For 4,500 years she survived, standing exactly the way the artist had crafted her. A raised head, a straight neck, hands on her waist, arms adorned with bangles, and not a single shred of clothing that could even be called nominal. There was no hesitation, shame, or inhibition in her standing in this tribhanga (three-bend) posture; for 4,500 years, she has always appeared full of confidence.
In 2023, the Government of India chose her as the mascot for the International Museum Expo. This mascot, "inspired" by the 'Dancing Girl' of Mohenjo-daro, wore pink clothes. It was claimed that this was her 'contemporary avatar'. Even back then, an uproar ensued, and questions were raised about whether we are presenting history or rewriting it to suit our convenience.
Just a few days ago, while we were all busy discussing the biryani of 370, looking at lists of new movies, or watching videos of the Prime Minister at a summit, right in the midst of it all, the torso of the 'Dancing Girl' was shaded in the NCERT Class 9 textbook so that that portion wouldn't be visible. Then, a hornet's nest of controversy was stirred up, and eventually, the book was reprinted with the original image. No clarification was offered regarding whatever happened—why was that section darkened? Why was an attempt made to cover it? And so on.
We didn't even have the honesty to clarify what we are doing to the true identity of the 'Dancing Girl'—who has become our identity and has remained exactly as she is for 4,500 years.
Mohenjo-daro's 'Dancing Girl' is a statue just 10.5 centimeters tall and four and a half thousand years old, and she survived the collapse of an entire civilization, colonial excavations, the partition of the country, and even the drying up of the roaring river (the Indus River) that once flowed through that very culture. Yet, she could not withstand modern bureaucracy, which on two separate occasions attempted to prove that the world is still not ready to see her exactly as she is. Following public outcry, NCERT reversed its decision. However, the mindset behind this entire episode remains completely intact.
The question behind both these incidents is not whether a Bronze Age statue should wear clothes in a textbook. The real question is: why does modern society constantly try to edit, rewrite, and alter the past?
Every generation feels it is correcting history; very few generations can accept that, in reality, they are censoring history. The vocabulary keeps changing—decency, sensitivity, contemporary values, cultural appropriateness, and so on—but the instinct remains practically the same. Whenever a creation features the human body, nobody bothers to look at its context. We do not want to understand anything; we just want to change it.
Do not assume that only we Indians have such inhibitions and turn up our noses. When Michelangelo's statue of 'David' was unveiled in Florence, people immediately rushed to cover its nudity as well. Following this incident, the Vatican launched a systematic campaign across Italy to cover all nude figures in religious art. Today, art historians know this as the 'Fig Leaf Campaign'. When Queen Victoria was gifted a replica of the statue of David, it came with a fig leaf that could be 'hung' on the statue whenever needed.
The details vary, but the discomfort is identical. Statues were covered all over churches, Victorian England covered all its sculptures, and 21st-century developing India covers a Bronze Age statue. The centuries are different, but the mindset is exactly the same. Where did this awkwardness regarding our heritage come from? Or did we, having become modern, allow it to creep in and then decorate it with the beautiful plume of 'culture'?
Four and a half thousand years ago, neither the creator who sculpted the 'Dancing Girl' nor the society around them was bothered by the statue's appearance; they felt no discomfort. The Indus Valley Civilization or Harappan culture is, in truth, an extraordinary mystery and wonder of history. We have still not fully deciphered its script.
We do not know the names of its rulers. We possess no epic, diplomatic decree, or war chronicle that can explain the mindset of that civilization. Yet, even today, when we learn, study, or hear about that civilization's town planning, water systems, drainage systems, weights and measures, and trade networks, we are left utterly astonished. It feels as though the development back then was far more solid than today's development.
What is even more noteworthy is that while many ancient civilizations feature statues of victorious kings, the Harappan culture does not; there is no clear symbol of personality cults here. Yes, a bearded man's bust, labeled as the 'Priest-King', has been found. Yet, whenever the Harappan culture is mentioned, this 'Dancing Girl' is the first thing that comes to mind.
