Archaeology

The Example of `Prehistory’

Many archaeologists are content, even proud, to call themselves prehistorians. In Europe the term creates links to the great tradition of writers such as Montelius and Childe and to all the knowledge that has been amassed of European prehistory. The term is a good description of the interests of many European archaeologists. But there are now difficulties in using the term. In a global context the term, taken for granted so long in Europe, becomes politically incorrect. For example when used in Australia the term implies that aboriginal groups had no history (see Wolf 1982). This is because `history' in the word `prehistory’ means written history. But, of course, non-western and non-literate peoples did have a vibrant history, even without written records of it. There is no such thing as a time before history unless we privilege the written over the unwritten, the western over the non-western which is clearly unacceptable. (Hodder, I. 1999. Crises in Global Archaeology. P.8. The Archaeological Process. Blackwell Publishers, London).

Friends,

There is such a wealth of tribal folklore in India that has been collected assiduously by both colonial and postcolonial ethnologists and anthropologists that this collection of myths, folkloke and fables would easily fill the largest library in the world. If these are impossible to collect and publish in one place then perhaps we may be able to data-mine some aspects of the cosmology present in such folklore and give it some representation nevertheless. One way to do this it to think that our tribal folks in their stories, fables and folklore imagined a universe that was significantly different from ours. What was the nature of this universe? I have read some of these, and since the original stories are to a great extent published and already available for reading, my attempt here is to build on that reading and create a tribal science fiction.

Ajay, 2009.

An Exploratory Story

There was once a man named Bhikhu. Bhikhu lived in a forested village and thus had plenty of space in which to roam, play his flute, graze and tend his goats, or to lie idle on the wet grass, gazing at a setting sun, followed by the rising moon, and then the stars. This he did for some twenty-five years of his life. And then one day, as he was lazing on his wet grassy-bed, gazing at a distant star, he was reminded of a story his old grandmother had told him long long ago about one of the constellations that was very visible to him right now. She had said that all good men of his tribe who have died had become stars of that constellation. That leads, Bhikhu thought, to the simple conclusion, that other groups of stars were then also ancestros and friends who had of other tribes, who had either died separately or together. She had said further that on some nights of the year, these star-men descended to the earth to ask after their respective clans welfare and brought for them gifts. However, she did add that these star men looked a little different from their tribe. And that depended on which clans they belonged to when they were alive. If their totem was the kusum flower, or the palm tree, or the tiger, or the leopard, or the lion, or the jackal, or the deer, or the mahua flower, or the jamun tree, then their bodies were altered suitably after their death and before they became stars. However, dead or alive, they remained kinsmen and attached to their respective clans and therefore posed no threat at all to the people they met on their infrequent visits.

Bhikhu's mind then turned again to looking at the stars. he suddenly saw a very bright shooting star, and what is that he wondered as he heard a heavy object thud, with a loud splash, in a nearby pond that he knew so well. on this moonlit night the water of the pond looked very inviting for a quick dip and a bath,however, Bhikhu, naturally, had other questions on his mind,as he did hear that thud and splash, such sounds as he had,never before,in twenty-five years of his living memory, he had ever heard. so he proceeded a little closer to the pond to investigate the source of that sound. the waters of the pond had a slight ripple, but no more was indicated, as to what might have fallen in it all so suddenly. then he gradually leant forward and took some of the pond-water and drank it out of impulse, perhaps a sudden thirst generated by this sudden event. gradually as his eyes focussed enough to be able to see the pond water more clearly in the bright moonlight he saw an amazing thing. he saw a number of very strange fish swimming in the pond water as it was visible to him at that point in the night. so without further thought and out of plain curiosity and without remembering anything of his grandmother's tale Bhikhu reached forward and literally took one of these fish in his hand. it came easily and without any struggle whatsoever and neither was it huffing and puffing like fish usually do if they leave water. The first curious thing Bhikhu noted was that the fish had a very fishy whiskers. Next that it lacked gills. what sort of a fish is this, thought Bhikhu. and I wonder if I can eat this one. he continued looking at it for some further spell of time. no fishy stench emanated from it, like it does from any other fish. and the fish as he soon noticed was not quite dead either. Next he looked more closely at the pond water in the bright moonlight. There were approximately three types of fish, according to colour - the pink ones, the blue ones and the red ones. A thought suddenly came to his mind that the pink ones were good fish, the blue ones, he would have to be careful with, and, the red ones, as their colour suggested, were best left far and well alone. Presently he had a pink fish in his hand and he continued to look at its visage in the moon light. it was certainly very large, as fishes go, and must weigh at least a few kilograms. aside of its whiskers it sported two feelers, like those of snails, at the very front of its head. its eyes, Bhikhu thought, were by far, the most interesting part. They were glowing a little greenish, in the dark, and seemed to look right into his and through his eyes right into his mind. And then, again, was Bhikhu reminded of his grandmother's story about clan ancestors descending from the stars. Was this fish one of them? the thought arose. If so, thought Bhikhu, what am I now supposed to do. Grandmother had died a long time ago. Could it be her, right here, looking into his eyes? How am I to deal with this ancestor? Shall I take it back to the village? All these question flooded his mind so that Bhikhu stepped back from the pond and looked to his restive goats, the satrs above, and then began a mid-night trek back to his village, with this strange fish in-hand.

