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INDUS : THE ROLE OF REPRESENTATION AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE FORM AT THE CITY OF

A Thesis submitted to the faculty of A s San Francisco State University In partial fulfillment of 3 0 the requirements for A o R the Degree

AFJTM

• Master of Arts

In

Anthropology:

by

Shane Kennedy Davis

San Francisco, California

Fall 2017 Copyright by Shane Kennedy Davis 2017 CERTIFICATION OF APPROVAL

I certify that I have read Indus Figurines: The Role of Representation and the Construction of the Human Form at the Bronze Age City of Harappa by Shane Kennedy Davis, and that in my opinion this work meets the criteria for approving a thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirement for the degree Master of Art in Anthropology: Archaeology at San Francisco State University.

Douglass Bailey, Ph.D. Professor of Anthropology

Associate Professor of Anthropology INDUS FIGURINES: THE ROLE OF REPRESENTATION AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE HUMAN FORM AT THE BRONZE AGE CITY OF HARAPPA

Shane Kennedy Davis San Francisco, California 2017

This work examines the collection of anthropomorphic figurines from the Bronze Age city of Harappa (3300-1300 cal. B.C.). In this thesis, I present Sharri Clark’s work on the Harappan figurines, as as a critical analysis of her typology and her conclusions. I then provide a literature review of the cognitive approach to interpretation to inform the collection from Harappa. I conclude that the Harappan figurines can be split into two valid categories, namely the Early and Mature Harappan types, that their context indicates a domestic use which cannot be connected to religious or ceremonial practice, and that the most effective way to interpret these figurines is through an examination of their three inherent conditions of miniaturism, three-dimensionality, and anthropomorphism. This thesis gives the reader ample knowledge on the archaeology of figurines, the archaeology of Harappa, and demonstrates how a cognitive approach can inform archaeology’s interpretation of the Harappan figurines.

I certify that the Abstract is a correct representation of the content of this thesis.

Date ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First, I would like to express my deepest gratitude to my committee chair, Professor Douglass Bailey. As a teacher, he has contributed more to my education at San Francisco State University than anyone else. Without his indispensable guidance and persistent help, this thesis would not have been possible. I would also like to thank my second committee member, Assistant Professor Cynthia Wilczak, for her valuable contributions to both this thesis and to my education in general. Additionally, I would like to thank everyone from my cohort, as each one was a source of inspiration and friendship at one time or another. In particular, I would like to thank Candice Ward for her advice and support through graduate school, as well as Laura Maldonado for her assistance editing this thesis. Finally, I would like to thank my wife, Ashlee Rose Davis, and my mother, Cherie Morrison Davis, for their unwavering love and support while I was finishing my degree.

v TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Tables...... ix

List of Figures...... x

Introduction...... 1

Chapter 1: The Archaeology of Figurines...... 3

Section 1.1: The Religious Approach...... 3

Section 1.2: The Symbolic Approach...... 6

Section 1.3: The Feminist Approach...... 10

The Feminist Approach to the Venus Figurines of the 17

Section 1.4: The Functional Approach...... 20

The Functional Approach Applied to Peloponnese Figurines...... 24

Section 1.5: The Cognitive Approach...... 26

Summary...... 29

Chapter 2: The Archaeology of the Indus Civilization...... 31

Section 2.1: of Excavation...... 31

Section 2.2: Chronology of Prehistoric ...... 37

The Early Food Production Era (7000-5000 cal. B.C.)...... 37

The Regionalization Era (5000-2600 cal. B.C.)...... 42

The Regionalization Era at Harappa (3300-2600 cal. B.C.)...... 44

The Integration Era (2600-1900 cal. B.C.)...... 46

The Integration Era at Harappa (2600-1900 cal. B.C.)...... 50

The Localization Era (1900-1200 cal. B.C.)...... 54

vi The Localization Era at Harappa (1900-1300 cal. B.C.)...... 54

Summary...... 57

Chapter 3: Data on the Harappan Figurines...... 59

Section 3.1: History of Research on the Harappan Figurines...... 59

Section 3.2: Contextual Data...... 62

Summary...... 67

Chapter 4: Harappan Figurines: Typology and Interpretation...... 69

Section 4.1: Framework...... 69

Section 4.2: Harappan Figurine Typology...... 76

Type 1: Early Harappan Figurines...... 76

Subtype l.A: Period I Figurines...... 77

Subtype l.B: Period II Female Figurines...... 78

Subtype l.C: Period II Anthropomorphic Other...... 79

Type 2: Mature Harappan Figurines...... 79

Subtype 2.A: Classic Female Figurines...... 80

Subtype 2.B: Classic Male Figurines...... 82

Subtype 2.C: Classic Anthropomorphic Other...... 83

Subtype 2.D: Figure-8 Female Figurines...... 84

Section 4.3: Clark’s Conclusions...... 86

Summary...... 94

Chapter 5: An Archaeological Interpretation of the Harappan Figurines...... 95

Section 5.1: Critique of Clark’s Typology...... 95 Section 5.2: Interpretation of the Archaeological Context of the

Harappan Figurines...... 103

Summary...... 107

Chapter 6: A Cognitive Approach to Figurine Interpretation...... 109

Section 6.1: Miniaturism...... 109

Section 6.2: Three-dimensionality...... 118

Section 6.3: Anthropomorphism...... 128

Section 6.4: Cognitive Effects of the Harappan Figurines...... 135

Summary...... 137

Conclusion...... 139

Bibliography...... 141

viii LIST OF TABLES Table Page

2.1 Field descriptions of typifying soils from Harappa and surrounding areas...... 36

2.2 The relative and absolute ages of geological formations...... 37

2.3 South Asia chronology and corresponding periods at Harappa,

Mohenjo-Daro...... 38

3.1 Archaeological context of the Harappan figurines...... 63

4.1 Framework for the formal analysis of the Harappan figurines...... 72

4.2 Harappan figurine typology: Early Harappan figurine...... 73

4.3 Harappan figurine typology: Mature Harappan figurines...... 74

6. La Elapsed Time (T) associated with experiential duration (E) of thirty

minutes in differently scaled environment: test 1 and test 2 ...... 116

6. l.b - Elapsed time (T) associated with experiential duration (E) of thirty

minutes in differently scaled environment: test 3...... 117

6.2 - Cross-checking index values...... 117

6.3 - Accuracy of manual apprehension test...... 119

6.4 - Description of exploratory procedures...... 120

6.5 - Mean duration of exploratory procedures...... 123

6.6 - Specialization score, duration and performance status on specified object

dimensions for each exploratory procedure...... 123 LIST OF FIGURES

Figures Page

1 .A Building horizon 3 at Opovo...... 13

1 .B Building horizon 2 at Opovo...... 14

1 .C Building horizon 1 at Opovo...... 15

1 .D Superior anterior surface of the body...... 19

1 .E Anterior lateral side of the body...... 19

1 .F Interior posterior side of the body...... 19

1 .G We are the fragments o f an unknown history by Shaun Caton...... 28

2. A Map showing major Indus sites and trade networks of the Integration Era 34

2.B Topographic map of Harappa, showing phases of excavation...... 35

3.A An illustration of a broken figurine...... 61

3.B Topographic map of Harappa showing locations of excavation units...... 64

4.A-4.J Harappan female figurines...... 75

4.K Type l.A Early Harappan Figurine...... 77

4.L Period II Female Figurine...... 78

4.M, 4.N Classic Male Figurines...... 82

4.0, 4.P Harappan Figure-8 Figurines...... 85

4.Q An Indus figurine with panniers attached to the sides of the head...... 93

5.A Stone figurines from Mehrgarh...... 98

5.B, 5.C Unbaked clay figurines from Mehrgarh...... 98

5.D Type 1 figurine from ...... 99

x 5.E Type 3 figurine from Rehman Dheri...... 99

6.A Rock Landscape, by Balazs Sooz...... 112

6.2 No. 91, by Michael Ashkin...... 112

6.C Haptic exploratory procedures...... 121

6.D -6.G Images from Hans Bellmer’s The Doll...... 132 1

Introduction

After more than one hundred years of archaeological research on the Indus Valley

Civilization (7000-1200 cal. B.C.), it remains one of the least understood cultural traditions in the archaeological record. Because this is a civilization without monuments or deciphered writing, one of the best chances we have of understanding the inhabitants of the prehistoric Indus Valley is through an interpretation of its large corpus of anthropomorphic figurines.

The aim of this thesis is to critically evaluate the work of archaeologist Sharri

Clark (2003, 2007, 2009, 2017, Kenoyer and Clark 2017), the leading expert on the

Harappan figurines, as well as provide insight into new ways of understanding these fascinating artifacts. In Chapter 1,1 present a review of the different approaches to figurine interpretation, specifically the religious, symbolic, functional, feminist and cognitive approaches. This chapter provides the reader a detailed example, as well as the advantages and disadvantages of each approach. In Chapter 2 ,1 provide the reader with background information on the archaeology of the Indus Valley Civilization, as well its major urban center of Harappa. In Chapter 3 ,1 present the history of research on the

Harappan figurines, as well as the information available on their characteristics, manufacture, and context. In Chapter 4 ,1 present Clark’s typology and conclusions about the Harappan figurines. In Chapter 5 ,1 present my critique of her typology, as well as an archaeological interpretation of the available data. In Chapter 6 ,1 present a review of the 2

literature on the cognitive effects of figurines, an approach pioneered by archaeologist

Douglass Bailey (2005, 2014). This chapter will demonstrate how a non-archaeological approach to figurine interpretation can inform the archaeological record.

This thesis presents three claims about the Harappan figurines. First, that the figurines can be separated into two categories, namely Early Harappan and Mature

Harappan types. Second, their inclusion in the secondary context of aggregate refuse suggests that they were used primarily in domestic spaces. Third, that understanding the

Harappan figurines requires an analysis of their three inherent conditions, namely miniaturism, three-dimensionality and anthropomorphism. When combined in one object, these conditions have pan-human psychological effects on the people that use them

(Bailey 2005). Examining how miniaturism, three-dimensionality and anthropomorphism affect people in the present provides insight into how figurines affected their handlers in the past. This thesis will give the reader a critical assessment of the existing body of literature on the Harappan figurines, as well as a fuller understanding of these enigmatic objects. 3

Chapter 1: The Archaeology of Figurines

To understand the role that figurines played at the Bronze Age city of Harappa, it is necessary to examine the previous attempts made by archaeologists to interpret figurines as a distinct class of . In this chapter, I will review the religious, symbolic, functional, feminist, and cognitive approaches to figurine interpretation. My review of each approach will consist of a definition, an example, and the advantages and disadvantages of that approach. This chapter will contextualize my thesis project within the larger body of work on prehistoric figurines in the archaeological record.

Section 1.1: The Religious Approach

Throughout history, archaeologists have interpreted anthropomorphic figurines as religious objects. They were invariably understood as depictions of a mother-goddess, and were seen as markers for ceremonial and cultic activity connected with fertility and (Gimbutas 1974, 1982; Homblower 1929; Renaud 1929, Wheeler 1968: 109-

112). The religious approach to figurine interpretation consists of interpreting the subject matter depicted, connecting that subject matter to symbolic content, and uncovering the psycho-social dynamic that inspired that symbolic content (Gimbutas 1982: 18). This approach began in the late nineteenth century when the culture-history model was heavily utilized by archaeology. Because of this, the religious approach connects the figurines, and the psycho-social dynamic behind them, to a culture-area and a specific ethnicity. 4

In The Goddesses and Gods o f Old (1982), archaeologist Marija Gimbutas claims that all female figurines from southeastern Europe are representations of deities. A fundamental concept to her approach is that “art reveals man’s mental response to his environment” (Gimbutas 1982: 38). She interprets the subject matter depicted as a priori representations of a mother-goddess, which she connects to the symbolic content of the earth, motherhood and fertility, and agriculture (Gimbutas 1982: 152-153). She then uses this connection to argue that figurines reflected a matriarchal, peaceful, and egalitarian society (Gimbutas 1982: 236-250).

One advantage to this approach is that prehistoric figurines were used as evidence for a past in which women were not only represented, but held positions of power. In her writing, Gimbutas challenges the androcentrism of traditional archaeology by equating visual representation of female deities to women occupying positions of social and political influence (Gimbutas 1982: 238). Another advantage of the religious approach is that it was used to challenge the idea of ex orient lux (Childe 1953). Literally translated as light comes from the east, ex orient lux is the idea that civilization began in the Near

East, and spread through migration and diffusion. Gimbutas challenges this idea by presenting figurines from southeastern Europe as the product of indigenous innovation instead of diffusion from (Gimbutas 1982: 12).

However, the disadvantages of the religious approach significantly outweigh the advantages. This approach interprets figurines as a homogenous group of artifacts that 5

have a priori equivalence with the presence of gynocentric religion, regardless of the cultural or archaeological contexts they come from. There is a lack of linking arguments that connect figurines to subject matter, or subject matter to symbolic content. Therefore, the conclusion that the figurines represent deities is arbitrary. Where linking arguments are present, they are based on circular logic. For example, a structure is interpreted as a shrine because figurines were found inside it, and figurines are religious objects because they were found in a shrine (Gimbutas 1982: 72). Furthermore, the religious approach completely omits any quantitative data such as provenience, total number of figurines in the data set, or number of figurines from each site. Instead of answering these basic questions, Gimbutas neglects the majority of figurines to focus on the few that support her matrifocal narrative. This gives the illusion that the entire collection is composed of homogenous mother-goddess idols. Finally, the religious approach heavily relies on a culture-history model of the past. Gimbutas may use this to challenge the idea of ex oriente lux, however she views Greek figurines as the product of diffusion from the

Balkans. This is problematic because migration and diffusion are two antiquated, overly- simplistic concepts from archaeology’s past that are no longer viable explanations for change in the archaeological record.

Despite the issues with the religious approach discussed in this section, it remains one of the most popular approaches to figurine interpretation. Unfortunately, more recent attempts of this approach have not evolved to overcome these obvious flaws. A contemporary example is the work of Peter Alpass (2013) on the Nabataean figurines 6

from Petra, Jordan. Alpass makes the same mistakes Gimbutas did almost thirty years prior. His figurines lack provenience (Alpass 2013: 84), making it impossible to situate them in a chronology. He pulls together an unspecified number of figurines from sites that are hundreds of miles apart to create the homogenous category of Nabatean religious idol. He connects these depictions of seated women with representations of the Egyptian goddess Isis because they both wear the same basileon headpiece (Alpass 2013: 85). Like

Gimbutas, his claim lacks linking arguments, indicating that his conclusions rest on an assumption of a priori connection between anthropomorphic figurines and the mother- goddess archetype. Overall, the religious approach to figurine interpretation lacks intellectual rigor and is unsuitable for modern scholarship.

Section 1.2:The Symbolic Approach

The symbolic approach, pioneered by Peter Biehl (1996), employs a more rigorous method to figurine interpretation. The premise of the symbolic approach is that the creation of figurines was based on a system of symbols understood by the prehistoric craftspeople who made them. In order for the figurines to communicate messages to their handlers, the form and symbols of each figurine had to reference the shared belief system of the (Biehl 1996: 154). Each craftsperson adhered to certain rules of production, and any stylistic variation fell within the parameters of “rule-governed creativity” (Biehl

1996: 156). The symbolic approach involves creating a typology based on both the content and the context of symbols that appear on each figurine. Symbols that appear similar have similar meanings, and can be grouped together and reduced to basic motifs 7

(Biehl 1996: 158). The analysis of symbol placement on figurines allows the researcher to uncover patterns, which Biehl equates to the “rule-governed creativity” (Biehl 1996:

156) adhered to by prehistoric craftspeople. “Correlations of attributes regarding form, content and context are probably the only way to understand the rules to which the maker had to conform” (Biehl 1996: 164). After Biehl elucidates these correlations, he compares data from different sites and periods through synchronic and diachronic analysis. This approach gives archaeologists insight on to how “rule-governed creativity” (Biehl 1996:

156) changed by region and time period.

Biehl uses a collection of 381 figurines gathered from 33 sites from the

Gradesnica-Kridovol Complex (4000-3000 B.C.) of Bulgaria. He conducted visual analysis on each figurine and recorded the symbols inscribed on them, noting the specific location of each symbol that appears (Biehl 1996: 157). He then reduced each symbol to its basic components, or motif. In his analysis, he identified 24 motifs, as well as the regional variations of each. He then created a typology which documented where each motif has appeared on the figurines.

To illustrate his method, Biehl (1996:163-167) presents the example of figurine no. 315. The sex of figurine no. 315 is not easily identifiable; while the figurine has breasts, this does not necessarily mean that it represents a female, as some of the prehistoric figurines from southeastern Europe are androgynous (Biehl 1996: 163). To resolve this ambiguity, Biehl first examines the motifs incised into the figurine (Biehl

1996: 163). He notes that there are six design motifs represented on figurine no. 315: dm 8

1,9, 10, 12, 20 and 21. He suggests that because dm 20 always appears around the waist, it represents a sash, which would visually obscure genitalia (Biehl 1996: 163). He also notes that the motif (dm 12), meandering motif (dm 20) or spiral motif (dm 21) never appear on male or androgynous figurines (Biehl 1996: 163). Biehl stresses that the location a motif is found on a figurine, or its context, is just as important as its content. In the case of the arrow motif (dm 12), it only appears on the chest area of female figurines

(Biehl 1996: 169). Biehl then considers the position of figurine no. 315 to determine its gender. He delineates two different categories for arm position that figurines from the

Gradesnica -Krivodol Complex exhibit: gestures where figurines are bringing an object in their hands towards their heads, chest or genitals, and gestures where they are extending their arms away from the body (Biehl 1996: 164). The arms of figurine no. 315 are extended straight down at its sides, so it falls into the second category. This category is only found on figurines with breasts and a pubic triangle (Biehl 1996: 163). By observing the rules that Gradesnica-Krivodol craftspeople followed to create figurines, Biehl deduces that figurine no. 315 represents a female (Biehl 1996: 169).

Finally, the symbolic method can allow archeologists to examine the symbolic systems of different cultures. This can be done through synchronic analysis, which involves comparing the symbols of contemporaneous cultures that were in geographic proximity, as well as through diachronic analysis, which involves comparing figurines from different stratigraphic layers of the same site (Biehl 1996: 169). In his synchronic analysis, Biehl argues that the arrow motif is also found in the symbolic system of the 9

neighboring Kodjederman-Gumelnita-Karanovo VI Complex (4000-3000 B.C.), and that the motif only appears on the chest of figurines from both societies. This suggests that the meaning of the arrow motif was shared by both cultures, and figurines which exhibited the motif could be used to communicate between them. Diachronic analysis indicates that the arrow motif begins in Gradesnica Phase I (4000-3500 B.C.) as a symbol with super- regional importance. In Phase II (3500-3300 B.C.), this motif only has local importance, and by the Krivodol Phase (3300-3000 B.C.) it is discontinued altogether (Biehl 1996:

169-170). This example demonstrates that use of the symbolic approach can inform us about the sex portrayed by a figurine, as well as where and when figurines were used as communicative .

Unlike the religious approach, the symbolic approach is a partially contextual one.

Instead of characterizing figurines as homogenous artifacts with a singular meaning, it groups them into types that take their chronology, site, and symbols into consideration.

Its regard for the position of symbols presents figurines as diverse sub-assemblage with multiple meanings. Synchronic and diachronic analysis of patterns allow archaeologists to correlate changes in “rule-governed creativity” (Biehl 1996: 156) with changes in other aspects of the culture being studied, although Biehl neglects to do this.

Unfortunately, the symbolic approach can also be susceptible to unfounded assumptions. Biehl’s typology rests on the assumption that the most basic version of a symbol is the original motif, which all other symbols in the category are based off (Biehl

1996: 158). He fails to consider the possibility that a basic symbol may be a simplified 10

derivation of an earlier, more elaborate motif. Although Biehl records the context of symbols on each figurine, no archaeological or prehistoric context is provided to substantiate Biehl’s criteria for the inclusion of a symbol into a category. The intuition of the researcher is the only basis for determining similarity among symbols, thus making the categories of his typology arbitrary. Unfortunately, aside from informing the reader about the form, context, and content of symbols, the symbolic approach accomplishes little else. It fails to identify what the meanings behind symbols like the arrow motif actually are. The closest he comes to answering this question is vague speculation about figurines representing the life-cycle of their users (Biehl 1996: 170-171), but this has no basis in the data he presents. His premise of figurines acting as communicative devices is strong, but an approach that takes evidence from multiple contexts into account is preferable to the symbolic approach

Section 1.3:The Feminist Approach

The feminist approach is a reaction to the essential ization of the past through authoritative accounts (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 23). The feminist perspective criticizes research that projects unsupported assumptions about the roles of males and females on past societies (Spector and Conkey 1984:4). This approach acknowledges the representation of “variable, dynamic, and historically specific gender roles, relations, ideologies, and identities” (Tringham and Conkey 1996: 22) rather than simplistic, ethnocentric, normative concepts of gender. It also advocates for female scholars to receive the same representation and professional respect that male scholars are given. In 11

the field of anthropology, the male voice is often assumed to be the authority on culture, whereas the work of the female scholar is often viewed as auxiliary and peripheral

(Spector and Conkey 1984: 4-5). The feminist approach also focuses on interpreting artifacts and features as elements that “channeled, promoted and defined social action”

(Spector and Conkey 1984: 23). This is a radical departure from interpreting figurines and other artifacts as passive reflections of past activity.

In their research on the Neolithic village of Opovo, Ruth Tringham and Margaret

Conkey (1998) use the depositional contexts of figurines to demonstrate that these artifacts had multiple meanings. Opovo was part of the larger Vinca cultural complex of the and Early Eneolithic Era (4400-4000 B.C.). The site is located in marshlands north of the in Serbia (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 29). A 16 x

20-meter block excavated by Tringham’s team in the 1980s revealed 100 anthropomorphic figurines (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 29). Much like the figurines at other Vinca sites, the Opovo figurines were deposited in small pits (Tringham and

Conkey 1998: 29). The of these figurines spans all three periods of Opovo’s occupation. Ninety percent of the figurines are broken, and few have attributes that allow them to be identified as male or female (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 29).