A young woman cast in bronze, whose appearance is brimming with confidence. She harbors no unnecessary inhibition or shame. She stands striking a pose, not making a statement, nor performing any antics. She is simply standing peacefully. We need to ponder this entire matter.
When we, as a society or an authority, decide to dress up this statue in its pictures, we are not just making a visual alteration. We are passing judgment on the very culture that created this woman, the culture in which she existed. We are making a completely unnecessary attempt to correct a "mistake" made by a creator four and a half thousand years ago. It is as if we are trying to say that something was incomplete in the original creation. A masterpiece that remained unchanged for four and a half thousand years apparently needed the meddling of 21st-century bureaucracy. It takes years for the bureaucracy to fix the crumbling affairs of the system, but by "correcting" the errors of Mohenjo-daro's artist, they feel they have protected culture and civilization.
The irony is that the citizens, who make all sorts of demands to the authorities, had never demanded to alter the statue's appearance. There was no nationwide protest, no public movement. Yet, the issue was discussed, someone made a suggestion, someone implemented it, and someone stamped it with approval. Did a random whim in someone's mind (who probably thought they were being brilliant) and their personal discomfort turn into institutional policy? Good grief, if work on basic amenities happened this fast, it wouldn't take us long at all to transition from a developing to a developed country.
People will always have problems with all sorts of things. If someone wears a saree, it's a problem; if someone wears shorts, it's a problem; if a man does household chores, it's a problem; if he doesn't do household chores, it's a problem, and so on. The point is: how can someone's personal discomfort become an administrative procedure?
One thing needs to be clearly understood here. The controversy was not about nudity, but about control. Societies or civilizations are not afraid of the human body. They are afraid of a body that falls outside the margins of the narratives approved by them (the so-called polite society). The 'Dancing Girl' is not an embodiment of motherhood, a goddess, or a wife; she requires no one's approval or acceptance. She simply is. And perhaps that is precisely why a woman surviving for thousands of years in a sculpture without fitting into any specific role triggers such absurd, baseless reactions.
Here again lies a long-standing, universally accepted irony. India is the land of the Kamasutra; people from all over the world come to see Khajuraho here. There are so many creations in our museums that are far bolder than the 'Dancing Girl', and we proudly accept them as our cultural heritage and present them to the world. And we should; they are our assets. So then, how contradictory and misplaced does this 'Dancing Girl' controversy seem?
Every few years, we try to cover up our own heritage, try to run away from it. On one hand, we respect ancient art and culture—it is our pride—but the moment the acceptance of that same body enters contemporary discourse, we start feeling uneasy. Clarifications are demanded, corrections are suggested, and attempts to cover it up begin.
We have plenty of horrific realities to feel uneasy about. In 2023, more than 4.7 lakh crimes against women were recorded in India. Thousands of cases of rape, domestic violence, and child abuse wait for justice for years. By the time this is being written, many more such news stories will have started gaining traction. While a committee wants to cover the body of a bronze statue, committees are formed for the long-delayed justice of living women, yet no conclusion is ever reached. When will we understand that this controversy isn't just about an image in a textbook?
Our only concern is what she has worn, or what she hasn't worn. A thousands-of-years-old statue can make people anxious at an institutional level, but figures of violence or harassment against women ultimately end up gathering dust on a shelf in report files. We know how to preserve statues, and we also know how 'our' woman should be presented, but when it comes to how we behave in reality, we—our society—fall short. There is an urgent need to ask what we are prioritizing.
By the way:
During visits to museums, archaeological sites, and historical monuments, another thing vividly catches the eye. It is true that we talk about respect for history in front of ancient sculptures, but often, the anxiety of museum curators or security guards is heightened by visitors who believe it is their right to touch nude sculptures. Because there is no way to reform the people, are we to cover the statues?
By covering the statues, you yourself provide proof of where your attention goes and how it goes. Our society gets uncomfortable with any woman who is comfortable with herself, whether she is a statue or a living, breathing woman. For four and a half thousand years, the 'Dancing Girl' never needed anyone's permission to stand with her hands on her waist, but today, in the 21st century, it became a problem for us.
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