanisad, V.10.7, The Thirteen Principal Upanisads, translated by R.E. Hume, 2nd edn., Madras: Oxford University Press, 7th impression, 1968, p. 233. 47. A.L. Basham, The Origin and Development of Classical Hinduism, ed. and anno¬ tated by Kenneth Zysk, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1990, Chapter 3. 48. Chandogya Upanisad, VII.24.2. 49. Max Weber, The Religion of India: The Sociology of Hinduism and Buddhism, tr. Gerth and Martindale, New York: Free Press, 1958, p. 122. 50. Pauline Kolenda, ‘Religious Anxiety and Hindu Fate’, in Religion in South Asia, ed. E.B. Harper, pp. 71 -81, Seattle: University of Washington Press, reprinted in P. Kolenda, Caste, Cult and Hierarchy, pp. 169-83; Joan P. Mencher, ‘The Caste System Upside Down, or the Not-So-Mysterious East’. Current Anthropology, vol. 15, no. 4, December 1974. Eleanor Zelliot, From Untouchable to Dalit: Essays on the Ambedkar Movement, Delhi: Manohar, 1996, p. 74 n. 5; Robert Deliege, ‘The Myths of Origin of the Indian Untouchables’, Man, New Series, vol. 28, no. 3 (September 1993), pp. 533- 49. Following Jan Vansina (Oral Tradition: A Study in Historical Methodology, H.M. Wright, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1965), one may assume that these oral myths had been a part of the consciousness of the oppressed castes for a long time. But these have to be distinguished from caste histories written in response to the colonial documentation project. See V. Geetha, ‘Rewriting History in the Brahmin’s Shadow: Caste and the Modern Historical Imagination', Journal of Arts and Ideas, December 1993, nos. 25 26, pp. 127-37; Badri Narayan, Women Heroes and Dalit Assertion in North India: Culture, Identity and Politics, Delhi: Sage, Publishers, 2006, pp. 170f. However, the Mahar saint Chokhamela (thirteenth-fourteenth centuries) accepted his birth in the low caste as a consequence of his karma, Zelliot, op. cit., p. 7. 51. R.S. Sharma, Early Medieval Indian Society: A Study in Feudalization, 2001, pp. 50-1, 53. 52. Virutya Pitaka, vol. IV, p. 181 quoted in Devaraj Chanana, Slavery in Ancient India, Delhi: Peoples Publishing House, 1960, rpt. 1990, p. 62. Uma Chakravarti remarks that this is one of the first written records which shows that women were the obvious targets in case of antagonism between two social groups, Social Dimensions of Early Buddhism, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1981, p. 27, fh. 145.

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53. Vivekanand Jha, ‘Stages in the History ofUntouchables’, Indian Historical Review (hereafter IHR), vol. II, no. I (July 1975), pp. 14-31; idem, ‘Caste, Untouchablilty and Social Justice: Early North Indian Perspective’, Social Scientist, vol. 25, nos. 11-12 (November-December 1997), p. 24. 54. Idem., IHR, II, I, p. 22. 55. Richard Fick, The Social Organization in North East India, tr. S. K. Maitra, Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1920 pp. 43f. For the evidence of early Dharmasutras, Vivekanand Jha, ‘Candala and the Origin of Untouchability’, IHR, XIII, nos. 1-2 (July 1986-January 1987), pp. 4-7. 56. L. Dumont, op. cit., p. 47. Italics ours. Similarly, the view that primitive notions about accepting food from non-kin causing pollution are at the base of untouchability cannot be sustained. Restrictions on interdining and acceptance of cooked food from various categories of people have evolved gradually, much later than the emergence of untouchability. S. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 86-7; 125-6 n. 285. 57. Ordinary people of‘clean’ (suddha) castes must have used open spaces. 58. Hiroyuki Kotani, cites a document of eighteenth century (quoted from G.S. Sardesai (ed.) Selections from the Peshva Daftar, vols. 43-92) that a female servant employed in the house of a brahmana family turned out to be of the Chamar caste. Hence all those who had come in contact with her had to undergo various degrees of purification. Another instance cited by him shows that a female slave belonging to a family of Prabhu caste committed adultery with an antyaja (ati-sudra), which fact made all the members of the Prabhu family impure. H. Kotani, ‘Ati-sudra Castes in the Medieval Deccan’, in H. Kotani (ed.), Caste System, Untouchability and the Depressed, Delhi: Manohar, 1997, pp. 56-7. 59. For fair looking Rajaputra (Rajput) girls sold into slavery and obliged to do all kinds of pure and ‘impure’ work, Pushpa Prasad, ‘Female Slavery in Thirteenth Century Gujarat’, IHR, XV, nos. 1-2 (july 1988-January 1989), pp. 269-75; S. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 84-5. The Naradasmrti, written perhaps in the fourth century ce clearly specifies that while a hired servant (karmakdra) is supposed to do pure work only, slaves are to do all kinds of impure work. P.V. Kane, History of Dharmasastra, II, pt. I, pp. 184f. Also see Prabhati Mukherjee, Beyond the Four Varnas: The Untouchables in India, Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, rev. edn. 2002, p. 75. 60. This does not, however, mean that the institution of untouchability can be traced to Harappa culture as was done by Christoph von Furer-Haimendorf. See Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 78-9. 61. T.R. Sareen, ‘Slavery in India Under British Rule, 1772-1843’, IHR, XV nos. 1-2 (July 1988 & January 1989), pp. 257-68. 62. Gita Ramaswamy, India Stinking: Manual Scavengers in Andhra Pradesh and their Work, Chennai: Navayana Publishing, 2005, p. 6.

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63. Uma Chakravarti, op. cit., p. 104. 64. Narendra Wagle, Society at the Time of the Buddha, Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1966, pp. 119-20; 122-3. 65. On Rathakara, Vivekanand Jha, ‘Status of the Rathakara in Early Indian HistoryJournal of Indian History, vol. 52, pt. I (Trivandrum, April 1974), pp. 39-47. In the Arthasdstra ofKautilya (III.7.35) he is described as a vaisya. The Venas seem to have been a non-Aryan tribe of ‘bamboo-workers’ or basket-weavers. 66. Rgveda, VIII.5.38 has carmamna. Sayana explains that it refers to armour made of leather. 67. Jaiswal, Caste, p. 82.

68.

IHR,

II, I, p. 19.