Tringham and Conkey examine the depositional context of the Opovo figurines from all three periods to infer their meaning. In the Period I occupation at Opovo (Figure l.A), no figurines were found on the surface of house floors, but five fragments were found under floors either in post-holes or bedding trenches (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 12

31). Tringham and Conkey noted that all the houses at Opovo had been intentionally burned to the ground (Tringham et. al.1992), and were concerned that this may have affected the preservation conditions of the figurines. However, many small clay objects survived the fire (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 30-31), so if any figurines had been deposited on the floors, they would have survived as well (Tringham and Conkey 1998:

31). The remaining 19 figurine fragments from this early level are found in ovens and pits outside the house.

In Period II, the figurine’s association with specific structures is less clear

(Tringham and Conkey 1998: 31). As the map shows (Figure l.B), 42 figurines are deposited in pits outside of houses, two in ovens, two in secondary refuse deposits and two in House 3. At Period III (Figure l.C), nine figurine fragments are deposited within

House 1, one in House 2, seven in secondary refuse deposit, and one on the ground surface (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 30). None during Period III were deposited in pits or ovens. Tringham and Conkey used this spatial data to argue that the figurines placed under the house had a different meaning than those deposited outside the house, and could have been connected to the intentional burning each house underwent (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 33). OPOVO 1983-89 BUILDING HORIZON 3 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65

collapsed, burned house pit or posthole

oven figurine fragment

bedding trench S S ® baulk

secondarily deposited rubble

2c external ’’floor1' of rubble and hard clay

Figure l.A: Building Horizon 3 at Opovo (Tringham and Conkey 1996: 32) 14

OPOVO 1983-89 BUILDING HORIZON 2 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65

ret 11.5.90 j*#-2 m -lH

Iflllfl collapsed, burned house pit or posthole < 2 D ■ oven • figurine fragment ^*1 bedding trench baulk CgK-n secondarily deposited rubble

•?j, i I external "floor" of rubble and hard clay

Figure l.B: Building Horizon 2 at Opovo (Tringham and Conkey 1996: 31) OPOVO 1983-89 BUILDING HORIZON 1 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65

ret I

$f|I collapsed, burned house ( v!yT> pit or posthole

•o'jJ oven 0 figurine fragment baulk ?S || bedding trench

secondarily deposited rubble

2a 1 external "floor” of rubble and hard clay

Figure l.C: Building Horizon 1 at Opovo (Tringham and Conkey 1996: 30) 16

In addition to the studying spatial distribution, Tringham and Conkey also considered the other artifacts that were found alongside the figurines. At Opovo, clay balls, bone tools, weights, and polished stone were also deposited under the foundations of houses (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 33). Tringham and Conkey argue that because different pits have different shapes, sizes and contents, each pit may have carried a different meaning to the former inhabitants of Opovo (Tringham and Conkey

1998: 33). Some pits were asymmetrical and probably dug to acquire clay for the daub used to build the houses, and subsequently filled with debris (Tringham and Conkey

1998: 33). Others were ovular contained many figurines from the bottom to the top of their fill (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 34). These pits also contained polished stone - heads, , bone tools and fragments, but were never associated with clay balls or weights (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 34). One pit functioned as a well, and was filled by a single deposition after the burning of House 4 (Tringham and Conkey 1998:

33). Clearly there was a high degree of variability, in both the contexts of the figurines and the artifacts found alongside them.

Tringham and Conkey concluded that this differential spatial distribution indicated that figurines did not have a singular, unquestioned meaning for the Vinca culture, but rather multiple contextually-dependent ones. Although they contend that these objects had multiple meanings, Tringham and Conkey neglect to go into detail about what these meanings could have been. However, the authors do advocate for an approach that presents alternative narratives, advising that these narratives be examined 17

in relation to the “material constraints” (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 45) of the archaeological evidence available.

A Feminist Approach to the Venus Figurines of the Paleolithic

Another example of the feminist approach to figurine interpretation is the work of

Leroy McDermott on the Venus figurines of Europe (45,000-10,000

B.P.) (McDermott 1996). McDermott hypothesizes that the Paleolithic Venus figurines of central and western Europe were created by women to represent their own bodies. The

Venus figurines McDermott worked with were dated from approximately 29,000 to

23,000 B.P. They were found in and rock shelters throughout western, central and southern Europe. These figurines represent faceless females that have thin arms and ankles, and proportionally exaggerated breasts, thighs, hips and buttocks. French

Archaeologist Leroi-Gourhan noted that the Venus figurines exhibit a “lozenge composition” (Leroi-Gourhan 1968: 202), which he attributed to the psycho-social mechanisms behind the art. Instead of attributing this blatant lack of anatomical exactitude to ideology, McDermott attributes it to the physical limitations of the first- person view. He argues that a when a pregnant woman looks down at her body, it appears similar to the exaggerated proportions of the Venus figurines (McDermott 1996: 231).

In his analysis, McDermott (1996: 231-232) identified three structural regularities. First, the human body adheres to a set of proportions that can be pushed to some extent, but not completely changed. Despite a person’s age, sex, or physiology, their bodily proportions are relatively similar. Second, body parts that are closer to the 18

eye invariably appear to be larger. In this case, the legs and feet of the figurines are much smaller than the breasts and stomach because they are farther from the eyes. Third, it is impossible to see one’s body in its entirety. There were no in the Upper

Paleolithic that would give someone a fuller view of their bodies. The only perspective anyone at this time got of themselves was from looking straight down.

To support his claim that the Venus figurines were autogenous creations that adhered to these regularities, he took photos of the Venus figurines from the head, facing the feet, and then compared them to photos taken by a nude pregnant model from the same angle to assess the similarities and differences (Figures l.D, l.E, and l.F). He took photographs from the five visual angles of the head and face, the superior anterior surface of the body, the anterior lateral surface of the body, the inferior lateral side, and the inferior posterior surface of the body. As the pictures below show, the first-person perspective makes the figurines look almost identical to the body of the pregnant woman; the hips, thighs, waist and buttocks of the model are accentuated, while the arms, knees, ankles, feet appear smaller than they actually are. McDermott’s hypothesis of autogenous creation explains the lack of facial features on figurines, as well as the downward position of their heads, which may represent the figurines looking down at themselves

(McDermott 1996: 237).

McDermott writes that the Venus figurines were images that pregnant women used to “control the material conditions of their reproductive lives” (McDermott 1996:

274). He concludes that the figurines were used to provide gynecological or obstetrical 19

information to their handlers (McDermott 1996: 274). McDermott’s interpretation exemplifies the feminist approach because it situates women as the craftspeople who created the Paleolithic figurines. It engenders the past and encourages the reader consider the role women had in creating knowledge about themselves and the world around them.

Figure 1 ,D: the superior-anterior surface of the body; Figure 1 ,E: the anterior lateral side; Figure 1 .F: the inferior-posterior side of the body (McDermott 1996: 239)

Unfortunately, McDermott neglects to provide any quantitative data for this analysis. He groups an unspecified number of figurines from the Gravvetian,

Magdalenian and Kostenkian traditions together and gives them a singular meaning.

Furthermore, his use of the modern concept of self is problematic; throughout the article he assumes that the modern idea of the individual is inherent and pan-human. The women who created the Venus figurines likely came from cultures that emphasized the communal, and may have been unfamiliar with the notion of the individual as we 20

understand it today. A single figurine could represent a composite of the individual making it combined with other members of the community. Finally, McDermott’s approach fails to provide linking arguments between self-generated images and meaning.

He concludes that these figurines were connected to reproductive ideology, but fails to provide any evidence for this connection. Without any contextual information to support his conclusion, it dissolves into anecdote.

Section 1.4:The Functional Approach

The functional approach, first presented by archaeologist Peter Ucko (1968), is a more holistic framework for figurine interpretation because it takes several types of context into consideration. Its premise is that meaning and function should be addressed as separate concepts by the researcher (Ucko 1968: 38). While meaning is contextually- specific and not always accessible to archaeology, function is subject to “material constraints” (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 45) and can be more easily discernable in the archaeological record. Ucko (1968: 40-45) presents four lines of inquiry that can be utilized to interpret the function of figurines. These lines are the formal analysis of the figurines, the archaeological context they were recovered from, the historical data produced in subsequent time periods, and the ethnographic data on the use of figurines.

To illustrate the effectiveness of his method, Ucko applies these four lines of inquiry to a collection of anthropomorphic figurines from , (2600-1100 B.C.). He then compared the results of each line to figurines from Pre-Dynastic to determine whether the two types of figurines were used in similar ways (Ucko 1968: 38). 21

Formal analysis informed Ucko on the biological sex each figurine represented, the material that each was created from, gestures and postures they took, and the level of technical expertise involved in their creation (Ucko 1968: 40). Six of the figurines had a penis and were categorized as male, 33 had breasts and were categorized as female, and

42 had neither a penis nor breasts, so they were categorized as sexless (Ucko 1968: 41).

Seventy-three were made out of clay, 26 from stone, two from shell and one from bone

(Ucko 1968: 40). The figurines averaged about two inches in height (Ucko 1968: 40).

Ucko notes that the positions of the figurines are limited to two sets of three variables; body position includes sitting, standing or squatting, and arm position includes no arms, arm stumps, and arms-to-chest (Ucko 1968: 41). However, even within this framework there is a high level of variability in the collection from Knossos. Ucko also points out that the figurines from Knossos substantially vary in technical excellence. Some of the figurines, although he fails to specify how many, portray tattoos, facial features, and anatomical features like a backbone. Ucko interprets these as signs of realism and artistic expertise. He describes other figurines that lack this detail as being rough and schematic

(Ucko 1968: 42-43).

Ucko argues that there are no correlations between the type of material used and strata; eighty to seventy percent of figurines from each stratum are made of clay, while marble, at 30 to 25 percent, is the second most utilized material (Ucko 1968: 41). The only correlation Ucko found between chronology and form was the arm position. In the

Early Neolithic (6500-5800 B.C.), 88 percent of the figurines have arm-stumps, whereas 22

the arms-to-chest position is exhibited by only five percent of figurines (Ucko 1968: 41).

In the Middle Neolithic (5800-5300 B.C.), the percentages of arm-stumps and arms-to- chest shifts to 65 percent and 32 percent, respectively (Ucko 1968: 41). In the Late

Neolithic (5300-4800 B.C.), the two positions are almost equal, at 48 percent and 46 percent, respectively (Ucko 1968: 41). Ucko (1968: 42) attributes this minor difference to a shift in stylistic convention rather than meaning. The variety of materials used, the variation in form and the technical excellence all matched up to the figurines from

Pre-Dynastic Egypt (Ucko 1968: 40).

The second line of inquiry Ucko applies to the Knossos figurines is archaeological context. The Cretan figurines were found in settlements, whereas the context for their

Egyptian counterparts are (Ucko 1968: 41). However, he points out that because there no tombs at Knossos, this is a moot point (Ucko 1968: 41). Out of 102 figurines found at Knossos, only two were discovered within a house (Ucko 1968: 41).

The remaining 100 were recovered from domestic debris or smaller trash pits (Ucko

1968: 41). None of the structures at Knossos have been identified as a shrine, so it is impossible to categorize any of the figurines as religious idols (Ucko 1968: 42). Their sizable presence outside of houses in large refuse deposits suggests that they were not mother goddess idols as suggested by Hutchinson (1939) (Ucko 1968: 42).

The third line of inquiry Ucko (1968: 43) applies is historical data, which the religious interpretation of figurines is founded on. He admits that the earlier the site was occupied affects the relevance of the historical literature on it, and argues that there is no 23

literature available to connect the Cretan figurines to any known religious tradition (Ucko

1968: 43). The only way to make this claim is to draw analogy to the history of figurines in Archaic Egypt (30 B.C.-641 A.D.), which is an inappropriate analogy in modern archaeology.

In his fourth and final line of inquiry, Ucko (1968: 45) draws analogies between the Knossos figurines and more recent ethnographic examples of figurines. He is careful to differentiate the use of ethnography to deduce function from its use to deduce meaning. He writes that the parallels he is drawing are “with regard to size, type, and material, with particular regard to context during and after use, simply to survey the range of purposes which may lie behind the manufacture and use of figurines” (Ucko 1968: 45).

Here Ucko relies on ethnographic examples from to inform the archaeological record. He notes that the Ashanti Tribe of Ghana created dolls with arm-stumps in order to reduce the likelihood that they would be broken by children (Himmelheber 1960: 35), and postulates that this might be the case for Knossos. He cites Cory’s (1951) work on the Sumbwa people of central Tanzania, who would often use figurines for initiation and deposit them in refuse piles once the initiation rituals were complete. For the Sumbwa, the material used to create the initiation figurine depended on the socio-economic status of the initiate’s family. Ucko suggested that the variety in material of the Cretan figurines signaled a similar function. Ucko (1968: 46-47) also argued that the figurines could have functioned as vehicles for sympathetic magic. He uses the example of American Indian tribes, although he does not specify which tribes, that used unbaked clay figurines to aid 24

fertility. Some women would dispose of the figurine upon becoming pregnant, while others would keep it in the house (Ucko 1968: 47).

On the basis of these ethnographic examples, he determines that the figurines from Knossos could have functioned in one of three possible ways (Ucko 1968: 47- 48).

First, they could have been children’s dolls because they are made of local, easily accessible material and deposited in refuse piles. Second, they could have been part of initiation rituals because they display sexual organs, and vary in terms of material and technical excellence. Third, they could have been vehicles for sympathetic magic because there are both sexless and sexed figurines, and they appear in both refuse and domestic contexts.

The Functional Approach Applied to Peloponnese Figurines

A more recent use of the functional approach is the work of Lauren Talalay

(1993) who examines the socio-economic contexts of 103 anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figurines from the Neolithic Era (6000-4000 B.C.) of the Peloponnese

Peninsula. To understand how these figurines were used, Talalay replaces a reliance on historical accounts with research on the socio-economic matrix of . This matrix is defined as “the environmental and cultural systems that prehistoric societies existed in” (Talalay 1993: 39).

There are 20 figurines that she categorizes as MN split-leg type, which come in two pieces and can be easily assembled and disassembled (Talalay 1993: 45). Talalay notes that all the ethnographic examples of figurines intended for intentional splitting 25

indicate that they are used to document an agreement, obligation, or common bond

(Talalay 1993: 46). She then turns her attention to the prehistoric economies of the

Peloponnese. She notes that the six sites' the MN split-leg figurines come from are all one to three days walking distance from each other (Talalay 1993: 46), and that these had sustained interaction with one another (Cullen 1985, van Andel and Runnels

1987). During the Neolithic Period, food shortages were a common occurrence, and this scarcity pushed the people of the ancient Peloponnese to engage in inter-settlement exchange as an adaptive strategy (Talalay 1993: 45-46). When considering the benefits of on-going contact between settlements, it would make sense to have some way to ossify agreements and relationships (Talalay 1993: 46). For literate societies, these types of agreements can take the form of tablets and seals. However, for preliterate societies figurines that could be broken apart and reassembled would have worked just as well.

Considering the socio-economic context, Talalay concludes that the MN split-leg figurines were the material record of transactions and partnerships (Talalay 1993: 46).

The functional approach is problematic for several reasons. The most obvious problem with Ucko’s approach is that many anthropomorphic figurines come from prehistoric cultures, so including a line of inquiry based on historical documents is useless. Additionally, both Talalay’s and Ucko’s conclusions are problematic because there is no way to verify that modern categories for figurines correspond with prehistoric

1 Franchthi, Corinth, Nemea, Lema, Akratas and Asea (Talalay 1993: 46) 26

ones. There is no demonstrable connection between figurines from and those from modem Greece, let alone from contemporary cultures in Africa and North

America. Although Talalay’s figurines may have functioned as tokens of inter-settlement exchange, this claim lacks sufficient support from the archaeological record. She fails to provide any data on food production or signs of possible inter-settlement exchange. Her assertion is founded on the most cursory information about the socio-economic context of the ancient Peloponnese. She also neglects to provide a specific ethnographic example that might help her readers better understand her argument. At first her conclusion sounds convincing, but because it lacks any real contextual data, her claim is merely anecdote.

Furthermore, the functional approach fails to recognize that one figurine can have many meanings or uses throughout its social life. Ucko’s figurines from Knossos could have been used in any or all of the categories he created. The figurines could easily transverse the categories of doll, initiation paraphernalia or vehicle for sympathetic magic at different stages in their social lives. This type of overlap suggests that Ucko’s categories are not mutually exclusive, and therefore invalid. Instead of superimposing arbitrary and ephemeral categories onto figurines, the functional approach would benefit more from a line of inquiry that addresses the pan-human cognitive response to their use.

Section 1.5:The Cognitive Approach

The cognitive approach to figurines studies the psychological effects they have on the people who handle them. In order to understand how figurines affected people in the past, this approach examines how figurines affect people in the present. Instead of 27

focusing on the context of figurines, the cognitive approach advocates for decontextualizing these artifacts in order to observe and record the reactions of their handler.

The cognitive approach to figurine interpretation can be traced back to material culture studies. The premise of material culture studies is that objects are active sites of cultural production instead of passive reflections of past cultures (Appadurai 1986;

Knappett et. 2010; al. Kopytoff 1986; Rathje 1979). The seminal text of the approach,

Material Culture and Mass Consumption (1987) by Daniel Miller, argues that the bulk of scholarship on objects has been focused on their production instead of their consumption.

The main claim is that the assumption of an inherent division between subject and object is fallacious (Miller 1987: 28). On the cognitive level, fluidity between subject and object occurs through metaphor. Because the physical body is the most accessible site for the production of metaphor that have (Tilley 1999: 37), this type of archaeology is especially pertinent to the study of prehistoric figurines (Bailey 2005, 2017; Knappett et. al. 2010).

In his writing, Bailey asserts that the previous attempts at understanding figurines never get past anecdotal explanations (Bailey 2017: 839). To solve this problem, Bailey

(2017: 839) argues that we must go beyond trying to understand the meaning or function of figurines. Instead of trying to understand figurines in the past, Bailey advocates for 28

new work to be made of them. Complete disarticulation from the past is the only way to really understand how these figurines affect people.

Figure l.G: Shaun Caton, We are the fragments of an unknown history (2010), (Bailey 2017: 843)

An example of the cognitive approach is the new work created by performance artist Shaun Caton who was inspired by a collection of Japanese dogii figurines from the

Middle Jomon Period (2500-1500 B.C.) (Bailey 2017: 841). Bailey asked Caton to handle the figurines, and then use them to make art (Bailey 2017: 841). During Caton’s encounter with the figurines, he felt unsettled, confused and fearful (Bailey 2017: 841 -

842). Then, he used these emotions to create crayon drawings of the figurines that reflected his reaction (Bailey 2017: 842). In Caton’s illustrations (Figure l.G), none of 29

the figurines are fully or accurately represented, yet all pull the viewer in and engage with them (Bailey 2017: 481). Caton then wrote about his experience with the figurines:

Figurines spiraling upwards on an unsteady axis, spin slowly, and are “bom” from the heaving earth. There is a curious mechanical clacking sound. 1 look out into a field and see hundreds, maybe thousands, of figurines popping up from the topsoil, stained by dampness. Brackish voices begin to merge in one loud unmmmming choir. At this point I realize that none of these figurines has ever been discovered. They revolve like spinning tops and return to the ground where they lay hidden, their voices becoming fainter as they disappear down dark “funnel” holes (Bailey 2017: 842 [Caton 2010]).

Caton’s account of his encounter is valuable because it demonstrates that figurines stimulate the handler to think about what is not there. The stillness of figurines prompted him to think about movement such as spinning. Their silence prompted him to think about what sound they might make. When encountering one of them, Caton was prompted to think about all the others that remain undiscovered. Caton’s written account and illustrations indicate that these figurines drew him into another world altogether.

When he picked up a figurine that had been disarticulated from any type of background or context, his imagination filled in the blanks. Caton’s feelings of fear and being unsettled were also accompanied by wonder and curiosity. This type of engagement with modern participants can give archaeology insight into the types of emotions and encounters that figurines provoked in their prehistoric handlers.

Summary

In this chapter, I have reviewed the different approaches that archaeology has employed to interpret figurines as a distinct class of artifact. This review of the religious, symbolic, feminist, functional, and cognitive approaches has given the reader sufficient background on figurine research in archaeology. This information, along with the 30

background on Harappa and the Indus Valley presented in the next chapter, will allow the reader to make a more informed assessment of the Harappan figurines. 31

Chapter 2: The Archaeology of the Indus Valley Civilization

To understand the figurines produced, used and deposited at Harappa, we must first situate them in their historic and prehistoric context. The first section of this chapter will present a brief history of excavation at Harappa, from the late 19th Century to the present. The next section of this chapter will address the four eras of the Indus Valley

Civilization (Kenoyer 1991a), including major environmental events, subsistence practices, and political organization. The descriptions of each era will be followed by descriptions of the corresponding periods at Harappa (Kenoyer 1991b). This chapter will inform the reader on the history of excavation at Harappa, the overall trajectory of the

Indus Valley Civilization, and how this trajectory affected the settlement of Harappa.

Section 2.1:History o f Excavation

The Indus Valley Civilization was a prehistoric culture area centered around the

Indus and Ghaggar-Hakra River systems in , and extended from northern

Afghanistan to western . It began in 7000 cal. B.C. at the village of Mehrgarh in western Pakistan, flourished into a state-level society around 2600 cal. B.C., and ceased to exist circa 1200 cal. B.C. (Shaffer 1992).

Harappa is a prehistoric Indus city on the banks of the Ravi River in north-central

Pakistan (30° 37’ N, 72° 52’ W). The city sits on a composed on alluvial deposits, with a slope of 29 centimeters (Amundsen and Pendall 1991: 15). The soils of Harappa are weakly-developed and primarily consist of acidic silt- (Table

2.1). The oldest layer associated with Harappa is the Qadirabad Formation, which was 32

repeatedly covered by alluvial deposits (Table 2.2).

Archaeology at Harappa began during the British colonial period (1671-1961).

Alexander Cunningham, a British army engineer, was the first to excavate at the site in

1871. He conducted small excavations around large structures, collecting coins, statues and other artifacts that had monetary value (Lahiri 2006: 18). His publication

(Cunningham 1875), included the results of his survey, a map of the site (Cunningham

1875: 106), and illustrations of artifacts (Cunningham 1875: 108). Cunningham used ethnographic data to connect Harappa to a mythical city that had been destroyed by invading, nomadic marauders (Cunningham 1875: 105).

