Tradition and Modernity in Bhakti Movements 9004063706, 9789004063709

Table of contents :
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
The Bhakti Movement in India: A Critical Introduction
Bhakti in Early Buddhism
Bhakti or Vidroha: Continuity and Change in Dalit Sahitya
Krishna in Black and White: Darsan in the Butter Thief Poems of the Early Sur Sagar
Paradox and Divine Wickedness in the Krishnakarnamrita: Reflections on the Uses of Discepant Symbols
Bhakti Tradition and Modernization: The Case of Lingayatism
Devotion as an Alternative to Marriage in the Lives of Some Hindu Women Devotees
Will India’s Past be America’s Future? Reflections on the Caitanya Movement and its Potentials
Community, Discourse and Critique in Jnanesvar
The Revolt of the Underprivileged: Style in the Expression of the Warkari Movement in Maharashtra
Gaudiya Vaisnava Symbolism of Deliverance (uddhara, nistara…) from Evil
Chokhamela and Eknath: Two Bhakti Modes of Legitimacy for Modern Change
Contributors
Index
INTERNATIONAL STUDIES IN SOCIOLOGY AND SOCIAL ANTHROPOLOGY

Citation preview

TRADITION AND MODERNITY IN BHAKTI MOVEMENTS

INTERNATIONAL STUDIES IN SOCIOLOGY AND SOCIAL ANTHROPOLOGY General Editor

K. ISHWARAN VOLUME XXXI JAYANT LELE

TRADITION AND MODERNITY IN BHAKTI MOVEMENTS

LEIDEN -

E.

J. BRILL - 1981

TRADITION AND MODERNITY IN BHAKTI MOVEMENTS EDITED BY

JAYANT LELE

LEIDEN -

E. J. BRILL -

1981

ISBN

90 04 06370 6

Copyright 1981 by E.

J.

Brill, The Netherlands

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduad or translated in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, microfiche or any other means without written permission from the publisher PRINTED IN THE NETHERLANDS

CONTENTS

]A YANT LELE, The Bhakti Movement in India: A Critical Introduction .... BALKRISHNA GovIND GoKHALE, Bhakti in Early Buddhism...................

16

jAYASHREE B. GoKHALE-TURNER, Bhakti or Vidroha: Continuity and Change in Dalit Sahitya . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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joHN STRATTON HAWLEY, Krishna in Black and White: Darsan in the Butter Thief Poems of the Early Sur Sagar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

43

CLIFFORD G. HosPITAL, Paradox and Divine Wickedness in the Krishnakarnamrita: Reflections on the Uses of Discepant Symbols............

59

K. IsHWARAN, Bhakti Tradition and Modernization: The Case of Lingayatism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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DAVID KINSLEY, Devotion as an Alternative to Marriage in the Lives of Some Hindu Women Devotees . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

83

K. KLOSTERMAIER, Will India's Past be America's Future? Reflections on the Caitanya Movement and its Potentials............................

94

]A YANT LELE, Community, Discourse and Critique injnanesvar... .. . . . ..

104

BHLACHANDRA NEMADE, The Revolt of the Underprivileged: Style in the Expression of the Warkari Movement in Maharashtra..............

113

JosEPH T. O'CONNELL, Gaudiya Vaisnava Symbolism of Deliverance ( uddhara, nistara ... ) from Evil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

124

ELEANOR ZELLIOT, Chokhamela and Eknath: Two Bhakti Modes of Legitimacy for Modern Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

136

Contributors.................................................................. Index...........................................................................

157 159

The Bhakti Movement in India: A Critical Introduction* JAYANT LELE Queen's University, Kingston, Canada

THE

AR TIC LES in this collection have two aims: to appreciate the contemporary meaning of bhakti literature and to examine the contemporary significance of bhakti practice. These aims arise out of a larger concern about the future and significance of tradition in a world undergoing rapid change, particularly the countries of the Third World. Specifically, the authors are at least implicitly concerned about the role of bhakti in the process of modernization. The view of modernization and of tradition which emerges from these articles is substantially different from those prevailing in both the East and the West. In the Western literature on the subject, the two words tradition and modernity are seen as a dichotomy or a continuum. A more realistic viewer may try to identify some specific elements of a given tradition as ''modern'', implying thereby that they could be put to use to reduce and destroy the other elements which are seen as obstacles. These attitudes arise from the experience of the West with its own tradition. The rise of capitalism and sciencetechnology saw the totality of the old order break down. Elements of tradition, or world views and beliefs, were reinterpreted and transformed into a new system with which also came a new institutional order. Thinkers who witnessed and understood this critical break from the past were overwhelmed by it. They expressed it in dichotomous terms such as: Gemeinschaft and Gesellschajt, mechanical and organic solidarity, culture and civilization, traditional and bureaucratic authority, sacred and secular associations, status and class, and so on. Modern sociology has inherited these. It has gone further and universalized them as abstract concepts applicable to all societies, as in the case of Talcott Parsons' "Pattern Variables" (Habermas, 1970). Men like Max Weber had to understand the break from tradition as a unique and particular process, as a rationalization of the past within an artificially bisected conception of rationality. Struck by its inevitability, they anticipated its movement with serious misgivings. With the subsequent prevalence of purposive rationality and of a technocratic consciousness, that pathos of passage has been forgotten. With the fall of the colonial empires, interest in the • I wish to acknowledge with gratitude an editorial grant from the Research Awards Committee and a discretionary Grant from the office of Research Sciences, Queen's University. Also thanks are due to Carol Pentland for editorial assistance.

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"modernisation" of Third World societies has grown. For most Western scholars it simply means a detailed programme for a break from tradition similar to that experienced by the West. The most prevalent Wes tern view now advocates an instrumental use of tradition for its own destruction. Technocratic plans include such considerations in policies and attempt to use tradition to manipulate masses into modernity. In India, for example, the West-oriented intellectuals share this enthusiasm for modernization. At the same time, they also hold a somewhat different view of their tradition. Western scholars, many of them missionaries or colonial administrators, had begun studies of Indian culture long before the post colonial technocratic orientation had emerged. They were enamoured by the philosophical abstractions of Hinduism and appalled by the social practice. They denounced the practice of rituals, superstition and social hierarchy and could not understand its relationship to the philosophy they studied. These attitudes, as well as those of post-colonial social science, had a peculiar impact on Indian intellectuals. First, as servants of the raj, they had to act as intermediaries of an alien regime and justify it to the people and to themselves. Since the regime was determined to bring about substantial changes in the social order, to make it compatible with the interests of the metropolis, the subaltern intellectuals had to develop reasons for them, to justify and legitimize them. To accomplish this and to accommodate the ruler's view of their tradition, they developed a theory of history. It projected the social life of Vedic Aryans as pure, innocent and joyful and claimed for it a tolerant, all-inclusive, universalistic world-view. Such a world-view was offered as the cause of the subsequent wholesale incorporation of barbaric practice which was attributed to the tribal populations who were conquered and subjugated by the wandering Aryans. These practices included human sacrifice, statecraft, icon worship and magic. The conquered tribes, it was argued, were not destroyed or enslaved, but were humanely absorbed as lower castes (Bedekar, 1969). This theory allowed the subaltern intellectuals to be proud of their tradition and to advocate substantial social reforms at the same time. In the subsequent struggle for national independence and in the establishment of the post-independence political order, this theory proved equally valuable (Lele, 1978). These perspectives on tradition have had an impact on the understanding of bhakti movements. Indian and Western intellectuals have for a long time ignored bhakti. To them it is not a fundamental tenet of Indian philosophy (Dhavamony, 1971). They see bhakti as a path of devotion, especially developed and eminently suited for practice by the lower classes: shudras and women. Only an elite capable of comprehending the subtleties of Vedic philosophy can see the universalism of its message. That message, that the world is an illusion (maya) and that truth lies in the unity of the particular or the individual ( atman) with the totality of all existence ( brahman) is worthy of consideration. It is discussed, debated and evaluated in intellectually sterilised discourses. It refuses to find any kinship with devotion, with the worship of humanized divinity.

