Śruti

Before the Split — Babel, Sumer & the Original Tongue

The mapping between the Mahābhārata and Lord of the Rings is not coincidence. It points to something older and deeper — a shared memory preserved across civilizations that predates any single tradition. To understand why Tolkien's mythology echoes the Vedas so precisely, we must begin before the split.

The Vedic World & Its Sumerian Neighbors

The Vedic civilization did not exist in isolation. By the third millennium BCE, the Indus Valley — home to the great cities of Harappa and Mohenjo-daro — was already an advanced urban culture with sophisticated drainage systems, standardized weights, and extensive trade networks. The Sumerians of Mesopotamia called this civilization Meluhha. Cuneiform tablets from as early as 2350 BCE record Meluhhan ships docking at Akkadian ports, carrying carnelian beads, lapis lazuli, ivory, and timber. Sargon of Akkad himself boasted that ships from Meluhha, Magan, and Dilmun moored at the quays of his capital. There were even Meluhhan trading villages established within Sumerian cities — Indus Valley merchants living in Mesopotamia, their seals found at Ur, Babylon, and Kish.

Among the thousands of seals excavated from Mohenjo-daro, one stands above the rest: the Pashupati seal, dated to approximately 2500 BCE. It depicts a figure seated in a yogic posture — cross-legged, hands on knees, in what appears to be padmāsana — surrounded by animals: a tiger, an elephant, a rhinoceros, a buffalo, and deer beneath his throne. The figure wears a horned headdress and has been widely identified as Proto-Śiva, an early form of the god who would become Paśupati — Lord of Animals, Yogeśvara — Lord of Yoga, Mahādeva — the Great God. This is a figure seated in meditation four and a half thousand years ago. The practice of dhyāna, the stillness that would flow through the Vedas, through the Buddha, through Zen — it was already there, carved in steatite, in the Indus Valley, while Sumerians were writing cuneiform next door.

Gudea of Lagash — The King Who Knew Meluhha

Gudea, ruler (ensi) of the Sumerian city-state of Lagash (c. 2144–2124 BCE), is the living proof of this connection. His own inscriptions — the Gudea cylinders, the longest known text written in the Sumerian language — explicitly mention Meluhha as a source of materials for his great temple-building projects.3 In the cylinders, Gudea records procuring "blocks of lapis lazuli and bright carnelian from Meluhha." He writes that "Magan and Meluhha will come down from their mountains to attend" his temple. Meluhhan emissaries arrived in Lagash bearing gold dust, carnelian, and exotic goods from the Indus Valley. Gudea was not trading with an abstraction — he was receiving craftsmen and materials from the civilization that produced the Pashupati seal.

And then there are the statues. Over twenty-seven diorite statues of Gudea survive, now scattered between the Louvre and the Metropolitan Museum. In every one, Gudea sits in the same posture: hands clasped, eyes heavy-lidded or lowered, feet together, radiating what art historians describe as "pious reserve and serenity" — a state of "perpetual prayer" and "quiet dignity." These statues were placed in temples to represent Gudea in constant devotion before the gods, offering prayer in his stead even when he was not present. The serene, meditative quality of these figures — carved from the hardest diorite, imported from Magan — is unmistakable.

Look at the Pashupati seal: a figure in yogic stillness, circa 2500 BCE, from the Indus Valley. Look at Gudea's statues: a king in meditative composure, circa 2125 BCE, from Sumer — a king who was in direct, documented contact with the Indus civilization. The transmission is not speculative. It is carved in stone on both sides of the Arabian Sea. The stillness traveled with the carnelian and the lapis lazuli.

These two civilizations — Vedic India and Sumer — were not strangers. They were trading partners, neighbors across the Arabian Sea, exchanging not just goods but ideas. When the Sumerians recorded their flood story, the Vedic tradition had Manu. When Sumer remembered seven sages, India had the Saptaṛṣi. The shared memories predate both civilizations. They point backward to something older.