The next archaeologist to excavate Harappa was Madho Sarup Vats, the British

Deputy Director-General of Archaeology. He excavated Mound F, Mound AB,

H, Area G and Area J (Marshall 1926; Vats 1940). Vats was an early proponent of science in archaeology, and documented the provenience, style, composition and form of the artifacts he unearthed at the city. He was the first scholar to recognize that the features and artifacts at Harappa were similar to those found at the prehistoric city of

Mohenjo-Daro, and concluded that both cities were built by the same people (Vats 1940:

1-2).

In 1946, Sir Mortimer Wheeler became the principal investigator at Harappa.

Wheeler’s (1947) team excavated Mound AB, Cemetery H and Cemetery R37. The goals of his excavations were to uncover the major features of the city and establish a chronology. One of his notable contributions to Harappan archaeology was the discovery 33

of continuity between the earlier and later levels of occupation at Harappa (Wheeler

1947: 128). Also, he interpreted the walls that encircled the city as defenses built to protect the Harappans against invaders (Wheeler 1947: 65).

The most recent excavations were carried out by archaeologists George Dales,

Richard Meadow and Jonathan Kenoyer, who collaborated with the Pakistani

Government’s Department of Archaeology. This project conducted intensive site surveys and excavations around Mound E and Mound AB (Dales and Kenoyer 1991: 185-262).

During these excavations, (Shaffer 1991), palynology (Phadtare 2000;

Weber 2003), and strontium isotopic analysis (Kenoyer et. al. 2013, Chase et. al. 2014) were all used to fill in the gaps in the archaeological record. 34

30) 35

EHOO Eteoo E2000 E2200 E2600 E2800

N2000 N2000

N1800 N1800

Harappa Town

N1600 N1600

/Harappan Wall

N14O0 N14O0

Old Police Slat ion - j ^

Tati PH N1200 Mound E :r?U /Cemetery h

Cemetery ra? U.C. Berkeley Excavations: 1986- ; op. 1 cw; Operation 1: Cemetery N1000 WW\ Rett House Operation 2: Mound AB I Shii

Mughal Sarai

N0800

E1400 E l 600 E1800 E2000 E2200 E2400 E2600 E2800

Figure 2.B: Topographic Map of Harappa, showing phases of excavation (Kenoyer 1991b: 31) 36

Table 2.1 Field Descriptions of Typifying Soils from Harappa and Surrounding Area (Amundsen and Pendall 1991: 20) Effervescence Morphology of CaCQj Depth Munscll of or CaSOa Segregations Mapping Unit Horizon Com) Color TenKifel Carbonate*2 pH 3 (Abundance and Size)* Recent Ap 0*19 10YR4/3 MS es 7.95 IRc.l Cl 19 43 10YR4/3 to sil cs 8.00 4/4 C2 43*75 10YR4/3 /< si c rd 75YX4/4 C3 75400 10YR4/2 to st 00 al 25Y4/2 Subncmt Ap 0*15 10YR4/4 sil ev 8.05 Channel ISe.l C 15*280 10YR5/4 to fit cv 8.15 25Y5/4 Sultanpur |16.| Ap 0*15 10YR4/4 sit ev 8.05 Bw 15*45 10YR5/4 Sit ev a l Bkl 45**5 10YR5/4 sit cv 7.90 (, s ) Bk2 55*120 10YR5/4 sit ev a l t. % k m (CaCOi) BCkt 120140 10YR5/4 sil ev al f to c s k m (C1 CO3) B€k2 140-163 10YR5/4 to sit ev a l f. s k c, m 2.5Y5/4 Ck 163*193 23Y5/4 sit ev al f, % 2 56-114 75YR5/4 sid es ni m. m k 1 (CaSOi) BCyl 114*140 10YR5/4 (k siKA sicl) c 8.10 f to c, s k m (CiiSO*) 7.5YR5/4) BCy2 140450 10YR5/4 sil e nd c, m 4c 1 (CaSO*) Lyallptir f 19.) Ap 0*20 10YR4/3 sil es $35 (,sk m 20%); s=f*ne {<5 mm in diameter); m^rmvitum (5*15 mm); 1=large (>l5mm). Noir Only those soils sampled for laboratory analyse* are shown. From fVndall and Amundson f 37

Table 2.2 The Relative and Absolute Ages of Geological Formations (Amundsen and Pendall 1991: 21)

Differentiating Features Carbonate Observable Relative Morphology * B Horizon Landscape Estimated Age Land form Age* Units (Suree) (Tvpe) Position (Years BP> 1 (Youngest) Recent None Norn* Entrenched <-)04 Channel Distributary Channel 2 Subrvcvnt None Noik' Level <45004 Channel Hood plain 3 Sulianpur, I to Early 1! Bk, Bsv Levd <2000->5000 3 Siiltanptirjjy Hood plain 4 Camber, n Rk, B\v, By level >5000-15.no05 Lvaltpur Floodptain 5 (Oldest) Qadirabad Late 11 to Bk, Bt III >7lBO*90fc Early Ul &

1 Based on soil morphologic features and landscape position. 2 Based on classification by Cite ct al. (196A) and Sehgal and Stoops (1972). 3 Last of Recent Channel (M. Saddiq, personal communication, 1988). 4 Approximate date of beginning of Harappan occupation (Kenoycr 1987). 3 Based on rates of pcdogcnic carbonate redistribution (Gikr and Crossman 1979). 6 Radiocarbon date of carbonate on the inside of a noduk from Btk horizon (Pendall and Amundson 1990b).

Section 2.2: Chronology of Prehistoric South Asia

The Chronology of Prehistoric south Asia has four eras: The Early Food

Production Era (7000-5000 cal. B.C.), the Regionalization Era (5000-2600 cal. B.C.), the

Integration Era (2600-1900 cal. B.C.) and the Localization Era (1900-1200 cal. B.C.)

(Kenoyer 1991a).

The Early Food Production Era (7000-5000 cal. B.C.)

The Early Food Production Era (7000-5000 cal. B.C.) represents the beginning of the Indus Valley Civilization in the archaeological record. The changes that took place at this time laid the foundation for the development of agriculture and sedentary urban life at Harappa. 38

Table 2.3 South Asia Chronology and Corresponding Periods at Harappa, Mehrgarh and Mohenjo-Daro (Kenoyer 1991a, Kenoyer 1991b) South Asian Era Period at Harappa Period at Mehrgarh Period at Mohenjo- Daro Early Food Production Period 1 Era (7000-5000 cal. (7000-5500 cal. B.C.) B.C.) - Period 2 - (5500-4800 cal. B.C.) - Period 3 - (4800-3500 cal. B.C.) Regionalization Era - Period 4 - (5000-2600 cal. B.C.) (3500-3250 cal. B.C.) Period 1 Period 5 (3300-2800 cal. (3250-3000 cal. B.C.) B.C.) Period 2 Period 6 (2800-2600 cal. (3000-2600 cal. B.C.) B.C.) Integration Era (2600- Period 3 Period 7 Period 1 1900 cal. B.C.) (2600-1900 cal. (2600-2000 cal. B.C.) (2600-2000 cal. B.C.) B.C.) Localization Era Period 4 Period 2 (1900-1200 cal. B.C.) (1900-1700 cal. (1900-1700 cal. B.C.) B.C.) Period 5 (1700-1300 cal. B.C.)

During the Early Food Producing Era, two climatic systems created a lush, tropical environment. The first was the summer monsoon system, which consistently deposited heavy rainfall throughout the Early Food Production Era (Bryson and Swain

1981:138). The second was the winter westerly system in the Himalayan Mountains, which flowed into the Valley (Phadtare 2000: 127) These two systems provided perennial sources of for the villages of Neolithic south Asia.

During the Early Food Production Era, south Asia was inhabited almost entirely 39

by bands of nomadic hunter-gatherers. Typical examples of hunter-gatherer sites are

Mahadaha (Kennedy et. al.1991) and Birbhanpur (Lai 1958), which are less that one hectare in size, and characterized only by microlithic and . Micro­ charcoal analysis from sites like Lunkaransar (Biagi and Kazi 1995) demonstrate that south Asian hunter-gatherers were using burning regimes to create a more productive environment (Rolland 2004: 252). These burning regimes would have increased visibility to aid , stimulated the regrowth of wild grasses, and enhanced the quality of the soil (Mistry et. al. 2005: 371-372). Faunal data collected from these sites are composed of local non-domesticates such as Indian {Antilope ) chital (Axis axis), chinkara ( Gazellabennettii), sambar deer (Rusa unicolor), and fish local to the

Indus river system (Labeo rohita, Catla catla) (Possehl 2002: 34).

At the start of this era, some prehistoric Indus peoples gradually began domesticating wild animals and cultivating grains and fruits at what would become the village of Mehrgarh (Jarrige 1993). Once thought to be the “back curtain to the main scene” (Wheeler 1968: 9), Mehrgarh is now recognized as the antecedent of the later agricultural developments of the Indus Valley Civilization (Jarrige 1993a: 79). Mehrgarh was a Neolithic settlement established from approximately 8000 to 7500 cal. B.C.

(Jarrige 1993b: 27). Its location at the foot of the in northwestern Pakistan gave the inhabitants access to the resources of the mountainous regions in the summer, and lowland environments in the winter (Possehl 2002: 34). Although non-domesticate taxa dominate the earliest levels at Mehrgarh, (Capra aegagrus), which appear 40

around 7000 cal. B.C., were the first animals to be domesticated at the settlement

(Meadow 1993: 311). ( Hordeum vulgare)that show signs of , also appears at this early level at Mehrgarh (Jarrige 1993b: 27). Barley is an annual crop that can only be sown in the cooler seasons of winter or (“Barley”; Natural Resources

Conservation Service). Neolithic cultivation of this crop, along with the emphasis on hunting, suggests that in the initial stages, Mehrgarh was a seasonal camp only inhabited during winter.

The biological data collected from these levels further support the claim that the first inhabitants of Mehrgarh subsisted primarily from hunting and gathering, and whose participation in domestication was initially marginal. By examining the amount of dental caries from the 266 teeth of 16 individuals buried in aceramic Neolithic deposits, Lukacs

(1983: 390) reported that the incidents of dental carries are 2.3%, with 100% of carious lesions occurring on molars. This rate of carries is significantly lower than that found in populations of full-time agriculturalists, whose diet of carbohydrates and sugars make up a large percentage of their caloric intake (Turner 1979: 623) Low rates of dental carries like those found at Mehrgarh are indicative of populations that rely on hunting and foraging, or those who utilize a mixed subsistence strategy (Turner 1979: 622-623).

Despite speculation that domestication in the region was the result of migration from the (Fairservis 1971: 106-107) it is generally accepted that early farming and herding in south Asia were developments that occurred independently from the agricultural revolution of the (Childe [1952] 1964: 197). The earliest levels 41

of Mehrgarh consisted of free-standing, rectangular houses with multiple rooms, in a nucleated settlement pattern (Jarrige 1993b: 28). This is a spatial arrangement that is commonly associated with segmentary societies (Renfrew and Bahn 1991: 194).

(Ovis orientalis)and (Bos indicus) were domesticated around 6000 cal. B.C.

(Meadow 1987: 913). Around 5500 cal. B.C., ( compaction, Triticum sphaero-coccum) began to be cultivated (Jarrige 1993: 80-81), indicating a more diverse subsistence base.

Increasing levels of sedentism accompanied the shift from hunting to domestication at Mehrgarh. Towards the end of the Early Food Production Era, at Mehrgarh exhibited a nucleated settlement pattern with groups of , agglomerate buildings (Jarrige et. al. 2005: 137). At approximately 5500 cal.

B.C., rows of rectangular mudbrick buildings with sub-divided interiors were constructed throughout the settlement (Jarrige 1993: 28). Because they lack doors and domestic debris, these structures can be interpreted as storage areas used to house cereals. This interpretation is corroborated by the imprints of grain left in the of the floors and walls (Jarrige 1993: 28). The accumulation of cereals in storage facilities represent a fundamental shift in life at Mehrgarh; the ability to store food over long periods of time made the inhabitants of the village less susceptible to starvation, and resulted in the population increase of the subsequent era. Although did not appear until the following era, Zhob figurines are found at 6000 cal. B.C. (Jarrige 1991: 41). These schematic figurines made of unbaked clay are invariably female and seated, and have a 42

high degree of stylistic similarity (Jarrige 1991: 90). By the end of the Early Food

Production Era, sedentary agriculture was being practiced at 20 sites throughout the hills and Piedmont region of Baluchistan, each of which averaged around two hectares in size

(Possehl 2002:32).

Alongside these sedentary communities, signs of nomadic pastoralism can be seen in the archaeological record. Thirty-three smaller sites of one hectare or less are associated with large quantities of sheep (Ovis ) and ( aegagrus), non-microlithic kits, and lack the permanent mudbrick architecture seen in sedentary sites (Possehl 2002:32). Pastoralists would occupy sites seasonally, moving from the hills in the summer to the valleys in the winter to access the resources on the verdant of the Indus (Possehl 2002: 42). Possehl (2002:33-34) argues that the seasonal migration of these nomadic pastoralists spread domestication from piedmont regions of Baluchistan south to the river plains of the Indus. This claim is supported at lowland hunter-gatherer sites like Bagor in Rajasthan, where sheep ( and goat ( Capra ) agaegrus native to the hills of Baluchistan appear in the stratum dated to

5500 cal. B.C., towards the end of the Early Food Production Era (Possehl 2002: 33-34).

The diversified subsistence strategies that emerge in the Early Food Production Era set the foundation for the later cultural developments that took place at Harappa.

The Regionalization Era (5000-2600 cal. B.C.)

The Regionalization Era (5000-2600 B.C.) is characterized by the widespread domestication of plants and animals as a subsistence strategy (Wright 2010: 64-65). This 43

change in subsistence strategy resulted in the increase and expansion of the population.

The number of total sites increased from 53 in the previous era to 817 in the

Regionalization Era, and the average size for all sites rose to 4.4 hectares (Possehl 2002:

34). The fact that most of these sites are located in the fertile valleys of the Indus and

Saraswati marks a shift from the Early Food Producing Era, when the majority of sites were located in the rocky piedmont regions of Baluchistan. The expansion of Indus peoples extended as far east as the modern Indian state of Punjab, and as far south as the state of Gujarat.

During the Regionalization Era, several changes happen at Mehrgarh. At 4000 cal. B.C., the summer monsoon system began to steadily decrease (Bryson and Swain

1981). Because of this decline in rainfall, the Indus River Valley reached peak desiccation levels at 3000 cal. B.C. (Phadtare 2000: 128). This climatic shift in northwestern south Asia resulted in a semi-arid environment. In turn, this resulted in increased sedentary occupation along the of the Indus and Saraswati Rivers.

At this time, people in the Indus Valley began to manipulate the world around them in new ways. Fland-made pottery appears around 4000 cal. B.C., and exhibits a moderate level of standardization (Possehl 2002: 40). There is also a transition away from to larger, heavier tools, indicating a decrease in hunting and an increase in herding and agriculture (Lechevallier 1984: 19). Additionally, the first objects, tools, and projectile points, are found at Mehrgarh during this era. The presence of stone crucibles (Possehl 2002: 40) indicates that people had developed the technology to 44

heat copper to 1083° C in order to manipulate the metal more effectively (Renfrew and

Bahn 1991: 340). Although the production of copper objects became an important craft at

Mehrgarh during this time, craftspeople did not alloy copper with tin to create bronze until the subsequent era. The strata associated with the Regionalization Era is also the first occurrence of beads made from gold, steatite and semi-precious stones (Wright

2010: 81).

From 3000-2600 cal. B.C., mudbrick or stone walls were constructed at sites on or near the floodplains such as Harappa (Dales and Kenoyer 1990a; Wheeler 1947), Kot

Diji (Khan 1964) (Jarrige 1988a), Rehman Dheri (Durrani 1986), and

Kalibangan (Lai and Thapar 1967). The ability to mobilize labor to create and maintain these features suggests a level of organization that is beyond the capability of bands or segmentary societies. In addition to the lack of cities, writing or standardized currency, this suggests a level of organization consistent with chiefdom polities (Renfrew and Bahn

1991:203-214).

The Regionalization Era at Harappa (3300-2600 cal. B.C.)

The Regionalization Era corresponds to Period I (3300-2800 cal. B.C.) and Period

II (2800-2600 cal. B.C.) at Harappa. During Period I (3300-2800 B.C.), Harappa occupied an area of one hectare on the northwest comer of Mound E (Possehl 2002: 276), where hearths, mudbrick walls, and a full range of lithics were uncovered (Kenoyer 199b:

44). Stone beads, a stone , bangles, hand molded pottery, and terracotta anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figurines were also found at this early level (Kenoyer 45

1991b: 44). The refuse disposal at the site created a low mound, (Kenoyer 1991b; 44) which suggests that occupation during this initial period was semi-permanent.

Ethnoarchaeological studies suggest that semi-nomadic people leave far less artifacts and debris (Robbins 1973: 205). This level of debris accumulation, along with the features and artifacts found is consistent with seasonal base-camps used by semi-sedentary peoples (Mughal 1997: 40).

The palynological samples from the earliest levels at Harappa show wheat

Triticum compactum, Triticum sphaero-coccum) and barley ( ) make up the majority of the crops that were harvested (Weber 1993: 192-193). Both of these grains are crops that can only be sown during the winter, and no seeds from summer crops appear at these early levels. This indicates that during Period I, Harappa was a winter base-camp for semi-sedentary people that relied on a pastoral economy, but also practiced some agriculture.

The Regionalization Era also corresponds to Period II (2800-2600 cal. B.C.) at

Harappa, which marks the beginning of sedentary life at the site. During this period, the settlement expanded to incorporate the southern edge of Mound E (Kenoyer 1991b: 47).

It was also during this time that revetment walls, which on average were two meters wide and two meters tall, were constructed around the city (Kenoyer 1991b: 47). They exhibited high levels of , corroborating the claim that they were built primarily for protecting the settlement against the meandering of the Ravi River (Belcher and Belcher 46

2000).

In Period II, there is evidence for the beginnings of the specialization that is exhibited in the later periods. - used in the construction of large features were manufactured at 10 centimeters in height by 20 centimeters in width by 40 centimeters in length (Kenoyer 1991b: 44), a ratio that can be seen in all the bricks produced in Period

III (2600-1900 cal. B.C.) as well. Houses were oriented to the cardinal directions and built in an irregular grid pattern (Kenoyer 1991b: 47). A uncovered on the northwest comer of Mound E had vitrified sherds and kiln wasters (Kenoyer 1991b: 47). This indicates that the area was used for long-term ceramic production, an early sign of the shift from a domestic to a specialized mode of production. The dearth of misfired pottery present in this unit is also a sign of craft specialization (Wright 1991: 83). Non-local objects such as shell beads from the Makran Coast to the south and brown chert from the

Rohri Hills to the east were also found at this level (Kenoyer 1991b: 47), indicating

Harappan participation in regional trade networks. No have been recovered from

Harappa dating to either Period I or II. This could be the result of erosion caused by the meandering of the Ravi River, which may have disturbed human remains. However, cemeteries are not present at other Regionalization Era sites (Halim 1971: 29), suggesting that burial of the dead in cemeteries was not an established practice during this time.

The Integration Era (2600-1900 cal. B.C.)

The Integration Era (2600-1900 cal. B.C.) is characterized by the intensification of agriculture and the beginning urbanism in the prehistoric Indus River Valley. 47

Assemblages of cattle bone ( Bosindicus) from across the Indus Valley show that the secondary product revolution (Sherratt 1981) occurred during this era. In general, the slaughter profiles of these assemblages reflect a multiple production strategy (Meadow

1993, 1998; Miller 2003; Patel 1997). The assemblages have high rates of females at five years of age or older (Miller 2003: 260), which indicate the exploitation of cattle for dairy products (Marciniak 2011: 120). They also have high rates of males at five years of age or older (Miller 2003: 260), which indicate the exploitation of cattle for traction

(Marciniak 2011: 120). Along with slaughter profiles, the pathologies of male cattle, namely ebumation and lipping on the articulating surfaces of long-bones, also indicate that they were being used for traction (Miller 2003: 287). The use of cattle for traction implies that Harappan farmers sought to increase the arability of the land surrounding their cities in order to increase agricultural output. Biological data from Indus cemeteries also reflects the intensification of agriculture that took place during the Integration Era.

The increase of dental caries and antemortem tooth loss found at Harappa during Period

III (2600-1900 cal. B.C.) is similar to patterns exhibited by modern cultures that practice intensified agriculture and improved food processing methods (Lukacs 1992: 148).

Intensification of agriculture was also the result of the methods practiced in the Indus Valley during the Integration Era. Prehistoric Indus peoples controlled water for agriculture in a variety of ways. On the alluvial plains, intentional flooding, or inundation, was the most common irrigation method (Kenoyer 1991a: 335).

Settlements in piedmont regions, like the city of , used irrigation (Singh 48

2008: 169). At the coastal city of , archaeologists found a water reserve tank that was filled by the river, and channeled water to the surrounding farmland (Rao 1973:12).

Plowing and irrigation techniques were used to increase agricultural output, and resulted in a surplus of food, which in turn allowed the people of the Indus River Valley to specialize in non-food producing activities (Miller 2003: 252).

Along with intensification came diversification and specialization of resource procurement. Summer crops such as ( Pamiliaceum), dates ( dactylifera), ( Oryza ) sativa and ( Vigmungo) supplemented wheat ( compactum, Triticum sphaero-coccum) and barley ( ) in the Indus diet

(Weber 2003: 193). Faunal data from Harappa shows a wider variety of domesticated and wild species than documented in the Regionalization Era (Meadow 1991: 89-90), which indicates that hunting supplemented domestication as a subsistence strategy. Aquatic resources such as carp ( Catla catla) and catfish ( ) became a staple of the urban diet (Belcher 1991: 113). Around 2100 B.C., water buffalo ( bubalis), camels ( Camelusbactrianus), horses ( Equuscaballus), and donkeys (Equus asinus) were domesticated as well (Patel and Meadow 2003: 75). Slaughter patterns and bone density in sheep suggest that herds were being bred principally for their wool (Meadow 1998:

12). This diversification of fauna marked an increased level of specialization in the procurement of resources.