69. Manusmrti, IV. 218. 70. Ibid., X.15.49. 71. Ibid., X.36. Also repeated in Mahdbhdrata (cr. edn.), XIII.48.26. 72. Sudras in Ancient India, 2nd rev. edn, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1980, pp. 330-3. 73. Epigraphia Indica, vol. X, Luder’s List no. 1273. 74. Patanjali on Panini II.4.10, Mahabhasya ofPatahjali, ed. E Kielhorn, vol.l (Mumbai, 1892), p. 475. 75. See Vivekanand Jha, IHR, II, I, pp. 21-31. 76. D.N. Jha (2001), The Myth of the Holy Cow, London: Verso, Chapter 3. 77. Ajay Mitra Shastri, India as Seen in the Brhatsamhitd ofVardhamihira, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1969, p. 214. 78. Manusmrti cited above. It also approves of meat eating by declaring that the flesh of an animal killed by a dog, a carnivorous animal and a Candala is pure. Candalas, called Dasyu in this verse, were apparently hunters selling animal flesh. 79. The Pardsarasmrti places the women of washermen (rajaki), leather-workers (carmakdri), hunters (lubdhakt) and bamboo-workers (venujivani) in the same category and lays down the rules for purification, if a woman of any of these castes stays even unknowingly in the house of a member of any of the four varnas. Pardsarasmrti, edited with the ‘Subodhini’ Hindi commentary by Daivajnavacaspati Sri Vasudeva, Varanasi: Chowkhambha Sanskrit Series, 1968), VI, 44-5. 80. The Vedavyasasmrti (1.13) enumerates Carmakara, Bhata, Bhilla, Rajaka, Puskara, Nata, Varata, Meda, Candala, Dasa, Svapaca, and Kolika as antyajas and states that on seeing one of these or any other beef-eater (gavdsanah) one should wash one’s own eyes and have a bath on speaking to them. Smrtindm Samuccayah, Anandasrama-sanskrit-granthavali, no. 48, 2nd edn., 1929, p. 357. An example of the internalization of this ideology by the untouchable groups themselves is provided by K.R. Hanumanthan, who

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informs that according to Valahkai Caritram, the Pallas as non-beaf-eaters considered themselves superior to the Paraiyas who ate beef, although both were untouchable castes. ‘Evolution of Untouchability in Tamil Nadu, up to 1600 A.D.’, IHR, XXIII, nos. 1-2 (July 1996 & January 1997), p. 64. 81. Joan P. Mencher, ‘The Caste System Upside Down, or the Not-So-Mysterious East’, Current Anthropology, vol. 15, no. 4 (December 1974), p. 472. Briggs writes that the Chamar belongs to the great class of unskilled labour. ‘He is a grass-cutter, coolie, wood and bundle carrier, drudge, doer of odd jobs, maker and repairer of thatch and of mud walls, field labourer, groom, house servant, peon, brick maker and even a village watchman’, G.W. Briggs, The Chamars, London: Oxford University Press, 1920, p. 56. Dumont has to concede in this case that ‘those who are most oppressed materially are at the same time seen as supremely impure’. Homo Hierarchicus, p. 180. 82. S.M. Dahiwale, ‘The Broken Men Theory of Untouchability’, in S.M. Dahiwale(ed.), Understanding Indian Society: The Non-Brahmanic Perspective, Jaipur and Delhi: Rawat Publications, 1st pub. 2005, rpt. 2006, pp. 86-103. Dahiwale points out that V.R. Shinde was the first to indicate the Buddhist background of a few of the present-day untouchable castes, such as the Pulayas of Kerala and some outcastes of Orissa. He also quotes from P.C. Alexander’s Buddhism in Kerala (Annamalai University, Annamalainagar, 1949), which shows that the Nambuthari brahmanas converted Buddhist viharas into Hindu temples and destroyed the influence of Buddhism by using the weapon of ‘social ostracism’. However, K.R. Hanumanthan finds in the Buddhist and Jaina works like Manimekalai and Acdrakovai some traces of the concept of pollution and untouchability ‘due to puristic and ahimsa doctrines of these religions’, op. cit., p. 65. 83. Gail Omvedt, Buddhism in India, Delhi: Sage, 2003, pp. 149-85. 84. D.D. Kosambi, ‘The Decline of Buddhism in India, first published in 1956 and included in Exasperating Essays: Exercises in Dialectical Method, published by R.P. Nene, Pune, 1986, pp. 63-6. Also see idem. Introduction to the Study of Indian History, pp. 246-7, 261-3, 291-4. 85. R.C. Mitra, The Decline of Buddhism in India, Santiniketan, Visva Bharati, 1954. 86. It is for this reason that in propounding Navayana Buddhism Ambedkar rejected the doctrine of karma and rebirth altogether, as according to him it was contradictory to the basic Buddhist teaching of anatta (non-soul), Omvedt, op. cit., pp. 2-6. Badri Narayan writes that in the word ‘Dalit’ itself there is an inherent denial of karma, pollution and legitimized caste hierarchy, Women, Heroes and Dalit Assertion in North India, p. 34. 87. ‘The Peasant in Indian History’, General President’s address to the Indian

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History Congress, Kurukshetra, 1982 (Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, 43rd session), p. 17. 88. Y. Gopala Reddy, ‘Socio-Economic Tensions in the Cola Period’ Journal of the Oriental Institute, Baroda, vol. 29, nos. 1-2, (September-December 1979), pp. 74-84; R.S. Sharma, Early Medieval Indian Society, pp. 214-34; Suvira Jaiswal, ‘Social Dimensions of the Cult of Rama’, in Irfan Habib (ed.). Religion in Indian History, Delhi: Tulika, 2007, pp. 75-84. 89. For traces of such conflicts in the story of Hayagriva incarnation of Visnu, Suvira Jaiswal, ‘The Demon and the Deity: Conflict Syndrome in the Hayagriva Legend’, Studies in History, vol. I, no. 1, new series (1985), pp. 1-13. 90. Bageshwar Stone Inscription of Bhudeva dated 916 Vikram Samvat, Shiva Prasad Dabaral, Uttarakhanda ke Abhilekhu evam Mudra, Gadhaval: Viragatha-Prakashan (Vikram Samvat 2047), pp. 68-9, 162. 91. Ibid., Panukesvara copper-plate inscription of Padmatadeva, tenth century,

P-71. 92. D.C. Sircar, Indian Epigraphic Glossary, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1966, s.v., parama-brdhmanya. 93. B.N. Sharma, ‘Religious Tolerance and Intolerance in Indian Sculpture’, in B.R. Saksena (ed.), Umesh Misra Commemoration Volume, Allahabad, 1970, pp. 657-8; C.S. Pathak (ed.), Nalanda, Past and Present, Silver Jubilee Souvenir, Nalanda, 1977, pp. 109-13. Also see B.N.S. Yadava, Society and Culture in Northern India, Allahabad: Central Book Depot, 1973, p. 346 for some instances of the persecution of Buddhists. 94. K.A. Nilakanta Sastri, A History of South India, 3rd edn, Madras: University of Madras, 1966, p. 424; Friedham Hardy, The Religious Culture of India: Power Love and Wisdom, Delhi: Cambridge University Press, South Asia edition, 1995, p. 51. He cites many examples of religious intolerance and conflict (pp. 1050- D.N. Jha, Rethinking Hindu Identity, London, Equinox, 2009, Essay 2; idem (ed.), Contesting Symbols and Stereotypes, Delhi, Aakar, 2013, Chatper 3. The literature of this period also reflects intense sectarian rivalry. Haribhadra Suri’s Dhurtdkhyana is a biting satire on Puranic myths. 95. Padmanabha S. Jaini, ‘Jina Rsabha as an avatara of Visnu’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, vol. XL, pt. 2, 1977, pp. 321-37. 96. Sankara Prddurbhava quoted by Wendy Doniger O’Flaherty, ‘The Images of the Heretic in Gupta Puranas’, in Bardwell Smith (ed.), Essays on Gupta Culture, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1983, p. 121. 97. N. Venkataramanayya in G. Yazdani (ed.), The Early History of the Deccan, Oxford University Press, 1960, vol. II, pt. IX, p. 712. 98. S.R. Sharma, Jainism and Karnataka Culture, Dharwad: Dharwad University, 1940, p. 25; A.D. Pusalker in R.C. Majumdar (eds.), The Age of Imperial

548

Suvira Jaiswal Kanauj: The History and Culture of the Indian People, Series, vol. IV (hereafter HCIP), Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 3rd edn., 1984, p. 291.