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Ironically, bhakti was explicitly a revolt against this dichotomous view which had upheld the duality of existence of those engaged in debating sterilized abstractions and those practising mindless rituals. Unaware of this, modern intellectuals are ready to dismiss it as an aspect of the latter, just as some of them declare the irrelevance of abstract Indian philosophy as well for the tasks of modernization. No more caught in the middle of alien rulers and their own people, contemporary intellectuals in India can be proud or contemptuous of their tradition at will and still claim the right to stand above the masses, to control them and to try to change what is to the common man still a living tradition (Rege, 1978). While modernization in this sense is not absent from the minds of the authors of this collection, they take a substantially more mature view of tradition and bhakti. Ishwaran, Zelliot and Gokhale-Turner refer explicitly to models of modernization in relation to bhakti. Ishwaran identifies the two transitory phases of ethnocentrism and realism in modernization theory and hopes for the emergence of a third phase of more lasting models. He offers Lingayatism as one such model because it rests, according to him, on the universal values of freedom, equality and rationality to be pursued within a corresponding community. He analyses Basavanna's philosophy and practice and shows how these values were either explicitly propagated or implicitly practised. Ishwaran's analysis gives rise to a number of questions. For example, what is the general dynamics of the rise, decline and reassertion of universal values? Why did they come to find a unique manifestation in the preaching and practice of Virasaivism? Ishwaran speaks of a period of decline followed by a revival in the 19th century. We wonder about the reason for the decline. We also wonder in what way the renewal was affected by the forces which first caused the decline. What other social forces were associated with the revival? Furthermore, since the contemporary internal practice of the Lingayats is, presumably, still guided by these universal values, what is the relation of modern Lingayats to the surrounding, interacting world? How will the contemporary pursuit of these values by Lingayats move from its local existence into a truly universal practice of the entire society? These are not idle questions. Their thrust is to suggest that Basavanna's critical revolutionary impulse should not be viewed as an accidental, isolated outburst of an unparalleled critical genius. It was, in fact, a unique moment in the ongoing dynamics of Indian tradition. Only as an isolated event can it be juxtaposed to bhakti. The claims that they share a common impulse can be rejected and thus it alone can be shown to qualify as a revolutionary movement. Ishwaran focuses on its organized practice and on its theory of society. He claims that such organization alone delivers tangible results. It leads to lasting changes in the social order. From this he draws the conclusion that bhakti movements merely upheld the old order and made it palatable while Basava's organized revolt produced a lasting model for universal emulation. This is an eminent, functionalist argument. It moves from an outcome to the source and finds it on terms set by the outcome itself. It generates questions

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which are unanswerable within the limits of such a framework; questions of which I gave a sample in the last paragraph. As Nemade suggests in his article, the choice of organization and its effectiveness in a social revolt may themselves be conditioned by the prior social position of the participants. Ishwaran does not tell us what impact the prior social position of the adherents of Lingayatism had on its practice. Perhaps we can find some indication of this in the later revival of Lingayatism. James Manor claims, for example, that "By 1945, Lingayats-the dominant landed group in Bombay Karnataka-had ousted the numerically and economically weak Brahmans from nearly all positions in the Congress which was the only important political force there" (Manor, 1979, p. 189). If this is so, then the revival of Lingayatism would seem to fit the pattern of a nation-wide reassertion of hegemony by traditionally dominant rural middle classes on the eve of independence (Lele, 1980). The creative, critical impulse behind Virasaivism is not in doubt. Its functionalist isolation as a model of modernization raises questions. To try to seek direct practical advice from Basavanna or Nanak for contemporary revolutionary practice will be as counterproductive as the blind emulation of the quietistic withdrawal and political apathy of the Warkaris. Ishwaran's insight into the universal values propagated by Basavanna is, for us, a crucial starting point-provided we are willing to set aside externally imposed, empiricist classificatory frameworks of social movements. Instead, we should attempt a rational reconstruction of the dynamics of these values in the Indian tradition as a whole. Their specific theoretical and practical manifestations should be placed in that context. Some recent scholarship may be helpful. It traces the origin of the notions of bhagavan, bhakta and bhakti in the material basis of the communal, tribal life. Such life preceded and coexisted with the ancient civilizations and with the subsequent Vedic-Aryan transformation. In the transition from communal-tribal life to kingdoms and civilizations rose the first legitimate leadership and hierarchy in society (Godelier, 1978). The shift from bhagavan as the custodian-owner of a community's wealth and bhakta as his co-producer, sharer and consumer, to bhagavan as the divine universality, as god, and bhakta as his supplicant devotee, was also a corresponding transition Qaiswal, 1967). During this transition, probably, there arose not only the legitimate kingships, but also a class of conductors of a community's symbolic sacrifices (purohits) and their protectors (kshatriyas). The logic and dynamics of the unity of Vedic philosophical abstractions and of associated and emergent hierarchical social practice was not broken during this transition. It broke only subsequently, and became the basis for the legitimation of an oppressive social order. The institution of yajna, probably, stands at the cross-roads of the transition from a classless, naturalistic tribal community to a class society (Bedekar, 1977). These and similar speculative considerations about the origin of bhakti need not be treated as an exercise in romanticism. The natural limits of the tribal community were so overwhelming that the subsequent journey through a continuous and fierce intra-communal bloodshed for dynasties, property and

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racial superiority, seems to have been inevitable for the survival of that very community. The paradox of human development begins with this primal state. The human community moved away from natural repression only by replacing it with social repression. This in itself was a creative act. Social repression and hierarchy were, in the initial stage, necessary and hence legitimate. At the same time, the creative, productive activity of man within this transformed community must have rendered the specific forms of repression progressively unnecessary. Those who were to benefit from continued repression sought to legitimize it and had to do so in the name of that community. No longer the legitimate leaders of the community, they became its rulers. I speak of this paradox in my article on J nanesvar as the tension between potential and actual community. To me, the image of the development of Indian tradition as a naturalistic, linear progression, incorporating and amalgamating any and all practices and beliefs, does not make sense. It fails to answer some basic questions about the relation between theory and practice. I see tradition as growing out of a tension between the creative potential of man in his nascent community and its sometimes necessary repressive negation in everyday social life. In that very social life which is creatively productive even under a counterfactual community, the potential for actualising such a community is inevitably nurtured. This occurs in social labour as man's productive social activity in relationship to nature. As the activity of that body-mind unity of human social beings, it is also a reflexive activity. Through it, man in society creates "products'' and meanings at the same time. In this activity of active producers, oppression is reflected upon continuously as a contradictory life experience. The standard for such reflexion is that same principle on which the legitimization of oppression also rests. The values of rationality, freedom and equality are inherent in the notion of a potential community. They originate in an unmediated fashion in the essentially social and natural condition of the human species (Habermas, 1979). The way to grasp the dynamics of tradition is to unravel the paradoxical unity of its symbolic structures. What appear as paradoxes of theory and practice, of the sacred and the profane, of this world and the other world, all contain the essential paradox of potentiality. Man's rational sense for what is universally possible-but cannot be-in the particularity of a given situation-specific life practice (actuality), expresses itself through his symbolic ordering of the world. His sense for the possible is rational (rather than Utopian) because it stems from a consciousness, a recognition, of the rootedness of his unique particularity in the universal human condition. Hospital sees this in his article as a paradox between the unlimitedness of human imagination and the particularity of human existence. This paradox at times congeals into-and at other times explodes out of-the same symbolic universe. These are the hegemonic and liberating moments of tradition. Valued symbols, myths, beliefs and rituals of a tradition bear in them, as meanings, the actuality of everyday experience and the imaginative or creative potentiality of its transition. Symbols have dual meanings which allow an understanding of particular individual experience, as well as its re-interpreta-