Palaces and temples are conspicuously absent from any Indus Valley sites. The only differentiation in architecture is between public and domestic architecture (Vats 49

1940: 14). Large like the one discovered at Mehrgarh (Jarrige 1993: 28) were constructed at Mohenjo-Daro and Harappa (Wheeler 1968: 31). All of the major urban settlements included complex systems of providing water and disposal to domestic spaces. Houses included two square meter bathing platforms that were connected to a drainage system that dumped outside the walls of the city (Jensen 1989:

179). An excellent example of the Indus expertise with infrastructure was at Mohenjo-

Daro, where water became highly accessible through a network of over 700 , averaging one for every three household (Jensen 1989: 180).

Reflecting the shift to a state-level polity, in the Integration Era became highly specialized. All bricks produced during this era had the standardized dimensions of 10 centimeters in height, 20 centimeters in width and 40 centimeters in length

(Wheeler 1968: 84). Structures were dedicated to specific crafts such as -making, and ceramic production (Miller 2007: 39). Centralized production of crafts is often equated with political power (Brumfiel and Earle 1987; Costin 1991). However, production sites are widely distributed throughout major Indus cities (Miller 2007: 50).

Specific craft production processes are confined to specific neighborhoods. This pattern indicates that production was based on the transmission of specific knowledge rather than control by non-producing elites (Miller 2007: 44). A major innovation of the Integration

Era was the introduction and use of bronze. Tools, vessels and beads were all created from alloying tin and arsenic with copper, many of which mirrored their ceramic and stone counterparts (Miller 2000: 304-307). Another innovation during this time was the 50

creation of a standardized writing system. The majority of the only appears on small stone seals. Although the writing system has yet to be deciphered, these seals were likely used for commerce (Wheeler 1968: 107).

The Integration Era at Harappa (2600-1900 cal. B.C.)

The Integration Era (2600-1900 cal. B.C.) corresponds to Period III at Harappa, when the site transitioned from a village chiefdom to an urban, state-level society. The population grew to 30,000 people, and the site expanded to encompass 150 hectares

(Kenoyer 1998: 49). In the Integration Era, all south Asian urban polities embraced a uniform architectural style. Settlements constructed during this era were oriented on a north-south/east-west grid (Kenoyer 1991a: 352). Because Harappa has been pillaged by -robbers, most of the structures of the residential neighborhoods no longer exist

(Vats 1940: 16). However, archaeologists do know that the Harappans constructed their houses with fired brick, and that mud, which sometimes included gypsum, was used as (Vats 1940: 12). The foundations of houses, made of mud or fired brick, remained intact, allowing archaeologists to derive some information about domestic spaces. These foundations show that houses were not completely uniform. One example from the 1931 excavation is House I, Stratum IV of Trench V on Mound F (Vats 1940: 14), which had an eastern frontage of 51 meters and an interior divided into eleven rooms. When compared to the houses on Mound AB which are 3.5m x 4.5m (Vats 1940: 143), it is clear that domestic architecture in Harappa was not homogenous. However, it is unclear whether larger structures could be the evidence of social inequality or a sign of shared 51

resources.

Because of its size, much of Harappan public architecture remains intact. A similar to the one found at Mehrgarh was built on Mound F (Wheeler 1947: 22-

23; Vats 1940: 17). Two large rows of six circular brick mortars were built to the south of the granary (Wheeler 1947: 23), which may have been an area used for the mass production of food. Unlike Mohenjo-Daro, there are only six wells at Harappa (Vats

1940: 13). They range from 52 centimeters to 2 meters in diameter, and the size of each is dependent upon its distance from the Ravi River. Smaller wells were situated closer to the river, while larger wells were situated farther. This suggests that residents who lived on the northern side of the city used the river as their primary source of water, while those living on the southern Mound AB relied more on wells (Vats 1940: 14). This also represents the decision to provide sufficient access to resources through careful city planning.

Much like other Indus cities, craft production at Harappa was divided by neighborhood. found in the center of Mound AB were used for metallurgy (Vats

1940: 470). The northwestern portion of Mound E was a pottery production site (Miller

1997: 15). The hand-molded pottery of the previous period was replaced by -made

Harappan ware. This type of ceramic used black paint on red slip, and exhibited a wider variety of forms ( 1993). One type found in abundance is the elongated jar, which increased the Harappan ability to store large quantities of food, possibly for transportation over great distances. 52

This period is also the first that inhumation is archaeologically visible at Harappa.

The only burials associated with Period III are interred in Cemetery R37, a 50 x 50 square meter cemetery located south of the city (Vats 1940: 201). Two-hundred and nine bodies were buried in supine position, oriented north to south with head facing north

(Schug 2012: 138). These individuals show little sign of interpersonal violence. Only two out of 209 show signs of blunt force trauma (Schug et. al. 2012: 144). Additionally, two individuals show signs of trepanation, possibly the result of surgery (Schug et. al. 2012:

144). included pottery, beads, bangles, mirrors, shell spoons, small containers and tools (Dales and Kenoyer 1993: 492). Both decorative and utilitarian pottery were included in the burials. None of these vessels were unique to the burials, and could be found throughout the city (Vats 1940: 202), indicating that these were items the deceased may have used in their day-to-day lives. Burial pottery ranged from two to 40 pieces, with 18 as the average amount per burial (Schug et. al. 2012: 138). The amounts and quality of these burial goods at Cemetery R37 do not constitute a radical distinction between individual burials. Instead, they suggest that all of the individuals interred had relatively equal social status (Dales and Kenoyer 1993: 493).

Understanding the political dynamics of Harappa during the Integration Era has proved challenging because many of the features and artifacts that archaeology uses to infer hierarchy in early states are conspicuously absent from the city. Temples, and statues are not only absent here, but at other Integration Era sites as well. Domestic architecture is somewhat uniform (Vats 1940: 14), the system of writing is undeciphered, 53

there is a lack of obvious social stratification in burials (Dales and Kenoyer 1993: 493) and no weapons caches have been identified. In the excavations carried out by the team from UC Berkeley, Kenoyer (1991b: 56-57) noted that when one part of the city underwent decay, another was undergoing construction and maintenance. He argues that this is sign of a heterarchical model of power. The concept of heterarchy, first introduced in the field of computational mathematics (McCulloch 1945), can be applied to archaeology as “the relation of elements to one another when they...possess the potential for being ranked in a number of different ways” (Crumley 1995: 3). The archaeological evidence at Harappa indicates that this model is more probable than a hierarchical one. At

Harappa, it is likely that elites aligned themselves with craft-producing neighborhoods, and that heterarchy was achieved by each neighborhood exerting influence on the others

(Kenoyer 1991b: 58). This is supported by the fact that caches of precious metals, stones and beads are spread throughout the city instead of conglomerated around a few areas

(Rissman 1989: 87). Unlike previous periods, figurines portray the primary and secondary sexual characteristics of males, females and sometimes both, which Clark

(2009) argues proof of an ideology of gender fluidity. However, a more detailed discussion of the Harappan figurines and Clark’s argument about them will be addressed in Chapter 3.

Towards the end of the Integration Era, hydrological changes created a more arid environment. The Ravi River, which provided Harappa with a constant source of water, waned significantly around 2100 cal. B.C. (Wright et. al. 2008). The beginning of the 54

Third Millennium B.C. marked peak desiccation for the Indus River Valley. The cultural changes visible in the following era were adaptations to the changing environments of the prehistoric Indus Valley.

The Localization Era (1900-1200 cal. B.C.)

The Localization Era was a period of mass de-urbanization (Wheeler 1968: 126) due to changing hydrological patterns (Raikes 1968: 284). The Indus and Ghaggar-Hakra

River systems began to wane, which made the Indus Valley a more arid environment

(Pokharia et. al. 2014: 454). However, this coincided with an increase in winter rains in areas to the south and east of the Indus Valley (Prasad and Enzel 2006: 442), which made these areas good for grazing. The lack of reliable, accessible water sources in the Indus

Valley resulted in a shift from a sedentary, diversified subsistence strategy to a nomadic pastoralist one. An increase in cattle bone in faunal assemblages (Varma 1991: 287) coincided with a decrease in carbonized seed density (Reddy 1991: 129). This shift in flora and fauna found at Localization Era sites suggests an emphasis on instead of agriculture.

The Localization Era at Harappa (1900-1300 cal. B.C.)

At Harappa, Period IV (1900-1800 cal. B.C) and Period V (1800-1300 B.C.) correspond to the Localization Era. Period IV (1900-1800 cal. B.C.) is a transitional period, and aside from the mass movement of inhabitants to Mound E, is only distinguished from Period III (2600-1900 cal. B.C.) by changes in ceramics and burial practices (Kenoyer 1991b: 56). This period marks the introduction of Cemetery H 55

ceramics, which derived their name from the burial context in which most are found

(Vats 1940: 248). Cemetery H ceramics are red-fired and painted with black slip, and were often used to contain cremated and fractionalized remains (Vats 1940: 248;

Fairservis 1971: 303).

Period V (1800-1300 cal. B.C.) marks a sharp decline in the population of the

Harappa. Occupation at the site only incorporated Mound AB, Mound F, and Area J

(Kenoyer 1991b: 40). Lower seed density count in floatation samples show that agricultural output had decreased (Weber 2003: 194). Although wheat and barley remained the mainstay of the Harappa diet, heavier cultivation of drought-resistant summer crops such as rice, millet and dates took place (Weber 2003: 181). These changes reflect the environmental desiccation that was the result of changing hydrological systems.

Major political and social changes also took place during this time. These changes are best illustrated by a comparison of the biological data on gathered from the ossuary adjacent to Area G with those of Cemetery H. The ossuary at Area G was a pit that was constructed during Period IV (Vats 1940: 198). The area is situated outside the city walls positioned just south of Harappa’s main sewer drain, and was associated with what Vats

(1940: 194) characterized as “poorly-constructed structures”. The crania and long bones of at least 20 individuals are buried here, along with two partial vertebral columns, one scapula and canine taxa (Schug et. al. 2012: 138). Out of these 20 individuals, 50% of males, 33% of females and 66% of the subadults exhibited signs of blunt force trauma 56

(Schug et. al. 2012: 144). One male’s nose had been repeatedly broken, while another male showed signs of sharp blunt force trauma to the glabella (Schug et. al. 2012: 144).

Disarticulated bodies of men, women and children that were thrown into a pit next to a sewer suggests that these were not individuals with particularly high social status. This is a stark difference from contemporary burials in Cemetery H. Cemetery H was situated within the city, in which the full bodies of individuals were buried in extended position, often surrounded by ceramic vessels (Vats 1940: 203-245). Of the 23 individuals in stratum II (1900-1700 cal. B.C.), 50% of women showed signs of blunt force trauma, 0% of males or subadults show any signs of blunt force trauma. Although this is lower than the individuals in Ossuary G, it is still quite high, especially in comparison to the previous period at Harappa. Period IV is the first time that a radical difference between social groups is visible in the archaeological record of Harappa, and coincides with a dramatic increase in interpersonal violence. The drastic changes to the Harappan way of life that took place during the Localization Era are reflected in artifacts as well. The production and use of standardized bricks, weights, beads, seals, Harappan ceramics and terracotta figurines had completely stopped (Wheeler 1968: 127), signaling an end to specialized craft production. In addition, the burial practice of inhumation had been replaced by in strata I (1700-1300 cal. B.C.) in Cemetery H (Wheeler 1968:

69).

Changing settlement patterns indicate that people migrated away from Harappa and embraced a semi-nomadic lifestyle. The presence of temporary camp sites of one to 57

two hectares, a size associated with the base-camps of nomadic pastoralists, increases

14.25% during this period (Mughal 1990: 1-2). The de-urbanization and return to bands and segmentary societies that occurred was not unique to Harappa, but rather a widespread cultural shift that happened throughout the prehistoric Indus Valley. By 1200

B.C., all the major cities of the Indus Valley Civilization had been completely abandoned

(Fairservis 1971: 310).

Summary

The four eras of prehistoric south Asia shaped the changes that happened at

Harappa. During the Early Food Production Era (7000-5000 cal. B.C.), inhabitants of south Asia employed seasonal agriculture as a subsistence strategy for the first time. The

Regionalization Era (5000-2600 cal. B.C.) is characterized by migration into the Indus

Valley, an increase in population and widespread domestication of plants and animals throughout the region. This was when the semi-permanent settlement at Harappa began.

The Integration Era (2600-1900 cal. B.C.) was characterized by full sedentism, intensification of agriculture and urbanism. During this era, Harappa became a state-level polity that utilized advanced city planning, a written language, craft specialization, and a heterarchical power structure. The Localization Era (1900-1200 cal. B.C.) was characterized by mass deurbanization and a return to nomadic pastoralism. During this era, water became scarce, interpersonal violence increased, and the population declined until the city was eventually abandoned and forgotten. The background provided in this chapter allows the reader to situate the Harappan figurines within the local context of Harappa, as well as the regional context of prehistoric south Asia. 59

Chapter 3: Data on the Harappan Figurines

This chapter presents the objective data that is available on the Harappan figurines, which includes relevant qualitative and quantitative information that has been published on the collection, as well as the details of figurine manufacture. Then, I present the archaeological context of both the figurines and the workshop where the figurines were created. This chapter will give the reader a sufficient understanding of the data behind Clark’s typology and interpretations for the Harappan figurines.

Section 3.1:History o f Research on Indus Figurines

The first documentation of Harappan figurines was a part of broad accounts of

Indian (Coomaraswamy 1927, 1928; Dasgupta 1928; Kramrisch 1933). These early records of south Asian art did not distinguish between artifacts created in different prehistoric and historic periods. Indus figurines, along with all other forms of art, were collectively interpreted as the primitive predecessors to the art produced in the Mauryan

Era (322 B.C -185 B.C.) (Agrawal 1965; Mookerjee 1966; Ray, 1945). In some of these studies, an early distinction was made between the figurines with female attributes, which were interpreted as mother-goddess idols, and the rest of the corpus which were interpreted as toys (Mackay 1938: 294; Vats 1940: 451-454). The first black and white photographs of the Harappan figurines were published by Vats (1940: Plates LXXVL -

LXXIX) in his reports on Harappa. These reports included very little qualitative data, 60

completely omitted quantitative data, and over-emphasized the female figurines in the collection.

Wheeler (1968) was the next archaeologist to remark on the figurines from

Harappa. By applying the religious approach to this collection, he also concluded that they were mother goddess idols, possibly created to increase fertility (Wheeler 1968: 99).

However, in his analysis Wheeler noted that because these objects were cruder than the art made in Harappan statuaries, they must have been a public form of art, and perhaps played a role in household cults instead of state-sponsored religious ceremonies (Wheeler

1968: 110). He also noted that several of the goddess figurines contained traces of burned animal fat, and may have been used as anthropomorphic lamps (Wheeler 1968: 110).

George Dales (1963) was the first archaeologist to focus on the different postures and decorations of the figurines. He argued that the practice of creating terracotta figurines had its origins in , but that the motifs exhibited were indigenous to south

Asia (Dales 1963: 39).

The next excavations at the city, under the auspices of the Harappa

Archaeological Reconnaissance Program (1986-2001), recovered 4656 anthropomorphic figurines from the site (Clark 2007: 93). Despite the large number of figurines, the original field notes from the HARP excavations only give a brief description of these artifacts:

“The standing female figures are characteristically nude except for a hip belt that hides the pubic area. Elaborate headdresses and necklaces are usually added. It remains to be seen whether the different types of 61

such ornamentations designate different functions for the individual figurines or whether they are simply ad hoc stylistic preferences. The questions of overall significance and function of the figurines remains one of the basic problems. None have been found yet in archaeological contexts that provide clues to their use. However, there are certain varieties of female figures, such as those depicting food preparation and other domestic activities, that suggest mundane functions rather than that of Mother Goddess figures for at least some of the female representations. Male figurines are depicted as entirely nude with an occasional simple necklace or headband. A few examples are ithyphallic, suggesting a fertility function, but others are in poses that do not appear to be ritualistic. Currently, the study of all the categories of figurines is focusing on the detailed description and analysis of typological and stylistic features and on the manufacturing techniques involved in their production.” (Dales and Kenoyer 1991: 227)

In his research on Harappan ceramics,

archaeologist George Dales (1991) noted the unique

breakage patterns of the figurines. He argued that the

Harappan figurines were created by aligning two vertical

haves together (Dales 1991: 66-67). This was significantly

different from the manufacture of figurines from the Near

East, which were created by making a core and attaching

appendages to it (Nishiaki 2007: 121). Dales’ hypothesis O CM 5 Figure 3.A: An illustration of a was later corroborated by Clark, who performed broken figurine, showing that the figurine was created using the double-roll method (Dales radiographic analysis on nine of the Harappan figurines 1991:61) (Clark 2007: 153-155). To perform this analysis, she used a Toshiba Diagnosis X-ray Apparatus, model # KCD-10L, type CDC-LADJ, with the settings adjusted in increments of 5 from 40kV to 70 kV (Clark 2007:153). The results from the x-ray show clear vertical joints for both the male and female figurines (Clark

2007: 153-154). The figurines were created by joining together two roles of equally-sized 62

clay. The head and face were pinched out of the tops of the rolls, while the bottoms were separated to create the legs (Clark 2009: 247).

The latest and most in-depth research on the Harappan figurines was undertaken by archaeologist Sharri Clark. Her most extensive study of these objects was her dissertation The Social Lives of Figurines: Recontextualizing the Third Millennium B. C.

Terracotta Figurines from Harappa (Pakistan) (Clark 2007). She has converted this dissertation into several articles (Clark 2003; 2009; Kenoyer and Clark 2017) as well as her recently published book (Clark 2017). Although the functional framework developed by Ucko (1968) and Talalay (1993) is the foundation of Clark’s approach, she incorporates elements from other approaches as well. She creates a typology for the

Harappan figurines similar to that used in the symbolic approach (Biehl 1996), but examines the method of manufacture and ethnographic examples of figurine use as well.

The main premise of Clark’s work is the argument that the Harappan figurines were not realistic representations or reflections of a past social system, but rather ideological tools that communicated messages to their handlers (Clark 2007: 41).

Section 3.2: Contextual Data

There are approximately 8500 figurine fragments that were recovered from

Harappa to date (Clark 2007: 94). They are found in strata that has been carbon dated from 3300 cal. B.C. to 1300 cal. B.C. (Kenoyer 1991:41). These figurines range five to 63

nine inches in height (Clark 2007: 307) and are all made from fired clay (Clark 2009:

238-240, Dales 1991: 65-67).

Table 3.1 Archaeological Context of the Harappan Figurines (Clark 2007: 83-84, 729- 1021)

Mound and Figurine Period Context Trench

Mound AB, Period I (3300-2800 cal. B.C.) Ashen soil, charcoal, pottery, seals, trench 38 and Period II (2800-2600 cal. animal bone 39N B.C.) Period III (2600-1900 cal. B.C.) Mound E, trench Period II (2800-2600 cal. Ashen soil, pottery, charcoal, seals, 11W, 52 and 54 B.C.) animal bone Period III (2600-1900 cal. B.C.) Mound ET, Period 111(2600-1900 cal. Ashen soil, charcoal, pottery, seals, trench 22 B.C.) animal bone Mound F, trench Period III (2600-1900 cal. Back-dirt from Vats excavation 41 and 43 B.C.)

Cemetery H Period III (2600-1900 cal. Wash B.C.) Cemetery R37 Period III (2600-1900 cal. Wash B.C.) 64

Figure 3.B: Topographic Map of Harappa showing locations of excavation units (Clark 2007: 61)

The Harappan figurines were most often found in refuse piles throughout the city

(Clark 2007: 84; Clark 2009: 231). Figurines were found in trenches 11W, 52 and 54 on

Mound E, trenches 41 and 43 on Mound F, trench 22 on Mound ET, and trenches 38 and

39N on Mound AB, as well as the surface of Cemetery H and Cemetery R37 (Clark

2007: 1021). All figurines from Period I (3300-2800 cal. B.C.) were all recovered from trench 39N on Mound AB (Clark 2007: 312). The figurines from Period II (2800-260 cal. 65

B.C.) were recovered from trench 39N on Mound AB, as well as trench 52 on Mound E

(Clark 2007: 336). Figurines from Period III were recovered from all mounds, as well as the surface level of Cemetery H and Cemetery R37 (Clark 2007: 729-1021). One particularly noteworthy unit is trench 39 on the northern slope of Mound AB, which contains a complete stratigraphic sequence that spanned the earliest occupation at the site

(3300 cal. B.C.) to the latest (1300 cal. B.C.) (Clark 2007: 82). The lower levels associated with Period I (3300-2800 cal. B.C.), Period II (2800-2600 cal. B.C.), and early

Period III (2600-2300 cal. B.C.) occupation of Harappa represent intact stratigraphy.

However, the upper levels associated with later Period III (2300-1900 cal. B.C.), Period

VI (1900-1800 cal. B.C.) and Period V (1800-1300 cal. B.C.) are mixed due to brick robbing, erosion, surface deflation and the intrusion of more recent burials (Clark 2007:

96).

Unfortunately, this is the extent of the published information on the archaeological context of the Harappan figurines. Like earlier archaeologists, Clark and

Kenoyer, neglect to provide detailed contextual information, such as the number of figurines found in each trench. Although this obvious shortcoming limits the conclusions that can be made about the figurines, we can still draw conclusions about the trenches that figurines were found in. The figurines in all trenches were associated with large quantities of ashen soil, charcoal, fauna, unworked shell, terracotta bangles and broken pottery, and there were some recovered outside of structures (Clark 2007: 729-1021;

Dales and Kenoyer 1991: 221). This type of context is consistent with the archaeological 66

interpretation of secondary refuse deposits, most likely the result of domestic waste disposal.

Some figurines were found in or close to Cemetery H and Cemetery R37 (Clark

2007: 72). However, these figurines were not found interred with individuals, but rather on the top layer, at a depth of 0-20 centimeters (Dales and Kenoyer 1991: 226). This type of context is interpreted as that was deposited by erosion, or a wash (Clark

2007:72).