it was now nearly midnight and bhikhu was greeted only by the raucous barking of the dogs of his village. Hedi,Hedi! he said to quieten the dogs, and then slowly found his way around the narrow footpaths, herded his goats into the goats enclosure in his compound, and then rattled the latch on his door to wake up his wife. his wife, also a village-woman called Dhenki, woke-up, and opened the door complaning at once of his late coming and as to what was the potential reason. Bhikhu said nothing at all and lowered his head, fish in hand, and entered the very large hut. inside the dying embers of the cooking-hearth illuminated his forty square foot hut. his wife said that his dinner was ready. he laid down his wooden staff and his hatchet, flute and some fruits and roots he had collected during the day, on a mud-shelf by the fireside and then turned to speak with Dhenki. but before that he accepted a glass of very sweet and cold water which his wife had proferred him, seeing him sweating and panting from his daylong exertions. She did not, even as Bhikhu began drinking that glass, notice what he held in his hand, owing to the fact that the dying embers of the hearth did not generate enough luminosity for the purpose.

After Bhikhu had drunk his fill, he started talking.

"It is strange what happened today."

"What indeed, did happen".

Bhikhu extendd his hand and proferred the very large pink fish he had picked up and carried from the pond to his wife.

"Why, that's just a fish. Do you want me to cut it and cook it up?"

"Oh, No! Not, at all!"

"Why, on earth?"

"Precisely", said Bhikhu, "This fish is not from the earth at all"

"I see! Then, where, kindly, can it possibly be from?"

"Well, you see. It is a long story..."

"As it usually is", said Dhenki, released a yawn, and started putting together the dinner, warming it, squatting near the hearth, lighting a kerosene lamp, and waiting for Bhikhu's latest story, to roll on. "You see dear Dhenki", continued Bhikhu, "as usual I was lying next to the ponf where we graze our goats everyday. And then sudenly there was a loud noise like something fallinf into the pond. and then when i went to the pond to investigate what it was that fell into it, i saw a number of differently coloured fish swimming in it. you know very well that our mountain fish do not grow to this size", here he pasued to let his story thus far sink in.

"So what if they usually don't. Maybe the gods are kind to us this year?"

"Gods? Kind? This Year?"

"Yes. I mean this strange looking fish could have grown to this size and colour purely from natural reasons. Remember what huge mushrooms we had for dinner a few years ago. Our mountain mushrooms, usually, do not grow to that size".

"Yes dear, I see your point. But for the life of me, I cannot help imagining that this fish is something else. Here, take it in your hand and see."

Presently, Dhenki, takes the fish in her hands and examines it by the dying embers of the hearth and beside the kerosene lamp.

"Yes, this pink colour is a little funny...and why has it got the feelers of a snail? I would, most certainly, refuse to eat anything like this, cooked or uncooked."

Patiently, Bhikhu, added, "No, dear...nobody is suggesting, at all, that you eat it...indeed it is one of our ancestors, in the sky, come back."

"You are not here referring to your Grandmother's tale???"

"Yes, indeed, I am."

"But that is what your Grandmother said, not mine."

"Yes, but that does not discredit what my Grandmother also said!"

"Fine, then..let me have your theory in a more comprehensible form."

"It is like this, Dhenki Dear. My grandmother belived very firmly that our totemic ancestors come to visit us once in awhile and bring gifts for us. however, they donot look like us. Now study this fish. It has no gills, it has feelers, it is hours since i took it out of the water and yet it is alive and breathing in someway that we donot know. also, i shall here mention, that, and using my grandmothers parameters, if this is a totemic ancestor of our, that is my tribe, then it would communicate only with me. now, when, i first held this fish in my hand a great serenity descended upon me. not a trace of any fear at all remained,which I felt,at once,as I heard a loud splash of something falling into the pond that even you know so wellabout. Then I steeped closer to the pool of water, and by the even, insufficient, moonlight I could see these luminous fish swimming in the water. They were this pink, red and blue in clour. I left the blue and red ones alone and took this pink one in my hand. at once the universe swirled in my mind.