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tion within the universality of a living tradition. This universality is, at another level, a paradox of liberation and hegemonic appropriation, of the legitimacy of a social order and its legitimation, of the moments of necessary and unnecessary oppression. In this understanding of tradition, the classificatory dichotomies of revolutionary and reformist movements, of radical and systemsupportive sampradayas, and of traditional and modern societies, are brought into doubt. Polar concepts capture the essential paradox of symbolic life only statically. In fact, they are dialectical moments in the ongoing developmental logic of tradition. The widespread belief, which is based on a functionalist view of outcome determining the source of action, is that bhakti was a quietistic, systemsupportive movement in all its manifestations. I suggest that it would be a mistake to reject or to accept the modernity of bhakti on the basis of our immediate sense of its symbols and practices. Most often we see them from the perspective we inherited from colonial and neo-colonial contexts. We tend to focus on the hegemonic moment, the legitimizing function of tradition. We remain rooted only in our own world as we see it in its particularity. It is, of course, correct to be suspicious of these meanings, of the interpretations which sustain and uphold an oppressive social order. At the same time, we must search for the liberating moments hidden behind ideologies. If outcome is our only criterion, then we will be hard-pressed to find any truly successful revolutions. As Nemade points out, the militant Mahanubhav critique of oppressive social practice, which was pursued in opposition to the material base of productive social life, became an isolationist countercultural effort. It was easily quarantined and crushed by those in control. Successful revolts are not necessarily revolutionary since they often turn out to be reassertions of declining hegemony by the dominant classes. Ishwaran makes this point indirectly when he ignores the hierarchy and inequality among Lingayats and concentrates on the universality of Basavanna's message. Zelliot and GokhaleTurner, who examine bhakti in terms of providing models for emulation, show how dalits reject bhakti as irrelevant to their struggle because of its totally subservient incorporation into Brahmanic order. Indirectly, they show the poverty of colonial and post-colonial liberal thought, savarna as well as dalit, with respect to a radical reappropriation of the communal and critical impulses of bhakti. Zelliot shows how Eknath, a versatile Brahmin Warkari poet, became, because of his reformist practice and preaching, a model for the liberalreformists of colonial and post-colonial India. Her perceptive analysis from a liberal-reformist perspective gives a good indication of how and why dalits will remain alienated from the radical message of the Warkari saints. The mediated meanings of bhakti perpetuated by liberal intellectuals come to light in her essay through such things as commentaries by historians on M. G. Ranade's thesis on bhakti and films on the lives of poet-saints. The contrast is provided by young dalit critics whose vibrant poetry, based on liberal Brahmanic interpretations of bhakti, rejects both the liberal-reformist theory and the quietistic practice of today's Warkaris. It is not surprising, as Gokhale-Turner points out,

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that Indian tradition has become totally irrelevant for their criticalrevolutionary efforts. The models they hold dear are those of worldrevolutionary Marxism and of a one-time revolutionary Buddhism. Dalit intellectuals in Maharashtra, not unlike their savarna counterparts, are, it seems to me, exercising two faculties at the same time but in isolation from each other. They are correctly suspicious and critical of bhakti. They see Chokhamela as well as his followers of today as being taken for a ride by the hegemonic classes, and perhaps rightly so. But they also fail to examine the source of potency of the Warkari message and practice for most non-Mahar dalits. In this, they act out of an arrogant elitism which makes them indistinguishable from savarna intellectuals whose hegemony they reject. While they show a willingness to suspect the legitimacy of Warkari symbolism-for it has done nothing but legitimize oppression-they also show a willingness to listen without suspicion to the symbolism of Marxism or Buddhism. Marxism and Buddhism are often portrayed as models of rational demystification and of ideology-critique, i.e. of willingness to suspect (Ricoeur, 1970). Gokhale shows in his article that as far as Buddhism is concerned, such a view is one-sided. He explores the origins of bhakti in Buddhism and attributes it to the class of laymen and laywomen who were, in my view, its real backbone. While the order of monks expounded its rational metaphysics, the upasaks, the supportive direct producers, provided the ascetics with their necessary material sustenance. The upasaks eventuallly transformed Buddhism into a system of personal devotion. In Buddha and in his sangha, they saw the ideals of community being actualised. Their daily life-practice was only its denial. The usual distinction between popular worship and higher philosophy is inadequate; we must explore the dynamic relation between the two. Buddhism was a creative response to the oppressive social practice and its ritualistic legitimation in Vedic Hinduism. The unity of its logical and incisive critique with the emerging practice which emphasized intuitive experience was a unity of interdependence between spiritual and material life. Buddhism was, only in its totality of monks and upasaks, a complete critique. It was a way of practising the art of suspicion and listening at the same time. Gokhale describes bhakti as devotion to an exalted being. Buddha's exaltation was as lokanath, purisuttama, saranatham or sattavaha. He was portrayed as one who does not rule but leads. His most salient attributes were panna and karuna. There was a strong sense of communal leadership in this exaltation. This notion of purushottama takes us back to the speculations about the preVedic tribal origin of bhakti in the emerging legitimate leadership of tribal communities. The exaltation of Buddha was as the best of the charioteers, as the caravan leader, and as a mahapurush who is like or even better than God. Above all he was human and thus capable of symbolising the collective entity of man, the human community. Buddha, like Narayana in Satphatha-Brahmana, was a bhagavan to his community of bhaktas. Even if we table the speculation about the tribal origins of bhakti, as Gokhale suggests, we find in Buddhism the necessary evidence for the urge for, and exaltation of, community and legitimate com-

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munal leadership. It seems to hark back to the unrealised community of a primitive commune. The unity of theory and practice, differentiated empirically into monks and upasaks and under transformed conditions of social oppression, was prone, from the outset, to its own negation through hegemonic appropriation. Initially, the two provided each other with spiritual and material shelter. In the process, the community of active producers, the upasaks, transformed Buddhism so as to make sense of their own oppressively routine life experience. They brought the ascetically alienated doctrine to life and made it revelant. Thus arose bhakti in Buddhism. Saddha was for them both faith and strength. In it they exalted the potential community and they unreflexively produced a critique of oppression, of the actual community of everyday life. With the rising support of the state and the hegemonic classes for the monks, the cutting edge of this practical critique was progressively blunted. Sangha, the vanguard of a potential community, and Buddha, its legitimate leader, made less and less sense. The focus shifted from the panna and karuna of Buddha to his skills as a miracle worker. From one Buddha, the cult produced several avatars to legitimize the increasing disparity between the pomp and ceremony of Buddhist establishments and the drudgery in the everyday life of the upasaks (Kosambi, 1969). Buddhist doctrine became, once again, the monopolized knowledge of the select, while the laymen and laywomen were left with the ritualised worship of a deified Buddha. The unity of theory and practice was ideologically destroyed. Thus, the original bhakti in Buddhism was transformed into its opposite: the mindless adoration of the person of Buddha. The place of the laity in Buddhism as well as in Jainism has not been explored except through the conventional dichotomy of intellectual philosophy and popular worship. I have tried to show that the two are always organically linked. In establishing an artificial, ideologically-guided separation between the two, professional intellectuals play a crucial role. In justifying the appropriation of productive surplus by the rulers, they produce meanings to make that appropriation ''sensible''. These meanings are produced out of the symbols from which productive activity arises and on which it rests. Contradictory life experience is interpreted through symbols. Intellectuals, in interpreting these symbols and their local meanings, universalise them, raise them to a higher level of abstraction and thus increase their shareability. At the same time, however, in the name of social cohesion and through their use as ideology, the symbols are uprooted from their original sense in a particular context. The task of a critical intellectual-as opposed to a professional intellectual-therefore, is to grasp fully this paradox, this tension. From this necessity arises my advocacy of the art of suspecting and listening to the symbols simultaneously. Zelliot and Gokhale-Turner indirectly do this when they explore the contemporary relevance of bhakti for the dalits. Gokhale and Ishwaran do it more explicitly with respect to Buddhism and Lingayatism. Given my own preoccupation with the dialectics of the development of tradition, I suggest that they do not go far enough.

