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pplpod — The Pashupati Seal Inkblot Test. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.
Hey, this is Byard Winthrop, founder of American Giant. I started this company because I was fed up with cheap clothes that didn't last and a system that ship manufacturing overseas. We believed we could still make incredible hoodies, t-shirts, and pants right here in the US, with American cotton, American factories, and people earning real wages. That's what American Giant stands for, building clothes that actually last, get 20% off your first order when you use promo code giant20 at American-giant.com. That's 20% off when you use code giant20 at American-giant.com. Welcome to Today's Deep Dive. We are so glad you're here because we spent the week coming through this just massive stack of sources for you. Oh, yeah. So many sources. Early 20th century excavation logs. Some really dense, modern, linguistic paper. Decades of historical critiques, yeah. And we did all of that to unpack a single, tiny object.
Right. And when we say tiny, I mean, it's really small. It could easily sit right in the palm of your hand. Yeah, exactly. Yet this little piece of carved stone has sparked, well, one of the most intense enduring archaeological debates of the last century. It really has. It's a remarkable piece of history. What we're looking at today is essentially a masterclass in human bias. Right. It forces us to examine this concept called historical projection, which is, you know, the tendency we have to look at the past and unconsciously project our own modern cultural lenses or later religious developments right onto ancient artifacts. And that projection is really the overarching theme of the sources we're looking at today. Our mission for this deep dive is to explore what is commonly known as the poshapadi seal. The poshapadi seal, yeah. It's this stunning artifact from the ancient Indesvali civilization. And it basically serves as an archaeological inkplot test. That is the perfect way to describe it. Right. Because however historians or linguists or archaeologists choose to look at it,
the seal seems to just reflect their own preexisting theories right back at them. Okay, let's unpack this. What exactly is the physical object? And where do we find it? Well, the baseline facts are fairly straightforward. This is a stamp seal made of steatite, which is basically soapstone, right? Exactly, commonly known as soapstone. It was excavated from Mohenjo Daro, which was one of the major urban centers of the Indesvali civilization located in modern day Pakistan. Yep. The excavation took place in either 1928 or 1929. The records are a little fuzzy. Yeah, a little fuzzy on the exact year. But it was led by the archaeologist Ernest McKay. And at the time, the region was under British rule. So the dig was managed by the archaeological survey of India. McKay dated the seal to the intermediate eye period. Which means what exactly in terms of years? It means it was carved somewhere around 2350 to 2000 BCE. Wow. So we were dealing with something over 4000 years old. Now, to understand why this specific seal matters to you,
out of the thousands of seals recovered from the Indesvali, we really have to look at the sheer weight of the theories attached to it. The theories are heavy. Very heavy. This singular artifact has heavily influenced how scholars understand the historical development of religion in South Asia. Specifically, the ancient roots of Hinduism. Right. And yet, despite that influence, almost every single interpretation of what this seal actually depicts is fiercely contested. Which is exactly why we need to look closely at the physical details before we get into those theories. I mean, if we don't know what is actually carved into the stone, the debates won't make any sense at all. Let's do it. If you were holding this artifact right now, and like we said, it's tiny, just about an inch and a half wide. Yeah, 3.56 by 3.53 centimeters to be exact. And only 7.6 millimeters thick. Right. So a tiny little square. The first thing you'd notice isn't the background. It's the posture of the figure in the center. The figure is seated on a low platform or a dius. The legs are bent at the knees, but the heels are pulled in to touch each other,
with the toes pointing straight downwards. The arms are extended outward, resting lightly on the knees, and the thumbs are facing away from the body. And the sheer density of the carving in that tiny, you know, 7-millimeter thick square is just incredible. It's so intricate. Very. The figure's arms are almost entirely covered in bangles. There are eight small ones and three large ones on each arm, plus there's a double band wrapped around the waist and several layered necklaces covering the chest. There's a lot of jewelry. A lot. But the element that immediately draws the eye is the head. The figure wears this very tall, elaborate head dress with a central fan-shaped structure, and that is flanked by two large, distinctly striated horns. And the figure isn't alone on this seal either. There is an entire menagerie surrounding them. On one side, you have an elephant and a tiger. On the other side, a water buffalo and an Indian rhinoceros. And then right beneath the platform, there are two deer, or possibly ibexes.