There is sufficient evidence to suggest that the Harappan figurines were produced locally. Dales and Kenoyer (1991: 221) excavated a 5x5 meter unit on the northwestern comer of Mound E, in which they discovered three enclosed kilns: two small circular pit kilns and one two-meter, double-chamber updraft kiln (Dales and Kenoyer 1991: 220-

224). Although there were other smaller pit kilns on the northern side of Mound ET

(Miller 2007: 40), the three kilns on the northwestern side of Mound E are the only ones spatially associated with figurines (Clark 2007: 170). Three overfired figurines 2 were found in the ashen deposits next to the kilns in trench 52 on Mound E (Clark 2007: 170-

171). These kilns were associated with mudbrick walls that were typical of the domestic architecture in Harappa (Dales and Kenoyer 1991: 223). They were also associated with kiln wasters, ceramic vessels, bangles, unworked clay, and mineral (Dales and

Kenoyer 1991: 223). The floors of the structure have red patches but no ash, and

2 Those figurines are H90-1910/1182-1, H90-1925/1185-4, and H90-1928/1184-1; all were recovered from trench 52, Mound E 67

were interpreted as working floors that were periodically maintained (Dales and Kenoyer

1991: 221). This type of context is consistent with an archaeological interpretation of a ceramic production site (Costin 1991: 18-19).

The figurines themselves give clues to their origin as well. Both the figurines and the ceramics were made with the same fine orange clay and temper, which indicates a common source (Clark 2007: 109). Also, the surface quality of the figurines suggests that both were made in a kiln instead of an open . Ceramic objects produced in an open hearth can only be heated to 700 degrees Celsius or less (Kingery and Friedman

1974: 204). This results in partial oxidation which produces uneven coloring (Kingery and Friedman 1974: 204). However, both the figurines and the pottery sherds exhibit a uniform color (Clark 2007: 111), indicating that complete oxidation took place during firing. Oxidation could only be achieved by a temperature of 800 degrees Celsius or higher, and that temperature could only be generated by enclosed kiln (Renfrew and Bahn

1991: 337). In light of the archaeological evidence, the most likely scenario is that the figurines were manufactured at the ceramic production center on the northwestern corner of Mound E at Harappa.

Summary

In consideration of the available archaeological evidence, three conclusions about the Harappan figurines can be reached with a reasonable amount of certainty. First, they were manufactured with the double-roll method, which was unique to the Indus Valley.

Second, the Harappan figurines were distributed throughout the city of Harappa, and but 68

have only been recovered from secondary refuse contexts. Third, they were made locally at the ceramic production center on the northwestern corner of Mound E. 69

Chapter 4: The Harappan Figurines: Typology and Interpretations

This chapter presents the results from Sharri Clark’s application of formal attribute analysis for the Harappan figurines. It provides the framework Clark uses for formal attribute analysis, followed by her typology, which separates the figurines into two types based on chronology, and seven subtypes based on stylistic and sex attributes.

This chapter will also provide the four main conclusions Clark comes to throughout her research on the topic. Chapter 4 will provide the reader with ample knowledge on the types and subtypes, which will be critically assessed in the subsequent chapter.

Section 4.1:Framework

The data used in this thesis was gathered from The Social Lives o f Figurines:

Recontextualizing the Third Century B.C. at Harappa (2007), which was the dissertation

Sharri R. Clark presented to the Anthropology Department at Harvard University on May

8th, 2007. This is the most comprehensive source of information on the 8,500 fragments of terracotta figurines recovered from Harappa to date. In Appendix F (Clark 2007: 729-

1023), she documents each figurine in her sample with black and white photographs, and a detailed written description. In addition to this, I have also utilized other publications by

Clark (2003; 2009; 2017; Clark and Kenoyer 2017) to further inform this thesis.

Clark (2007: 372) uses a sample of 2,551 diagnostic figurine fragments to conduct her research; one thousand nine hundred twenty-nine of these were recovered during the

1986-2001 Harappa Archaeological Reconnaissance Project (HARP) excavations, 430 70

from the Harappa Museum in Pakistan, and 192 from the Purana Qila Museum in New

Delhi (Clark 2007: 94). Her reasons for using a sample instead of the entire collection are two-fold. First, the provenience of many of the figurines recovered during excavations prior to the HARP project were not recorded (Clark 2007: 98-100). Second, Clark only uses diagnostic fragments, those large enough to be classified as a specific type of figurine, for her sample (Clark 2007: 97-98).

The following framework (Table 4.1) is a summarized version of the one Clark uses in her formal analysis of the Harappan figurines (Clark 2007: 302-436; Clark and

Kenoyer 2017: 501-503). The first three sets of variables are the criteria for a figurine fragment to be included into a type. The strata that a figurine was recovered from is the first variable considered. The two chronological types she creates for the figurines are

Early Harappan (3300-2600 cal. B.C.E.) and Mature Harappan (2600-1900 cal. B.C.).

Although there may have been figurines produced in Period IV (1900-1800 cal. B.C.) and

Period V (1800-1300 cal. B.C.) at Harappa, these strata have been heavily disturbed by erosion and brick robbing (Vats 1940: 16). This makes it impossible to identify figurines from these later periods with certainty. For the secondary criteria, the attributes that can be associated with sex are considered. The category of female is determined by breasts or a skirt, which Clark categorizes as gendered clothing (Clark 2007: 395). The category of male is determined by a penis, penis with testis, a beard, or small, flat nipples on the chest. Clark also describes a third category, that of anthropomorphic other, in which she places figurines that either have attributes from both male and female, or those that do not 71

have any of either. The tertiary criteria address the figurine’s basic form, like its posture and the shape of its appendages. These three variables are the criteria that constitute the types in Clark’s typology (Clark 2007: 82). She then describes the headpiece, ornamentation, and other attributes that can be found in certain types. These categories cannot be considered criteria because they are not mutually exclusive. In this thesis, they are instead referred to as sets of attributes. 72

Table 4.1 Framework for the Formal Analysis of the Harappan Figurines (Clark 2007: 89-91) Primary Secondary Tertiary Quaternary Set Quinary Set of Senary Set of Criteria Criteria (Sex Criteria (Basic of Attributes Attributes Attributes (Chronological Attributes) Form (Headpiece) (Ornamentation (Other Variables) Attributes) Attributes) Attributes) 1.) Early 1.) Breasts 1.) Posture 1.) Fan-Shaped 1.) Necklace 1.) Decorative Harappan a.) conical a.) standing a.) Single­ attributes Period I (3300- b.) disc-shaped b.) sitting, 2.) Rounded strand necklace a.) Flowers 2800 cal. B.C.) c.) kneeling (Modified fan­ b.) Single­ b.) Cones 2.) Penis d.) reclining shaped) strand necklace c.) 2.) Early a.) with on platform with pendant d.) Panniers Harappan - testicles 3.) Looped c.) Multiple- Period II b.) without 2.) Back strand necklace 2.) Associated (2800- 2600 testicles manufacture 4.) Pointed d.) Multiple- Objects cal. B.C.) a.) flat strand necklace a.) Disc­ 3.) Nipples b.) rounded 5.) Double­ with pendant shaped objects 3.) Mature without breasts volute e.) Torque b.) Elongated Harappan - 3.) Arms objects Period III 4.) Beard position 6.) Cylindrical 2.) Belt c.) Ovular (2600- 1900 a.) raised to a.) Single objects cal. B.C.) 5.) Skirt the sides 7.) Homed strand d.) Rectan­ Period IV a.) Simple b.) extended a.) Flattened b.) Single gular platform (1900-1800 skirt forward b.) Tapered strand with e.) Three- cal. B.C.) and b.) Long skirt c.) akimbo buckle legged stool Period V c.) Long skirt d.) wrapped 8.) Headband c.) Multiple (1800-1300 with cones across chest strand cal. B.C.) e.) holding 9.) Bun d.) Multiple object to chest strand with f.) holding 10.) Matted buckle object away Hair from body 3.) Earrings g.) at sides a.) Teardrop h.) behind b.) Double back i.) encircling legs j.) raised k.) raised and connected to headpiece

4.) Arms a.) ribbon-like b.) cylindrical

5.) Legs a.) joined b.) separate straight c.) widely separated d.) separated bowed 73

Table 4.2 Harappan Figurine Typology Early Harappan Figurines (3300-2600 cal. B.C.) (Clark 2007: 729-1023; Clark and Kenoyer 2017: 499-504). Subtype # % of Sex Formal Headpiece Ornamen­ Decorative total Attributes Attributes tation and sample Associated Objects Subtype 14 0.5% Conical Sitting, None None None l.A: Period I breasts triangular Female hips, arms raised to the sides, no head, no feet Subtype 18 0.7% Disc­ Standing, Sometimes Painted Ovular l.B: Period shaped - looped bangles, objects, II Female breasts less head, necklaces and none arms cross - akimbo, hatching holding ovular object, triangular bottom half Subtype 1 0.03% None Pectorals None None None l.C: Period and II Anthrop - abdomen omorphic protruding Other outwards, arms behind back Total 33 1.3% 74

Table 4.3 Harappan Figurine Typology Mature Harappan Figurines (2600-1300 cal. B.C.) (Clark 2007: 729-1023; Clark and Kenoyer 2017: 499-504). Subtype # % of Sex Formal Headpiece Ornamentation Decorative total Attributes Attributes and sample Associated Objects Subtype 1174 46.0% Conical Circular eyes, Fan­ Single-strand Ovular, 2.A: breasts, lips, round shaped, necklaces with disc-shaped, Classic skirt face, conical rounded, and without infant, Female arms and legs, pointed, pendants, mortar, curvaceous looped, multiple- platform, body, pointed double­ strand flowers, feet, standing, volute, necklaces with ropes, seated, cylindrical, and without cones, kneeling and applique pendants, panniers, reclining band earpieces none Subtype 268 10.5% Penis, Circular eyes, Applique Single-strand Ovular, 2.B: testicles, lips, round band, bun, necklace disc-shaped, Classic beards, face, conical homed elongated Male nipples arms and legs, shape, curvaceous platform, body, pointed none feet, standing, seated, kneeling, and reclining Subtype 1025 40.1% Skirt and Eyes and lips, Fan­ Single strand Disc-shaped 2.C: nipples or conical arms shaped, necklace or objects, Classic no sex and legs, applique none ovular Anthrop­ character - curvaceous band objects, omorphic istics at all hips, pointed elongated Other feet; standing, objects, sitting, rectangular kneeling, platform, reclining none Subtype 51 2% Conical Oval-pinched Rounded Single -strand Infant, none 2.D: breasts face, ribbon­ necklace, Female like arms Multiple- Figure-8 wrapped strand around body, necklace tapered legs, belt, concave feet standing Total 2518 98.7 75

Harappan Female Figurines: Figure 4.A: Figure-8 type; Figure 4.B: Early Harappan; Figure 4.C: Classic female with fan-shaped headdress; Figure 4.D: Classic female with double-volute headdress; Figure 4.E, 4.F, 4.G: Classic female with fan-shaped headdress; Image 4.H: Classic female reclining with infant; Figure 4.1: Classic female (globular) with infant; Figure 4.J: Classic female with and (Clark and Kenoyer 2018: 502). 76

Section 4.2: Harappan Figurine Typology

Table 4.2 is a typology of the Harappan figurines that Clark created using the criteria presented in Table 4.1. This section presents photographs and detailed descriptions of each type of figurine. The descriptions of each type and subtype include the number in Clark’s sample, along with the criteria that figurines must meet in order to be included into each category. I have also included the percentages of certain formal attributes found in each type and subtype, which Clark uses in her writing. She provides these percentages to illustrate the level of formal variation present in each category.

Type 1: Early Harappan Figurines

Clark identifies 33 Early Harappan figurines, which makes up 1.2 percent of the total sample (Clark 2007: 372). The only criteria for inclusion in this category is that the figurines were found in strata associated with the pre-urban settlement at Harappa (3300-

2600 cal. B.C.). This type is divided into two subtypes: Period I and Period II figurines. 77

Subtype l.A: Period I Figurines

Figure 4.K: Type l.A Early Harappan Female Figurine; figurine # H98/8404-2 (9cm in length) (Clark 2007: 729).

There are fourteen Period I figurines (Clark 2007: 372), which makes up less than one percent of the total sample. The only criteria for inclusion in this category is that the figurines were associated with Period I (3300-2800 cal. B.C.). Because the vertical joint between the legs are visible, Clark argues that these were created by molding two separate rolls of clay together, a process she aptly terms “the double roll method” (Clark

2007: 315). However, no radiographic analysis has been performed on these figurines, so no conclusive statements about their manufacture can be made. Period I figurines are the most homogenous type in the Harappan corpus. The entire group is composed of headless females with wide triangular hips, arms raised to the sides, conical breasts, and joined legs with no feet (Clark 2007: 312) (Figure 4.K). They do not depict any ornamentation or clothing, and none are decorated with pigment. All the figurines recovered from this 78

level are broken at the torso; two are upper bodies and twelve are lower bodies (Clark

2007:314)

Subtype l.B: Period II Figurines

Figure 4.L: Period II Female Figurine # H98-3456 (Clark 2007: 730)

Nineteen figurines were found in strata associated with Period II (2800-2600 cal.

B.C.), which comprises less than one percent of the total sample (Clark 2007: 372). The criteria for inclusion into this type was provenience, breasts and wide hips. Period II is the earliest level that fully intact figurines are found. The type of figurines found in

Period II exhibit more variety than those from Period I. While three of the figurines from this level resemble those in Period I, sixteen of the figurines found in Period II are noticeably different. They are standing instead of sitting, with featureless heads, disc­ 79

shaped breasts, arms flexed downwards, and a flat, triangular lower body, which may represent clothing (Figure 4.L). These are also the first figurines to be decorated using pigment. Necklaces, bangles and crosshatch designs all appear on Period II figurines.

Additionally, one of the fragments in this category depicts a featureless head with a looped headdress (H89-1542/1200-1), which is the first time that a headdress occurs in the collection (Clark 2007: 867).

Subtype l.C:Period II Anthropomorphic Other

There is only one figurine (H99/8490-124) from Period II that cannot be identified as female; a torso with no breasts, that is missing its head and legs (Clark 2007:

335-336, 868). The arms are pulled back to the sides, the back is curved, and the abdomen protrudes outwards. Because there are no male attributes represented on this figurine, Clark does not assume it to be male, but instead categorizes it as anthropomorphic other.

Type 2: Mature Harappan Figurines

Period III at Harappa took place during the South Asian Integration Era (Kenoyer

1991b: 43). At this time, the production of terracotta figurines at Harappa increased dramatically. There are 2518 figurines that were recovered from Period III contexts, which makes up 98.7 percent of the total number of figurines found at the city. Along with the increase in quantity came increased diversity in attributes. This type is divided into four subtypes: classic female, classic male, classic anthropomorphic other, and figure-8 figurines. Mature Harappan figurines exhibit a plethora of forms and positions 80

that were previously unrepresented attributes such as fan-shaped headdresses, panniers, necklaces, skirts, belts, disc-shaped objects and the depiction of infants (Clark 2007:

348). Period III is also the first time that males are depicted, indicated by applique nipples, beards, penises and testicles (Clark 2007: 393). Radiographic analysis confirms that these figurines were manufactured using the double-roll method (Clark and Kenoyer

2017: 501).

Subtype 2.A: Classic Female Figurines

There are 1174 classic female figurines (Images 3.C - 3.J) in the collection from

Harappa, which make up 46 percent of the total sample from Harappa (Clark 2007: 273-

275). The criteria Clark used to identify this type are circular faces with circular eyes and a pinched nose, lips, curvaceous hips, conical arms and legs, and pointed feet (Clark and

Kenoyer 2017: 501).

Unlike other types, the classic female figurines exhibit a variety of postures, arm positions and elaborate headpieces. They are represented standing, seated, kneeling or reclining on a platform. One thousand fifty-six figurines, or ninety percent of type 2.A, are depicted wearing a headdress or hairstyle (Clark 2007: 226). The most common headpiece found is the fan-shaped headdress found on 821 classic female figurines (70 percent of type 2.A, 33 percent of the total sample) (Clark 2007: 229). Fan-shaped headdresses are semi-circles with accentuated bases (Image 4.C, 4.E, 4.F).

Approximately 123 (ten percent of type 2. A) have panniers, which are -shaped attachments at both sides of the figurine’s headdress. Other decorative attributes include 81

flowers (123, or ten percent of type 2. A), ropes (98, or eight percent of type 2. A), cones

(82, or seven percent of type 2. A), or some combination of the decorative attributes (19 percent of type 2. A). The second most common headpiece for female figurines was the double-volute headdress (Image 3.D). This type occurs on two hundred thirty-four figurines, or 20 percent of type 2. A (Clark 2007: 234). These cylindrical headpieces stand erect on the figurine’s heads and flare at the top. Figurines with double-volute and cylindrical headpieces always have their arms raised upwards, as if to support the headdress (Clark and Kenoyer 2018: 502). This suggests that these headpieces are not headdresses at all, but rather or pots. Four of these headpieces have small terracotta pellets attached to the top that indicate that they were full, possibly with grain.

There are 596 (51 percent of type 2. A) figurines with heads that have been broken off.

Although it is likely that these also had headdresses, there is no way to be certain.

Ornamentation for these figurines is concentrated around the headpiece and upper body, and consists of necklaces, flowers, ropes and cones. Five hundred ninety- eight (51 percent of type 2. A) have one or more necklaces, 1115 (95 percent of type 2. A) have earpieces, 998 (85 percent of type 2.A) have a belt or belt with a skirt covering the pubic area (Clark 2007: 209). In addition to the variety in headpieces and ornamentation, classic female figurines exhibit formal variation in several other ways. Classic figurines display two body types; one thousand one hundred forty-six of these (97 percent of type

2.A) have a flat abdomen, whereas 28 (three percent of type 2. A) are globular. Aside from their large midsections, classic globular figurines their thinner counterparts 82

exactly (Figure 4.1). Classic females are also portrayed holding infants and working at mortars, as well as carrying ovular and disc-shaped objects. They are by far the most diverse type in the collection.

Subtype 2.B: Classic Male Figurines

Classic Male Figurines (From left to right): Figure 4.M (left) standing male classic figurines # H98-3495, H2000-4975, H2000-9878-7 (center figurine measures 5.3cm x 9.0cm x 1.5cm); Figure 4.N seated male figurines ASI 62.2/178 (6cm x 6cm x 3.5cm) and ASI 62.2 137 (5cm x 6cm x 3cm) (“Men of Harappa A”, 2014) There are 268 classic male figurines (Figure 4.M and 4.N) in the Harappan collection, which makes up 10.5% percent of the total sample. The criteria Clark uses to include figurines into this category are applique penises, testicles, beards and nipples

(Clark and Kenoyer 2017: 503). Like the classic females, these figurines have an oval- pinched face, eyes and lips, a curvaceous body, conical arms and legs, and pointed feet

(Clark 2007: 398). They are also represented sitting, standing, kneeling or working on a platform.

Despite the similarities, male figurines are decorated sparsely when compared to the classic female figurines. Only 67 male figurines (25 percent of type 2.B) are depicted 83

with headdresses or hairstyles, 88 (33 percent of type 2.B) have one necklace, 8 figurines

(two percent of type 2.B) have skirts or belts, and 1 figurine (less than one percent of the male figurines) have earpieces (Clark 2007: 239). One hundred twenty-five (46 percent of type 2.B) have an applique headband, 27 (6 percent of type 2.B) have pointed headdresses, 21 (5 percent of type 2.B) have homed headdresses, 12 (3 percent of type

2.B) have molded hair, and 70 (26 percent of type 2.B) are missing their heads (Clark

2007: 238-241). So far, only one globular male figurine has been found. Other distinctive attributes include torques and bowed legs (Clark and Kenoyer 2018: 503). Some male figurines are holding disc-shaped or elongated objects, which Clark interprets as religious items or musical instruments (Clark 2007: 398).

Subtype 2. C:Classic Anthropomorphic Other

The classic anthropomorphic other category is composed of 1025 figurines, which makes up 40.2 percent of the total sample of Harappan figurines. Figurines in this category exhibit the classic style of their female and male counterparts, such as a rounded face, applique eyes and lips, curvaceous bodies, conical legs and arms, and pointed feet.

However, these figurines either have both male and female attributes, or neither.

The anthropomorphic other category has a wide range of formal heterogeneity compared to other categories in the Harappan collection. There are six figurines, which account for less than one percent of type 2.C and the total sample, that exhibit male nipples and a female skirt (Clark 2007: 399). The other 1019 (39 percent of the total sample) have no signs of biological sex whatsoever. While the omission of sex attributes 84

may be a conscious attempt to portray non-binary gender or genderlessness (Talalay

1993: 12), it is entirely possible that this indicates a lack of focus on gender altogether

(Hamilton 1996: 262). One hundred twenty-five of these (12 percent of the type 2.C) are seated, arms encircling chest and legs, with their heads positioned upwards, as though they are looking up at the viewer (Clark 2007: 873-874) (Figure 4.N). Twenty-six (two percent of type 2.C) of these represent infants, either being held by a female figurine or on its own. Eight hundred thirty-four of these, which is 32% of the total sample and 81% of type 2.C, are arms, legs and feet that have been broken off the bodies of classic figurines (Clark 2007: 871-878). Clark considered these limbs classic style because the feet are pointed, the legs and arms are conical, and the hands have lines incised to represent fingers (Clark 2007: 781). Clark uses the anthropomorphic other type as evidence for a Harappan ideology of gender fluidity. However, by looking at the specifics of the data, it is clear that type 2.C is not the evidence for some non-binary conception of gender, but rather a category to put figurines which could not be placed anywhere else.

Subtype 2.D: Figure-8 Female Figurines

There are 51 figure-8 figurines in the Harappan collection (Clark 2007: 372), which makes up two percent of the total sample. All these figurines have breasts and are found in strata associated with Period III. Unlike classic figurines, the figure-8 style only appears at Harappa (Clark 2007: 385). 85

Figure-8 Harappan figurines (Clark 2017: 229): Image 4.0 (left): H2000/ 2222-1; Image 4.P (right): H99-4368

Despite these similarities, Clark argues that figure-8 style differs from classic style figurines in several ways. The figure-8 style (Figures 4.A, 4.B, 4.0 and 4.P) is characterized by an oval-pinched face with applique eyes on the sides, a body that is two centimeters thicker than the classic-style counterparts, and ribbon-like arms that encircle the upper torso or pectorals and mold to the contours of the body (Clark 2007: 380; Clark and Kenoyer 2017: 503).This arm position is displayed even on figure-8 figurines that are depicted with an infant (Clark 2007: 384).