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Hawley's article addresses itself to the contradiction between the universality of ultimate meaning and the particularity of meanings in everyday life through the darsan poetry of Sur Das. Through a detailed structural analysis, he demonstrates what Ricoeur has called the willingness to listen to the symbols (1970). He explores the butter thief symbolism in terms of the transcendence of paradoxes, tensions and contradictions which are encountered unexplainably in everyday life. In Sur Das, working men and women, symbolised by the gopis and the poet, overcome alienating distances and reconcile opposites. They see the enmities and negations dissolved in the play of the child-god who is a thief and not a thief at the same time. The effect of seeing this child at play on those from whose life the naivete of such play has been snatched away by toil and turmoil, is that of liquification of the heart and of transformation beyond an alienating and stressful existence. This actually may only pacify them, but it is an experience potentially capable of transformative social action, since such a transformation is embedded in the symbols which may merely pacify at one moment. For those capable of seeing the aesthetically appealing sight of a child's guile without malice or hearing accusations which are also expressions of intense love, for those who can experience a transcendence in the unity of black and white, Radha and Krishna, or Balaram and Krishna, for those who can understand Yashoda's actions as self-interested and selfless at the same time, the liquification of the heart is also the liquification of an existence which is infested with hypocrisy, false pride, wilful and anti-social deception, and exploitation. It is a celebration, in negation, of everyday life, of' 'the particulars of this world-its common gifts, even one's own progeny-(but) by looking at them intensely". Their dissolution of self is a dissolution of ego-focality which is antithetical to truth, truthfulness and justice (Habermas, 1979). Hawley captures this dimension when he points to the essential dynamic of Indian tradition as one which values beauty as much as it values truth. It is not an accident that the word darsan means intense gazing, or experience of the sight of something with transcendental qualities, and also philosophical explorations or discovery of truth. Hawley points to the symbolism of liquification with Krishna as the ocean. This ocean is not the creation of a miracle worker or a faith healer, nor is it a sea of metaphysical nothingness. It stands for purity, compassion, love and, above all, for happiness. To be rendered speechless in such a union is to reach total understanding (Gadamer, 1975, pp. 158-159). The subjectivity of one's alienated existence is transcended into a community with other subjects. It is a community of shared meanings, of perfect understanding. Gopis and Krishna, heaven and earth, day and night, black and white, the lotus and the moon, unite in an aesthetic, true and truthful unity of pure joy. In everyday life such an experience is only momentary. Here, seeing is believing. It is a temporary suspension of disbelief in a life from which eros has been eliminated. In it remain encrusted the basic claims of freedom, truth and justice, which produce on the surface the momentary ecstatic experience. Hawley demonstrates in his article why one must listen to these symbols and practices, and not merely

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criticise them. What seems to an uncritical modernist an act of mindless ritualism of the unreflecting masses, contains within it a sense for the paradox of life and an intention to overcome it. A modernist alienates himself from this sense through his self-imposed elitism. O'Connell follows Ricoeur's advice to listen even more explicitly. Following W. C. Smith, he places the human subject at the centre of his exploration. Hence, his concern with what he calls preconceptual symbols, or the symbolism of the particularity of everyday life, the quotidian. He finds little discussion of the experience of deliverance in the conceptual symbolism of the philosophical abstractions of Gaudiya Vaishnavas, even though it encompasses the entire gamut oflanguage, prayer, story and gesture in the everyday activity of common Vaisnavas. O'Connell points to the communal aspect of these symbols in their double structure of coherence and subjective pursuasiveness. While structural coherence points to the necessity for the inter-subjective shareability of meanings, such meanings must, at the same time, remain rooted in everyday experience, which is, of necessity, subjective. Thus, the entreaty poems he analyses simultaneously convey information and make an appeal. They bring into focus the basic quality of all speech acts (Searle, 1969). They vividly combine the realistic awareness of the objective, material eventfulness of life, with an imaginative consciousness of its potential transcendence as deliverance. An entreaty for deliverance is also a surrender, or liquification of the self. It begins with self-deprecation, is carried out in public, and ends in the experience of deliverance. The publicness of this action is quite striking. It is undertaken in the presence of-and is addressed to-the community of godly Vaisnavas. Thus, the liquification of self, of a certain kind of self, is into the community and involves the overwhelming mercy (krupa) of the Vaisnavas. This is a common theme in all bhakti literature. One always seeks access to a community of bhaktas with which the actuality of daily social relations is contrasted. Self deprecation, therefore, symbolises ego-focality in all its asocial manifestations of lust, greed, anger, pretense, falsehood and confusion. The community of saints is characterized by compassion, kindness, mercy and truth. The nascent potential community materialises in the lives of the saints. It is to them that one appeals for deliverance. When the entreaty poet describes himself as miserable (deena) and defective (heena), he implies that his misery or oppression is the basis for his defectiveness. It is the symbolism of dalits, of the downtrodden for whom deliverance is being lifted up from the joylessness of samsara, the quotidian. Sensual indulgence in this world of deceit and hypocrisy is condemned because it has no authenticity. Aesthetic sensuality has disappeared from it only to find itself rejuvenated, vicariously, in the playful eras of the child-god. Since the community of saints is the potential community, it is not surprising that for the entreaty poets the worst offence is that committed against the Vaisnavas. Neither O'Connell nor I suggest that today's Gaudiya Vaishnavas in fact constitute a materialised potential community. Nor do they themselves believe this to be the case. In contemporary practice, the dissolution through full-scale public condemnation of ego-focality is no more than a

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pacifying experience. It carries no immediate message for revolutionary practice. But the truth of that message remains ideologically encrusted. If the deliverance is to be into a community of true Vaishnavas, then deliverance for one cannot come without deliverance for all. In order to come to this conclusion, it is not enough for practising Vaisnavas to listen-they must also learn to suspect their own symbols. The particularity of ordinary human existence and the presumed unlimitedness of human imagination is a paradox to which Hospital's article also gives special attention. The particularity of everyday life and the reality of an oppressive, alienated existence, is incessantly commented on in bhakti poetry. Therein lies the authenticity of its expression. We hear about a life of deceit, hypocrisy and sheer fatigue (srantz) from which genuine sensuality has disappeared. For a bhakta it only reappears in the beauty and deeds of Krishna, a child-god. Hospital analyses the implicit contrasts and contradictions in Krishnakarnamrita. The focus on lila, the child at play, brings to mind Marx's reflexions on Greek art (1973, p. 111). ''A man cannot be a child again or he becomes childish. But does he not find joy in the child's naivete, and must he not strive to reproduce its truth at a higher stage? Does not the true character of each epoch come alive in the nature of its children? Why should not the historic childhood of humanity, its most beautiful unfolding, as a stage never to return, exercise an eternal charm? There are unruly children and precocious children. Many of the old peoples belong to this category. The Greeks were normal children ... ''

The child-god of bhakti poetry is both a normal child and a symbol of the childhood of humanity. In the language of everyday life he is a sinner, but as a sinner-god he restores the authenticity and the eras of the simple, ordinary joys of life, which the symbolism of sin and the associated hypocrisy of social order snatch away. A surreptitious restoration, through poetic contrasts of the will to gratification denied by the dominant logic of a hierarchical social order (Marcuse, 1966), perhaps accomplishes nothing more than a momentary release from drudgery. It may be only an effective strategy of creating an emotional state of enchantment, delight and unmediated devotion. However, the progression of the myth of sinner-god suggests something more than that to Hospital. It suggests an increasing distance between philosophically abstracted, passionless paths to moksa and bhakti. I wonder if we are witnessing in this transition a movement towards an ideologically-motivated separation of high and low tradition. Hospital seeks help from Mary Douglas' structural analysis of symbols to explore the tension between a central structure and discrepant symbols. He goes a step further to suggest that discrepant symbols may have the function not only of creative input-makers or anti-structures, but may become, at times, counterstructures which seek to transform, replace or negate, and transcend the central structure. This leads him to the reinterpretation of the Bali myth in Kerala. Hospital does not see fit to link the notion of Bali with the rise of sacrificial kingships in transition from classless to class societies. He interprets the potency of Bali as a nostalgic myth. The nostalgia, in this case, is for a community devoid of lying, cheating, theft and sudden