The Tower of Babel ↔ Indra the Splitter

Genesis 11 records a mighty civilization, one language, one people, building a tower to reach heaven — to be greater than God. God confuses their language and scatters them across the earth. The Sumerian text Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta, predating Genesis by over a thousand years, records the same event: humanity once spoke one language to Enlil, and then the languages were confused.

In the Vedic tradition, Indra's function is precisely this: he is the splitter. He wields the Vajra. He breaks open Vala's cave to release stolen knowledge. He slays Vṛtra to release the waters. Indra shatters unity so that humanity must struggle to find it again. The Sumerians had Enlil. Genesis has Yahweh. The Vedic tradition has Indra. Three names for the same force that shattered the original unity.

Indra the Enforcer — The Cosmic Circuit Breaker

But Indra's role as the splitter is not a one-time event. It is his ongoing function. Throughout the Vedic literature and the epics, Indra actively intervenes whenever any being — mortal, ṛṣi, or asura — accumulates too much power through austerities (tapas). When a sage's penance grows so fierce it threatens to destabilize the cosmic order, Indra sends apsarās — celestial maidens — to seduce them and break their concentration. He disrupts yajñas (sacrificial rites). He sabotages the accumulation of power before it can rival the gods.

Viśvāmitra, one of the greatest ṛṣis, had his tapas broken multiple times by Indra sending the apsarā Menakā. Indra sent Rambhā to disrupt other sages. When Rāvaṇa accumulated ten heads' worth of tapas to earn invulnerability from Brahmā, the cosmos trembled. When Hiraṇyakaśipu performed austerities so severe that he earned near-invincibility, Viṣṇu himself had to incarnate as Narasiṃha to restore balance.

This is the same cosmic pattern in every tradition: the divine order does not allow any single being to accumulate enough power to rival it. When someone tries — Jarāsandha collecting kings, Nimrod building upward, Sauron forging the Ring, Rāvaṇa demanding invulnerability — the cosmic immune system activates. God scatters Babel. Indra sends apsarās. The Valar send Gandalf. Same function, same force, different names.

This makes the Gandalf parallel even sharper: Gandalf is literally sent by the Valar to counter Sauron's accumulation of power. He is not freelancing. He is performing Indra's function — the cosmic circuit breaker deployed when one force threatens to absorb too much.

Shared Memories Across Civilizations

The Flood: The oldest known flood narrative comes from Sumer — the story of Ziusudra, a righteous king warned by the god Enki to build a boat before the gods send a deluge to destroy humanity. The Akkadian version gives us Utnapishtim in the Epic of Gilgamesh (c. 2100 BCE), who builds a vessel, loads it with animals, and survives the waters. Genesis gives us Noah, warned by Yahweh. The Vedic tradition gives us Manu, warned by a fish — Matsya avatāra, the first incarnation of Viṣṇu — to build a boat. The Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa records: "There lived in ancient time a holy man called Manu, who, by penances and prayers, had won the favour of the lord of heaven."4 Manu survives the flood with the Saptaṛṣi — the seven sages — and seeds of life to re-establish civilization. The structural parallels are precise: a divine warning to one righteous man, a vessel, the destruction of a corrupted world, and the rebirth of civilization from the survivors.

The Seven Sages: This parallel deserves far more attention than it typically receives. The Sumerians had the Apkallū (Akkadian) or Abgal (Sumerian) — seven demigod sages created by the god Enki in the cosmic deep (Apsû), sent to establish culture and give civilization to humanity. They served as priests and advisors to the earliest kings of Sumer before the flood. They are credited with giving humanity the Me — the moral code, the crafts, and the arts. Their names are recorded: Uanna, "who finished the plans for heaven and earth"; Uannedugga, "who was endowed with comprehensive intelligence"; down to Utuabzu, "who ascended to heaven."