The medieval site of Maner is located about 25 KM from Patna and has for a very long time invited visitors of all sorts. The Archaeological Survey of India, has at this site,put up a placard,which says that this site was so important,in terms of its social and historical significance, that in its time, it had been visited by Babur, Sikandar Lodi and Tansen. I myself remember seeing it first as a very small kid. It was completely grown over with bush and jungle and we were, in the 1960s, told that it was a hang-out for criminals, and such like. The central tank was very dirty, so one might have enjoyed it only from a great distance. Even so, as far back as the 1960s, it was known to Patna-wallas, that this site, Maner, held a special significance; and it is thus that it was visited on occassions like New Year and such holidays, and local tourists, would, in day time, set up campfires, and cook their mutton curry and rice, as they do to this day, not too far away from the site.

It has been, only from about 2007, that I have been visiting this site, now that it is cleaned-up, and transformed into a sparkling monument, by the no doubt very strenuous efforts of the conservationists of the Archaeological Survey of India, for purposes of research and study.

It seems to me that just as anthropologists write biographies and ethnographies of peoples and cultures, it ought to be possible, to write such biographies and ethnographies of monuments as well. what would such an enterprise include? well, just the observations on, what was happening at the site, at the time of a researcher's periodic visits. Since 2007, I must have visited the site about ten times and on each occassion newer things are happening there and I tend to notice newer aspects of this very fine monument. Let me speak of its historical and architectural significance first. This site was built in 1617, under the orders of Emperor Jehangir, and executed by Ibrahim Khan, the then governor of the province of Bihar. Jehangir himself was born to Akbar, from Jodhabai, after many years of Akbar's ministrations at a Sufi Dargah of western india.

It is thus, we may expect, that Jehangir himself, came to respect the Sufi shrines, doctrines and the faith. The contemporary shrine of Maner is named after Sheikh Yahya Maneri, who had migrated from western India, to the subah of Bihar, and was the first Sufi cleric, or, saint here, and, after whom the town Maner Sharief, and the site, take their name. Sheikh Yahya Maneri has been commemorated in a shrine on top of a small hillock near this site and his shrine is called the Bari Dargah.

The monument, seen in the accompanying pictures, is actually that of of one of his descendants, Sheik Makhdoom Daulat, and is called, therefore, the Choti Dargah, even if it is, in physical shape and size, bigger. Ibrahim khan and his wife, are also buried, inside the sanctum sanctorum, of the Choti Dargah, perhaps for their favours of building this dargah.

At a slight remove from the southern face of the Choti dargah, and on a small hillock beside the water-tank, is the bari dargah, where Sheik Yahya Maneri is buried. An old-painting, by the company artist Thomas Daniell (in 1780), has captured the choti dargah, in all its beauty and splendour, as it existed at that time. The painting shows some devotees lounging in the hallway (as shown below), the northern perimeter-wall along the main entrance to the choti dargah, the river Son (Soane) flowing to the north of the monument.

However, as we drove our car through the maze of streets, lanes and by lanes, of the maner village, and then the Chaldi-hapra village, and then reached the river Ganga's banks, we had covered nearly Ten (10) KM. For our purposes, we concluded that, while the river Ganga, would have serviced the needs of those villages situated quite near its banks, where agriculture thrives to the day, it could not, possibly have, the residents of the villages, immediately neighbouring, the choti and bari dargahs. A quick conclusion then, and based on such field facts, is that, the enormous water-tank at the site of Maner, was built by Ibrahim Khan, to act as a permanent source of water-supply, and succour, to the visitors to the monument in the medieval period and natives living near the monument.

The architectural style in which the choti dargah (built in chunar santstone that varies from a light pink to creamish) and has been brought here in patias, and the neighbouring masjid (built also in chunar sandstone in 1697 also by Ibrahim Khan), enclosed within the perimeter walls of the choti dargah, the perimeter walls, the prayer halls, and the most grand and ornately sculptured and engineered, main entrance, to say nothing, of the main dargah itself, which is built in a square-shape with one dome and two floors, one containg the shrine, and the other the dome, its marvellously sculptured pillars, ornate designs on walls and cielings, the delicate jalees, the cupolas for diyas and incense, and the inner part of the dome overhead the shrine all speak of a certain care and finesse in its execution.