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death. As the celebration of Onam as the mythical return of Bali to his people, the paradox of the actual and the potential is re-enacted. Bali stands here as a symbol of both nobility and naivete, while Yamana represents trickery (Bedekar, 1967). And yet, in the official version of the myth, Bali is turned into a powerful demon-king and Yamana into the hero of the threatened gods CT aiswal, 1967). Analysis of this symbolism calls for a more detailed exercise of listening and critique which is outside of the scope of this introduction. Namboodripad's critical appropriation of the myth is an example of this exercise. For him, Bali's people have always waited, through this myth, for an eventual actualisation of the potential community. The dilemma of potential and actual community appears as a contradiction between inherent and inherited duty in Kinsley's article. The contrast presented is as in the interpretation of bhakti itself. To Kinsley, Gita serves to undergird social duty and legitimate caste roles and occupations. It demands that a bhakta perform social tasks and uphold the world as a sacrifice to Vishnu and make daily life a religious ritual. This, indeed, is the interpretation of Gita as found in Brahmanic literature. When dharma is understood in this way, it speaks only as an oppressive moment, as a duty from which the joy of performance has been stolen. If we probe Kinsley's notion of inherent duty a little further, what do we find as its main spring? When does this duty become so compelling as to require a rebellious posture vis-a-vis the social order? It becomes clear, when we understand the position of women poet-saints in medieval society, that the dilemma of duties is not simply between performance of social duties and their renunciation, but of renunciation of that world and those duties from which unblemished joy has been eliminated. Where else can we find this dilemma occurring graphically than in the life of a communally-exchanged young bride who finds herself in an alien patriarchalpatrilocal family? The poignancy of an oppressive social practice is perhaps nowhere more vivid than in this incarceration of a young woman in an often hostile household. A sensitive woman who, under conditions of oppression, looks upon god as an alternative to her husband, does not, I think, look upon the former as a mere alternative, but rather as a determinate negation of that very being which a husband is not but should be. The tension between the two potential masters: the god and the husband, is not a question of choosing between options. Like O'Connell's Gaudiya Vaisnavas, god to them is a unique master because he looks forward to an autonomous and equal relationship with his servant, beloved or bhakta. The worldly husband symbolizes the lure, the bondage, the oppressive reality of family life, while the god as husband or lover signifies liberation, liquification or deliverance. The choice made by Mahadevyakka or Mirabai was not renunciation. Their involvement with the lord was an allconsuming affair. It was a consummation of the will to gratification which is unattainable in the quotidian. They rejected repressive marriage and not marriage, oppressive sex and not love-making. Like Radha, their love for Krishna transcended the prison-gates of legitimized duty, false modesty, enforced honour and oppressive kinship.

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In coming to terms with the contradiction between inherent and inherited duty, Kinsley invokes an opposition between the Radha-Krishna and the Arjuna-Krishna relationship. This opposition cannot contain the more universal message of bhakti which emanates from both relationships. For the sensitive women poets, devotion symbolizes the overcoming of the alien and inauthentic manifestations of duty, and the affirmation of inherent duty as duty which is authentic and pleasurable, erotic and joyful. Love for god is joyful because it is a determinate negation of an oppressive social order symbolised by actual marriage. They celebrate the same aspect of duty which Partha discovers as true consciousness in dialogue (samvad) with Krishna. It is no less authentic than that of Mahadeviyakka or Mirabai, who attain it as erotic union with the lord. Kinsley's contrast does make sense if we are critically examining the hegemonic interpretations of bhakti. Gita, described as an uncompromising eirenicon, comes across as an example of hegemonic reappropriation of bhakti when it is interpreted as a justification of an oppressive social order. In suspecting the message of Gita, therefore, Kinsley is essentially correct. Jnanesvar, who I think suspects and listens at the same time, reappropriates the encrusted liberating message of Gita. For him, the Partha-Krishna relation is a teacherstudent relation. Their discourse is like a lamp igniting another lamp. J nanesvar' s Krishna wants Arjuna to retain his subjective identity and to restore joy and sensuous pleasure to duty by eliminating rage and rancor. The dynamics of gitatatva, says Jnanesvar, is like the beauty of Siva's beloved: it is eternally new. He speaks of tradition as a whole, and not only of Gita. The straight-jacket of static structural dichotomies only reduces our ability to grasp the dynamic of tradition with its eternal newness. It seems to me that during all epochs, bhakti has had its hegemonic and liberating moments. It is always a critique of an oppressive social order, but never of the social order itself. It remained susceptible to legitimizing incorporation at the hands of ideologues, and thus often became its own opposition. The transcendental expression of sensuous love for god was also quarantined as divine deviance. Thus, in the official view, it became a mere source of titillation or pacification. Similarly, the message of Gita was turned into a justification of the Brahmanic social order. The question of the revolutionary potential of tradition, of its contemporariness, should not be raised in terms of its immediate availability as a model for modernization. Such attempts produce a linear view of modernization and of tradition. In his otherwise sensitive article, Klostermaier chooses to remain at this level, and thus avoids coming to terms with the dialectics of Western as well as Indian tradition. He accepts the dichotomies of the heart and the intellect, and of the masses and the select. For him, Krishna bhakti, as a revolt of the masses, was an assertion of emotion over intellect. This is ironical, given his perceptive view of the place of consciousness in Indian tradition. My own conclusion from his analysis would be that bhakti, as a revolt of active producers, stood against abstractors and appropriators of their sense. It was a revolt against the separation of the heart from the intellect because such a

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dichotomy allowed the official intellectuals, as intermediaries, to turn the symbols of liberation into ones of legitimation. Klostermaier argues that India has much to offer to the West in terms of an exchange between two types of underdevelopment: material and religious. His earlier criticism of Christianity-for bypassing the European consciousness movement-opens a possible access to the wider context of the abridgement of reason during the critical break from tradition. The real source of strength in a living tradition, such as the Indian, is revealed when it is contrasted to the dualistically estranged Western tradition. The Hare-Krishna movement, as long as it remains fanatically attached to a selectively transplanted alien tradition, will continue to generate hostility. Most people will treat the anachronistic exhaltation of rural virtues and the unreflected criticism of modern science as faddish. They will have solid logical and material grounds for doing so. What Indian tradition should offer to the West is, perhaps, not its own cheap imitation, but rather an ability for immanent critique by which the Western youth will rediscover its own. There is as much to learn from listening to, as there is from suspecting, the message of Christianity (Bloch, 1972). Klostermaier is correct in believing that Krishna consciousness is unlikely to take over in North America. In fact, its deviant aggressiveness and its rejection of science and modern society are reminiscent of the radicalism of the Mahanubhavas on which Nemade comments. He makes an important point about the counterproductiveness of countercultures. By revolting against a hierarchical social order without securing a material basis for such action, the Mahanubhavas became an easy prey for attacks by the hegemonic classes. They were forced into hiding, in order to protect themselves. Through their cultish practices they became isolated, and were only tolerated as permissible deviants. The Warkari sampradaya also arose as a serious critique of the socioreligious order. It challenged the religious hegemony of the Brahmins and came to the point of threatening the medieval Brahmin-Kshatriya hegemony. In response to Ishwaran's accusation that the lack of organization was the cause of the ineffectiveness of the Warkaris, we may point to Nemade's suggestion that it was a consequence of the political powerlessness of the masses. Nemade rediscovers the basic principles of Buddhism and Jainism in Warkari poetry. After those two faiths failed socially, as a result of a takeover by the ruling classes, the Warkari poet-saints critically appropriated for their own times their authentic liberating impulse. Nemade is far more aware than many other critics of bhakti of the inability of the thinking and reflecting masses to revolt openly under unripe social conditions. He rests his case here, however, and refuses to explore the contemporary significance of bhakti any further. He labels it conservative reformism. A comprehensive effort for exploring the modernity of bhakti should not be so limited. It must emanate from a sense for the dialectics of the development of tradition. We must approach it with a willingness to listen and to suspect. The articles in this collection give an indication of what such a willingness implies, even though, in terms of my own preoccupations, some show greater

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willingness to listen than to suspect, and others to suspect than to listen. In contrast, most Indian intellectuals and their Western counterparts have, by and large, lost any ability to listen. Where they show some contrary indication, it is only by dividing the Little tradition from the Great. To the Indian masses, on the other hand, that little tradition with which bhakti becomes associated is a way of life. It is a living tradition. They merely listen to it while the intellectuals merely suspect it. I hope that this critical introduction and the articles from which it derives its argument will be seen as a beginning towards bridging that gap. If an authentic, conscious upsurge towards the attainment of communal ideals is to engulf the masses, it is unlikely to come from the transplants of symbols of alien or dead traditions. Symbols of liberation will have to be rediscovered from within, by those who will carry the burden of revolutionary action. Thes.e symbols, while common to both sterilised philosophical abstractions and ritualised everyday practice, cannot be rediscovered in either of these isolated settings. That has always been the message of bhakti. Therein lies its modernity.