They are looking backwards over their shoulders, positioned so their curved horns almost meet right in the center. What's fascinating here is the post-excavation history of this little stone, which is a story of literal historical division. Oh, this part is wild. It really is. Initially, the fines from Mohenjadara were taken to the Lahore Museum. But they were later moved to New Delhi because the British Raj was planning a new central imperial museum. But then, of course, we get to 1947. Yes. The monumental partition of India. Right. And suddenly, all these 4,000-year-old artifacts become a matter of international custody. Pakistan naturally requested the return of the Harappan artifacts excavated on their newly established territory and India initially refused. Which led to a rather tense negotiation. It eventually resulted in an agreement to split the approximately 12,000 excavated objects equally between the two countries. 50-50. It's exactly 50-50. And they executed the split with a literalism that is almost hard to believe. They took ancient necklaces and girdles,
sat down in a room, and separated the individual beads into two piles. One for India, one for Pakistan. Yes. Literally splitting beads. Can you just imagine the bureaucratic absurdity of that? Right. Two government officials sitting in a museum backroom somewhere, dealing out millennial necklace beads like a deck of cards. It's crazy, but it highlights how desperately both new nations wanted to claim this ancient heritage. But when it came to dividing the most celebrated sculpted figures, they obviously couldn't split a stone carving in half. Right, you can't snap a substance on sealant too. Exactly. So, Pakistan, as foreign received the famous priest king figure, and in exchange, India retained the iconic dancing girl statue and they kept the Paschupati seal. So, today, it resides in the National Museum of India in New Delhi. Okay, so with the custody battle settled, we have to dive into what scholars actually think this intricately carved, incredibly contested piece of soapstone represents. And to do that, we have to start with John Marshall. Right, he was the director general of the Archaeological Survey of India at the time.
And when Marshall looked at this seal, he established a foundational interpretation that would basically dominate the field for the next half century. It was the gold standard. It was. He claimed this figure was an early prototype of the major Hindu god Shiva, specifically in his form as Paschupati, which translates to the Lord of Animals. Now, Marshall's argument wasn't just a shot in the dark. It was a highly structured interpretation of the visual evidence. When he looked at the central figure, he was immediately struck by the face or rather the faces. He interpreted the carving as having three distinct faces, one facing forward and two in profile, with a fourth possibly implied at the back, which immediately makes you think of Shiva, considering later Hindu art frequently portrays Shiva with three or five faces. Yes. And then Marshall looked at that massive horned headdress and drew a direct line to Shiva's characteristic emblem, the Trisola or the Trident. So that's the head. What about the body? Well, he didn't stop at the head.
He analyzed that very specific sitting posture you described earlier. Marshall identified it as a typical yoga attitude, specifically a pose called Mulebhantasana. Okay. Because Shiva is traditionally regarded as a Mahayogi. You know, the great Yogi or the Prince of Yogi's Marshall, saw this physical posture as an undeniable direct link. And other scholars, like Thomas McEveli, supported this by noting that this specific squatting position with joint heels is actually described in much later texts as a posture used with meditation and fasting to attain infinite knowledge. Then you add in the surrounding menagerie. I mean, if Shiva is known par excellence as the Lord of Animals or Pasha Potty, it makes perfect sense to Marshall that this central yogic figure is surrounded by wild jungle beasts and deer. Right. It all fits together for him. But there was one more detail Marshall pointed out, which turned out to be incredibly controversial. He believed the figure was is a phallic. Meaning it was depicted with an erect phallus. Exactly.
And Marshall linked this directly to Shiva's historical and religious association with Alinga. This specific analysis by Marshall was monumentally influential. For at least two generations, this proto-Shiva interpretation was just the accepted reality for archaeologists and historians. It was canon. It was. It profoundly shaped how everyone understood the origins of Hinduism. Even scholars who later wrote scathing critiques of Marshall's interpretation had to admit that his view was the default baseline. You simply could not discuss in this valley religion without debating the proto-Shiva theory. But as we know, historical consensus is usually just an invitation for someone to take a closer look. Here's where it gets really interesting. Oh yeah. A scholar named Herbert Sullivan came along, scrutinized that tiny seal and proposed a massive counter theory. Yeah. He has a fundamental question. What if Marshall and everyone else were entirely wrong about the gender of the figure? That's a huge pin. Massive. What if this wasn't a male god at all, but a female goddess?
