THE ROYAL LETTER
By SAI PAPINENI
It was the most dreaded answer, from the
history teacher, to my question, “How much did I get in the last test?” He almost always said … rotating his arm in a
huge circular motion … to an instantaneous outburst of mirth from every corner
of the classroom.
బండిసున్నా! (“BanDi Sunna”, in
Telugu)
The word ‘BanDi Sunna’ always stayed with
me – a constant companion in my nightmares – even after I finished school and
the words, tests and marks, receded into the past.
BanDi in Telugu means ‘Cart’ and Sunna is ‘Zero’. The symbol
for Zero, of course, is a circle that resembles the wheel. The word Sunna is
derived from Sanskrit ‘Sūnya’. That means the word came into Dravidian lexicon
only after the interaction with Indo-European languages. Then the Sanskrit word
for wheel is ‘Chakra’. If the Telugu or Proto-Telugu speakers knew the word
Sūnya, then they must have also known the word Chakra. If so, why didn’t they
use that word for wheel, instead of the word for cart?
Probably, they had a preexisting set of words that are synonymous derived
from a different root.
The Wheel Sign
Common Variants of Wheel |
Telugu word for wheel is ‘Gānu’ and resembles ‘GāDi’ the
common word in Hindi for cart, carriage or vehicle. ‘GāDi’ in Telugu
means a rut made by a wheel. Gānuga is the circular oil mill with a
single wheel pulled by an ox. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that there
was an original ‘Gā’ word for cart and wheel. Further, Gam, Gva
and Gava are words that denoted travel or movement even in Vedic
lexicon.
It was for this reason I tried to read the wheel sign that occurs more
than two hundred times in Harappan specimens and an equal if not more number of
times with a few minor variations, as a symbol of carriage or cart and
phonetically as the letter ‘Ga’.
Alternatively, the words, Chakra, Chakki (Circular Grinding Stone) Charka
(Spinning Wheel) and Chara (Movement) called for a different phonetic reading, ‘Ca’.
The first three symbols in the famous signboard of Dholavira has a ‘Crab sign’
followed by two ‘Wheel signs’. It is
tempting to read the crab-sign – that resembles the cross-sign ‘Ka’ in Brahmi –
as ‘Karkataka’ and phonetic ‘Ka’, and the two wheel signs as ‘Ch-Ch’, giving us
the name of the island Cutch.
It had never occurred to me to read the wheel-sign as the letter ‘R’. Not
until Sue Sullivan’s Indus Script Dictionary forced me to.
I began very skeptically.
Let me quote Sullivan here …
“I found the value for
the wheel sign, ‘ra,’ by using an Indo-European root for ‘wheel’. (The first
syllable of the Tamil word for wheel, ‘urulai’, just did not fit as a phonetic
value). This is not to say that several other signs did not come from Dravidian
words, they obviously did. But ‘ra’ is such a common sign in Indus script, and
I often found it followed by the ‘dvi’ sign, which looks like an apostrophe.
Was I looking at the name ‘Ravi’? As it turned out dozens of seals began with
the name Ravi …”
Her derivation of Ra from IE as exemplified by ‘Rota’ failed to convince
me. The Brahmi letter for Ra is far from circular and so is the case with almost
all the North Indian IE scripts.
र – Devanagari
ર – Gujarati
ਰ – Gurmukhi
র –
Bengali
ৰ –
Assamese
But as you travel south to Deccan,
Oriya, even though an IE language has an R letter that has
elements of a circle – ର.
The two principal languages of
Deccan …
Telugu and Kannada have circular R letters – ర and ರ; and Malayalam is very close - ര
Therefore, the circular R seems to
have more affinity towards South Indian scripts, a fact that had forced me to
look for possible conformities for wheel and cart beginning with the letter R
in Telugu. One word that came immediately to my mind is ‘Rāṭnam’ (రాట్నం) or Rāṭam
in Telugu. Rāṭnam means the spinning wheel and Rangula (Colourful) Rāṭnam
means Merry-go-round. The Tamil word ‘Ural’ meaning the stone used for
wet-grinding had transformed into Rōlu (రోలు)in
Telugu – a circular depression in stone in which another heavy stone is rotated
to crush wet grain, vegetable matter etc.
Therefore the first syllable in the Tamil word for wheel ‘Urulai’, which
is common to many circular objects, can easily be seen as an R.
Rōlu (రోలు) from Neolithic Kupgal (circa 3000 BCE) |
The root probably is a cattle rearing term from early
Neolithic. The ‘post’ to which an animal is tied with a long rope, leaving it
free to move and graze in a circular area, is called ‘RāDu’ or RāTa in rural
Telugu. Here we are talking about a term possibly used even before the
invention of wheel.
The IE Ratha, meaning carriage is probably derived
from this same root.
More and more I pondered over it, more and more her identification of
wheel sign for R, looked not only plausible but certain. Now assuming that the
wheel sign is R, I began examining the common occurrence of ‘Apostrophe’ sign
after the wheel.
Apostrophe
Sullivan reads the short strokes as number signs. In all probability her
reading is right. But in the word ‘Dvi’ the operative syllable is D, not Vi.
Further, Ravi is a common name in India only in very recent times, from the 19th
Century. We don’t find the name often in the king-lists of ancient and medieval
dynasties except that of an insignificant prince of Sauvira lineage who is
killed by a stray arrow of Arjuna, and another, one of the hundred sons of Dhritarāshtra.
Surya, Aditya, Mārtanda are the earliest and often used designates of
Sun. Therefore, the profusion of seals
with ‘Ravi’ name is unconvincing.
Then what is the meaning of the apostrophe?