REFERENCES BEDEKAR, D. K., Samaj Cintan Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1969. BEDEKAR, D. K., Dharmacintan Pune: Samaj Prabodhan Sanstha, 1977. BLOCH, Ernst, Atheism in Christianity New York: Herder and Herder, 1972. DHAVAMONY, MARIASUSAI, Love of God: According to Saiva Siddhanta Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971. GADAMER, HANS-GEORG, Truth and Method London: Sheed and Ward, 1975. GooELIER, M., "Infrastructure, Societies and History", in Current Anthropology, Vol. 19, No. 4, December, 1978, pp. 763- 771. HABERMAS, JURGEN, Toward A Rational Society Boston: Beacon Press, 1970. HABERMAS, JURGEN, ''A Positivistically Bisected Rationalism'', in The Positivist Dispute in German Sociology London: Heinemann, 1976. HABERMAS, JURGEN, "Aspects of the Rationality of Action'', in Geraets, T. F. (ed.) Rationality Today Ottawa: The University of Ottawa Press, 1979. JAISWAL, SuvIRA, The Origin and Development of Vaisnavism. Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1967. KosAMBI, D. D., Ancient India: History of its Culture and Civilization New York: Meridian Books, 1969. LELE, JAYANT, "Tradition and Intellectuals in a Third World Society", The 9th World Congress of Sociology, Uppsala, Sweden, August 14-19, 1978. LELE, JAYANT, Elite Pluralism and Class Rule: Political Development in Maharashtra, India Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1981. MANOR, JAMES, "Language, Religion and Political Identity in Karnataka", in Taylor, D. and Yapp, M. (eds.) Political Identity in South Asia London: Curzon Press, 1979. MARCUSE, HERBERT, Eros and Civilization Boston: Beacon Press, 1966. MARX, KARL, Grundrisse London: Penguin Books, 1973. REGE, M. P., "The Indian Conception of Knowledge", Acharya S. J. Bhagawat Seminar on Philosophy of Education in Indian Context Poona: Indian Institute of Education, 1978. RrcoEuR, PAUL, Freud and Philosophy: An Essay on Interpretation New Haven: Yale University Press, 1970. SEARLE, JottN R., Speech Acts Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969.

Bhakti in Early Buddhism BALKRISHNA GOVIND GOKHALE Wake Forest University, Winston-Salem, U.S.A.

ONE OF THE CHARGES against the Buddha which critics among the ascetics of his time levelled was that "the ascetic Gotama teaches dhamma on (a system) of his own devising beaten out by reasoning and based on investigation''. 1 What was implied was that the doctrine preached by the Buddha was based primarily on a logical analysis of empirical facts largely devoid of intuitive experience. In such a system, the role of faith is of secondary importance and, as such, the mediatising function of faith is of minor significance. Such a characterization may be true, more or less, of the intellectual comprehensiveness of Buddhism as a metaphysical system. But Buddhism, from its very inception, was not just a metaphysical exercise but was, primarily by intent and practice, a system of beliefs forming the basis of the creed accepted both by members of the order of monks and nuns and more especially by the laymen and laywomen (upasakas and upasikas). On the latter level Buddhism emerged, even during the lifetime of the Buddha, as a religion followed by a numerous group which lived an everyday lay life. A distinctive term-upasaka- came to be used for this group which constituted the third and fourth assemblies (parisa) of the Buddhist society. These lay devotees announced their special status in relation to the Buddha, his dhamma (doctrine) and the samgha (order), on the basis of their seeking shelter (sarana) in the Three Jewels. 2 Such a "conversion" was an act of faith which is the major constituent of the attitude called bhakti. The Pali term generally translated as "faith" is saddha. In a general context it is defined as belief, trust, confidence, belief proceeding from reliance on testimony or authority. beliefs in truths ofreligion; it is also "an act or attitude of intellectual assent to the traditional doctrines of one's religion", "a firm or unquestioning belief in something for which there is no proof', a system of ''religious belief'. 3 Two separate though allied elements are involved in a religious system, namely faith and knowledge, where knowledge rests on "the sole basis of empirical, synthetical statements", whereas faith, in addition to being a cognitive concept, has deep psychological and subjective implications. 4 There is no need for us to go into the detailed implications of the philosophical aspects of the theory of faith and knowledge since we are more concerned here with the development of the bhakti element in early Buddhism as a religious movement involving, primarily, the lay orders of the Buddhist society. Nor is there much need for us to discuss at length the origin and development of the

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term bhakti in Brahmanical literature and the controversy about whether the movement, as implied by the term, originated first in Brahmanism and its Vasudeva-Krishna evolutions. In the existing state of our knowledge of the precise chronological positions of the Brahmanical and Buddhistic texts, questions of chronological precedence and antecedence in the use of terms such as Bhagavan and bhaktz must remain, at best, hypotheses. 5 For our purpose here, we will assume that bhakti means personal devotion to an exalted being who has within him the ability to promise the devotee well-being hereafter. As will be shown below, such an attitude or belief did exist towards the Buddha among his lay-devotees. The time span covered, conveyed by the term "early" Buddhism, extends from the fifth to the first centuries B.C., and it is to this period that the Pali texts used here may be attributed for their composition and collation. II

The existing Buddhist canonical texts in Pali offer us two distinct perceptions of the personality of the Buddha. These seem to have existed contemporaneously on two levels, monastic and lay, though it is difficult, if not impossible, to separate the two. One perception sees him as a human being, subject to the various conditions of the human frame. The other regards him as wondrous ''great person ( maha purisa)'' approaching or exceeding the stature of the gods. It must be remembered that the religious milieu in which Buddhism arose and developed was a world peopled by various kinds of god, godlings, yakshas, nagas, asuras. There are constant references to these divine and semidivine beings. They were the Brahmas (Sahampati and Sanankumara), gods of the various abodes ( Tusita, Nimmanarati and parinimmanavasavattz) of SakkaIndra and of devatas. All of these became a part of the developing Buddhist religion. 6 Of particular significance to our subject were the cults of the Yakshas and Nagas. They had their own shrines (cetiyas and bhavanas) and inscriptional evidence shows that worship of these beings was a common practice among the merchants, artisans and plain common people throughout the regions where early Buddhism spread. The yakshas, Purnabhadra and Manibhadra, were iconically represented in their own shrines to which worshippers resorted with suitable offerings. A. K. Coomaraswamy first pointed out the association of the bhakti cult with these deities. In the jataka literature, the Future Buddha (Bodhisatta) is often spoken of as being born as one of the gods ( deva or devata, even as Sakka. 7 ) There were two elements which influenced the evolution of the perception of the personality of the Buddha as a mahapurisa. One was the theory of dhammata which, among other meanings of the term, may be rendered as higher or cosmic law. The dhammata concept in relation to the birth and the mission of the Buddha is a major theme of the Mahapadana sutta of the Digha Nikaya. It is stated that according to this law, the Future Buddha descends from the Tusita heaven to be conceived by his mother, that four devaputtas (literally sons of

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gods) protect the embryo, that during pregnancy his mother remains unaffected by any passion or carnal desire, that she dies seven days after the birth of the child, that gods first receive him after the birth, that the birth is pure and unsullied, that the infant is washed by streams of hot and cold water from the heavens, that the entire world-system is illumined by the burst of an illimitable and brilliant burst of light, and that various miracles occur marking his birth. The association of miracles with the conception, birth, enlightenment, first preaching and final passing away of the Buddhist is the second element. The Buddha's body possesses the thirty-two bodily marks of the Great Man, such as marks of wheels on the soles of his feet, forty teeth, a mole between the eyebrows, a head shaped like a turban and ears extending up to his shoulders. Though the Buddha himself refused to perform miracles in response to the demand made by the Licchavi Sunakkhatta, miracles did attend various events in his life, such as the conversion of the Kassapa brothers, and it is clear that the occurrence of miraculous events during the Buddha's ministry did form a part of traditions concerning his life at a fairly early stage in the development of perceptions about the Buddha's personality. 8 At this stage the Buddha ceases to be an ordinary human being, and is elevated to the status of a person greater than some of the great gods of Vedic mythology, such as Brahma and SakraIndra. He is now endowed with the power of extending his earthly life indefinitely, and Ananda was later chided for not requesting the Buddha to do so when the opportunity presented itself through suggestions made by the Buddha himself. 9 Another element which influenced this emerging '' Buddhalogy'' was the theory of avatara which plays such a prominent role in Brahmanical theogeny. Already this concept is used in one of the suttas of the Digha Nikaya where mention is made of six former Buddhas who were predecessors of Gotama who thus was reckoned as the seventh Buddha. This developed into the cult of the Former Buddhas, and inscriptional evidence indicates that the custom of worshipping the stupa of Konagamana was fairly common from the time of the great Asoka (C. 272-232 B.C.) if not before him. 10 In later literature, the number of Buddhas was increased to twenty-four with a Buddha called Metteyya yet to come. Alongside the development of the Buddha as a superhuman being, there was the identification of the Buddha as the dhamma. The dhamma pre-exists the Buddha, for it is stated that whether the Tathagatas appear or not, the dhamma is always there. The Buddha simply incarnates or articulates the truth, though he does so through his own power (sayam abhinna). For the Tathagata is synonymous with dhamma and brahma, and he who sees the dhamma sees the Buddha and he who sees the Buddha sees the dhamma. 11 Truth is not only eternal but also has the power to save and even perform miracles. The Act of Truth (saccakiriya) 12 is often mentioned, especially in the Jatakas. This aspect of the personality of the Buddha as dhamma or supreme truth incarnate gave it a permanence going beyond his mortal body and a power whereby remembrance of the Buddha became an act of merit and even an act of truth.