Figure-8 females are always represented standing with wide, heavy hips, tapered legs that have been separated, and concave feet (Clark 2007: 383; Clark and Kenoyer

2017: 503). When ornamentation and clothing is represented, they have multiple-strand necklaces without pendants and multiple-strand belts without skirts (Clark and Kenoyer 86

2017: 503). Also, figure-8 figurines lack the lips and earpieces seen on classic figurines

(Clark 2007: 383). Except for one headless figurine, these are all depicted wearing a rounded headdress (Clark 2007: 732-741). These are almost identical to the fan-shaped headdresses seen on classic figurines, except they extend farther back, until they almost lay flat on the figurine’s head. Forty-one figure-8 figurines, or 80 percent of type 2.D, have flat abdomens. The other 11, which make up 20 percent of type 2.D, are what Clark describes as globular, with a large rounded mid-section. Apart from their girth, these globular figurines mirror their slimmer counterparts exactly. Overall, type 2.D is fairly homogenous compared to the other Mature Harappan figurines.

Section 4.3: Clark’s Conclusions

Throughout her writing, Clark comes to several conclusions about the Harappan figurines. The first conclusion is that these figurines are a heterogeneous collection

(Clark 2007: iii). She argues that although there are distinct types and subtypes, most of the attributes present in the collection vary across subtypes. There is a great variety in attributes such as headpieces, ornamentation and posture. As shown above, Clark supports this claim by presenting the different percentages of certain attributes. Because of the wide range of variation, she concludes that the figurines are not the homogenous representations of a mother-goddess that Wheeler (1968: 110) believed them to be.

However, this variability seems to be confined to classic females and classic males. There is little variation in the figure-8 figurines, and Period I and Period II figurines are completely homogenous. In her writings, Clark fails to cite any other 87

collection to compare the Harappan figurines to that would support her claim of heterogeneity. Nor is she explicit about which attributes exhibit more variety than others.

To support her claim of heterogeneity, she presents the frequencies of attributes, such as headdresses and necklaces. This evidence appears erratic to the reader, and unfortunately

Clark neglects to inform her audience on how these details are helpful. Although there is clearly variety in her subtypes, this indicates that the categories she has created are too broad, and therefore do not accurately reflect the collection.

Second, Clark claims the Harappan figurines were made by craft specialists

(Clark 2007: 522). This claim is made throughout her dissertation, but her evidence for it is extremely weak. It rests on premise that the stylistic consistency present in the collection is indicative of a specialized mode of production, and that these formal similarities could not have been produced by non-specialists. However, she completely neglects to specify what formal similarities she is referring to. She contends that the figurines may have been produced by potters, but notes that none of the figurines include any of the designs found on Harappan pottery (Clark 2007: 169). To test her hypothesis,

Clark attempts to make replicas of the figurines herself. This endeavor proves difficult, and after several failed attempts, she is convinced that these were the work of a small group of specialists (Clark 2007: 173). Her support for this conclusion directly conflicts with her first conclusion of formal heterogeneity, an obvious contradiction that she never addresses in her writing. Due to the lack of adequate support, her conclusion that these figurines were made by craft specialists is unconvincing. 88

Her third conclusion is that the Harappan figurines reflect an ideology of gender fluidity, indicated by the presence of both male and female attributes on the same figurines (Clark 2007: 289; 2009: 320). She presents ethnographic studies to support the claim that gender is not fixed or binary. To illustrate this point, she draws attention to the place of the hijras, or intersexed individuals, of historic and contemporary Indian society.

Hijras were first mentioned in Vedic texts dated to 1500 B.C., towards the end of the

Indus Valley Civilization (Clark 2007: 193). Although she admits there is no proof that this culturally-constructed identity existed during the Integration Era (2600-1900 cal.

B.C.), they illustrate non-binary gender roles. She then presents the Harappan figurines with mixed sex attributes as evidence that the Harappans had a fluid conception of sex and gender. “The equivalence in the representation of male and female upper bodies and the mixed attributes on a few figurines probably indicate that the concepts of sex, gender, and sexuality in the Indus civilization were both complex and somewhat fluid” (Clark

2003: 322).

This conclusion is problematic for several reasons. First, only 56.4% (1440 figurines) of the sample recovered from Harappa have what Clark identifies as male or female attributes (Clark 2003: 321; Clark 2007: 207). This alone puts her at a disadvantage in regard to making accurate statements about gender ideology. Second, the equivalence of male and female representation is not equivalent to a concept of gender fluidity. She may be implying that the fragmentary of the figurines allows for the possibility that some of the upper bodies with male attributes may have been connected to 89

lower bodies with female attributes, although she is not explicit. By her own account, the incidence of intact figurines with mixed sex attributes are rare (Clark 2003: 321). In her dissertation, she identifies only six out of 2551 figurines with male nipples and female dress (Clark 2007: 209). Her categorization of dress as female is arbitrary, as there is no evidence to support claims of gendered clothing on figurines or at Harappa. However, even if one blindly accepts this claim, these figurines constitutes less than one percent of the sample, so the idea that gender fluidity was a major part of Indus ideology is still less than convincing. The issue is further complicated by her inference of sex through using tertiary and quaternary attributes like dress or posture (Clark 2003; 321). For example, because of the prevalence of belts on figurines with breasts, Clark assumes that any figurine fragments with belts must belong to female or androgynous figurines.

The claim that prehistoric figurines represent an ideology of gender fluidity is a difficult one to make. There is no historical information that may support this claim, only the forms of the figurines themselves can be used as evidence. Attributes that do not represent biological sex markers cannot be reliably interpreted as denoting sex. Although figurines with no breasts and no genitalia may be representations of hermaphroditism, they could also represent a lack of interest in portraying sex attributes altogether

(Hamilton 1996: 262). Therefore, the claim that prehistoric figurines represent an ideology of gender fluidity can only be supported by figurines that have both breasts and a penis. Since this combination does not appear on any Indus Valley figurines, they cannot be used as evidence of gender-fluid ideology. 90

Much like her conclusion about heterogeneity (Clark 2007: 302), her conclusion about gender fluidity is not a reflection of the Harappan figurines, but rather the reflection of an inconsistent typology. Clark is correct that archaeologists should not assume that the Harappans adhered to heteronormative gender binaries, but gender fluidity should not be uncritically assumed either. Although this may have been the case, the data she presents insufficiently supports her claim.

Clark’s fourth and final claim is that the Harappan figurines functioned as votive objects within a complex religious ideology that is not connected with modern Hinduism

(Clark 2007: 481). One of the arguments that she makes is that the Harappan figurines are religious because the method of construction employed to create them reflect ideological choices instead of practical ones. Although the Harappans used molds to produce seals, bricks, bronze tools, and tokens, all of the anthropomorphic figurines were created by hand (Clark 2009: 244). This is indicated by the schematic design and the prevalence of fingerprints on the figurines (Clark 2007: 157). This belies the type of mass production employed to manufacture other artifacts. Clark (2009: 245) suggests that this is because their manufacture was part of a ritual or ceremony.

Further evidence for the ritual meaning and function of figurines is the choice of craftspeople used to decorate them. Despite the high level of soil acidity at

Harappa, the pigment on some figurines has survived the decomposition process.

Pigment was used to portray the eyes, hair, and ornamentation, as well as decorate the 91

headpieces and skirts of the figurines (Clark 2009: 248). Clark (2007: 158-169) performed a spectrographic compositional analysis of 13 of the pigments used on the

Harappan figurines. Twelve of these were black pigments, one was white, and one was blue-green (Clark 2007: 159). Clark found that with the exception of two samples, the black pigment was made from burned bone (Clark 2007: 161-163). The two other samples were soot with a matrix of quartz with gypsum (Clark 2007: 164). The white pigment was white ash created from burned bone (Clark 2007: 166). The green-blue pigment was Caledonite, a rare, non-local volcanic mineral (Clark 2007: 165-166). These findings are significant because mineral pigments like black manganese oxide and white calcite were readily accessible and commonly used to decorate Harappan pottery

(Kenoyer 1994: 35). The fact that mineral pigments were so accessible, but Harappans decided to expend effort on burning bone and using non-local minerals that are visually similar, suggests that practicality was not guiding their decisions. Clark speculates that because bone is an essential part of human anatomy, it was used to imbue the figurines with a life force, or to form a connection to the individual using it (Clark 2009: 252). This claim would be supported if the pigment were made of human bone, but she does not explicitly state that in her writing.

Clearly, Clark’s speculations about the specific spiritual significance of the figurines’ manufacture and pigment are anecdote because they are beyond the ability of archaeology to answer. However, her argument that the figurines were created according 92

to ideological choices instead of practical ones is one of her most well-supported and convincing arguments.

Clark uses ethnographic examples from Pakistan and India to demonstrate there is no connection between the Harappan figurines and Hindu spiritual practice. She argues that while the main goddesses of the Hindu pantheon are often depicted in two- dimensional media, local village goddesses in India are not traditionally represented by anthropomorphic images (Kinsley 1986: 86). In her dissertation, Clark (2007: 459-464) compares the Harappan figurines to the ethnographic criteria for south Asian depictions of mother-goddesses based on the work of S.P. Gupta (1980). The three identifiers that she points to are elaborate ornamentation, ornamentation of the hips, and an association with panniers (Clark 2007: 459).

She argues that while the figurines do have some ornamentation, it is not excessive. Only 14 percent of figurines (404) have more than one necklace, and only one figurine depicts bangles (Clark 2007:460). Her point is valid, although she does not provide other representations or collections for comparison. The next criterion she argues against is that Harappan figurines show no particular emphasis on the lower body.

Although the figurines portray women with wide hips, their abdomens are not exaggerated, nor are their lower bodies emphasized through nudity (Clark 2007: 461).

The third ethnographic criterion concerns the association Hindu goddesses have with panniers. Panniers are bell-shaped baskets worn on the side of the head (Figure 4.Q), 93

that may function as receptacles for holy water or offerings (Clark 2007: 464). Thirty percent of female figurines (341) in the sample wore panniers attached to their headpieces (Clark 2007: 464), a percent which Clark argues is not high enough to suggest that these were depictions of deities. Unfortunately, she fails to provide data about panniers on contemporary representations of Hindu deities for comparison.

Figure 4.Q: an Indus figurine (DK 3506/260) with panniers attached to the sides of the head, 23 x 8.5 cm (Standing Figurine of Mother Goddess, 2017) Although the original interpretation of figurines as mother-goddesses was arbitrary, Clark’s opinions on how the figurines match up to the traditional depictions of south Asian deities are equally as arbitrary. Overall there is no evidence to suggest that 94

the ethnographic studies of modem India can be used to support or subvert the mother- goddess narrative as it applies to the Harappan figurines.

Summary

In summary, Clark argues that the Harappan figurines can be divided into Early and Mature Harappan types. These types can be further divided into Period I and Period

II subtypes, as well as classic female, classic male, anthropomorphic other and figure-8 subtypes. Clark’s conclusions that the Harappan figurines are formally heterogeneous, manufactured by specialists, and the product of a gender fluid ideology are questionable at best. However, she effectively demonstrates that instead of practical choices, ideological decisions were a main factor in the figurines’ creation. 95

Chapter 5: An Archaeological Interpretation of the Harappan Figurines

This chapter provides an archaeological interpretation of the Harappan figurines.

First, I will critique Clark’s formal typology. This critique will argue that Clark’s categories for male, female and anthropomorphic other do not reflect the collection, but rather the flaws in her method of discerning sex. After this, a critical assessment of

Clark’s types and subtypes will demonstrate that while the categories of Early and

Mature Harappan figurines are valid, the classic and figure-8 subtypes are arbitrary. I will then discuss the contextual information of the figurines, as well as the types of conclusions that archaeology can draw from these contexts. This chapter will present a valid archaeological interpretation of the information that is available on the Harappan figurines.

Section 5.1:Critique of Clark’s Typology

The formal attributes of figurines can us several things about them. First, the sample does not allow us to make any viable statements about gender or its role in

Harappan ideology. This is because Clark’s method of discerning depictions of men and women is obviously flawed. Although associating breasts with women and penises and testis with men is defensible, associating applique nipples with men is not. These may not be a depiction of nipples, but rather of small breasts on adolescent females. Furthermore, the categorization of skirts as a female attribute is unwarranted. While 796 figurines with breasts have skirts, which makes up 65 percent of the sample, (Clark 2007: 395), this does not mean that skirts should be assumed to be a feminine attribute. Six figurines with 96

nipples, which Clark interprets as a male trait, also wear skirts. Although this may indicate that clothing was not used to identify gender in figurines, Clark is convinced that the skirt is a female attribute, and interprets these six exceptions as representations of an androgynous identity. The use of nipples and skirts to identify figurines as male, female or androgynous is arbitrary and unsupported.

This issue is exacerbated by the fragmented condition of the Harappan collection.

Many of the figurines Clark uses are only the top or bottom halves of bodies, although she neglects to inform the reader on how many of each she uses in her sample.

Furthermore, 859 of these figurines, which make up 33 percent of the total sample, are only the arms and legs of figurines, which do not give any indication of sex at all.

Therefore, we cannot say how many females or males there are in Clark’s sample. If

Clark’s framework cannot even produce a viable male-to-female ratio, then it is unfit to comment on past gender ideologies. In regard to sex, the only thing that can be said about the Harappan figurines is that an unknown number of male, female, and un-sexed figurines were represented.

However, we can say something about the Harappan figurines regarding the different styles exhibited in the collection. Although the distinction between male and female may be blurred, the distinction between the Early Harrapan and the Mature

Harappan type is valid. These categories are entirely viable for organization because they rely on attributes that are easily identifiable and mutually exclusive. For example, facial 97

features are either present or absent, legs are either joined or separated, the figurine is either standing, sitting or kneeling etc.

The Early Harappan figurines (3300-2600 cal. B.C.) are clearly a more homogenous group than the Mature Harappan figurines (2600-1300 cal. B.C.). This schematic category exhibits two postures, two arm positions, no facial features, and no ornamentation. They are formally similar to figurines made at Mehrgarh, where figurine manufacture was an important part of life. In the aceramic Neolithic period (7000-6000 cal. B.C.), 100 anthropomorphic figurines were found in domestic refuse contexts at

Mehrgarh. Eighty-one were associated with Period I (7000-5500 B.C.), 17 with Period

IIA (5500-5200 B.C.), and four in Period IIB (5200-4800 B.C.) (Jarrige 2007: 156).

Seventy-eight of these closely resemble the Period I figurines from Harappa (Images 5. A,

5.B and 5.C); Sixty in Period I, 16 in Period IIA, and two in Period IIB (Jarrige 2007:

156). Jarrige describes these as “schematic, biconical, with one end for the head and other end for the feet, with large flexed central part representing the hips” (Jarrige 2007: 159).

In addition to formal similarity, they have legs that have been fused together

(Jarrige 2007: 87, 159) which is the same type of manufacture we see in the Mature

Harappan figurines, and probably Period I type as well. Unlike those at Harappa, the figurines from Mehrgarh were made of unbaked clay, and shell (Jarrige

2007: 87). Although the Mehrgarh figurines pre-date Harappa by 1,500 years, this example demonstrates the long and well-established tradition of producing these types of images in prehistoric south Asia. 98

Figure 5.A(top): Stone Figurines from Mehrgarh (Jarrige 2007: 158) Figures 5.B (bottom left) and 5.C (bottom right): unbaked clay figurines from Mehrgarh (Jarrige 2007: 158)

Figurines similar to the Early Harappan type appear at contemporaneous levels at

Rehman Dheri (Clark 2007:311-312, 329-330). One hundred ninety-three figurines were recovered from good stratigraphic contexts at Rehman Dheri (Flavin 1995: 82).

These figurines were manufactured by hand using the same double-roll technique Clark identified in those from Harappa (Flavin et. al 1995: 84). Much like the Early Harappan figurines, Flavin noted that there was “no attempt to render the face with any exactitude” 99

(Flavin et. al. 1995: 86); eyes and lips are omitted, and noses and eye-sockets are pinched. The uniformity of the limbs and torsos suggests a specific method to manufacture (Flavin et. al. 1995: 86).

In Period I (3300-2850 cal. B.C.) and Period II (2850- 2500 cal. B.C.) at Rehman

Dheri, the two types of figurines that are similar to those at Harappa are type 3 and type

4. Type 3 is portrayed sitting, and is characterized by raised arms, clear representation of legs and buttocks, and wide hips (Flavin et. al. 1995: 92). There are 48 of these in Period

I (3300-2850 cal. B.C.), 12 from Period II (2850-2500 cal. B.C.) and five from Period III

(2500-1900 cal. B.C.) (Flavin et. al. 1995: 92-93).

Figure 5.D (Top): Type 1 figurine from Rehman Dheri (Flavin et. al. 1995: 125) Figure 5.E (Bottom): Type 3 figurines from Rehman Dheri (Flavin et. al. 1995: 127) 100

Type 4 has the same attributes as type 3, except that they are seated on a stool.

There are six from Period I (3300-2850 cal. B.C.), one from Period II (2850-2500 cal.

B.C.) and one from Period III (2500-1900 cal. B.C.) (Flavin 1995: 93).

Type 1 figurines at Rehman Dheri mirror the Period II figurines found at Harappa.

They have a triangular waist with arms that can be raised or lowered to the abdomen.

They are essentially flat, and are occasionally represented holding an infant (Flavin et. al.

1995: 88). Twenty-seven of these came from good stratigraphy; four come from Period I

(3300-2850 cal. B.C.). four come from Period II (2850-2500 cal. B.C.) and 19 come from

Period III (2500-1900 cal. B.C.) (Flavin et. al. 1995: 89). Flavin also identified subtype

I A, which is identical to type 1 except for thicker waist, hips and buttocks (Flavin et. al.

1995: 90). Four of these came from Period I (3300-2850 cal. B.C.), one came from Period

II (2850-2500 cal. B.C.) and three came from Period III (2500-1900 cal. B.C.) (Flavin et. al. 1995: 90).

As mentioned in Chapter 1, the earliest inhabitants at Harappa migrated during the summer months to exploit resources of the mountainous terrain to the northwest.

They would have undoubtedly visited settlements like Mehrgarh and Rehman Dheri during these annual migrations. These Early Harappan figurines may have been the result of that interaction (Clark 2007: 310). The small number of Early Harappan figurines at

Harappa, along with the absence of a kiln during Period I (3300-2800 cal. B.C.), suggests that this was the case. Sites further west, like Mehrgarh and Rehman Dheri, had well 101

established ceramic industries that produced figurines similar to the ones found at the early levels of Harappa. Additionally, the seated lower bodies of figurines, which are identical to those from early levels at Harappa and Rehman Dheri, have been found at contemporaneous levels of other Indus sites such as , Lewan and Damb Sadaat

(Shirazi 2007: 158). Conversely, Period III (2600-1900 cal. B.C.) was characterized by sedentary urban life and craft specialization. During this time, the Harappans would have been able to mass produce figurines locally with ease. One Period II figurine

(H2000/222-1) seems to be a combination of Early Harappan and Mature Harappan attributes. It has the same small upper body and circular breasts as Period II figurines, but also has the characteristics of classic figurines like the robust, curvaceous hips and spread legs (Clark 2007: 381). This single artifact may represent the transition Harappans made from obtaining figurines elsewhere to producing them locally. The formal similarities with nearby sites suggests that the Early Harappan figurines were either produced elsewhere, or were an attempt to emulate those produced elsewhere.

Unlike her chronological typology, Clark’s criteria for inclusion into a subtype is noticeably flawed. The classic female, male and anthropomorphic other categories are too broad to be useful for analysis. They incorporate figurines that are radically different from each other, a fact demonstrated by Clark’s own description of the high level of variety in each subtype. For example, standing figurines that have horned headdresses and necklaces, and seated figurines with no headdresses or ornamentation are both put into the classic male group. These are clearly different types of figurines, however 102

Clark’s focus on compartmentalizing smaller stylistic details causes her to ignore the figurine as a whole.

Clark also splits up figurines that are formally similar. For example, some globular figurines are grouped in with classic female figurines that have small waists, only because they have conical breasts and fan-shaped headpieces. Other globular figurines are grouped into the figure-8 subtype simply because they have flattened headpieces and lack lips. These details are trivial compared to the obvious difference between rounded bodies and thin bodies.

Clark’s separation of the figure-8 style from the classic style is arbitrary. There are many formal similarities between the two styles that make discerning them a difficult task. Both are manufactured using the double roll technique, both exhibit similar faces, curvaceous bodies, ornamentation, belts, and both have panniers (Clark 2007: 380). The rounded-fan headdress displayed on the figure-8 figurines is essentially the same as the fan headdress on the classic figurine, only it is flattened to the point that does not stand erect (Clark 2007: 381). Although she acknowledges these similarities, Clark differentiates these figurines into two groups on the basis of small differences like the shape of the arms or the presence of applique lips. Nowhere in her writing does Clark provide a rationale as to why she chose some attributes to define a category, while others were interpreted as variation within the category.

From Clark’s formal analysis, we can discern two distinct types of Harappan figurines. The first is the Early Harappan type, which is composed of schematic, 103

homogenous representations of women. This type is most closely related to those found at Mehrgarh and Rehman Dheri. The second type is the Mature Harappan type, which exhibits a wide variety of attributes, and is by far the most numerous type found at

Harappa.

Section 5.2: Interpretation of the Archaeological Context of the Harappan Figurines

An interpretation of the Harappan figurines would be incomplete without a consideration of the archaeological context they come from. Archaeological context is defined as “the remains of an individual stratigraphic event” (Davill 2003: 98). The contextual evidence available suggests that the Harappan figurines were used in domestic spaces, and deposited gradually in public refuse piles. Furthermore, the available evidence does not support or belie a cubic or religious function for these figurines, only that they were part of the “practice and negotiation of everyday life” (Meskell et. al.

2008: 144).

As mentioned in Chapter 3, 70 percent of the Harappan figurines were associated with large quantities of charcoal, animal bone, and broken pottery, and there were some recovered outside of structures. This type of context is consistent with the archaeological interpretation of secondary refuse deposits, most likely the result of domestic waste disposal.