it is thus that the archaeological survey of india plate bearing information on this site proclaims this as the finest example of indo-mughal architecture in bihar. it also claims that this site was visited by babur, sikarndar lodi, and tansen.

however, the rajput elements in its structure are most prominent - both at the chchattrees near the water-tank and in the galleries of the front-entrance to the choti-dargah.

on the literary side, we have a reference in Naseem Hines's recent book, The Chandayan by Maulana Daud, that the Maner Khankah was repository to one folio of an early indo-sufi masnavi by the name of Chandayan. and herein lies an interesting bit of history, that of the cross-breeding of indian indian folk tradition, from which the protagonist Lorik is taken, and which is a folktale of Patna District to this day, with the indo-sufi poetry tradition, that yields, eventually, this masnavi, by the name of chandayan. However, it must be noted here, that while Naseem Hine's book even bears a photographic plate or two of this same Maner Dargah,of which I have here provided several pictures, she has nowhere,in her otherwise very erudite book, indicated,what historical bearing Maulana Daud's Chandayan has on either the founding of this shrine or its subsequent life. The story of chandyan,interestingly rendered, as it is,in Hines's book, is is here worth recounting, the brief account of which is presented here as possible to glean from the awadhi rendering of it given in Hines's book.

Chanda was a princess of great beauty born to a local raja. when she was but three years of age the stories of her beauty had already spread far and wide in india. and then another local raja asked her father for her hand in marriage. Chanda's father, seeing his royal lineage, agreed to marry-off his daughter, at the young age of three, to this local raja, who was very much older to her in years. Chanda departed her father's home and lived with this husband of hers for 13 years. However, when she was sixteen she realised how disastrous her marriage had been as her husband was deficient in every possible respect. So, without further ado, she upped and left her husband's abode, and, returned to her father's, and, in the process, inciting the ire of her husband. Her husband then made an alliance with another king to attack her father's dominions and reclaim her. Her father was militarily quite outmatched. At this time, Lorik, a local nobleman, enters her father's kingdom, and catches site of Chanda standing in the balcony of her royal house, and swoons. he is treated my local mendicants and recovers only to tell the hakeem that it was chanda's beauty that had caused it and that he must meet her again if he is to really regain his senses. when he does he returns to Chanda's village and meets with her and swears his love for her. Chanda asks if he is prepared to marry him. at which point lorik tells her that he already has a wife called maina. chanda then says how would a second marriage then be possible? Lorik is then called upon by Chanda's father to help him fight the invaders, which he does, and routs the enemy completely, killing most of Chanda's father's foes. Now Lorik is ready to elope with chanda and they meet in a temple to discuss the plans. Here, Maina, who has been informed by her friends, of the goings on between Chanda and Lorik, comes to the temple simultaneously, and engages in a bitter physical and verbal fight with Chanda. Both retire bruised and this firms Lorik resolve further to elope with Chanda.

this they do and flee very far from their native places, deep inside various jungles, to serve such purposes as for which elopement is done. however, quite tragically, Chanda, is bitten by a very very poisnous snake and is breathing her last, with a very distraught lorik by her side wailing and weeping and calling for help hither and thither in a very very deep forest. at last as Chanda's energies are all but fading comes by a Hakeem and pacifies Lorik saying that he would be able to cure her of the effects of the snake-bite, however, this he would do, only if he were rewarded handsomely. Lorik agrees at once to part with all the fineries and jewellery that he is wearing, the mendicant keeps his word, and Chanda recovers.

And then, as Lorik and Chanda venture further into the forest, their elopement not as yet complete, yet again, Chanda is bitten by another very venomous snake. Lorik sets up a wail again and not one soul comes to his aid or counsel. At last he builds a funeral pyre for her and ligting it he resolves to consign himself to the flames too. However, as chance would have it, yet another very accomplished hakeem chances upon them in the middle of this very compromising setting and asks him what his problem is. Lorik recounts his story, and, yet again, this Hakeem too, says, that he would cure Chanda, but for a price. The price, as Chanda and Lorik, are both, now, in a very weak pecuniary status, is bondage and slavery for the Hakeem. This price agreed, the Hakeem, sets to work, and, at once, cures, Chanda, who is all but dead. Chanda recovers and the couple in love now descend into slavery. As with other things, even slavery is short-lived, thus when their labours are over, Lorik and Chanda, return to Chanda's father's kingdom. Here they are feted and felicitated upon their return. Maina,who is Lorik's first wife,has also but wasted away in this long period of parting from her husband,however, as she is still deeply in love with her husband,Lorik,she makes peace with the idea that Chanda would be her co-wife. They alllive happily everafter.