99. Gawarwad inscription of 1071 ce, Epigraphia Indica, XV, p. 337; K.A. Nilakanta Sastri, in G. Yazdani (ed.). The Early History of the Deccan, vol. I, pt. VI, p. 443. Also see Ablur inscription of twelfth century in Epigraphia Indica, vol. V, no. 25E. R.N. Nandi has shown that the Jaina temples had become like landlords organizing charities only for the followers of the Jaina religion, excluding the non-Jainas, Religious Institutions and Cults in the Deccan, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1973, p. 76. 100. Sarikaravarman plundered sixty-four temples of gods to meet among other things, the expenses of the royal household (grhyakrtya), Rdjatarahgini, VI, w. 167-69; R.S. Pandits translation, Sahitya Akademi, rpt. 1990,

p. 200. 101. Ksemendragupta had the Jayendra Vihara burnt down as his enemy Damara Samgrama had taken refuge in it. He also robbed the brass statue of Buddha and built a shrine of Ksema Gaurisvara in Srinagara. Ibid., VI, w. 171-3, p. 243. 102. King Kalasa took away the copper image of the Sun-god known as Tamrasvamin and also many brass statues from the viharas. Ibid., VII, v. 696, p. 319. 103. Ibid., VII, w. 1080-90, pp. 351-2, Harsa, however, spared the images of Ranasvamin and Martanda along with two Buddha images, w. 1096-8. In the Prabandha Cintamani Acarya Merutunga refers to king Ajayadeva’s destruction of the temples set up by his predecessor, presumably by his father Kumarapala, C.H. Tawney (tr.), The Prabandha Cintamani or Wishingstone of Narratives, Calcutta: The Asiatic Society, 1901, p. 151. 104. According to B.V. Krishna Rao (A History of the Early Dynasties of Andhradesa, Madras, 1942, pp. 57-8) and M. Rama Rao (Iksvdkus of Vijayapuri, S.V.Tirupati: University, pp. 35f), Iksvaku kingVirapurusadatta had renounced 8aivism and adopted Buddhism. A sculpture at Nagarjunakonda depicts him trampling Siva-liriga under his foot showing his denunciation of Saivism. 105. R.C. Mitra, Decline of Buddhism in India, pp. 38f; 55f; 74 and elsewhere; K.A. Nilakanta Sastri in G. Yazdani (ed.), The Early History of the Deccan, vol. I, pt. VI, pp. 438f. 106. The Hoyasala ruler Ballaladeva is described in his inscriptions as the supporter of all the four samayas, Mahesvara, Bauddha, Vaisnava and Arhat Mitra, op. cit., p. 114. Similarly an inscription of ce 1022 from Belur informs us that Akkadevi, the elder sister of Jayasimha II of the Calukyas of KalyanI, performed all the dharmas mentioned in the Agamas of Jaina, Buddha, Ananta (Visnu) and Rudra, Indian Antiquary, vol. 18 (1889), pp. 279-5.

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107. It is wrong to hold that royal patronage of Buddhism ceased after the seventh century and the Pala dynasty (750-1161 ce) was the sole exception (Omvedt, op. cit., p. 172). In central India the Gahadavala king Jayacandra of Kanauj was a Buddhist and his preceptor was a Buddhist monk named Srimitra, Indian Historical Quarterly, vol. V (1979), pp. 14-29. His predecessor Govindacandra, although himself a paramamdhesvara, granted villages to Buddhist monks living in the Jetavana-vihara. His two queens Kumaradevi and VasantadevI were Buddhists and the former had the famous Dharmacakra Jinavihara constructed at Sarnath. N.N. Das Gupta in R.C. Majumdar (ed.), HCIP, vol. V: Struggle for the Empire, Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 2nd edn., 1966, pp. 422-3. In Orissa and the Deccan too several kings patronized Buddhism in the eleventh-twelfth centuries. 108. In the Aganna Suttanta of the Digha Nikdya the Buddha explains to his two young brahmana disciples the origin of the universe as well as of the khattiya and brahmana mandalas (groups) and of the vessas and suddas. In its origin the division is functional with the khattiyas occupying the first place, but later these are assumed to be fixed or hereditary. Digha Nikdya (ed. T.W. Rhys Davids and J.E. Carpenter, 3 vols, Pali Text Society, London, 1890-1911), vol. 3, pp. 93f, tr. T.W. Rhys Davids (3 vols. Sacred Books of the Buddhists, London, 1899-1921), vol. 3, pp. 88f. We do not have Jaina works of a comparable early date, but the varna divisions are taken for granted in the Acdrdhga and Uttaradhydyana Sutras. 109. Wagle, op. cit., pp. 125f. 110. Chakravarti, op. cit.. Appendix C. 111. A.K. Warder, Indian Buddhism, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1970, pp. 232-3. 112. Debiprasad Chattopadhyaya, Religion and Society, Stephanos Nirmalendu Ghose Lectures, (1981) of Calcutta University, Bangalore: Ma-Le Publishers, 1987, Lecture VII; Chanana, op. cit, pp. 60f. 113. Jdtaka nos. 59; 179; 309; 497; 498 in Jdtakas, ed., Fausboll, 7 vols., with Index, London, 1877-97. Tr. Various hands under the editorship of E.B. Cowell, 7 vols. with index, Cambridge, 1895-1907. 114. P.V. Kane, History of Dharmasdstra, vol. V, pt. II, Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1962, pp. 926, 1009-10. 115. Visnudharma Purdna, chap. 25; Brhanndradiya Purdna, 14-70; 186; 22.9 quoted in R.C. Hazra, Studies in the Upapurdnas, vol. I, pp. 147-8; 325-7. The Arthasdstra of Kautilya II.4.23 instructs that the dwelling place of the pasandas and Candalas should be on the outskirts of the cremation ground. The Kautiliya Arthasdstra, ed. R.P. Kangle, vol. I, Bombay: University of Bombay, 2nd edn., 1970, p. 39.