Secondary refuse is defined as a conglomeration of artifacts that were discarded away from their place of use (Schiffer 1972: 126). In his study on refuse in the 104

archaeological record, Wilson (1994) identifies two types of secondary refuse, namely sheet refuse and aggregate refuse (Haury 1976: 98; Wilson 1994: 44). The first type, sheet refuse, has a lower density of artifacts and can include primary refuse as well as refuse that was left when the site was abandoned, or de facto refuse (Haury 1976: 98).

The context of the Harappan figurines represents the second type, aggregate refuse, because of its higher density of artifacts (Wilson 1994: 44). The figurines’ inclusion into these contexts is the result of deliberate or accidental human activity, which are site formation processes called C-transforms (Renfrew and Bahn 1991: 52).

Another 20 percent of figurines were deposited by erosion over Cemetery H and

Cemetery R37 (Dales and Kenoyer 1991: 226). The presence of figurines in this context was the result of natural events, or N-transforms (Renfrew and Bahn 1991: 52). Because these figurines were deposited by N-transforms, an interpretation based on archaeological context is impossible.

To understand the Harappan figurines better, we can look at how similar figurines were being used at another urban center in the prehistoric Indus Valley, Mohenjo-Daro

(2600-1900 cal. B.C.). Four hundred seventy-five classic-style terracotta figurines were recovered from domestic structures at Mohenjo-Daro (Ardeleanu-Jansen 1992: 6;

Mackay 1938: 135-152). Upon reviewing the unpublished field notes of previous excavations of Mohenjo-Daro carried out by John Marshall and Ernest Mackay, archaeologist Alexandra Ardeleanu-Jansen realized that the figurines had been recovered 105

from the terminal rooms of houses (Ardeleanu-Jansen 1992: 11). These are rooms on the periphery of the larger central rooms, and most only have one point of entry (Ardeleanu-

Jansen 1992: 11). These figurines were all deposited on floor surfaces, instead of buried in pits underneath the houses (Ardeleanu-Jansen 1992: 12). Additionally, they were also found in secondary refuse deposits throughout the city (Ardeleanu-Jansen 1992: 12).

Although there are no primary contexts for the Harappan figurines, the domestic and refuse contexts of identical figurines at Mohenjo-Daro indicates that the Harappan figurines were primarily used in domestic spaces.

As stated in Chapter 4, Clark argues that because the figurines were created using

“ideological choices instead of practical ones” (Clark 2007: 180; 2009: 246), they must have had some type of religious significance. She suggests that the deposition of figurines into refuse piles represents the end of their “social lives” (Clark 2007: 1). She assumes that because the figurines were religious objects, this depositional pattern is evidence of votive practice, or the act of fulfilling a promise to a deity (Clark 2007: 482).

In order to weigh Clark’s claims, we must look at the ways archaeologists can identify figurines that had been given ritual or spiritual significance by their handlers. An association with large structures that functioned as temples is a common way to categorize figurines as ritual or religious objects (Voigt 2000: 281). However, because no temples or shrines have been found at Harappa (Wright 2010: 119), this inference is impossible to make. Objects found in an aggregate refuse context are not often associated 106

with ritual. The exception to this would be small pits which contain figurines, or solitary refuse deposits (Tringham and Conkey 1998: 30-32). In these cases, solitary refuse deposits dug underneath structures or close to villages are interpreted as ritual because they contradict a purely functional approach to refuse deposit (Bruck 1999: 137).

However, the dichotomy between the ritual and the mundane is not an inherent division, and was not always observed in the past. One example of this is Chadwick’s

(2012) analysis of the depositional practices of Roman Britain in rural northern England.

In his analysis, he uses wear patterns to distinguish ceremonial pottery from utilitarian pottery (Chadwick 2012: 287). Heavily worn, lightly worn and unworn pottery were all discarded in a similar fashion (Chadwick 2012: 288). Some of these vessels were complete while others were broken (Chadwick 2012: 290) suggesting that vessels in similar contexts had different “biographies” (Kopytoff 1986: 66). He concluded that the discard of Romano-British pottery was not divided into ritual and utilitarian deposits (Hill

1995: 126), but instead demonstrated that ritualized and mundane acts were “different points on a continuum of practices all influenced by greater or lesser degree by social and cosmological beliefs” (Chadwick 2012: 303). Although the context of the Harappan figurines seems to be the result of practical waste disposal, we cannot discount the possibility that disposal incorporated some type of ritual.

When considering the contexts of the Harappan figurines, it is also important to consider the contexts in which they do not appear. They are never found in burials (Clark 107

2007: 83; Dales 1991: 65) which means that we cannot associate them with specific individuals or beliefs about an afterlife. Additionally, they are never found in feature deposits under house floors. Caching valuable objects under house floors was a common practice at Harappa. Vessels filled with gold, silver and beads, as well as copper tools and weapons were stored in feature deposits under house floors (Rissman 1988:

216). This practice of caching was an obvious attempt to protect valuable items.

However, the figurines invariably ended up in refuse piles, suggesting that they were not considered valuable enough to keep. Although they may have been considered valuable at some point in their social lives, the value of these figurines must have been revoked before deposition.

Summary

In this chapter, I have demonstrated how Clark’s categories for chronological type are valid, while her subtypes based on sex and basic formal criteria are inexact and arbitrary. I have also demonstrated that the context of the Harappan figurines is unsuitable as evidence for or against a religious or votive function. They were found in the refuse of each mound, but because the details of how many are not in the available literature, I cannot make inferences based on spatial distribution. The only inference that can be safely made from these contexts is that the Harappan figurines were primarily domestic items. They are always associated with domestic refuse, and are found in domestic contexts of contemporary levels at Mohenjo-Daro. While these conclusions are more refined and durable than those put forward by Clark, they do not inform the reader 108

on how the Harappan figurines fit into the lives of their handlers. In order to reach such an understanding, the next chapter presents a non-archaeological interpretation of figurines, one that considers how these miniature, three-dimensional, anthropomorphic objects stimulated pan-human cognitive effects in their handlers. 109

Chapter 6: A Cognitive Approach to Figurine Interpretation

From the discussions presented in previous chapters, it should be clear that figurines do not lend themselves to easy archaeological interpretation. Aside from the information I have derived from Clark’s typology and the limited information on context she provides, the Harappan figurines remain enigmatic. Therefore, this chapter presents a non-archaeological approach to understanding anthropomorphic figurines.

The cognitive approach, pioneered by archaeologist Doug Bailey (2005), focuses on the pan-human psychological reactions that figurines produce in their handlers. Bailey argues that figurines cause altered perception of time, induce positive emotional states in their handlers, create a more intimate knowledge about the human body and identities.

These effects are enacted through the three inherent qualities of figurines, namely miniaturism, three-dimensionality, and anthropomorphism. This chapter will review the literature on these three qualities in order to inform the reader on how Harappans would have perceived and interacted with these fascinating artifacts.

Section 6.1: Miniaturism

The first essential condition of figurines is miniaturism. A miniature is defined as

“a copy of something that has been greatly reduced in size” (“Miniature”, 2015). In

Prehistoric Figurines (2015), Bailey expands upon this definition by stating that miniatures “do not seek accuracy in representation” (Bailey 2005: 29). They are not precise replicas but rather small objects that imitate the real world. It is this lack of precision that distinguishes miniatures from models, which attempt to be accurate 110

representations of a larger original (King 1996:227). Architectural models, for example, are scaled to the exact proportions of buildings at 1:480 (King 1996: 12-14). Models must mathematically correspond to their originals, otherwise they do not fulfil their purpose.

On the other hand, miniatures are not the result of such mathematical precision, but instead are the result of abstraction and compression (Bailey 2005: 32). When a craftsperson is creating a miniature, they are forced to limit their creation to a smaller space than that of the original. This requires the craftsperson to select some attributes to include in their creation, and select others to exclude. This partial representation abstracts the object from the subject it was meant to portray. The consequence of this lack of detail is that the viewer is forced to make inferences about what the miniature omits (Bailey

2005: 32).

A good example of how miniatures can push the mind towards inference is penjing, which is the Chinese art of creating miniature, tabletop versions of natural landscapes. The art of penjing incorporates both natural and man-made materials to create these intricate, miniature scenes (Zhao 1997: 112). Scholars are unsure about the origins and reasons behind this unique art form, but the earliest reference to penjing was in Tang Dynasty (618-900 A.D.), depicted as a mural in the imperial Qianling

Mausoleum (Hu 1987: 128). An important element of penjing is the concept of sparseness, or jianjie (Bailey 2005: 30; Zhao 1997: 52-53). J is the idea that less is more; if there is less to look at in a work of penjing, than there is more to imagine (Zhao

1997: 52-53). When glancing at a penjing scene, the observer can easily identify what the I l l

main components of the scene are. In the case of the penjing displayed in this section

(Image 6.A), the eye finds the irregular, rugged rocks and the twisted trees that reside on them without difficulty. Although penjing must maintain some level of detail, they are ultimately incomplete. The scene references nature, but because of the exclusion of much of the detail, it pulls the mind towards what is missing. Spectators gazing at this may be reminded of past experiences encountering a landscape similar to the one portrayed. It may remind them of the sounds of birds, the smell of the trees, or the feeling of the water that surrounds the rocks. The absence of these things creates gaps, which are inevitably filled by the viewer’s imagination. Upon closer examination, a tiny structure, hidden from plain view in the shadow of the tallest rock, is made visible. This detail brings several questions to the mind of the viewer: Who lives there? Why is this structure hidden? What else do the shadows make invisible? Such questions can draw the spectator out of their everyday life and pull them further and further into the scene. Penjing heavily rely on the imagination of the audience to draw people into their alternative worlds.

Penjing are not models, because they do not attempt to accurately depict something from real life. Instead, they are a manipulation of natural materials to “transform the world into separate, intimate alternatives” (Bailey 2005: 30). 112

Figure 6.A Rock Landscape by Balazs Sooz (2011)

Figure 6.B No. 91, by Michael Ashkin (1998) 113

Penjing is not the only type of art that uses miniaturism to ensnare the imagination. Another example is the art of Michael Ashkin, who creates tabletop displays that depict urban and industrial landscapes that address the damage humanity has done to the environment. One such landscape, titled No. 91 (Image 6.B), shows a scene of polluted water and barren . Ashkin created this miniature at the scale of 1:160, which is the N-scale for railroad models. This was not an arbitrary decision, but rather the scale at which No. 91 shows the most amount of detail, and allows the audience to imagine they are standing on the surface of his miniature world (Bailey 2005: 33). When he is working on his model, Ashkin admits to being drawn into the piece in an “almost narcotic way” (Bailey 2005: 33). His experiences are like those of his audience, who feel as if they have been pulled into the alternative worlds portrayed in Ashkin’s art (Bailey

2005: 33).

Miniatures also alter their handler’s perception of time. Alton Delong, an architect interested in human-environment interaction, tested the effect that different physical scales have on how humans perceive the passage of time (Delong 1981). In his first experiment, Delong presented participants with differently-scaled environments to gauge the reactions of their internal mental clocks. The three miniature houses used in this test were scaled at l/6th, 1/12th, and l/24th the size of life-sized rooms (Delong

1981:30). His hypothesis was that if scale is a factor in temporal experience, then the experiential duration of time ( E)for the scale of 1/12th should be twice what it is for the scale of 1 /24th (Delong 1981: 31). Once the participants were familiar with these 114

miniature scenes, Delong instructed them to move figurines around the miniature rooms, and try to imagine themselves in the houses (Delong 1981: 30). The participants were told to alert the investigator when they believed that they had been engaging in this activity for thirty minutes, a score which was recorded as T (Delong 1981:30). The sample exposed to the l/24th-sized room was also exposed to the l/12th-sized room to create an index that researchers could cross-check to measure each scale’s effect on the participant’s perception of passing time (Delong 1981:30). All the data was collected in sub-samples by twelve different investigators to minimize bias. In Experiment 2, participants were given the same instructions, but were told to wear a mask to block out visual stimuli from the normal, life-sized environment (Delong 1981: 30). Experiment 3 involved the same procedures as Experiments land 2, except that auditory interference was accounted for. One group reported that their scores were affected by the auditory cues from their surroundings (Table 6.1.b, Group A). The data from this group showed a marked difference when compared to the data collected from others. Overall, the results of all three tests (Table 6.1.a and 6.1.b) confirmed Delong’s hypothesis by showing that the experiential duration of time (E)for participants that were given the l/12th-sized miniature was double that for participants who were given the 1 /24th - sized miniature

(Delong 1981: 32). The participants who were exposed to smaller miniatures perceived time to pass faster than those exposed to larger miniatures. To check his findings, Delong

(1981: 31) ran a linear regression analysis of that data by using the cross-checking index

( CR) as the dependent variable and each participant’s score (7) in the l/12th model as the 115

independent variable (Table 6.2). With the exception of Group A in Experiment 3, the results of the linear regression analysis matched the results of Delong’s experiments

(Delong 1981: 31). Delong concluded that “these studies implicate scale as a mediator in the experience of temporal duration, and further suggest that, for large samples, the relationship between the two can ideally and precisely be specified as E=x(T)” (Delong

1981: 34). Delong’s research illustrates how the physical compression of space causes the mental compression of time (Bailey 2005: 37).

How a person experiences time is central to their emotional state. An elongated sense of time is correlated with a negative emotional state, while a shortened sense of time is correlated with a positive emotional state (Yamada and Kawabe 2011: 1839).

Interacting with miniature objects and environments slows down a person’s internal mental clock, which in turn makes people feel relaxed and comfortable. Because this is a psychological reaction to miniatures, the perception of shortened time, and the inference that leads to alternative worlds, occur regardless of the cultural context that the miniatures themselves come from. The meanings and uses of miniature objects, like figurines, may have been culturally constructed, but the psychological reaction to them is a pan-human response that would have happened in the past as it does in the present. By examining the psychological effects of miniaturism, it is clear that Harappan figurines shortened their handler’s perception of time, produced a more positive emotional state, and acted as a conduit for imagination. 116

Table 6.1.a Elapsed Time (T) associated with experiential duration (E) of thirty minutes in differently scaled environments. The compression ratio is T.E. S.E.M (Standard error of the Mean) (Delong 1981: 32) Experiment #1 and #2

Condition Model Scale N Elapsed Time Range CR* in mins (X ± S.E.M.)

Experiment #1

Single Exposure 1/6 20 4.15 ±0.630 1.73 to 13.83 1/7.23

1/12 166 2.52 ±0.170 0.62 to 11.33 1/11.9

Exposure to two 1/12 166 2.64 ±0.133 0.35 to 9.75 1/11.36 scales 1/24 124 1.57 ±0.085 0.17 to 4.92 1/19.10

Experiment #2 (masked)

Multiple 1/6 11 Group 1 5.48 ±0.619 1.00 to 8.15 1/5.47 exposures same scale Group 2 5.46 ±0.561 1.28 to 7.37 1/5.49 (Independent samples) Group 3 5.35 ±0.501 1.55 to 7.42 1/5.60

1/12 10 Group 1 2.72 ±0.417 1.35 to 5.47 1/11.03

Group 2 2.43 ± 0.453 1.33 to 6.17 1/12.34

Group 3 2.83 ±0.531 0.68 to 6.87 1/10.60

1/24 10 Group 1 1.44 ±0.247 0.42 to 2.78 1/20.83

Group2 1.56 ± 0.312 0.37 to 3.72 1/19.23

Group 3 1.48 ±0.255 0.45 to 3.05 1/20.27

Exposure to 1/6 27 3.85 ±0.357 0.98 to 8.58 1/7.79 three scales (random order 1/12 27 2.60 ±0.204 0.72 to 5.55 1/11.54 sample) 1/24 27 1.55 ± 0.179 0.25 to 3.45 1/19.35 ^Theoretically, CR should equal model scale [E = (T)]. ** Sample characterized by acoustic interference, internal auditory timing, or both. 117

Table 6.1.b Elapsed Time (T) associated with experiential duration (E) of thirty minutes in differently scaled environments. The compression ratio is T.E. S.E.M (Standard error of the Mean) (Delong 1981: 32) Experiment #3 (masked)

Condition Model Scale N Elapsed Time Range CR* in mins (X ± S.E.M.)

Experiment 3 (masked)

Group F Single 1/12 23 2.89 ±0.434 0.19 to 8.75 1/10.38 Exposure

Group F 1/12 23 2.44 ± 0.448 0.48 to 5.75 1/12.30 Exposure to to scales (same 1/24 9 1.46 ±0.280 0.20 to 3.23 1/20.55 sample)

Group A Single 1/12 32 8.20 ±0.635 3.85 to 18.2 1/3.66 Exposure **

Group A 1/12 10 7.36 ± 1.167 4.18 to 15.0 1/4.08 Exposure to two scales (same 1/24 10 6.02 ± 1.58 2.78 to 18.75 1/4.98 sample) **

*Theoretically, CR should equal model scale [E = (T)\. ** Sample characterized by acoustic interference, internal auditory timing, or both.

Tal3le 6.2 Cross-checking index values (1/12 T /1/24 T; de] sendent variable) associated with T in the l/12model (independent variable) based on linear regression lines. Correlation coefficients relate index values to exposure time to model env rironment. N.S., not significant (Delon]I 1981:33) Study (N) X ± S.E.M r P 1 2 2.5 3 4 5 Exp. 1(124) 1.58 1.71 1.77 1.83 1.96 2.09 1.79 ±0.057 .296 .001 Exp.2(27) 1.80 2.02 2.13 2.24 2.46 2.68 2.16 ±0.249 .179 N.S. Exp. 3 Group F (9) 1.74 1.75 1.75 1.76 1.76 1.77 1.75 ±0.208 .013 N.S. Group A* 1.80 1.74 1.72 1.62 1.68 1.57 1.43 ±0.096 -.701 .05 (10) * Sample characterized by acoustic interference, internal auditory timing, or both. 118

Section 6.2: Three-dimensionality

Bailey (2005:36) points out that figurines are three-dimensional forms of representation, and argues that this condition also has psychological effects on the people that engage with them. Unlike two-dimensional images, three-dimensional images allow the sense of touch to enter the encounter. He argues that the sense of touch is a familiar experience for all of humanity, and that considering figurines from this perspective allows us to identify their intersubjective qualities (Bailey 2005; 36). He states that the condition of three-dimensionality “generates particular interactions with people: figurines afford touching and being held in the hand” (Bailey 2005: 32). But what are the results of these interactions? How do people use their hands to create knowledge about the objects they hold?

Psychologists Susan Lederman and Roberta Klatzky answer this question in their research into haptic apprehension, which concerns the ways that humans assess objects manually (Lederman and Klatzky 1986). They hypothesized that if the hand can be used to perceive objects, hand movements should differ according to the sensory input and the type of information that a person wants to gather (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 344). In their first experiment, blindfolded subjects were instructed to identify an object’s physical qualities (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 342). The sample consisted of 18 graduate students, ages 21 to 41, all of whom were experimentally naive (Lederman and Klatzky

1986: 349). Thirty-six sets of three-dimensional objects were used as the tactile stimuli for this study (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 349). Each participant was given one control 119

object and three sample objects. The participants were instructed to compare one quality of the control object to the qualities of the three sample objects to determine which one it matched. Researchers recorded these tests using video cameras, and after the tests were given they analyzed the film, focusing on the motions of each participant’s hands. The nine qualities that were tested are displayed in the quality column of Table 6.3, along with the mean scores for accurate assessment from Experiment 1.

Table 6.3 Accuracy of Manual Apprehension Test (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 352) Quality Overall Mean % for each object set Texture 93.05 Hardness 94.03 Temperature 88.73 Weight 65.28 Volume 80.55 General Shape 87.48 Exact Shape 76.40 Part Motion 93.05 Function 84.70

Lederman and Klatzky identified eight categories of hand movements, which they termed “exploratory procedures” (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 342). They found that different types of exploratory procedures (Table 6.4, Image 6.C) provided the subjects with different information (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 343). For example, enclosing an object within the hand gave the participant information on the object’s general shape.

Following the contours of the object gave the participant information on the object’s exact shape (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 333). Lateral motion of the hand gave the 120

participant information about an object’s texture (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 333).

Applying pressure with the thumbs and forefingers gave them information about hardness

(Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 333).

Table 6.4 Description of Exploratory Procedures (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 345-347) Lateral Motion Manifests sideways movements between the skin and the object surface, i.e. rubbing, interior surfaces explored rather than edges Pressure Happens when applying torque to one part of the object while another is stabilized. Obvious signs of applying force, usually with index and middle fingers. Static Contact Occurs when an object has external support and one hand rests passively on it Unsupported Holding The object is removed from the supporting surface with one or both hands, which do not clench the object, accompanied by hefting of the arm Enclosure Hand envelops as much of the object as possible. There is an observable effort to mold the palms of the hand to the surface of the object Contour Following Fingers make smooth, non-repetitive contact with the object, feeling out one portion, the next and so on Function Test Making a part move by applying force to that part while stabilizing another part. Can only take place on objects with moving parts Part-Test Motion Performing movements that accomplish certain functions (placing fingers into openings, pinching together the parts of a pincer, etc.) 121

LATERAL PRESSURE MOTION

STATIC t UNSUPPORTED CONTACT HOLDING

ENCLOSURE CONTOUR FOLLOWING

FUNCTION PART MOTION TEST TEST

Figure 6.C Haptic Exploratory Procedures (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 346) Lederman and Klatzky (1986: 343) also noted the exceptional speed that participants in the study made accurate assessments. All the participants handling three- dimensional objects had a high rate of accuracy in two seconds or less (Table 6.3)

(Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 343). They argue that this is because griping and manipulating an object activates both the motor subsystem and the sensory subsystem of the hand (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 367). It is because both subsystems are utilized that participants can come up with such immediate assessments of objects. This is starkly 122

contrasted with the results that came from testing manual apprehension of two- dimensional objects, which participants can explore for several minutes without correctly identifying texture or shapes (Magee and Kennedy 1980: 288). Performing the same types of tasks with two-dimensional objects only activates the sensory subsystem, and therefore is much slower and less accurate (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 367). The results of Experiment 1 proved that manual apprehension does not happen in random movements, but rather through distinct exploratory procedures (Table 6.4, Image 6.C); specific, purposeful movements aimed at gathering specific information (Lederman and

Klatzky 1986: 346).