The Vedic tradition has the Saptaṛṣi — seven ṛṣis who are the patriarchs of the Vedic religion, the "mind-born sons of Brahmā" who descend from the celestial realms (Maharloka) to lay the foundations of civilization on earth. They are identified with the seven stars of the Great Bear constellation (Ursa Major). The earliest Vedic list from the Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa names them: Vasiṣṭha, Bharadvāja, Jamadagni, Gautama, Atri, Viśvāmitra, and Agastya. Both traditions assign the sages the same function: they are custodians of divine knowledge, civilizers of humanity, intermediaries between gods and men.

The parallel extends further. The Sumerians taught that the Apkallū were present before the flood, and that after the deluge, human sages (ummānu) inherited their wisdom. In the Vedic tradition, the Saptaṛṣi survive the flood alongside Manu and carry the sacred knowledge forward into the new age. Both traditions describe a pre-flood golden age of divine wisdom, a catastrophic destruction, and a post-flood transmission of knowledge through chosen custodians. The "Uruk List of Kings and Sages" (165 BCE) pairs each sage with a specific antediluvian king — the same structure as Vedic genealogies pairing ṛṣis with royal lineages.

The Hebrew Bible carries its own echo: Proverbs 9:1 declares "Wisdom has built her house; she has set up its seven pillars." Some scholars suggest this alludes to a tradition of seven sages laying civilization's foundations, transformed into a hymn to divine wisdom. Enoch, the seventh from Adam in Genesis, is described as the first to learn writing, astronomy, and wisdom — and his ascension to heaven mirrors the Sumerian sage Utuabzu, who was said to have ascended to heaven. Seven sages. Seven pillars. Seven stars. The number itself is a memory.

These are not borrowings from one tradition to another. They are independent windows into something that existed before the split — a shared memory that multiple civilizations preserved in their own language and imagery. When three civilizations separated by thousands of miles all remember seven sages, a great flood, a righteous survivor, and the transmission of divine knowledge to rebuild the world — the question is not whether these traditions are connected, but how far back the connection goes.

Sanskrit as Devabhāṣā — The Language of the Gods

Sanskrit is called Devabhāṣā — the language of the gods. It was not considered a human invention. The Vedas are called śruti ("that which was heard") because the ṛṣis did not compose them — they received them. Every sound is mapped to a cosmic principle, every vibration connected to creation itself.

If there was an original language that connected humanity to the divine — a pre-Babel tongue — Sanskrit's claim to being closest to that source is stronger than almost anything else on earth. It is the oldest well-documented language in its family, and when scholars attempt to reconstruct the ancient root languages, Sanskrit is one of their primary reference points because it preserved forms that every other language lost.

Jarāsandha ↔ Nimrod ↔ Sauron — The Tyrant Who Would Surpass the Gods

This archetype — the tyrant who seeks to break the cosmic order — appears in all three traditions. Jarāsandha, the mighty king of Magadha, conquered and imprisoned eighty-six kings with the ambition to reach one hundred — to sacrifice them all as an offering to Lord Śiva and secure superhuman power. He was so powerful that even Krishna relocated the entire Yādava population from Mathurā to Dvārakā to escape his wrath.

Nimrod in Genesis builds the Tower of Babel to reach God. Sauron forges the One Ring to dominate all free peoples. All three are the same archetype: the tyrant who seeks to break the cosmic order and make himself supreme. And all three must fall.

The Linguistic Bridge — Sanskrit Roots in Tolkien

Tolkien was a comparative philologist at Oxford who stated: "I am a philologist and all my work is philological." He took Comparative Philology as a special subject for Honour Moderations. As any serious philologist working with etymologies, knowledge of Sanskrit was essential — it is the oldest well-documented language in the family that includes Old English, Norse, Gothic, and every European tongue Tolkien drew from.