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116. Nalinaksha Dutt in the Classical Age, HCIP, vol. Ill, Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 3rd edn, 1970, p. 386. 117. Vajrasuci of Asvaghosa, ed. and tr. Sujit Kumar, Santiniketan: Visvabharati, 1950. The identification of this Asvaghosa with the author of the Buddhacarita is, however, doubtful. 118. Latakamelaka, Act II, quoted by B.N.S. Yadava, op. cit., p. 8. 119. Padma Purdna, pt. I, chap. 4, w 86f, quoted by Ram Bhushan Prasad Singh, Jainism in Early Medieval Karnataka (c. ad 500-1200), Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1975, pp.75-6. 120. Adipuranam, VII. 64; XV. 6-12, quoted by Malini Adiga, The Making of Southern Karnataka: Society, Polity and Culture in the Early Medieval Period, Chennai: Orient Longman, 2006, p. 259. 121. Ghoshal, op. cit., pp. 457-62. 122. Adiga, op. cit. 123. Jyoti Prasad Jain, The Jaina Sources of the History of Ancient India (100 bc-

ad 900), Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1964, p. 215. 124. Yasastilaka, pt. II, Book viii, quoted by Singh, op. cit., p. 73. R.S. Sharma quotes Dharmanand Kosambi (Bhagavan Buddha, tr. from Marathi into Hindi, Shripad Joshi, Delhi, 1956, p. 258) to point out that Jainism forbids the initiation of untouchables (Jumgita) into monkhood. R.S. Sharma, Material Culture and Social Formations in Ancient India, pp. 129-30. 125. Singh, op. cit., pp. 74-82. 126. D.D. Kosambi, An Introduction to the Study of Indian History, p. 155, According to Sukumar Dutta, ‘Buddhism was instrumental in giving a death blow to the pretensions of caste superiority of hereditary aristocracy and divinity of kingship in Cambodia’, Transactions of Indian Institute of Advanced Studies, Simla, vol. I, 1965, pp. 179f. 127. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 53-4; Irfan Habib, Essays in Indian History: Towards a Marxist Perception, Delhi: Tulika, 1995, pp. 161-79. 128. Chanana, op. cit., p. 82-4. 129. Yi-Jing (I-Tsing), A Record of the Buddhist Religion as Practised in India and the Malay Archipelago

(ad

671-95), tr. J. Takakasu, Oxford, 1896, p. 62

quoted by Irfan Habib (ed.). Religion in Indian History, Introduction, p. xxiii. 130. Chanana, op. cit., p. 83. 131. Vinaya Pitaka, IV. pp. 300-1 quoted by LB. Horner, Women under Primitive Buddhism, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1st edn., 1930, rpt., 1990, p. 222. Also see pp. 233-4. 132. Hardy, op. cit., p. 451. 133. Chattopadhyaya, op. cit. 134. Yadava, op. cit., p. 380; Nupur Chaudhuri and Rajat Kanta Ray, ‘Eros and History: Sahajiya Secrets and theTantric Culture of Love’, in Irfan Habib (ed.), Religion in Indian History, p. 107.

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135. For the shift in emphasis from relative purity of function to relative purity of birth in the varna-jdti organization, Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 13-18, 71-7. 136. Suvira Jaiswal, Origin and Development ofVaisnavism, 2nd rev. and enlarged edn., Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1981, pp. 123-9. 137. Manusmpi, X.84. Biihler’s translation. Irfan Habib writes that this provided one more argument for treating all peasants as sudras, Religion in Indian History, p. xxiii. 138. Manusmrti, III.68-70. On the changing concept of the pahca-mahdyajha, S. Jaiswal, Caste, p. 121 n. 239. 139. R.S. Sharma, Perspectives in Social and Economic History of Early India, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1983, pp. 45-8. 140. C.A.F. Rhys Davids, Psalms of the Early Buddhists, vol. II, London: P.T.S., 1948, pp. 15; 25; Uma Chakravarti, Social Dimensions of Early Buddhism, p. 34. 141. ftgveda, 1.28.5. 142. Ibid., 1.92.3. Does this hymn represent some older matriarchal substratum? Later, verse 3 of this hymn prays for the gift of troops of dasas . Compare D.D. Kosambi, Myth and Reality, pp. 68-9. 143. S. Jaiswal, ‘Semitizing Hinduism: Changing Paradigms of Brahmanical Integration’, Social Scientist, vol. 19, no. 12, December 1991, pp. 20-32. Reference is to the Brahmanical ideology and not to the role of the brahmana caste in particular. Also see S. Selvam, ‘Sociology of India and Hinduism: Towards a Method’, in Dalits in Modem India: Vision and Values, ed. S.M. Michael, p. 189. 144. Richard F. Gombrich, Buddhist Precept and Practice: Traditional Buddhism in the Rural Highlands of Ceylon, rev. edn., Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991, p. 345. 145. Brajadulal Chattopadhyaya speaks of the shaping of regional societies as essentially a movement from within. He also draws attention to the fact that the horizontal spread of the varna ideology ‘drew widely dispersed and originally outlying groups into a structure which allowed them in a large measure to retain their original character’. The Making of Early Medieval India, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994, pp. 35; 203. Also see S. Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 230-1. 146. Hermann Kulke, Kings and Cults: State Formation and Legitimation in India and South-East Asia, Delhi: Manohar, 1993, pp. 82-93; Bhairabi Prasad Sahu, ‘The Past as a Mirror of the Present: The Case of Oriya Society’, Social Science Probings, vol. IX (1-4), March-December 1995, pp. 8-23. 147. S. Nagaraju, ‘Emergance of Regional Identity and Beginnings ofVernacular Literature: A Case Study’, Social Scientist, vol. 23, nos. 10-12, OctoberDecember 1995, pp. 8-23. 148. The confusion has been traced to Ramanujacarya, who in his book Brahmasutra Bhdsya (II. 1.37-42) identifies the Kalamukhas with Kapalikas.

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Suvira Jaiswal But in fact these two were quite distinct; and the Kalamukha monks seem to have been in active competition with the Jaina monks. Lorenzen is quite positive that there is no reason why the Kalamukhas should not be regarded as orthodox pandits. ’The Kalamukha Background to Virasaivism: Studies in Orientology’, in S.K. Maity, Upendra Thakur and A.K. Narayan (eds.), Essays in Memory of Professor A. L. Basham, Agra: Y.K. Publishers, 1988, p. 279. Also see S.C. Nandimath ‘Saivism’ in R.R. Divakar (ed.), Karnataka Through the Ages, Bangalore: The Government of Mysore, 1960,pp. 153-4, RN. Nandi, Religious Institutions and Cults in the Deccan, pp. 85-90. Nagaraju refers to the anti-caste feelings expressed in the poems of Mallikarjuna Panditaradhya. But he belongs to the twelfth century and was a contemporary of Basava, the founder of the Lirigayata movement, which was strongly anti-Vedic and anti-caste at least in its origins.

149. The ninth-century Maruru inscription of Arkalgud Taluk records a land grant to a Kalamukha centre for vidya dana. B.R. Gopal et al., Epigraphia Camatica, 1984, 8: Ag 28 quoted in Malini Adiga, op. cit., p. 308. 150. Jabalpur Stone Inscription of Jayasimha, verse 44, V.V. Mirashi, Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum, vol. IV, pt. I, no. 64, Government Epigraphist for India, Ootacamund, 1955, tr. p. 339. 151. J.H. Hutton, Caste in India: Its Nature, Function and Origins, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1946, p. 249. 152. Louis Dumont, A South Indian Subcaste: Social Organization and Religion ofPramalai Kallar, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1986. 153. Ibid., p. 12. For the reinterpretation of the sudra category in the context of South Indian communities, see Jaiswal, Caste, pp. 70-1. 154. Dirks, op. cit., pp. 12-60. 155. Ibid. 156. Hutton, op. cit., pp. 178-9 for the eight prohibitions propounded by the Kallars of Ramnad in December 1930. Some of these were that the AdiDravida (untouchable) women shall not cover the upper portion of their bodies, shall not use flowers or saffron paste; the males shall not wear clothes above their hips or below their knees and so on. Non-compliance led the Kallars to use violence against the Adi-Dravidas, whose huts were burned, granaries and properties destroyed and livestock looted. 157. A South Indian Subcaste, pp. 218-23. 158. Dirks, op. cit., p. 72. 159. For example, the assumption of the ‘Yadava’ tide by Gwala, Ahlr, Gope, Sargope, and Ghasi castes and formation of the All-India Yadava Mahasabha. Not rarely the drive towards unification remains confined to political level, social interactions still being regulated by traditional customs. 160. Dirks, op. cit., pp. 295-6, Kancha Ilaiah, "BSP and Caste as Ideology’, Economic and Political Weekly, 29 (12), 1994, pp. 668-9; idem, ‘Productive

