A section from the journey

What the Seals Might Say

We cannot read the seals, but we can watch how they were used. Many were pressed into soft clay to seal a bundle or a jar. So the writing was probably practical: a name, a place, an owner, a count. This is careful guessing, built on where the seals turn up and what they were paired with.

If we cannot read the writing, you might think we can say nothing at all. But that is not quite true. We can watch what the seals did. We can see where they were found and what they were used with. From that, we can guess gently at their purpose, even while their words stay shut.

Look first at the shape of a . It is small and flat, with the signs cut backward into the stone. That is the mark of a stamp. You press it into something soft, and it leaves the picture and the signs the right way round. So these were made to be pressed, not just to be read.

And we have found what they pressed. Here and there, archaeologists turn up little lumps of hardened clay with a seal's print on them. Such lumps were used to close a sack, or a jar, or a bundle tied with cord. A seal pressed into the clay said, in effect, this is sealed, and this is whose it is.

Where do these sealed goods turn up? Along the paths of trade. Some Indus seals and sealed bundles have even been found far away, in the cities of Mesopotamia, where Indus traders carried beads, timber, and cotton. The seal travelled with the goods, marking them across great distances.

So what might the signs say? The most reasonable guess is something plain and useful. A name, perhaps. The name of a person, a family, or a workshop. Or a place. Or what was inside the package, and how much. This is the sort of writing every trading world needs, to keep track of who owns what.

And the animal carved above the signs, so often the proud one-horned bull, may have meant something too. Some scholars think each animal stood for a group, a clan, or a kind of office, the way a badge or a crest might today. But again, this is reasoning, not reading. We are watching the seal at work and guessing from its habits.

Notice how careful we are being. We have not read one word. We have only said where the seals were used and reasoned softly about why. That is the honest line. We can speak about the job the writing did. We cannot yet speak its language.

Think of a stamp, a signature, or a mark you use that says "this is mine" or "this is true." People have always needed to mark what belongs to them and whom to trust. Where in your own day do you leave such a mark?