This brings up an important point about that specific controversial detail we just mentioned. Sullivan made a brilliant observation about the supposedly erect phallus. He suggested that it might simply be a misinterpretation of the figure's clothing. A wardrobe malfunction of historical proportions. Exactly. Sullivan argued it was actually just the dangling end of a waistband or a girdle. And to be completely fair to the historical record, even Marshall himself had conceded in his original writings that a waistband was a distinct possibility. But if you assume it's a waistband, how does Sullivan get all the way to a female goddess? He didn't just guess. He looked at the broader context of Indus Valley art. He zoomed out. Right. When you look at the thousands of terracotta figurines recovered in these sites, a very consistent pattern emerges. The male figurines are almost universally depicted completely nude. Right. And then you look back at the Pashpati seal. The figure is practically dripping in jewelry. Eight small bangles, three large ones on each arm, a double band around the waist,
multiple heavy necklaces. It's definitely a look. It is. Sullivan pointed out that this extensive use of adornment is entirely characteristic of the female terracotta figurines found across the civilization. So if you follow the fashion rules established by their own artisans, this heavily-bejeweled proto-sheva suddenly looks a lot more like a powerful female deity. It's a perfect example of that historical projection we talked about at the beginning. Marshall, operating in the early 20th century, saw a powerful, central religious figure and likely defaulted to assuming it was male, forcing the visual evidence to fit a proto-sheva narrative. And the challenges to Marshall's vision didn't stop at gender either. Doris Shrinivasan, a professor of Indian studies, offered a reinterpretation that completely dismantled Marshall's reading of the figure's head. Oh right, the faces. Yeah, remember how Marshall was certain he saw three human faces? While Shrinivasan looked at the exact same millimeter of carved stone and saw something completely different, she argued that the lateral projections on the sides of the head
aren't human faces in profile at all. Instead, she proposed they are lateral cow-like ears. So not three human faces, but one single face with predominant bovine features. Precisely. Shrinivasan drew visual comparisons between this seal and other Indus Valley artifacts, like a horned mask from Mohenjodaro and a terracotta bull from Kalabangan. Based on these links, she suggested that the figure isn't a human gut at all, but rather a divine buffalo man. Which introduces a massive paradigm shift because it perfectly aligns with scholars who argue we should be looking at the Indus Valley civilization through a Dravidian context, rather than a Vedic context. Yes. And for those catching up on the terminology, this is essentially a debate over lineage. The Dravidian context links the Indus people to the indigenous ancestors of modern south Indians, while the Vedic context attempts to link them to the later arriving Indo-Aryan cultures that produce the Vedas. That cultural framework changes everything because then you get a scholar like
Arif Hiltabital who took this Dravidian approach, and he noticed something crucial about the horns on the headdress. He pointed out that they are distinctly buffalo horns, not bull horns. That distinction is vital. It really is. Because the people of the Indus Valley were intimately familiar with both animals, and their artisans would not have confused the two. A Protochiva with bull horns might make sense as a prefiguration of Shiva's later connection to his bull mount Nandi. But a Protochiva with buffalo horns. Hiltabital argued that requires far too much explanatory gymnastics to be credible. So if we follow Hiltabital's logic, and we have a buffalo figure in a Dravidian context, who are we looking at? Exactly. Hiltabital leans into the Durga mythos here, suggesting this could be an early prototype of Mahisha Surah, the famous buffalo demon who serves as the great adversary to the Hindu goddess Durgha. Wow. And there is a compelling piece of evidence right there on the seal, the tiger. In the Hindu pantheon, Durga is famously depicted riding a tiger or a lion into battle.
Hiltabital also theorized that the surrounding animals aren't just a random jungle scene, but might represent Vahannas. Vahannas being the animal mounts or vehicles for the gods. Right. Animal mounts for deities guarding the four cardinal directions. But the deeper you go into the Dravidian interpretations, the further you get from a religious context entirely. The American archaeologist Walter Fair Service attempted to systematically translate the indescript, located at the top of the seal. That's always dangerous ground since it's undecided. Yeah, but he tried. Through his linguistic analysis, he concluded it was a Dravidian inscription that didn't identify a god at all. Instead, Fair Service argued the figure was a paramount clan chief named Anil, who was representing four distinct clans, symbolized by the four surrounding animals. That grounds the seal in completely secular political power, rather than divine worship. But the interpretations keep branching out. The Finnish endologist Asco Parpola brought a totally different geographic perspective. He did.
Parpola looked at the famous yogic posture that squatting position with the joint heels and suggested it might not be yoga at all. He argued it could simply be an imitation of the way Proto-Elamites represented seated bulls in their art. The Proto-Elamites being an ancient civilization located in what is now a southwestern Iran. Exactly. We know there were extensive, robust, cross-cultural trade networks between the Indus Valley and Ancient Iran, so it makes perfect sense that artistic motifs and symbols would travel along those same routes. That makes a lot of sense. Yeah. And Parpola also attempted his own translation of the inscription and concluded the figure represents a servant of an aquatic deity, possibly related to the Hindu god Varuna. He pointed out that aquatic themes, like the Great Bath at Mohenjo Daro, were highly prominent in Indus society. So let's just recap the sheer variety what we have here. From the exact sincarving, we have a Proto-Shiva, a female goddess, a divine buffalo demon, a secular clan chief, and a servant of an aquatic deity connected to ancient Iranian trade routes.
