The government of Sindh recently launched a call for bids to enlist the services of seasoned event managers to help organize a week-long commemoration of Mohenjo-Daro’s centenary next month in London and Paris. However, in these tough times, concerns are mounting about the financial implications of such an extravaganza. If the objective of these planned events is to highlight this world heritage site recognized by UNESCO and to attract international support and financial assistance for its preservation, then it is crucial that the provincial and federal governments not only express their resolve to protect Mohenjo-Daro but also demonstrate their commitment with tangible and concerted actions.
Regrettably, apart from UNESCO’s frantic efforts to salvage the site after it was hit by heavy rain, there is little evidence on the ground of governmental resolve or urgency. It is heartbreaking to see Mohenjo-Daro, once a thriving metropolis of the Indus Valley Civilization that dates back to 5000 years ago, in a pitiable state, besieged by an array of natural and anthropogenic threats. The site is grappling with two mortal dangers: waterlogging and salinity, which have been exacerbated by a rapidly changing climate, especially after last year’s monsoons that dumped a record-breaking 1,400 millimetres of rain on it. Fortunately, the heavy rains damaged only its outer protective layers, leaving the main structure intact, though much weakened.
The ancient drainage and water management system that Mohenjo-Daro had in place is credited for its miraculous survival, as it saved the site from complete inundation, while the adjacent city of Larkana was submerged under four feet of water. Given the perennial shortage of financial, human, and technical resources, and the official neglect, it is a miracle that Mohenjo-Daro has managed to outlast a prediction made by conservationist H.J. Plenderleith in 1964 that all the excavations would crumble within the next 20 to 30 years if nothing was done to preserve them.
But how long can Mohenjo-Daro endure given the deteriorating climatic conditions and the lack of essential measures to safeguard it? Thankfully, UNESCO experts, along with local scholars and volunteers, have formulated a two-pronged strategy that involves a three-year rehabilitation plan and an urgent four-month stabilization project. It remains to be seen whether the culture department will redouble its efforts to complete the stabilization work well before the onset of the 2023 monsoon, which could trigger further flooding, or whether it will succumb to its usual complacency and leave the site to fend for itself until the next calamity. The fear of official neglect arises when one examines the disheartening history of the efforts made to conserve Mohenjo-Daro.
Mohenjo-Daro faced less of a threat to its existence during its excavation in 1922, as the water table was around five meters below ground level at the time. However, the water table started to rise after the construction of the Sukkur Barrage and its tributaries in the 1930s. Instead of finding a permanent solution to waterlogging, the federal government chose to ban further excavation at the site. In 1973, a master plan was developed with the help of UNESCO to combat waterlogging and salinity, but little progress has been made on the ground.
The government showed some action after Mohenjo-Daro was declared a Unesco World Heritage Site in 1980, and under a multistage rehabilitation plan, several tube wells and piezometers were installed in the periphery of Mohenjo-Daro to reduce and measure the groundwater. However, this project also failed to produce the desired results. Consequently, the 1973 Unesco master plan was again revised in 2006, but the exercise, too, proved a damp squib. Mohenjo-Daro is today literally ‘sinking’ as the groundwater swells up, reaching just 1.5m below the surface in summer. The department does not seem too perturbed: on a recent visit, a Unesco team found that only one out of 39 piezometers was functional.
To be fair, preserving Mohenjo-Daro and other antiquities was the responsibility of the federal government until 2010 when the antiquities were devolved to the provinces as a result of the 18th Amendment. The government failed to protect the ancient heritage, probably because it was pursuing a state policy that aimed at promoting an ‘Islamic identity’ rather than recognising the multi-ethno-cultural composition of the state.
This misguided policy had carried on even after it led in some ways to the dismemberment of the country in 1971, albeit in a more nuanced manner. Thus, Article 28 of the 1973 Constitution merely concedes the fundamental right of a section of citizens having a distinct language, script or culture “to preserve and promote the same”, but it does not saddle the state with a ‘duty’ to protect the culture and its constituents. On the contrary, Article 49 of the Indian constitution categorically places the state under a compelling “duty” to “protect every monument, or place, or object of artistic or historical interest”.
However, statutory protection has been accorded to culture and antiquities, but like the federal government, the provincial government, too, has paid little heed to its statutory responsibilities. A case in point is Shikarpur — a 500-year-old city. It once boasted 1,163 heritage sites ‘protected’ under the law. Among them were the exotic havelis (mansions), which proudly displayed their sublime architecture and unique decorations — “the carved doors, colonnaded porticos, timber-carved screens, figurative, floral and geometric motifs, iconographic representations”, and so on. Much of that heritage has been demolished, thanks to the timber/ furniture mafia, local influentials, and a collusive bureaucracy.
Shikarpur can be used as an apt metaphor for much of the decaying heritage in Sindh, if not the country. In fact, most of the 4,000-odd archaeological sites lie in dire straits while the culture department remains happily engaged in holding expensive festivities and melas in the name of cultural promotion. Disappointed, I have filed constitutional petitions to save some of these precious relics.
It’s time we — civil society, academia, media, and lovers of art and culture — came out in full force to save Mohenjo-Daro and the hundreds of other cultural monuments that preserve our social, cultural and political history, besides allowing us to benefit from an untapped multibillion-dollar global tourist industry.
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