Although Lederman and Klatzky had established the presence of these exploratory procedures, they had not established the real reason behind them. Experiment

2 was meant to test if the exploratory procedures discovered in Experiment 1 could be matched with specific types of knowledge goals. In this test, blindfolded subjects were instructed to use only one exploratory procedure to assess an object’s qualities.

Researchers measured the speed and accuracy at which subjects correctly identified those qualities (Table 6.4), and gave each procedure a score depending on its efficacy (Table

6.5). Exploratory procedures that led to above-chance accuracy were designated sufficient, those that led to greater than above-chance accuracy were designated optimal, and those that were the only ones that led to above-chance accuracy were designated necessary (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 360). 123

Table 6.5 (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 345) Mean Duration (Seconds) of Exploratory Procedures under Each Instruction

Instruction procedure

L at’l Static Unsupp'd Contour Part motion Press. contact holding Encl. follow. mo./fcn.

Text. 3.46 0.18 0.00 0.00 0.07 0.82 Hard. 0.66 2.24 0.01 0.05 0.03 0.52 -- Temp. 0.02 0.13 0.06 0.00 2.00 0.58 -- Wt. 0.10 0.08 0.00 2.12 0.28 0.55 -- Vol. 0.20 0.01 0.04 0.07 2.61 2.15 -- Shape (global) 0.32 0.13 0.00 0.00 1.00 4.30 Shape (exact) 0.35 0.00 0.00 0.03 1.92 11.20 Part mo. 0.00 0.06 0.03 0.00 0.43 2.13 3.26 Fen. 0.24 0.18 0.08 0.00 0.26 2.42 3.50

Table 6.6 (Lederman and Klatzky 1968: 354) Specialization Score, Duration, and Performance Status on Specified Object Dimensions for Each Exploratory Procedure (EP)

Object dimension

Spec’n D ’n" Gl. Ex. EP score (s) Tex. Hard. Temp. Wt. Vol. sh. sh.

LM 2.06 3 O SS ______PR 2.79 2 S O s —— ------SC 1.56 2 S — 0 — 0 0 ------UH 1.95 2 — S s 0 s s ------EN 0.62 3 S s s s s s -- CF 1.92 11 s s s s s s N

N o te. O = optimal, S = sufficient, N «= necessary, — » chance performance. * Duration refers to the “ regular” durations of EPs that were selected from Experiment 1 for use in Experiment 2.

From their second test, Lederman and Klatzky (1986: 438) concluded that certain exploratory procedures are optimal, and in some cases necessary, for obtaining certain types of knowledge about an object. Some exploratory procedures, such as hand enclosure, are better at providing a broad, general knowledge of an object. Others, like 124

contour following, are more specialized movements necessary to gather knowledge about an object’s specific shape. Furthermore, the participants’ hand movements progress predictably from exploratory procedures that produce general knowledge to ones that produce more specific knowledge. This indicates that information about the objects was mentally processed in a sequence, as opposed to all at once. When engaging in manual assessment, participants were discerning the different qualities of the object, and then mentally combining them to understand the object in its entirety (Lederman and Klatzky

1986: 365). This makes a tactile interpretation of objects fundamentally different than a visual one. The eye can take in many things in one view, and only later does the mind divide and dissect them. However, touch requires a more complicated mental assembly of parts to understand the object as a whole. This complex mental process results in a more complex, refined understanding of an object.

Some of the best evidence for the integral connection between the hand and the mind can be found in our evolutionary past (Bailey 2014: 36). The development of precise manual capabilities was a critical part of the cognitive evolution of our species.

As anatomically modern humans, we grip objects differently than our predecessors did.

Homo habilis (2.4 -1.5 mya), (1.9 mya - 143,000 years ago) and Homo neanderthalensis (200,000 - 40,000 years ago) had a thumb that was significantly shorter than their fingers because their hands were more similar to those of our earlier tree- dwelling ancestors (McGinn 2015: 21-22). They only had the manual capacity to grip objects in a basic way, which Napier (1980: 55) described as a power grip. This type of 125

grip envelopes an object between the palm, fingers and thumb. Essentially, this grip would have been akin to a hand enclosure exploratory procedure (Lederman and Klatzky

1986: 346), and therefore would have only allowed them to access the most general knowledge about the objects they held. The thumb is significantly more mobile and robust in Homo sapiens (200,000 - Present) (McGinn 2015: 23). Because the thumb is much longer and the fingers shortened, the thumb is positioned opposite to the fingers.

This thumb-finger opposition allowed humans to develop a precision grip, which helped us grip objects between the tips of the thumb and the fingers (Napier 1980:55). This type of grip allowed for precise handling, oblique grips, and the ability to move objects around and between our fingers. The human hand could alternate effortlessly between the power grip and the precision grip, as well as combine the two (McGinn 201:22). Whereas our early ancestors could only grasp objects, we could manipulate them. Bailey (2014: 36) argues that this fundamental distinction is highly significant to the way anatomically modern humans think about objects. The ability to handle and manipulate things allowed us to develop a deeper, more refined, and more nuanced understandings of them. When exploratory procedures like pressure testing, part-motion testing and contour following

(Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 346) became possible, so did a more complex understanding of the objects they could be applied to.

This mental shift is reflected in the that emerged during this time. It was from Homo sapiens that we see the first examples of composite tools, as well as small obsidian tips that were used to engrave wood and bone for decorative purposes 126

(Ambrose 2001: 1751). Bailey (2014:38) notes that some of the most important evidence for the connection between cognitive development and anatomical development of the hand is the emergence of art. The first paintings at Chauvet (Deschamps et. al. 1996:

15), as well as the anthropomorphic figurines of Europe like the Venus of

(Conard 2009: 248), could not have been created without the precision grip. Both the advances in lithic technology and the emergence of art reflects the enhanced capability of anatomically modern humans to manipulate their surroundings. Consequently, the sense of touch is evolutionarily hard-wired into humans to provoke more refined and complex thoughts. Both the cultural developments of the Paleolithic Era (2.4 mya - 12,000 years ago) and Lederman and Klatzky’s (1986) research on tactile-generated knowledge demonstrate the critical role haptic apprehension plays in both our manipulation and interpretation of three-dimensional objects and the world around us.

Another result of three-dimensionality is that it allows a person to bring an object close to them. Bailey (2014: 34) argues that like the sense of touch, our proximity to an object shapes our perception of it. This claim is supported by the work of anthropologist

Edward Hall (1966), who studied the effect distance has on social interactions. His main argument is that, much like other animals (Hediger 1955:142), humans maintain a uniform set of distances from one another (Hall 1966: 113). His research involved observation and informal interview of business men and women in midtown Manhattan

(Hall 1966: 113). He discovered that at six to 18 inches, or what he termed the intimate zone, several sensory and bodily shifts take place (Hall 1966: 117). At this distance, 127

people experience higher levels of visual acuity. The sense of smell is activated, the breath and body heat of another person can be felt, and the voice drops to a much lower level, often to only a whisper. “The presence of another person is unmistakable and at many times overwhelming because of the greatly stepped-up sensory input” (Hall 1966:

116). This distance is shared either by those with a close relationship or those who are about to engage in physical violence (Hall 1966: 115). From his observations, Hall concluded that the distance people maintain moderates interpersonal relationships and social organization at a fundamental level (Hall 1966: 120).

In his discussion of three-dimensionality, Bailey (2005: 38) argues that distance not only moderates person-to-person interactions, but person-to-object interactions as well. A miniature, three-dimensional object like a figurine must be engaged with at arm’s length. It is brought into the intimate zone (Hall 1966: 117) where it is given intimate meanings (Bailey 2005: 39). These objects are portable, they can be displayed or hidden, and the distance they are accessible from is also routinely shared with people we have close affiliations to. Objects that are held close express a power, meaning and value that is distinct from those that lay beyond one’s grasp; they become personal, emotive and intimate (Bailey 2005; 39). He writes that smaller, personal objects often function as markers of identity, social status and wealth (Bailey 2005: 39). Necklaces, earrings, pendants, clothing, coins, wallets, and purses all proclaim some aspect of the individual wearing them. These objects can only be engaged within the personal and signifying spaces of the individual (Bailey 2005: 39). Furthermore, it is because of this engagement 128

within personal spaces that three-dimensional objects often function as effective vehicles for carrying public messages and symbols into the personal realm (Bailey 2005: 39).

The condition of three-dimensionality has two important, pan-human consequences for understanding figurines. The first is that the addition of touch to representation opens images up to a whole new sensory dimension. In the case of figurines, haptic apprehension allows people to develop more nuanced interpretations of both the object itself and the human body being portrayed. The second is the intimate distance that figurines are engaged from allows for personal and emotive meanings to be made about them. The crucial next step to figurine interpretation is to understand them as

“bodies-made-small” (Bailey 2014: 39).

Section 6.3: Anthropomorphism

The previous sections of this chapter have discussed the psychological effects that miniature, three-dimensional objects have on the people that engage with them. But what is the outcome when these two conditions are applied to the human form? To answer that question, this section presents examples of anthropomorphic representations in modern, non-ceramic contexts to examine the role figurines may have had in the Bronze Age.

Portraits are notable examples of how anthropomorphic representation can be used to create and reinforce identities (Tagg 1988: 34). Portraits simultaneously function

“as both a sign that describes an individual and a mechanism that inscribes social identity

(Bailey 2005: 77). A historic example of how portraits can be used to shape perceptions about individual identity is carte-de-visite photography. Carte-de-visite photographs were 129

small, sepia-toned images printed from negatives onto paper (Tagg 1988: 48). Invented during the mid-nineteenth century, their low cost and quick production made them easily accessible to the public. Because they were produced from negatives, multiple copies of the same photograph could be reproduced (Tagg 1988:48). Their accessibility and size made carte-de-visite photographs a popular way to maintain familial connections over vast distances. Keeping photographic portraits of relatives helped reinforce family ties that were strained by the large migration west that the United States underwent during the

1850s (Pultz 1995: 17). Because images of people’s bodies became portable, photographs could easily transfer from the hands of one person into another, and make their way across the nation. They also allowed people to create and maintain connections through time. Albums of carte-de-visite photographs became visual records that could be brought across the continent. They allowed individuals to verify kinship to deceased relatives by displaying images of the departed. Carte-de-visite photographs gave people the opportunity to “acquire and advertise new or alternative personal identities, ones that stood apart from their own physical characteristics” (Bailey 2005: 77). Albums of carte- de-visite photographs could be used to display affiliation to family, friends or even famous political figures the owners of the album had never met. Selection was a key component of compiling these albums; deciding which individuals to put in front, which to put in back, and which to completely exclude was an integral part of creating family . This selection process inevitably resulted in the albums proposing,

“photographically-mediated hierarchies or equalities” (Bailey 2005: 78), either 130

intentionally or inadvertently. They allowed for the active renegotiation and display of familial relationships on the individual scale (Bailey 2005: 78). I am not suggesting that figurines served the same purpose as carte-de-visite photographs did in the mid­ nineteenth century. Instead, this example is presented to show the role that anthropomorphic images can take in reinforcing identities during times of change.

However, anthropomorphic representation is not always used to reinforce identities. It can also be used to challenge normative ideas about the physical and social body. This is particularly true during times of political and social upheaval (Carroll 1993:

28). An excellent example of this is the work of German surrealist Hans Bellmer. In the

1930s, Bellmer created works of art where he positioned mannequins in bizarre and physiologically atypical poses (Images 6.D, 6.E, 6.F, and 6.G). The photographs that

Bellmer took of his mannequins are outrageous and meant to discomfort and disgust the viewer, but were also meant to intrigue them (Webb 1975: 366). The poses in the photographs he took suggest violence, pornography, masochism, fetishism, sexual misconduct and death (Carter 1993: 13). Bellmer’s intention in creating this art was to unsettle his audience and provoke uncertainty (Bailey 2005:75). His manipulation of the human form was used to subvert conventional notions of beauty, but also to subvert the strict, patriarchal culture of 1930s Germany (Webb and Short 1993: 30). One of the photographs from Bellmer’s The Doll collection shows a four-legged doll laying supine in a hayloft (Image 6.F). Bellmer colored the genitals and knees of the doll pink to imply rape (Taylor 2000: 77). However, as Taylor (2000: 77) points out, the legs are positioned 131

to make a swastika, alluding to the violence of Nazi Germany. This highlights Bellmer’s use of the human body to connect the social phenomenon of rape with the national phenomenon of fascism. Although most of his work was not so obvious, all of his photographs presented the human body in ways that belied the strict gender norms propagated by the Third Reich. His art effectively accomplished this by the time the Nazi

Party came to power; they immediately labeled his work as immoral, depraved, and “un-

German” (Taylor 2000: 70), and forced him to flee the country (Webb and Short 1993:

30). This example demonstrates that anthropomorphic images are not always used to reinforce the status quo. Like Bellmer’s art, they can be used to challenge normative ideas about both the individual body and the social order. 132

Images from Hans Bellmer’s The Doll (1935) Top left: Figure 6.D - Untitled (Taylor 2000:31); top right: Figure 6.E - (Taylor 2000:71); bottom left: Figure 6.F -The Doll (Taylor 2000: 56) bottom right: Figure 6.G - Untitled (Taylor 2000: 89)

One of the most ubiquitous modern example of how anthropomorphism works is that of dolls. Bailey (2005: 68) argues that they act as a subtle yet powerful tool to introduce children into hierarchies of power and their position in them. When dealing with a doll, the child recognizes that it is human in form, but smaller than the child. The 133

child in turn is smaller than the adults, who are smaller than their culture’s deities (Bailey

2005: 68). This type of “scaled perception” (Bailey 2005: 68) allows the child to situate themselves within the larger world around them. Bailey (2005: 71) points to Barbie dolls as devices that aid in the indoctrination of young girls into future social and occupational roles. Barbies were first mass-produced by Mattel in the 1950s, and quickly became one of America’s most popular toys. The doll was marketed as the embodiment of the middle-class, American, white, heteronormative girl. Throughout the years, she has had many different lifestyles, outfits and occupations. In recent decades, there has been debate as to whether Barbie promotes a positive image for young girls, or one that is detrimental to their self-esteem. Proponents of Barbie argue that the character acts as a positive role model because she is not limited by marriage or children. Instead of a husband or child, Barbie has a male consort and a little sister. She is also not limited in her job prospects, and has filled the role of policewoman, CEO, engineer, soldier, astronaut, presidential candidate and countless others. (Spigel 2001: 320). Barbie’s world lacks restrictions, and allows her to be whoever she chooses to be in the public domain

(Messner 2007:25). Opponents of the doll argue that she portrays unrealistic anatomical proportions and gives children warped expectations of their own bodies. If she were a real woman, Barbie would have a 36-inch bust, an 18-inch waist and 33-inch hips, weigh

110 pounds and stand five feet and nine inches tall (Maine 2000: 210-212). Critics note that dolls with these extreme measurements are not only unrealistic, but potentially harmful. Psychologist Helga Dittmar used Barbie dolls in a study to measure the effect 134

they had on young girls’ self-esteem. In a sample of 162 girls, ages five to eight, one- third of them were given Barbie dolls, one-third of them were given Emmie dolls, which display more realistic proportions, and one-third of them were given gender-neutral toys, which she used as the control group (Dittmar 2006: 286). After being presented with the images, the girls were instructed to complete questionnaires on how they felt about their own bodies. Dittmar found that on average the group exposed to Barbie had lower self-esteem about their own bodies than the groups in other exposure conditions

(Dittmar et. 2006: al. 290).

Whether Barbie is a harmful influence or a positive, empowering role model for girls is beside the point. The examples presented here illustrate the type of emotive power figurines can have (Bailey 2005: 75). The fact that dolls are the focal point for a discussion about body image and the social roles of a particular group suggests that they are influential in shaping perceptions about ourselves and others. Furthermore, it demonstrates that these images can have multiple meanings. Although Barbie was originally created to be a benign toy, the doll became a symbol of both female empowerment and patriarchal oppression. These figurines became a vehicle for two mutually exclusive meanings that exist simultaneously. In presenting this example, I am not arguing that the Harappan figurines were dolls. Although this is certainly possible, I am drawing attention to the effects they would have had on their handlers. Use of the

Harappan figurines would have inevitably led the handler to think about their identity, both as an individual and as the member of a group (Bailey 2005: 75). 135

Section 6.4: The Cognitive Effects o f the Harappan Figurines

As discussed in previous chapters, Clark’s approach has several flaws. Her categories for gender are arbitrary, and her category for the classic style is much too broad to be analytically meaningful. However, her chronological categories for figurines, namely the Early Harappan and Mature Harappan categories, are valid ones.

Additionally, the contextual information she provides is frustratingly inchoate. The only context the figurines come from are secondary aggregate refuse deposits. From these contexts, we can infer that they’re primary use was in domestic spaces, and that they were widely accessible to everyone. While these conclusions are important to note, they tell us little about how figurines affected the lives of their handlers. However, where traditional archaeological approaches fall short, a consideration of the cognitive effects of such objects can advance our understanding of the Harappan figurines in new ways.

Like Delong’s experiments and the Chinese penjing, the Harappan figurines allowed their handlers to escape into alternative realities. We cannot say what these realities were, as they no doubt differed depending on the person handling the figurine.

However, the figurines referenced aspects of everyday life at Harappa. For example, beads are displayed on 873 (34.2 percent) of all figurines in Clark’s sample. Beads were associated with wealth and prestige, and their representation on figurines would have referenced this. To a lesser extent, these gateways to other worlds also referenced everyday activities such as carrying pots and baskets, nursing infants and working with manos and . Interacting with these figurines would have altered the Harappans’ 136

perception of time and stimulated positive emotional states of mind about these aspects of

Harappan life.

During times of social and political change, anthropomorphic representations can act as powerful tools to reinforce or challenge identities. The manufacture and use of figurines was not fully embraced at Harappa until Period III (2600-1900 cal. B.C.).

During this period, the social and political landscape of south Asia was rapidly changing.

As discussed in chapter 2, the adoption of full sedentism and urbanism coincided with a dramatic increase of population at the site. Two by two-meter revetment walls were built around the city, physically separating those who lived outside the wall from those who lived within (Kenoyer 1991b: 44-47). Further spatial division can be seen in Harappan neighborhoods, which were separated by type of craft manufacture (Miller 2007: 49). All of these changes would have undoubtedly brought up questions about group and individual identity for the Harappans. The anthropomorphic figurines may have been a way for the Harappans to understand and negotiate their place in their rapidly changing world.

Like all anthropomorphic images, the Harappan figurines would have inevitably elicited emotive meanings about a certain segment of the city’s population. Figurines are used to make statements about those who are part of a group and those who are not

(Bailey 2008). However, as the example of the Barbie dolls demonstrate, figurines send multiple messages that can all exist simultaneously. The use of these figurines would have opened up the human body as a vehicle for multiple definitions of what it meant to 137

be part of a group. Furthermore, the way this information was received would have created more nuanced understandings of the human body. As Lederman and Klatzky

(1986) demonstrated, tactile interaction with a three-dimensional object creates a more complex, yet almost instantaneous understanding of that object or what it represents. The use of figurines would have undoubtedly caused the Harappans to develop a more complex understanding of their social group, other social groups, and themselves as individuals. Regardless of how the Harappan figurines were being used, these miniature, three-dimensional, anthropomorphic objects would have affected the way that the

Harappans understood their own community, as well as the communities of others.

Summary

The examination of miniaturism, three-dimensionality and anthropomorphism presented in this chapter reveal important consequences for the interpretation of the

Harappan figurines. The condition of miniaturism shortens the viewer’s perception of time (Delong 1981: 35) and forces inference into what is not there, which draws viewers into “alternative realities” (Bailey 2005: 30). The condition of three-dimensionality allows people to bring figurines into the “intimate zone” (Hall 1966: 120) which creates intimate and emotive meanings for them. This condition also allows people to engage with figurines through the sense of touch, which creates more complex and nuanced understandings of objects in ways that are fundamentally different than knowledge created by sight alone (Lederman and Klatzky 1986: 366). The condition of anthropomorphism is often used by artists to either reinforce or challenge ideas about 138

individual and group identity (Carter 1993: 13; Tagg 1988:34). It allows people to make multiple, sometimes contradictory, meanings about figurines, and by extension the human body (Bailey 2005: 75). Regardless of the different meanings or uses Harappan figurines had in the Bronze Age, the psychological effects addressed in this chapter are the most durable evidence we have to interpret how they were understood by their handlers. 139

Conclusion

From the information available on the Harappan figurines, three statements can be made with confidence. First, there was a distinct difference between figurines from earlier levels and those from later levels. As Clark (2007: 311-12, 329-330) speculates, this difference can be plausibly explained as two distinct traditions for figurine manufacture. The Early Harappan category was a tradition from, or influenced by, the figurines of sites further west such as Mehrgarh and Rehman Dheri. On the other hand, the Mature Harappan figurines were produced at Harappa, most likely at the ceramic production center on the northwestern comer of Mound E. Although Clark’s Early

Harappan and Late Harappan levels are valid categories, her categories for classic and figure-8 are not well supported and are based on arbitrary criteria. Her criteria for determining sex is equally as arbitrary, so the amount of female, male and intersexed figurines cannot be ascertained from the collection.

Second, the majority of Harappan figurines were found in secondary refuse aggregate that can be characterized as domestic refuse. While incomplete, the available contextual data for the Harappan figurines suggests that these artifacts were primarily used in domestic spaces. Their presence in domestic refuse does not imply their use as votive objects, or any other functional category (i.e. dolls, vehicles of sympathetic magic). Such an interpretation is beyond the ability of archaeology to determine because the figurines may have been used in a number of ways throughout their social lives. 140

Third, the most pertinent way to understand how people interacted with the

Harappan figurines is to consider their three inherent conditions, namely miniaturism, three-dimensionality and anthropomorphism (Bailey 2005). These conditions produce pan-human effects in people who encounter figurines, both in the present and in the past.

In particular, the Harappan figurines would have altered their handlers’ perception of time and acted as vehicles for imagination. They also would have quickly stimulated more complex and nuanced understandings of the human body and the role of an individual or group in Harappan society. Additionally, these anthropomorphic images would have been used to reinforce or challenge normative identities of the people using them during the rapid urban development that took place in Period III (2600-1900 cal.

B.C.). 141

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