It's dizzying. It is. And just to prove how flexible the evidence is, there's even a purely Vedic interpretation from a scholar named MVN Krishna Rao. He looked at the seal and decided the figure was actually the Hindu fire god Indra. Rao's methodology is a fascinating example of how far scholars will go to make the evidence fit their framework. He utilized the sort of ancient linguistic math. Linguistic math is the perfect way to describe it. Because Rao argued that you could selectively ignore some of the animals on the seal. Just ignore them. Just ignore them. He said you can ignore the tiger because the art is in droop much larger than the rest, and you can ignore the deer because they are shoved under the platform. Then, he took the first foam, the first sound of the remaining animals names in ancient Sanskrit. He combined those sounds with the word Nara, meaning man, and managed to spell out the word Makhanasana, which just happens to be an epithet of the god Indra. It perfectly illustrates the length to which interpretation can be stretched.
We have highly credentialed scholars looking at the exact same a millimeter wide carvings, and walking away with completely contradictory conclusions based on linguistic puzzles, comparative anatomy, and the selective reading of ancient texts. And we should say here it is important to remember as we discuss these theories that we are simply reporting on the scholarship. We aren't endorsing any specific religious viewpoint, or taking aside in these complex political and historical debates. Absolutely not. We are just looking at the source material. So what does this all mean? How are you, the listener, supposed to make sense of a situation where the smartest people in the room look at a single piece of soapstone, and see a dozen entirely different realities? If we connect this to the bigger picture, it serves as a massive cautionary tale for archaeology and history. Modern scholars in the 21st century have really started to urge extreme caution when interpreting this seal. Yeah, pulling back on the reins a bit. For sure. The American endologist Wendy Donager points out something fundamental that cuts through a lot of
the noise. She says that just because there is a visual resemblance between this ancient figure and much later Hindu images of Shiva, that does not mean the indisimages are the source. Right. It doesn't mean they held the same meaning to the people who carved them 4,000 years ago. It's that projection again. It would be like a future historian finding a modern peace sign carved into a rock, and assuming the people who made it were protesting nuclear weapons, simply because the shape is the same. That's a great analogy. The shape might survive, but the cultural context is everything. Precisely. And the scholar Jeffrey Samuel highlights the real danger of this vacuum of knowledge. He states plainly that these multiple highly specific and beautifully argued interpretations certainly cannot all be right. They just structurally can't be. No. The harsh reality is that we actually know very little with absolute certainty about the religious practices of the Indus Valley civilization. Because of that blank space in our history, scholars have an overwhelming tendency to take later religious practices,
whether they are Vedic, Dravidian, Tantric, or otherwise, and project them backward into the past to fill the void. Nature of horrors of vacuum and so do historians. Exactly. Samuel argues that relying on later practices to read this material is of little to no use for constructing an actual, accurate history of what was happening in Mahindjadaro. It is incredibly humbling. We want so badly to understand our past to draw a clean, straight line from ancient beliefs to modern culture. But the Pashapati seal refuses to give us that easy answer. It really does. While we may never definitively know the true identity of the horned figure sitting among the animals, it remains a brilliant case study. It shows us exactly how we search for meaning, how we argue over our origins, and how our own deeply held perspectives shape what we see when we brush the dart off an ancient artifact. It is the ultimate historical mirror. But before we finish today's deep dive, I want to leave you with one final detail from the sources to mull over. Oh, this is a good one. We've spent all this time debating the figure, analyzing the horns,
and trying to identify the animals. But at the very top of the seal, floating directly above the central figure, there is a string of seven indescript symbols. Right at the top. Because the indescript remains completely undecified, those seven symbols almost certainly hold the actual literal answer to what the seal means and who this figure is, it's written right there mocking us and we simply cannot read it. So frustrating. It is. But what is truly fascinating is the arrangement of those symbols. If you look closely, the artisan who carved the seal thousands of years ago was trying to fit them all in a neat horizontal line across the top. But they misjudged the space. You ran out of room. They ran out of room. Because of that very human error, the seventh and final symbol is awkwardly displaced, shoved downwards, just to make it fit on the stone. It makes you wonder if we ever do crack the indescript, will those seven squished symbols finally settle a century of intense religious and geopolitical debate? Or will they just tell us the name of an everyday merchant who is terrible at planning his spacing?
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