Mark T. Hooker's study Tolkien and Sanskrit demonstrates that Tolkien calqued the names of the Sapta Sindhavah (Seven Rivers) from the Ṛg Veda as the Seven Rivers of Ossiriand in The Silmarillion — creating Elvish river names that carry the same meaning as their Vedic originals.1 Tolkien himself enjoined his students to compare the Mahābhārata with Chaucer's The Pardoner's Tale2 — evidence that he saw the Indian epic as part of the same literary continuum.

Saruman / Sūrya

The PIE root *sóh₂wl̥ (sun) branches into both Sanskrit sūrya and the Germanic linguistic tradition Tolkien drew from. Saruman's name derives from Old English searu (craft, cunning), but the solar resonance connects at a deeper etymological level — wisdom and radiance are linked across both traditions.

Brego / Bhṛgu

Bhṛgu is the Vedic ṛṣi associated with fire — the "shining ones." Tolkien's Brego comes from Old English brego (lord, chief). The PIE root *bʰreg- (to shine, burn) connects them.

The Danube / Dānu Connection

The river Danube derives from PIE *deh₂nu- (river), which also gives us the Vedic river name Dānu — the mother of Vṛtra, the serpent Indra slays. The same root appears across European rivers: Don, Dnieper, Dniester. A profound linguistic and mythological bridge between traditions.

Character Archetypes — The Warriors of Kurukṣetra in Middle-earth

Arjuna ↔ Aragorn (Strider)

Even the names share the AR- root. The parallels run deep:

The reluctant king-warrior. Arjuna drops his bow in the chariot and says "I cannot do this." Aragorn spends decades as Strider, refusing his lineage, reluctant to claim the throne of Gondor. Both carry the dharma of the Kṣatriya but resist it. Both need divine counsel to step into who they are.

The exile in the wilderness. Arjuna's years of vanavāsa — wandering in disguise, mastering weapons, living anonymously — mirror Aragorn's decades as a ranger. Both return from exile to claim their role in the great war.

The divine weapons. Arjuna receives the Pāśupatāstra from Śiva and the Gāṇḍīva bow. Aragorn receives Andúril, the reforged sword. Both weapons symbolize the warrior's readiness to fulfill his purpose.

The first ranger. Arjuna moving through the forests, operating in the margins, protecting dharma from the shadows before the war begins. That IS the ranger archetype.

Gandalf ↔ Krishna

Krishna is the charioteer — he doesn't fight directly but guides the warrior. Gandalf operates the same way: he doesn't wield ultimate power to defeat Sauron himself. He counsels, inspires, and holds the line so others can fulfill their dharma.

The Bhagavad Gītā happens right before the battle. Gandalf's great speeches serve the same function. "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us" is practically a Gītā verse.

Gandalf the Grey dies and returns as Gandalf the White — the ascent from lower to higher consciousness that Sri Aurobindo describes. He is not a warrior; he is a conduit for divine light breaking through.

Gimli ↔ Bhīma

The stout, powerful warrior who fights with raw strength and fury. Gimli with his axe, Bhīma with his gadā. Neither is elegant. They just HIT.

Loud, boastful, competitive. Gimli counting kills at Helm's Deep — "That still only counts as one!" — is pure Bhīma energy. Trash talk earned because he backs it up every time.

Both are underestimated. Bhīma is dismissed as just the brute. Gimli is "just the Dwarf." But both have depth underneath — Bhīma's devotion to his family, Gimli's speechless wonder at the Glittering Caves, his reverence for Galadriel. The warrior with the tender heart. Even the appetite — Bhīma is famous for his eating.

Legolas ↔ Nakula

Nakula is the most handsome man on the battlefield. Legolas carries that same celestial beauty — not vanity but an expression of his nature as a higher being. Nakula is the son of the Aśvins. Legolas is an Elf — Gandharva-type, celestial grace.

Nakula fights with precision and elegance. Legolas with the bow is the same. Every arrow exact, no wasted movement. Where Bhīma/Gimli is chaos and power, Nakula/Legolas is geometry and flow.