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Overall, there prevailed, in the minds of his followers, monastic and lay, the magnificence of his personality. Even in the passages which purport to tell us of the historical events of his life, there are associations of miracles. 13 Such miracles were explained as being due to the Buddha's mastery over the element of tefas (heat and/or brilliance) and his superhuman nature as the truth incarnate. This change in the perception of the personality of the Buddha is strikingly revealed in the kinds of adjectives used in the canonical Buddhist literature to describe the Buddha. A random search showed as many as forty-six different adjectives referring to the Buddha. These were used by the monks and nuns in their verses and also in the suttas of the different nikayas. Among these, the most prominent call him the Great Hero (Mahavira), kinsman of the sun (adiccabandhu), the knower of the entire world-system, the Lord of the world (Lokanatha), the best of men (purisuttama naruttama), the highly effulgent one (mahajutz), the best of charioteers (sarathinam varuttama), the caravan leader (satthavaha), the great Naga (mahanaga), and the Leader (vinayaka). In one short passage, the post-canonical Milinda-panha uses as many as fifteen different adjectives to describe the Buddha. 14 Above all, the two attributes constantly associated with the Buddha's personality are his all-enveloping intelligence (panna) and his allembracing compassion (karuna) which later on, in the Bodhisattva doctrine, came to be associated with the Bodhisattva as the savior. Some passages in our texts almost approach the status of a stotra, which are such an important part of Hindu devotional literature. These passages are to be found in some of the verses attributed to prominent monks and nuns, a good example being the verses attributed to Mahapajapati Gotami, the Buddha's aunt, with whose ordination began the institution of the order of nuns. She says: "Hail to thee, Oh Buddha, the Hero ... for the good of the multitude did Maya give birth to you''. The Upali sutta of the Majfhima Nikaya contains ten verses which may be called the earliest Buddha Shatanama (hundred names). In the later phases of the Mahayana, Mahatmyas and Stotras became common. 15 This sentiment of adoration of the person of the Buddha and the development of literature of the stotra genre clearly indicate the role of the bhakti movement in the evolution of Buddhism as a religion of the laity. Such an evolution became inevitable because of the increasing stress placed on the element of faith in the Buddha, the dhamma and the samgha as the very basis of Buddhism as a religion. Saddha, to which a reference has already been made above, may be rendered as "confidence" by some scholars, but for the common layman or laywoman the emotion is clearly that of devotion or bhakti. This is borne out by evidence from the canonical literature as well as from inscriptions. 16 The synonyms of the term saddha are nittha (to be complete in faith), garava (reverence), pasada (faith), sappatissa (reverence), saddahana (trust, faith), okappana (putting of trust) and abhippasada (having faith in), all of which must be regarded as attributes of bhakti. Saddha is also called a bala (strength) and sampada (attainment, accomplishment), and there is also the concept of saddhavimutto (liberated through faith). B. M. Barua explains faith in

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early Buddhism as "the basic principle of human culture", "the guiding factor which precedes all charitable, moral, religious and spiritual functions, the basic principle of all virtuous deeds (punnakiriyavatthunz), sanctioned by religion". N. Dutt argues that saddha "in Buddhism carries two distinct meanings: one is faith (pasada) and the other is self-confidence, producing viriya (energy)" and by faith, as far as the laity were concerned, it meant the cultivation of faith in the Buddha, dhamma and samgha. 17 The perception of the personality of the Buddha as the supreme object of faith and reverence ( bhaktz) is clearly indicated in some passages of the Mahaparinibbana sutta of the Digha Nikaya. In reply to Ananda's question about the disposal of his mortal remains, the Buddha says that there are noble men and Brahmans who are "firm believers in the Tathagata" who will "do due honour to the remains of the Tathagata''. The Buddha then suggests that his remains may be treated in the same way as are the remains of a king of kings ( cakkavattz). The prevailing method was to wrap the body of the king "in a new cloth'' and then in a ''carded cotton wool'' and then again ''in a new cloth' ' and ''so on till they have wrapped the body in five hundred successive layers of both kinds. Then they place the body in an oil vessel of iron, and cover that close up with another oil vessel of iron. Then they build a funeral pyre of all kinds of perfume, and burn the body of the king of kings. And then at the four cross roads they erect a cairn to the king of kings". The Buddha then adds that ''whosoever shall place there garlands or perfumes or paint, or make salutation there, or become in its (cairn's) presence calm in heart-that shall long be to them for a profit and a joy''. The benefit of such worship, the Buddha explains, is that such devotees will be reborn "in the happy realms of heaven". Earlier in the text the Buddha recommends that a man of faith should visit four places associated with the four major events of his life, namely, the place he was born, the place he was Enlightened, the place where he first preached the dhamma and the place where he finally passed away. This pilgrimage was recommended both to the monks and nuns and to laymen and laywomen, and the reward for such an act was rebirth in heaven. After the cremation of the mortal remains of the Buddha, the relics of his body were distributed in eight parts over which stupas were built by King Ajatasattu, the Licchavis, the Sakyas, the Bulis, the Koliyas, the Vethadipaka Brahman, the Mallas of Pava and Kusinara, and the Brahman Dona. 18 The tradition of pilgrimages to the four holy places, erection of stupas over the bodily relics of the Buddha and the building of stupas for former Buddhas such as Konagamana was firmly established by the time of Asoka. Asoka mentions that he visited the birth-place of the Buddha, the place where he was enlightened, and where he first preached and even exempted the village of Lumbini from the payment of customary taxes because the Buddha was born there. He also carried out a second distribution of the Buddha's relics over which, according to Buddhist tradition, he built stupas. 19 The four great places are Lumbini, Bodh-Gaya, Sarnath and Kusinara.

BHAKTI IN EARLY BUDDHISM

21

III Saddha and its correlate bhakti play a vital role in lay Buddhism from the time of the emergence of Buddhism as a religion to the present times. The ideal lay devotee is described as believing and virtuous. He seeks refuge (sarana) in the Buddha, dhamma and samgha, the three supreme jewels (ratananz). This formal act of taking refuge is explained by the traditional commentators as such an act of refuge that it "kills and destroys danger and fear, suffering and defilements leading to evil destiny" for "the Buddha destroys fear in beings by promoting their happiness and by removing harm from them''. This is reinforced by the devotee's taking refuge in the dhamma and the samgha. The layman or woman must observe the five precepts (sikkhapadanz), namely, abstention from taking life, abstention from taking what is not his or hers (stealing), abstention from adultery, abstention from telling untruth, and abstention from the use of wines, liquors and intoxicating substances. On certain "holy" days the lay devotee may observe the three or five additional commandments which, all ten, ordinarily concern the monastic fraternity. Buddhism also bars the practice of five professions to a lay person. These are dealing in weapons, slavery, meat and fish, liquors and poisons. On special occasions the devotee is urged to recite selected suttas with a pure mind and faith, to offer gifts of food and clothing to the order and to indigents, and to show kindness to the lower orders of creation. Indeed, charity (dana) is held as the highest of virtues for a lay person, for it is the principal means of meritmaking (punna) which, along with an unshakable faith in the Buddha, dhamma and the samgha, secure a higher after-life. In later literature, faith in the Buddha is mentioned as the best means of winning heaven for the lay person. 20 For the Buddhism of the lay devotee, saddha and its intensified form of bhakti toward the Buddha is declared to be the seed (by.am) and the very ground of a religious life. During his lifetime, the Buddha inspired this feeling of bhakti among a large group of the laity. The foremost among these were Anathapindika, who was praised not only for his faith in the Buddha, but also for his knowledge of the dhamma and his unequalled gifts. Another such person was the celebrated physician and surgeon, Jivaka Komarabhacca. In two Anguttara passages, the Buddha makes a special mention of ten laymen and an equal number of laywomen as "foremost" (etadagga) among all his lay devotees (upasakas and upasikas). They are singled out for their excellence in giving gifts to the samgha, spreading the dhamma, unshakable faith, learning, meditative skills, service to the sick and trustworthiness in religious affairs. 21 From its very inception, Buddhism as a religion stressed the importance of service to the Samgha as the basis of the devotee's saddha and bhakti. The devotees responded to the Buddha and his disciples in the samgha in a magnificent manner. They provided food, clothing, medicaments and housing to the order and took an active interest in its affairs. The reward assured to them for this devotion was accumulation of merit (punna), on the strength of which they could be reborn in the various heavens after their death. Later on, such merit also became the basis for the acquisition of Bodhisattva and Buddhahood.

