JOST A MON

The idle ramblings of a Jack of some trades, Master of none

Nov 14, 2010

Equindia

You may recall that Afanasii Nikitin came to India in the 15th century trying to make his fortune after a concatenation of circumstances resulted in him losing all his worldly goods. He heard that there was a big demand for horses in India, and thought to bring along a colt to sell. 

Of course, he was absolutely right. Horses from Arabia or Persia were most highly coveted among the kingdoms of the subcontinent. There were Indian varieties available, termed kuhi (from the Northeast of the country), but the tatari (Central Asian) and the bahri ('from across the Seas' - or Arab/Persian) were better rated. 

It is interesting that when Benjamin of Tudela toured these lands in the 12th century, he made no mention of the equine trade. Scarcely a century later, Marco Polo was complaining of the way Indians treated their steeds,  pointing out that they had hardly any skilled horse-keepers. The Gulf tradesmen was smart - they were happy enough to export horses, but not the breeders or trainers that might create a competitive breeding business in India.

It was not just the lack of horsekeepers in the subcontinent that caused such a toll in the livestock. The climate was barely conducive to the health of the Gulf horse. And so over time, the import demand for horses continued to rise, much to the glee of the Gulf traders.

The volume of trade was staggering. Chinese manuscripts and Ilkhanid chronicles, besides Marco Polo's texts, especially are illuminating in this regard. One recounted story (by the Ilkhanid historian Rashid ad-Din Fazlallah) is about the trade with the Pandyan kingdom (Ma'bar, as he called it):
...the brother of Shaykh Jamal ad-Din, ruler of Kish, Malik Taqi Allah, who was an important official in Ma'bar decided to acquire 1,400 horses from his brother’s stud farms annually and send them to Ma'bar. Additionally, 10,000 horses should be bought from other places in the Gulf as Qatif, Lahsa, Bahrayn, Hormuz, Kalahat and others. The price for one horse should be 220 dinars and the merchants should be compensated for any loss or death of the horses. The annual price for these 10,000 horses was thus 2,200,000 dinars. In the historiography of Vassaf almost the same text can be found. At first glance this transaction seems to be a deal between the two brothers at the expense of the treasury of the kingdom of Ma'bar, whose rulers, however, had to consent. According to the above mentioned numbers, if we make the generous calculation that 100 horses could have been loaded onto one ship, we could conclude that at least 100 “horse-ships” annually took to the sea from the Persian Gulf to Ma'bar! 1
The price of the horse multiplied crazily once it arrived in India. Ibn Battuta talks some numbers: the best bahri horse was valued at up to 4000 tanka, as compared to the middling tatari, which cost only about 100 tanka. The top-class bahris were not for war - most were kept as luxury items coveted by the rich; only the tataris were destined to be warhorses.

References
1. Ralph Kauz, "Horse Exports from the Persian Gulf until the Arrival of the Portuguese", in The Indian Ocean, Southeast Asia, and the Maritime World, 2009.

Sep 24, 2009

Geological Jingoism

Nationalists of every ilk and hue like to bolster their legitimacy and aggrandise their putative nations by hearkening to ancient glories. They construct legends of power, which are then used to promote contemporary ideologies. Look at the Balkans, or the Caucasus, or the Middle-East, or the Communist world – every one of the peoples of these benighted lands insists on primacy based on some or the other myth. These are propagated not only by political means, but also by radical changes in the educational curriculum, the demonisation of plurality in culture and public discourse, and, of course, by the radical rewriting of history.

We in India are no different. Consider the Tamils.

Two ideologies combine in southeast India. One is that of the independence and hoariness of Tamil language and culture as opposed to that of the Sanskritised remainder of the country. The other is a class and caste struggle against so-called Brahminical (and hence Sanskritic) domination. The curious aspect of the Tamilian wish for differentiation goes beyond the usual historical whitewash, however. The promoters of Tamil exceptionalism have co-opted pseudo-science and discredited geological theories. The researcher Sumathi Ramaswamy investigated this, and in 2004 published a book titled The Lost Land of Lemuria: Fabulous Geographies, Catastrophic Histories.

So what is the connection with geology? In 1864, Philip Sclater wrote up a putative explanation for the remarkable similarities between the lemurs of Madagascar and certain small primates as far apart as the African continent, India, and the Malay peninsula. As it was unlikely that lemurs could swim such large distances as these various landmasses, they would most likely have walked. Sclater therefore proposed a hypothetical supercontinent that he named Lemuria, which he said encompassed these disparate lands, and later collapsed and split up and separated, thereby sundering the original primate families into their descendants that we see today. Others before him had suggested similar theories, but he named this original supercontinent, and that evocative name suddenly entered popular discourse. By the 1880s, people like Friedrich Engels were talking of Lemuria as the land where anthropoid apes gained intelligence, and even H. G. Wells’ popular Outline of History in 1919 mentioned it as the possible birthplace of humankind. Lemuria became textbook fact, although by then geologists themselves had largely abandoned the idea.

Sumathi Ramaswamy points out that Lemuria attracted the attention of Tamil nationalists in the 1880s. There was a widely popular cycle of tales of Katalakol, the destruction of the ancient Tamil people by a terrible deluge. The Tamils, of course, dwelt in vastly greater splendour before the coming of the flood, suzerains of a large homeland called Kumari Kandam, a golden land of poetry and wealth that was reduced thereafter to the peninsular domains they now inhabited. Attracted by the Lemuria hypothesis, some Tamil writers conflated Kumari Kandam with Illemuria Kandam, and now, almost a century later, many commoners in Tamil Nadu believe that their myths of grandeur are corroborated by Western science, and hence even more legitimate.

While academic historians in Tamil Nadu do not give much credence to this ‘theory’, politicians have found it useful to propagate the tale, either through various faculties of Tamil Studies or, worse, in vernacular education – Tamil-medium textbooks of history and science that are taught in government-run schools across the state. Because Lemuria is supposedly the ancestral land of the first humans, the story promoted here is that the Tamils are the original, oldest people, and the Tamil language is the linguistic forefather of every language on earth, including the reviled Sanskrit that subsequently dominated most of India. In 1971, the first textbook was written to educate the little Tamilians in this story. As R. Nedunchezhian, the education minister, observed at the time: ‘When we say history, we mean from … the time of Lemuria that was seized by the ocean.’ According to this article (reviewing Sumathi Ramaswamy’s book) in the newspaper The Hindu, it appears that as late as 2005, the same story was being peddled to students in the state.

Check out Ted Nield’s Supercontinent: Ten Billion Years in the Life of Our Planet for the true story of Lemuria and our current understanding of geology.