Wormtongue ↔ Shakuni

The whispering advisor who corrupts the king through manipulation. Théoden under Wormtongue mirrors Dhṛtarāṣṭra under Shakuni almost exactly. Both kings poisoned by a cunning figure from within the court. In both cases, the liberation of the king is a turning point in the war.

Boromir ↔ Karna

The noble warrior bound by loyalty to the wrong side, tragic because his virtues lead to his downfall. The man who should have been among the righteous but was claimed by circumstance and pride. His death carries redemption through sacrifice.

Gollum ↔ Aśvatthāmā

Aśvatthāmā is cursed to wander the earth forever — immortal but decaying, covered in sores and wounds that never heal. Gollum is the same. The Ring extends his life unnaturally — he lives for centuries but does not live.

Both were corrupted by a single act of attachment — Aśvatthāmā by his rage and the Brahmāstra he would not release, Sméagol by the Ring he murdered for.

Hobbits ↔ The Unlikely Dharmic Agents

Cosmic dharma doesn't flow through the mightiest warrior but through the most humble, overlooked being. That's Vidura energy. That's Krishna choosing the smallest force over the largest army. The most Mahābhārata move in the entire story.

Cosmological Mapping — The Worlds Within the World

Elves ↔ Gandharvas

Celestial beings — beautiful, musical, ancient, connected to higher realms. The Elves leaving Middle-earth mirrors the Gandharvas dwelling in celestial realms. Rivendell and Lothlórien have that Gandharva-loka energy — enchanted places where time moves differently.

Orcs ↔ Rākṣasas

Corrupted beings, once something else but twisted by dark power. In the Silmarillion, Orcs were Elves tortured by Morgoth. Rākṣasas are powerful beings who turned toward adharma. The Uruk-hai have that Rākṣasa quality — specifically bred for war and destruction.

Ents ↔ Yakṣas

In the Vana Parva, a Yakṣa guards a sacred lake and kills Yudhiṣṭhira's brothers one by one when they refuse to answer his questions before drinking — he enforces nature's law and will destroy even great warriors who disrespect that boundary.

That is exactly Treebeard and the Ents. Ancient, terrifying guardians patient for ages, but when Saruman cuts down Fangorn, they march on Isengard and tear it apart. The Yakṣa waking up. Saruman's industrialization is a violation of ṛta (cosmic order), and the Ents rising is nature's dharma reasserting itself.

The Ainulindalë ↔ Nāda Brahman

The creation music in the Silmarillion — the world sung into existence — resonates with Nāda Brahman, creation emerging from primordial sound. The Gospel of John opens with "In the beginning was the Word" — the same teaching in yet another tradition.

The One Ring ↔ Māyā / Kāma

The Ring functions as māyā — the binding illusion that entraps consciousness in attachment and power. Everyone who touches it becomes attached. This is the Gītā's teaching on attachment as the root of destruction. Frodo's journey to Mount Doom mirrors the renunciant's path — stripping away ego-attachment.

Mūmakil ↔ Vedic War Elephants

There are no elephants in Europe since the Ice Age. Yet Tolkien places massive war elephants at the Pelennor Fields. Scholars Solopova and Lee argue the mūmakil place the Haradrim far to the East — only India continued using war elephants after classical times.5

In the Mahābhārata, the akṣauhiṇī formation: 1 chariot : 1 elephant : 3 cavalry : 5 infantry. Ancient Indian kings stated that an army without elephants is as despicable as a forest without a lion. Alexander's encounter with Indian war elephants at the Hydaspes in 326 BCE is how this image entered Western consciousness. Tolkien's Mūmakil are literally an Indian import.

Divine Signs & Battlefield Omens

Thunder Before Helm's Deep ↔ Indra Watching His Son

Before Helm's Deep, thunder rolls across the sky. The storm arrives before the Uruk-hai assault — the cosmos responds to what is about to happen.