Caste, Gender and Ideology

553

Labour, Consciousness, and History: The Dalitbahujan Alternative’, in S. Amin and D. Chakraborty (eds.), Subaltern Studies, IX, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996, pp. 165-200. 161. B.R. Ambedkar, Annihilation of Caste: An Undelivered Speech, ed. Mulk Raj Anand, Delhi: Arnold Publications, 1990, pp. 81-2. 162. This entire essay goes against Dirks’ assertion that Ambedkar ‘was convinced that caste (or, rather untouchable) identities had to be fostered in order to combat centuries of oppression’ (op. cit., p. 278). Ambedkar was so disillusioned with the caste system that in the end he along with a large number of his followers converted to Buddhism. 163. On Dalit mentality, Jaiswal, ‘Dalit Asmita aur Agenda Jati Vinasa Ka’, Tadbhav, vol. 15 (January 2007), pp. 27-40.

,

CHAPTER 21

Revisiting the Political Economy of Pre-modern Tamil Nadu R. MAHALAKSHMI

/ shall accept the groupings that history suggests only to subject them at once to interrogation; to break them up and then to see whether they can be legitimately reformed; or whether other groupings should be made; to replace them in a more general space which, while dissipating their apparent familiarity, makes it possible to construct a theory of them.

1

MICHEL FOUCAULT

A number of works on Indian history in the twentieth century, emanating particularly from locations within Western academia, have focused on the state as if it were occupying an autonomous realm, dependent on, and indeed stemming from, ideological legitimation in the form of religion. The juxtaposition of political power and religious authority in these interpretations were seen as representative of, at once, the contradictory and complementary elements in the ‘Hindu’ world-view, and this has been very neatly labelled as the ‘inner conflict of tradition’. This apparent inner conflict in pre-modern India has led to repeated avowals of the separation of kingship and religion on the one hand, and an inexorable dependency of political power and the ritual order on the other.2 In the words of Thomas Trautmann, there is a powerful ambivalence that characterizes the relationship between the king and the brahmana in such a reading, reflecting the uneasy relationship between power and authority, and immanence and transcendence, which is, however, a curiously stable and persistent conundrum within the brahmanical idea of kingship.3

556

R. Mahalakshmi

Taking forward this argument, Visuvalingam argues that the conflict was essentially an example of‘transgressive sacrality’, a ‘blanket term for bundling together (seemingly) disparate phenomena that directly or symbolically violate the founding rules of a given religious tradition but for the same reason are held to be all the more sacred’.4 The focus on questions of legitimation and patronage have further lent themselves to such argumentation.5 On the other side, histories of pre-modern India from the late 1950s began to interrogate the quotidian life of the times to engage with a social universe that was more inclusive and sensitive to tensions, conflicts and power struggles, beyond the brahmanical topos, where kingship and ritual were but one among the many significant issues that were focused upon.6 However, the earlier trend, based on the idea of the umbilical cord tying kingship and religion, never really disappeared. Ronald Inden, in an imaginative reading of historical sources, predicates his theory of divine kingship on the ‘set of practices that enabled kings and courts to establish political societies of kings—imperial formations—which were dialectically ordered rather than administratively united or feudally divided’.7 Chakravarti’s vexed subtitle in a recent work, Beyond the Kings and the Brahmanas, once again attempts to anchor Indian historiography to the quotidian past, seeing the former approach as limiting and a top-heavy understanding of history.8 The Foucauldian dismantling of the unities of history or rather the construction of‘discursive events’ that would question the premises of structural unity in historical contexts has returned in Indian history, particularly in the context of medieval south India, more refined in its evocation and more insidious in its import. In this paper, I seek to examine the historiographical turns that have led to the impoverishing of the study of political economy, and the emphasis on reflexivity, particularly epistemic reflexivity in the sense that Pierre Bourdieu9 has defined it. This has apparently been accomplished by shifting the gaze away from apparatuses of state to ‘symbols of substance’.10 I will be focusing on the writings of Noboru Karashima, Y. Subbarayulu, R. Chamapakalakshmi and Kesavan Veluthat on the one hand, and that of Sanjay Subrahmanyam, Velcheru Narayana Rao and David Shulman on the other, and examining both sets through a reading

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557

of inscriptions and literary works to meaningfully engage with questions related to state, the agrarian economy and relations of production in early medieval Tamil Nadu. First, how do we define the medieval in south Indian, or even Indian history? In an important paper presented at the Indian History Congress in 1997 titled ‘Into the “Medieval”: And Out of It’, and reprinted in the 2009 collection of articles titled The Early Medieval in South India, Kesavan Veluthat refers to the pernicious equating of the medieval with Muslim rule in the Indian context." Veluthat defines the early medieval period in south India, with particular reference to Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Kerala, as providing evidence for the growth of a social formation that was considerably different from what existed in the earlier period. But as he has pointed out, the early medieval still occupies a twilight zone between the ancient and the medieval, and the transition from the early medieval to the medieval has not been carefully worked out, with the one exception being the work of Karashima. There are a number of works that have focused on the early medieval period in the Tamil region, and it has become a tedious exercise to begin with the analysis of Burton Stein, that the state as we understand it, as an organic structure with a bureaucracy, military and revenue extracting mechanism, did not exist.12 Stein was of the opinion that the model of the Segmentary state that had been used by Aidan Southall to denote the society in Alur in east Africa could be applied to south India, and indeed to the entire subcontinent. Steins argument was that the peasant localities called nadu comprising peasantdominated villages (ur) and brahmana settlements (brahmadeya), were insular and possessed a coherence because of two major factors. The first was the system of cross-cousin marriages within south India, where a girl could marry her paternal aunt’s son or her maternal uncle. As a result of this, it was argued by Stein, there was no physical movement of people far beyond their villages within a locality. The second factor identified by Stein was the evolution of a paradigmatic framework to accommodate changes within the caste structure that were inevitable over time. This frame was the right and left hand division of castes, by which socially ascendant groups could claim superiority over others within the broad horizontal caste spectrum.