In Indian ‘Chandas’, Science of Metrical Poetics, the long letter is called Dvi-mātra. Mātra is the time taken for the drop of eyelid. A short syllable is
vocalized for the duration of a mātra. Whereas, a long letter called ‘deergha’ is uttered for two mātras.
Sullivan’s reading of ‘Dvi’ as a common diacritical mark will give us a value
for the compound – Wheel & Apostrophe – as Rā.
Next, I started looking for the commonest ‘R’ words.
The Royal Letter
Ranyo Asoka (Kanaganahalli - 2nd Century BCE) |
‘R’ always denoted royalty - Réges.
The Indian designates of royalty – Rājanya
– are Rāja, Rāya, Rācha, RāTa, RāNa, Rōy etc.
The earliest Brahmi inscriptions called the king ‘Rānyo’ as in the inscription on Asoka’s portrait freeze unearthed
at Kanaganahalli that calls him Rānyo Asōka. The other derivatives of the regal
R are RashTra, Rājya etc. If ‘R’
letter is commonly found in the Harappan milieu, it must have been used very
often with these above terms and not an uncommon ‘Ravi’. Further, a variation
of the apostrophe with one long and one
short stroke, usually with a relatively long inscription of three or more signs,
also followed the wheel sign. Sullivan reads this sign as ‘Nta’ and derives a
meaning Rantu (= River) from Monier-Williams. I would prefer to read this sign
as a variant of the apostrophe and take only a diacritical value.
If I read the compound Wheel & Apostrophe as Rā, my obvious next step
is to look for the signs that followed it. Where else to look for them, but
Sullivan’s ‘Dictionary’?
The most common signs that followed the
Rā compound – provided the values given by Sullivan are correct – give us the
following readings.
1.Ma
|
2. Ma
|
3. Ma
|
4. Ja
|
Rā Ma
|
Rā Ma
|
Rā Ma
|
Rā Ja
|
5. Cha
|
6. Ya
|
7. Ku
|
8. Na
|
Rā Cha
|
Rā Ya
|
Rā Ku
|
Rā Na
|
9. Na
|
10. Na
|
11. A-Ya
|
12. Ni
|
Rā Na
|
Rā Na
|
Rā A Ya
|
Rā Ni
|
13. Sh
|
14. Ta
|
15. Ash
|
16. Pri
|
Rā Sh
|
Rā Ta
|
Rā Ash
|
Rā Pri
|
The first three combinations read Rāma. The last one (16.Pri) is difficult
to read. Sullivan’s Dictionary has five inscriptions with this sequence. 13 to
15 indicate kingdom – Rāsh, RāTa and Rā-ash. There are 12 sequences in which two long strokes
followed the Rā combination. And, all of them are in turn followed by the simple
fish sign except three, tempting me to ignore the intervening long strokes and
give a reading similar to Rāma.
The incidence of Rāma sequence makes me wonder if they indicate a single
individual. Puranas end each of the Yugas with the life of a hero –
incidentally all their names end with the suffix Rāma – Bhārgava Rāma, Rāma Dāsarathi
and Bala Rāma. Rāma probably was not a proper name but a royal designation akin
to Rājah. Then, why was a fish-sign more common than the three long strokes
with the value, ‘Ja’?
Jhasha – The Mythical Fish
There are 60 or more words in Sanskrit with
the letter ‘Jha’. Most of the words with initial Jh are onomatopoetic like Jhaṇjhan,
Jharjhara etc. However, the first ‘Jha-word’ in recorded literature is Jhasha in Śatapatha Brāhmana. It is the
mythical fish that saved the first king and the seven seers from the great
flood. By the Ramayana period, the letters Jha and Ja are used interchangeably
and letter Jha fell into disuse. Probably, the fish sign had an initial value
of Jha and later the Meena-Mastya
words gave it the ‘Ma’ value. The morphological similitude between the letters –
Ma, Ya and Jha in various Brahmi derived scripts cannot go unnoticed.
M
|
Y
|
JH
|
SHH
|
|
HARAPPAN
(SULLIVAN)
|
|
|
|
|
BRAHMI
|
|
|
|
|
DEVA-
NAGARI
|
म
|
य
|
झ
|
ष
|
BENGALI
|
ম
|
য়
|
ঝ
|
ষ
|
ORIYA
|
ମ
|
ୟ
|
ଝ
|
ଷ
|
TELUGU
|
మ
|
య
|
ఝ
|
ష
|
KANNADA
|
ಮ
|
ಯ
|
ಝ
|
ಷ
|
TAMIL
|
ம
|
ய
|
ஷ
|
|
MALAYALAM
|
മ
|
യ
|
ഝ
|
ഷ
|
GUJARATI
|
મ
|
ય
|
ઝ
|
ષ
|
Some later scholar trying to decipher Rā-Jha might have misread the
spelling as Rāma and attributed it to individual proper names. The concocted
etymology of Rāma name, deriving it from the prayer mantras addressing Shiva
and Nārayana – both of a much later origin – only strengthens my view. (Reason for including Shha letter is due to its common occurrence after the Rā combination and its significance as a Regal designate in Persian).
Conclusion
Harappan society was an urban civilization. If one goes by the tradition, –
from the Puranic to the Arthashastra – the cities are governed by the kings.
Most of the Harappan inscribed material is available on the seals with a
mercantile function – probably the name of the issuer, destination or content. It
is logical that many of them are issued by the king of a particular city, a
reason for the profusion of seals with the initial sequence indicating royal
designations.
Finally, the effort and the novel path taken by Sue Sullivan are highly
commendable and I am sure most of the values – phonetic and symbolic – are accurate
and it is truly a major stride in the right direction in cracking the code that
has been eluding the scholars for more than a century.
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