In the Mahābhārata, when Arjuna enters battle, Indra sends thunder and celestial signs. Indra is king of the Devas, lord of storms, and Arjuna's father. Arjuna is Aindri, son of Indra. Every time thunder rolls before Arjuna fights, it is his father watching from above.

Aragorn/Arjuna standing on that wall looking out at ten thousand Uruk-hai — Indra pouring rain down like a father watching his son. Indra's weapon is the Vajra — the thunderbolt that shatters chaos.

If Sakka, lord of the devas, will be one who speaks in praise of initiative and energy, then how much more fitting for you to toil, struggle, and strive.

— The Buddha, Sakka Saṃyutta

In the Pāli Canon, Indra appears as Sakka, king of the Tāvatiṃsa heaven. Even Indra — wielder of the Vajra — has to struggle. If the king of the gods is not exempt, then struggle is not punishment. It is the nature of existence.

Light vs. Darkness — Vedic Psychology & the War Within

Sri Aurobindo read the Vedas not as ritual texts but as psychological maps. The battle between light (jyoti) and darkness (tamas) happens within consciousness itself. The Devas are forces of awakening. The Asuras are forces of concealment. Every external war is the inner war.

This reframes the War of the Ring as an Aurobindian drama. Sauron is the concealing force. The Ring is the mechanism of ignorance. Gandalf is the supramental light breaking through to guide beings toward their higher nature.

Key Source: Dr. Anuradha Choudry, Sanskrit scholar at IIT Kharagpur, PhD in Vedic Psychology from Pondicherry University, trained at the Sri Aurobindo International Centre of Education. Her work carries Aurobindo's lineage forward, showing the practical application of Vedic psychology in daily life.

The Guṇas in Middle-earth

After listening to the Bhagavad Gītā twenty-plus times, the three guṇas become a lens through which all of reality is perceived. Not intellectual knowledge — darśana, direct perception.

Sattva — clarity, harmony, light. The moment of insight in zazen. Gandalf's wisdom. The Shire at peace.

Rajas — agitation, passion, movement. Boromir's ambition. Saruman's cunning.

Tamas — inertia, darkness, concealment. The Ring's hold. Théoden under Wormtongue. Sauron's shadow.

The Mahābhārata was never meant to be "scripture" on a shelf. Vyāsa composed it as itihāsa: "Thus it was." It is a mirror for life. See your boss in Duryodhana, your own hesitation in Arjuna, your friendships in Krishna's bond. The twenty-first listen shows what the first twenty didn't.

Structural Parallels — The Shape of the Epic

The Declining Ages ↔ The Yuga Cycle

Tolkien's declining Ages of Middle-earth mirror the Yuga cycle — progressive dimming from a golden age toward darkness. The Kali Yuga feeling at the end of Return of the King, when the Elves leave and magic fades, captures this transition between yugas.

Kurukṣetra ↔ The War of the Ring

Both wars share the same gravity: dharma at stake, reluctant warriors, cosmic forces through human choices, an age ending. Both fought not for territory but for the moral order of the world itself.

Epic Wholeness

Tolkien wanted a mythology for England. Norse mythology survives as fragments. Greek as scattered stories. But Tolkien built something with the same epic wholeness as the Mahābhārata — cosmogony, ages of the world, the great war, the passing of an age, the bittersweet victory where dharma is restored but the world is diminished.

Isaiah's Plowshares ↔ Balarāma the Plough-Bearer

Isaiah 2:4 — "They shall beat their swords into plowshares." Balarāma — Krishna's elder brother, wielder of the plough — is the warrior who carries agricultural tools instead of weapons. A Kṣatriya fully capable of fighting who chooses not to fight at Kurukṣetra. He goes on pilgrimage instead. Power held in restraint. Christ himself — the carpenter who could call down legions but chooses the cross — embodies the same archetype.

The Warrior's Pantheon — A Living Practice

These archetypes are not abstract mythology. They function as operational energy — a personal pantheon carried into daily life: