Skip to main content

Dancing Girl and Pakistan


As part of the increasing give and take exchanges taking place these days between India and Pakistan, the latter has demanded that the Dancing Girl of Mohenjo-Daro be returned to it.  

Dancing Girl
Dancing Girl is a bronze statuette excavated from the Mohenjo-Daro site before India and Pakistan became two separate nations.  It is just 10.5 centimetres high and is about 5000 years old.  The pubescent girl is stark naked except for a whole array of bangles and a necklace.  The posture looks like that of a dancer though she might have been confidently making a statement to her audience.  She holds her chin up and looks smug.  In short, she is a total contrast to what today’s Pakistan expects of a young girl.

Let us visit her briefly at the National Museum in New Delhi to ask her what she thinks of her threatened extradition.

“Oh, I think it would be horrible,” says DG losing all the panache that has graced her face for millennia.  “What will they do to me there?  Will they throw a purdah over me?  Will they lock me up in some closet?  They might even blast me to smithereens.”  DG shivers.

You understand her feelings and emotions.  She belonged to a culture in which people lived together as a cooperative community the kind of which cannot exist even in the most fantastic of human dreams today.  Mohenjo-Daro.

Mohenjo-Daro
Mohenjo-Daro was a dream.  You can read it in the radiance of her demeanour.  Mohenjo-Daro was a city of excellence built almost five millennia ago.  The Citadel had a large residential structure which could house about 5000 people.  It had two huge assembly halls and a number of public baths.  Then there was the Lower City.  There was the market.  An excellent drainage system.  There was love among the people.  Women were not discriminated against. It was a civilisation that was superior to most that came later. 

“Okay, I can’t ever go back to that, I know,” says DG plaintively.  “But why would I go to a place that is absolutely opposite to all that I ever lived in?”

You know you have no answers to her questions.  You know you live in a world that is strange even to you.  You don’t understand things like nationalism and jihadism.  You don’t understand why people create wonderful things only to bombard them in the name of some oddities allegedly living along with aliens up there somewhere. 

You bid adieu to DG.  You wish her good luck.  You know she cannot shed tears.  Thousands of years of existence is certain to make you hard.

  

Comments

  1. I wonder whether they have any good record of preservation. I never heard of it.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Nor have I. This present demand is just another retaliation.

      Delete
  2. I like the way you made DG converse and made her put her point candidly.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. If DG had life and is she could talk... we would have learnt a lot about the pathetic drawbacks of our civilisation in comparison to hers, at least.

      Delete
  3. Even if she could shed tears, would they be of any value to anyone? Where women of flesh and blood suffer, what hope can be for a lifeless piece of art?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. There's no hope, Sunaina. Not only for her but even for others in that country.

      Delete
  4. Very informative post . I was unknown about this grand piece of history but when Pakistan court ask about it then me too become curious to know about it and here is your post to tell all the things related to it . It is in National Museum , it is very near to me.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I visited the National Museum a number of times along with students and friends. It's a place worth visiting especially since you are near it.

      Delete
  5. Her nonchalant pose in the dignity of nudity says it loud and clear that she will be an alien there:(

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

The Little Girl

The Little Girl is a short story by Katherine Mansfield given in the class 9 English course of NCERT. Maggie gave an assignment to her students based on the story and one of her students, Athena Baby Sabu, presented a brilliant job. She converted the story into a delightful comic strip. Mansfield tells the story of Kezia who is the eponymous little girl. Kezia is scared of her father who wields a lot of control on the entire family. She is punished severely for an unwitting mistake which makes her even more scared of her father. Her grandmother is fond of her and is her emotional succour. The grandmother is away from home one day with Kezia's mother who is hospitalised. Kezia gets her usual nightmare and is terrified. There is no one at home to console her except her father from whom she does not expect any consolation. But the father rises to the occasion and lets the little girl sleep beside him that night. She rests her head on her father's chest and can feel his heart...

Unromantic Men

Romance is a tenderness of the heart. That is disappearing even from the movies. Tenderness of heart is not a virtue anymore; it is a weakness. Who is an ideal man in today’s world? Shakespeare’s Romeo and Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Devdas would be considered as fools in today’s world in which the wealthiest individuals appear on elite lists, ‘strong’ leaders are hailed as nationalist heroes, and success is equated with anything other than traditional virtues. The protagonist of Colleen McCullough’s 1977 novel, The Thorn Birds [which sold more than 33 million copies], is torn between his idealism and his natural weaknesses as a human being. Ralph de Bricassart is a young Catholic priest who is sent on a kind of punishment-appointment to a remote rural area of Australia where the Cleary family arrives from New Zealand in 1921 to take care of the enormous estate of Mary Carson who is Paddy Cleary’s own sister. Meggy Cleary is the only daughter of Paddy and Fiona who have eight so...

Dine in Eden

If you want to have a typical nonvegetarian Malayali lunch or dinner in a serene village in Kerala, here is the Garden of Eden all set for you at Ramapuram [literally ‘Abode of Rama’] in central Kerala. The place has a temple each for Rama and his three brothers: Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna. It is believed that Rama meditated in this place during his exile and also that his brothers joined him for a while. Right in the heart of the small town is a Catholic church which is an imposing structure that makes an eloquent assertion of religious identity. Quite close to all these religious places is the Garden of Eden, Eden Thoppu in Malayalam, a toddy shop with a difference. Toddy is palm wine, a mild alcoholic drink collected from palm trees. In my childhood, toddy was really natural; i.e., collected from palm trees including coconut trees which are ubiquitous in Kerala. My next-door neighbours, two brothers who lived in the same house, were toddy-tappers. Toddy was a health...

Goodbye, Little Ones

They were born under my care, tiny throbs of life, eyes still shut to the world. They grew up under my constant care. I changed their bed and the sheets regularly making sure they were always warm and comfortable. When one of them didn’t open her eyes after a fortnight of her birth, I rang up my cousin who is a vet and got the appropriate prescription that gave her the light of day in just two days. I watched each one of them stumble through their first steps. Today they were adopted. I personally took them to their new home, a tiny house of a family that belongs to the class that India calls BPL [Below Poverty Line]. I didn’t know them at all until I stopped my car a little away from their small house, at the nearest spot my car could possibly reach. They lived in another village altogether, some 15 km from mine. Sometimes 15 km can make a world of difference. A man who looked as old as me had come to my house in the late afternoon. “I’d like to adopt your kittens,” he said. He...