558

R. Mahalakshmi

Again, this framework would prevent the percolation of caste tensions and movements beyond the peasant locality. As a result of this cohesiveness of the nadu it was not possible to break the structures of authority that existed here. Stein sees in the brahmadeya the first instance of an external element entering into the insular society. He argues that what we see as the development of states under the Pallavas, Pandyas or Colas was essentially the consolidation of power through the exertion of ritual sovereignty by these dynasties by using VedicPuranic religion as the tool for legitimacy. Thus, Stein gives us the first comprehensive idea of how the state, communities and ideologies can be linked together in our construction of the past. There are many problems with Stein’s analysis, and many scholars including Professors R.S. Sharma and D.N. Jha have addressed these.13 But I think two important issues gained prominence as a result of Steins intervention. The first was the renewed vigour with which an analysis of the political economy of early medieval south India was undertaken. The second was the significance that began to be attached to ideological mechanisms that were now seen as playing a significant role in the creation and maintenance of political structures. Researching and presenting his findings at almost the same time as Stein, Noboru Karashima provided a significant counterpoint to Steins reading of south Indian history in the early medieval and medieval periods. Working broadly within the Marxist framework, Karashima attempted to show the growth of a social formation in early medieval and medieval south India, which saw the dissolution of communal landholding and the growth of private ownership of land on the one hand, and the emergence of a power structure through which ‘the ruler or ruling class is able to control the peasants and other sections of society and extract surplus products from them’.14 Although the Cola dynasty of the Vijayalaya line can be dated from c. 846 ce, it is only from c. 985 ce, when Rajaraja I ascended the throne, that scholars speak of significant structural changes that led to the establishment of an imperial structure, or, as Karashima would have it, ‘a unitary state’. Let us examine the sources that Karashima and others such as Subbarayulu, Champakalakshmi, Veluthat and Heitzman take as the most important documents of the Cola period—inscriptions on stone and copper plates that were public

Revisiting the Political Economy of Pre-modern Tamil Nadu

559

proclamations of kings and other elites. Much has been said of the Tanjavur inscriptions of Rajaraja Cola, and I quote from a typical meykkirti (prasasti in Tamil): Svasti Shrihi. Tirumakal Polapperunilacelviyun Tanakke Urimai Puntamai Manakkola Kantalurccdlai Kalamaruttaruliya Venkaindtuh Kankdpdtiyun Tatikaipdtiyuh Nulampapdtiyun Kutamalaindtun Kollamun Kalinkamum Murattelil Cihkalar Ilamantalamum Irattapdti Elaraiyilakkamum Munnirpalantivu Pannirayiramun . .. -15 May prosperity remain forever. The king (Rajakesarivarman 5ri Rajarajadeva) whose strength kept increasing because the goddess of the great earth like the goddess of fortune had become his own, who cut the vessel in the hall at Kandalur and was the conqueror of Vengainadu, Garigapadi, Tadigaipadi, Nolambapadi, Coorg, Kollam, Kaliriga, Ilamandalam inhabited by the ruffian Sinhalas, Rattapadi, the old islands, etc.

We can make sense of the contents above, which can otherwise be simplistically read as military conquests,16 when we look at Chattopadhyaya’s reading of how lineages are associated with particular localities, how they are pushing at the seams of their localities to exert influences outside their realms, and how in the Cola period, we have evidence of not only the emergence of a lineage growing into a supra local power but also of the assimilation of the territories of other ‘conquered’ lineages through administrative mechanisms.17 The inscriptions from the time of Rajaraja Cola provide a major break in the history of the region from the sixth century onwards, when inscriptions emerged as public documents registering wars, conquests and defeats. The inscription cited above further states that the Rajarajesvaram Temple that was built by the king was granted taxes from various villages, largely in the vicinity of the site—between Nagapattinam and Tanjavur—to support the ritual expenses (nibandha) of the temple, and that these villages were situated in various valanatu from within the CoUmantalam. Subbarayulu has constructed the political geography of the Cola period, and his mapping has revealed that though the idea of the nadu as small territorial units or associated with particular lineages was known earlier, it was only with the emergence of the Colas as a regional power under Rajaraja I that units such as Cola nadu were rechristened Cojamantalam, or Panti nadu as Rajaraja

560

R. Mahalakshmi

mantalam, orTontai nadu as Jayankontacolamantalam.18 The valana du was a more significant administrative innovation as it retained its identity as an administrative unit above the nadu and below the ma ntalam only from c. 1000 to 1250

ce.

This rich data and analysis

provided a crucial breakthrough in understanding the structure of the state in early medieval Tamilakam. Other inscriptions reveal the nature of state structures and their control over economic resources. Karashima and, later, Heitzman have looked at the revenue terms that find mention in the Cola inscriptions, and have reinforced the findings of Subbarayulu with regard to the nature of the early medieval state exemplified by that of the Cojas in south India. Karashima has tabulated the inscriptional references to revenue terms and sees a different pattern existing in Colamantalam from that in Jayankontacolamantalam or even Rdjardjamantalam. While Stein argued on the basis of these findings that it proved his theory of the segmentary state, Karashima interpreted the evidence as indicating the continuation of local structures of revenue administration and the imposition of regional structures such as vafanatu and mantalam to allow for the flow of revenues outside localities. There were certain kinds of revenues that had to paid across the macro-region such as katamai (duty), kutimai (land tax), eccoru (cooked rice), muttaiydl (labour dues), tattar-pattam (tax on goldsmiths), antarayam (interior land tax) and vetti (irrigation labour dues). Heitzman further classified six terms as signifying movement of resources outside the locality needs, and five terms referring to those that were for redistribution within the locality. Amongst the first, we have antarayam, katamai, irai, eccoru, patikaval andperumvaril ciruvari. Among the latter, we have vetti, muttaiydl, natacci, kutimai and cunkam/ tattar-pattam, etc. So, essentially what we have between c. 1000-1250

ce

in the region is the integration of different regions,

although at different points of time, through the extension of Coja control and authority. The state as defined by Karl Marx in its essence refers to the institutional mechanisms through which the class interests of a few are maintained vis-a-vis other classes.19 This kind of an apparatus is very clearly evident by the early eleventh century in the Tamil region. The institutional mechanisms through which the states resource

Revisiting the Political Economy of Pre-modern Tamil Nadu

561

base was expanded and consolidated in the Tamil region were identified as the brahmadeya, devadana and the nagaram.20 It has been argued that the acquisition and alienation of land in the early part of the Cola period (c. ninth-tenth centuries ce) was visible in the brahmadeya, either by the community as whole or by individuals, reflecting the evolution of private property in the brahmana pockets.21 The north wall of the central shrine of the Brahmapurlsvara Temple in Pullamangai22 carries an 80 line inscription of Uttama Cola in the third year of his rule (c. 973

).23

ce

It recorded the tax-free (iraiyili)

sale of 1 Vi ma of land in another brahmadeya, Sri Kantamangalam, to the sacred hall (tirumanimantakam) of Kala Pitari in the central portion of Pullamarigalam. The land, which was the kavitikkani of the madhyastafi was sold by the mahasabha or great brahmana assembly of Pullamarigalam in Kilar kurramP The mahasabha had confiscated 3 ma of land from the village madhyasta named Tiruvenkattatikal alias EJunurraimpattunalvan and his brothers, as the former had not given proper accounts for the money and paddy collected from certain velalas and brahmanas. The karanattar (accountants) of that locality where the goddess’ shrine was, paid 25 ilakkdcu (literally, gold coins of Sri Lanka26) for the 1 Vi ma of land. In this example, the sabhd is facilitating the sale of a land, after freeing (read, confiscating) it from a service-tenure and making it tax-free. The accountants of the brahmana settlement appear as the buyers of the land, indicating their purchasing power in this period. An inscription from the north wall of the central shrine in the Bilvanatha Temple in Tiruvallam,27 belonging to the sixth regnal year of Rajendra II (c. 1058

),28

ce

records the clearing of 1500 kuli of

forest land for the purpose of cultivation. This land was then gifted as an arcanabhoga (to be enjoyed for offerings) to the Goddess Durga by the devakanmi and devadana residents of Tiruvallam utaiyar in Karaivali Tuynatu, a part of Perumppanappati in Jayankontacojamantalam. Here, clearly the expansion of the agrarian frontier into the forested region is attested. Again, it is the brahmana initiative that is evident in this endeavour. In both the instances cited above, the significance of the brahmadeya and devadana as institutional tools in expanding agriculture can be seen. The recognition of the importance of irrigation in the dry, arid

R. Mahalakshmi

562

regions of South Asia has led to the revisiting of theories of Asiatic Despotism propounded by Karl Marx29 among others, particularly in Wittfogel’s writings.30 However, contrary to the claims that control over irrigation sustained political authority structures here, inscriptions indicate that the local elites, supported by the state, facilitated the creation and maintenance of such structures. A record from the Tyagarajasvamin Temple in Tiruvarur belonging to the time of Kulottunga I

(c.

1114

),31

ce

states that apanimakari52 from this place,

who bought lands to provide food offerings and daily worship for the goddess in the temple, was offered complete control over irrigation in these lands.33 We hear of an inscription from the Vyaghrapurlsvara Temple in Tiruvengaivasal,34 dated in the reign of Rajendra I (c. 1038 ce),

of a brahmana who paid 41 kdcu as iraikdval (tax protection) for

the sapaiyar vayal (agricultural land of the sabhd), the sapaiyar kulam (well or tank) and the dry lands, for the purpose of a donation.3’ Here, an individual was buying the lands of the assembly, and further was being given control over irrigation facilities, which is again a general pattern that we see from the sale-deeds of this period.36 We know of the importance of tank committees in ensuring de-silting and maintaining embankments of tanks, etc.37 In some instances, we hear of such committees performing a regulatory role as well, and as being empowered to levy fines for violation of social rules and regulations. For instance, in the Visnu Temple in Ukkal38 {c. 1002

),39

ce

the betel leaf sellers are warned that if they sold their betel

leaves anywhere other than in the Pitari Temple, then the ‘great men in the tank committee’ (erivariyapperumakkat) would levy a fine of 1 kaLancu towards the tank fund on them.40 Much has been said about the donations in the royal temple of Rajarajesvaram in Tanjavur, which reveal the enormous resources that were under the control of the state.41 Among the many ways in which resources were redistributed and invested, was the extremely interesting way in which cash donations were handled. A typical inscription on the niche of the eastern enclosure of this temple in the tenth regnal year of Rajendra I (c. 1022

),42

ce

records the gift of 120 kdcu, which

were then given to the assembly of Perumakkalur, a brahmadeya in Kiiarkkurram of Nittavinotavalanatu.43 The assembly agreed to pay interest, @ 1/8 per kacu, of 15 kdcu every year into the temple

Revisiting the Political Economy of Pre-modem Tamil Nadu

563

treasury.44 Another inscription on the south wall of the central shrine here (c.

1022 ce),45

records that the total gifts of 600 kacu recorded

were to be deposited with a brahmadeya assembly. In return, the sab ha would have to provide interest every year, @ 3 kuruni of paddy per kacu, of 150 kalam of paddy to the Tanjavur Temple. What is evident from these instances is that money deposits, depending on the purposes for which the gifts were made, could accrue interest in cash and in kind. Interestingly, the brahmana settlements, with already entrenched agricultural practices, are the ones entrusted with these deposits, reinforcing the dependence of these on the largesse of the state. By the tenth century

ce,

it was evident that there were distinct

categories within rural society to refer to settled areas that had developed in the Tamil region. For instance, Rajaraja Is inscriptions refer to the following areas as part of the rural settlement—ur nattam (settled village site), srikoyilkal (temples), kulam (ponds), vaykalkal (channels), the Paraicceri, Kammanaceri, Hacceri and Tlntacceri (settlements of Paraiyas, Kammalars, Izhavas and untouchables).46 Social stratification in the form of entrenched class and occupational differences, mediated through the varna-jati framework as evinced by the separation of the untouchable localities within rural society, can be clearly seen.47 The manner in which the caste system was entrenched is obvious in the separation of even cemeteries of different communities, most common being the references to the Vejjancutukatu and Paraicutukatu.48 The untouchable quarter as a distinct part of the settlement is also obvious. Bhakti hymns refer to the candalas as a lowly category, and those who spurned the worship of Siva and Visnu were seen as joining the ranks of these candalas. There are stories in the twelfth-century Saiva hagiography Periya Puranam that refer to the purification of the untouchable who became a devotee of Siva, and ironically, the moment of his purification is also the point of sublimation of his caste identity, in that he disappears from the mortal world.49 What was the proportion of people who lived in these different settlements is something we can only speculate about. But going by the occupational profiling in inscriptions and literature, since they formed the bulk of the workforce, it would have been a substantial ratio compared to the socio-economic elites such as the velalas and brahmanas. It is interesting to note that the Ilamakkal of

564

R. Mahalakshmi

Nallilmankalam, a part of Merpalukurnatu in Manaiyirkkottam,50 donated some land to the Pitari Temple in the village as early as in the reign of Aditya I (c. 894

ce),51

implying the possibility that at

least some section of this community were socially mobile. The brahmana as a distinctive category is known, as is the camanar (.sramana), from the earliest inscriptions available in the region. While much has been said about the brahmadeya, I will briefly recap Champakalakshmi’s analysis of the growth of the institution. While the granting of lands to settle brahmana population drew from Dharmasastric models, there was considerable variation in their constitution and powers depending on the regional and local situations.52 While such settlements can be traced to the early centuries of the Common Era, they need not have had suffixes such as mahgalam, caturvedimangalam, or akaramP This is evident from the Pandya copper plates from Sinamannur and Velvikudi, where the earlier existing brahmana settlement was renamed with a mahgalam suffix.54 We can also see a political dimension to the creation of these ‘renewed’ settlements as there are structures other than those of the sabhas that appear to govern its functioning.55 The evolution of the tankuru! taniyur as well as the caturvedimangalam is related to the growth of rural and urban settlements and hierarchies within them, and the transactional networks that evolved around them, particularly in the erstwhile Pallava regions that the Cola kings now controlled. Hence, while Madurantaka caturvedimangalam in the erstwhile Pallava regions was instituted in the time of Parantaka I, later it included other earlier and important settlements such as the northern hamlet of Madurantakam, Tirumukkudal.56 The presence of traders, pro¬ fessional groups and service providers within the settlement showed its gradual evolution as a centre for the movement of commodities and resources.57 Further, the hamlets of such brahmana settlements that had outgrown their origins, the pitakai, were also reorganized to form an integrated corporate body called the perilamainatu.58 The most distinctive social category in terms of control over economic resources were the velalas, although they are very visible as landowners only after the tenth century

ce.

Karashima argues that

the reason for this was that the peasants cultivated and held their land communally in the earlier period. With the intrusion of new

Revisiting the Political Economy of Pre-modern Tamil Nadu

565

elements in the region in the form of the brahmana settlements, the notion of private ownership of land gradually evolved.59 Inscriptions of the Coja king Rajadhiraja II in 1174

ce

from Kilpaluvur, in

Tiruchirapalli district, ordering that land could not be bought in that valanatu were indicative of the crisis that was setting in as far as landholding was concerned, indicating that traditional landholders— the velala in the traditional ur—were being displaced by new socio¬ economic elites who wished to invest their wealth in land.60 Shauvik Mukhopadhyaya and Karashima have focused on hill tribes such as the Palli and Surutiman who were granted land and became agriculturists, and it is this phenomenon that caused anxiety among traditional kani holders leading to the Kilpaluvur injunctions.61 It is these latter groups Karashima has shown who joined together to form the Cittirameli periyandtu—the big ndtu of the wielders of the beautiful plough, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.62 They perforce had to forge allegiances across the traditional peasant localities because of the opposition to them amongst the local nattdr elite. Another important social phenomenon that we encounter in the Tamil region by the tenth century is the evolution of the right and left hand divisions of social groups, a factor that I have already mentioned led Burton Stein to posit the idea of the insularity of the peasant units of society. Arjun Appadurai refers to the valahkai (right) and itahkai (left) as a ‘root paradigm’, which ‘provided a cultural means of integrating anomalous, antagonistic, or competitive ideas, groups or practices so that they do not impede or halt the proper functioning of society’.63 The first major instance of this division being prevalent in Tamil society is in the inscriptions of Rajaraja I. Here, the Valahkai Velaikkarar are mentioned with thirteen different prefixes.64 The Kaikkolar Perumpatai, Kaikkola senapati and the Arumolideva Terinja Kaikkojar of Rajaraja Is time, and the even earlier references to Vlracola Terinja Kaikkolar of Parantaka Is time, provide further evidence of the complex evolution of, in this instance, the weaving community, where they are distinguished from the Saliyar/ Kammalar.65 The Kaikkolar are eulogized by the twelfth century Cola court poet Ottakuttar in the Itti Elupatu as a community who literally lived by the strength of their arms—justifying the weaving community’s taking up of military arms.66 Karashima and Subbarayulu

566

R. Mahalakshmi

suggest that in its earliest usage, the right and left hand denomination was essentially a military classification, and that it gradually came to signify a supra-local and multi-community identity from the twelfth century ce.67 In political terms, the fall of the Coja dynasty in the thirteenth century was followed by the occupation of the erstwhile Cola territories by the Later Pandyas, Hoysalas and Kakatlyas. Around this time, some of the territories knitted together by the imperial Coja kings, saw the rise of the former chieftains who had temporarily been assimilated into the Cola bureaucracy—such as in the nattivilndtu, the Sambuvarayas of North Arcot district with their centre at Padaividu.68 There is a lot that can be said about social transformations that had occurred from the thirteenth century. The most important was the rise of a new class of landholders, as evident by the composition of the corporate body Citirameh Periyanatu: all four varnas were members of this agricultural guild.69 The growth of professional artisan communities as well as the pervasive significance of mercantile bodies such as the Ainurruvar indicate other kinds of social mobility.70 Imprecations against potential violators of donations reflect the other end of the social hierarchy—some were cursed to be Pulaiya and some Panmaiya.71 The dilemma of the Siamese twins—kingship and Brahmanical authority in regulating the premodern world—that I began this essay with, comes back to haunt us at this juncture. Karashima reflects on the possibility of the decline of state power contributing to the rigidification of caste boundaries, marked by the proliferation of jat is.11

II A striking critique was launched against Karashima, Subbarayulu and others for their ‘attractive’ formulations, which apparently rested on the ‘slenderest threads of evidence’.73 In this analysis, a disjunction exists between the actual process of examination of inscriptions by Karashima and his collaborators, and the positing of general formulations (which seem to be neither validated nor contradicted by the inscriptions). A central issue is clearly the treatment of the inscriptional record, concerning which

Revisiting the Political Economy of Pre-modem Tamil Nadu

567

no real consensus exists among historians. We are aware that the use of inscriptions as a source is rendered difficult by their inherendy fragmented nature (particularly when compared to narrative sources); there is also, dearly, the important question of why certain events as opposed to others are chosen for the far from costless process of recording on stone. Moreover, the inscriptions by their very nature tend to cause the historian to lay disproportionate stress on the institutions which house them—namely the temples. It is thus no coincidence that the temple looms so large in so many of the existing formulations on pre-colonial south Indian history, as if all other political, social and economic institutions can be defined only in relation to it.74

The methodology followed in Rao et al.’s approach is inspired by the Foucauldian dictum that discursive formations need to be understood in terms of motivations and assertions rather than representing any realities. So, for instance, the origin myth of the Madurai Nayakas in an anonymous eighteenth century Telugu text is deconstructed to reveal incidents as well as intentionality.75 Nicholas Dirks, in an earlier study of the so-called little kingdoms, had argued on the basis of what appears to be a Tamil translation of the same text, that the transactions between the nayakar and the Vijayanagara king reveal the centrality of a ritual relationship between them.76 Displacing political economy as the template of explanation by what could be called the ‘cultural economy of the nayaka , V. Narayana Rao, Sanjay Subrahmanyam and David Shulman try to understand the literary text as constructed in such a manner as to suggest how a father and son Nayaka duo conspire to ‘produce a state’ through various means—‘linguistic, dramatic, affective, economic, strategic’. 77 Instead of the image of the dharmic king, we apparently find in certain genres of texts such as the abhyudayamu, the king as a libertine and an aesthete, deliberately constructed in this manner to hint at the answer to the question, ‘who runs the kingdom?’: definitely not the king.78 Can court eulogies and formulaic descriptions of kings and realms be the only sources, or, as has been claimed, the more nuanced ones to understand political authority? Can we eschew the inscriptional record altogether because of our suspicion of the intent and locations of these sources? And finally, can the construction of cultural economies substitute the analysis of the political economy?

568

R. Mahalakshmi

I examine a court chronicle in this section—the Kalihgattuparani—to enter into this discursive frame that privileges the literary narrative over the inscriptional record.79 The text was composed by Jayamkondar, the court poet of Kulotturiga, in the early twelfth century. The Kalihgattupparani, a poem in thirteen parts, describes the Kaliriga War (c. 1110

ce)

of Kulotturiga I (1070-1122

ce)80

and

celebrates the victory of the Cola forces led by the accomplished general, Karunakara Tondaiman. Kulotturigas conquest of lands is compared to Siva’s conquest of the daughter of the mountain (malai makal), Uma: one did this for the welfare of the land, while the other for the welfare of the world.81 The poem can be understood from two perspectives: the importance of kingship and the centrality of war in this conceptualization; and, the significance of traditions of goddess worship that celebrated war and bloodshed. The second theme is so powerful that the Tamil scholar Zvelebil remarked, 'Kali and the devils are always present’.82 In fact, every canto finds the presence of the goddess and her attendants. There are invocations by the general and his armies to the goddess and then the collectivity of mother goddesses known as Saptamatrkas, amongst other divinities, to grant them victory before they embarked on their mission in the very first canto of the text.83 Kulotturigas tiger banner is said to have been held aloft by the Cola general like the seven banners of the buffalo, swan,/>