22

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Inscriptional evidence from the widely scattered Buddhist monuments clearly reveals that such meritorious activities continued through the ages. Devotees set up statuettes, Bodhisattva images, gave donations for the worship of all the Buddhas, set up images of the Sakyamuni, worshipped relics of outstanding monks such as Sariputta and Moggallana, also worshipped other symbols of their faith-the sacred wheel of righteousness, foot-prints of the Buddha, stupas of the historical Gotama and former Buddhas-and contributed to the building of monasteries and shrines. 22 The development of the bhakti element in the religion of the Buddhist laity is reflected in the history of Buddhist architecture and sculpture in India and elsewhere. The stupas at Bharhut and Samchi owed their construction to the generosity of kings and commoners alike. In many cases, there were collective donations for which special committees were set up (dhammagothz). The transformation in the character of the stupa from being a simple memorial to an elaborate and gorgeously sculptured shrine is shown in the addition of the circumambulatory walk (pradakshinapatha) and niches for candles and flowers. Even at the pre-iconic stage in the development of Buddhist sculpture, the worship of the ''non-image'' as image was contrived through the use of five wellknown symbols associated with the most important events in the life of the historical Buddha. These were the white elephant for conception, the riderless horse for the Great Departure (mahabhinikkhamana), the Bodhi tree for Enlightenment, the Wheel for the preaching and the stupa for the Final Passing Away (parinibbana). By the first century B. C., the Buddha story was not merely a tale of an outstanding life, but had acquired the character of almost a purana or mahatmya, with the representation of various historical scenes such as the visit by Ajatasattu and the miracles, and thejataka stories on the railings and gateways of the great stupas like Bharhut, Samchi, Amaravati and Nagarjunikonda. These had become shrines to which the pious paid regular visits for the purpose of worship. 23 The congruence of literary and archaeological evidence up to the first century B.C. lends support to the view that the element of bhakti had become an integral part of early Buddhism as a religion of the laity. This is not surprising, for it should be remembered that such a development was a part of the growth of the bhakti movement in Hinduism during these centuries as indicated by the cult of Vasudeva-Krishna culminating in the emergence of Bhagavatism. E. J. Thomas states that the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas were now conceived as "mighty beneficent beings rivalling the gods of surrounding Hinduism. They may not have been conceived as gods in the sense of ultimate reality of things, but popular thought was not concerned with such problems. It sought objects of worship, and it found them in the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas who became little else than the gods of the old polytheism under other names. The element of devotion ( bhaktz) was thus introduced into Buddhism". 24 A Milinda passage states that numerous gods and householders obtained "penetration into the Truth'' ( dhammabhisamaya) just by listening to the preaching of the dhamma and the recitation of selected suttas such as the Parabhava and the Mangala, which

BHAKTI IN EARLY BUDDHISM

23

became parts of the standard "ritual" worship for Buddhist lay devotees through the centuries down to modern times. 25 In the same work the great Sariputta, the Captain of the Faith (dhammasenapatz) is stated to have said that ''There is but one Confession, one true Faith, one Adoration of clasped hands stretched forth- That paid to Him who routs the Evil One, and helps us cross the ocean of our ills''. 26 This compares favorably with the passage in the Bhagavadgita which states that the devotee who offers me (Krishna) even a leaf, flower, fruit or water, with devotion to him I shall respond. 27 From Sariputta's assertion concerning the ultimate benefit accruing to the devotee who performs salutation to the Buddha, to the development of bhakti as the way for a blissful hereafter as stated in the Mahasamghika text, the Mahavastu, was but an easy and short step. For the Mahasamghikas the Buddha was no mere mortal teacher. He was so pure and exalted that "reverence paid to him suffices to win Nirvana, while abundant merit can be attained by the mere circumambulation of a stupa, and the paying of homage by offering of flowers". 28 This trend, well established as early as the first century B. C., finally developed into the bhakti cult of the Mahayana where devotional worship of the Buddha and the Bodhisattvas became an accepted part of the religion of the laity. The Buddha, in the manifestation of the Truth-body (dharmakaya) became a savior, an aspect of Buddhist religion more particularly oriented toward the Bodhisattva as a savior. The Bodhisattva, by the fifth century A.D., was not only the savior of man in search of release from suffering, but also as a bestower of happiness in this very world. The latter aspect is reflected in the numerous sculptural representations called the Litany of A valokiteshwara in numerous excavated shrines in western India. The dangers are such as a traveller encounters, robbers, shipwreck, serpents, etc. 29

IV We may now discuss the prevalence of bhakti in the religious practices of the Buddhist lay devotees in contemporary times. The general tendency among modern Buddhist intellectuals, monastic and lay alike, is to deny that there is anything like ritual worship in Theravada Buddhism, much less any element of bhakti in such worship. Thus Ananda Pereira states: "Those who do not understand the Buddha Dhamma are sometimes misled by the religious practices of the Buddhist worldling. The offering of flowers at Buddhist shrines, the recurrent "taking" of the Five Precepts by the Buddhist layman, the chanting of pirith (recitations of protection), and the salutation of Bhikkhus (monks), these and many other practices are pointed to as evidence". But, says Pereira, this is due' 'to a lack of understanding''. But, he goes on to add for the worldling "rites and ceremonies have a value. Religious ritual is a means to an end. In times of stress it can be an anchor. In times of grief it can be a solace. In time of temptation it can be a reminder that there are higher things than the physical appetites". 30 These ideas, however, come close to the ideas and practices common to theistic faith in other religions. In Burma, as Winston L. King noticed, devotion to the Buddha, monastic and lay intellectuals notwithstan-

24

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ding, in a "warm and personalized" way is felt as an "emotional and conceptual need". The "human and personal features of the Buddha's life are treasured by the devout just as dearly as those of Jesus's life are by devoted Christians". King makes the point that in the everyday life of the lay devotee in Burma ''a very deeply devotional quality appears''. King quotes passages from the article written by a Ceylonese monk in which the "language and mood" clearly parallel some of the medieval Christian mystical outpourings or modern revivalist devotionals. He asks: "Does it represent a repressed, or at least seldom-expressed, Buddhist feeling which could be found in the heart of multitudes of pagoda-worshippers of the Buddha images". He adds: "The answer is probably, yes". When the Burmese Buddhist layman makes his offering before an image "there is clearly something of the "Buddhapresence'' which is available here before the image, and not elsewhere''. The emotion present in this context ''surely transforms the past tense of honoured memory into the present tense of petition and adoration". 31 M. E. Spiro, in the course of his field work in Burma, also found the existence of an emotional attitude somewhat resembling bhakti among the Burmese lay Buddhists. The Burmese layman, he concludes, has faith in the Buddha, his power, or the power "inherent in his virtues" or the power "contained in His words" whose invocation in an attitude of devotion would help man find solutions to his problems.32 R. F. Gombrich comes to a similar conclusion from his studies in Ceylonese Buddhism. In Ceylon the adjective bhaktimanta and the noun sardhava refer "to the kind of faith, of loving trust, which is recommended by theistic religions, for all that according to some authorities this is supposed not to exist in Theravada Buddhism. The sentiment in Sinhalese Buddhists is certainly a mild one compared to, for instance, the ecstasies of their Saivite neighbours, and its focus is rather diffuse: the devotion and trust are chiefly directed towards the Buddha, but may include other religious characters such as the great disciples or good Buddhist gods like Vishnu, venerable objects such as Bo trees or books of scripture, or even particular monks". 33 The ''ritual'' of daily and special worship of sacred objects among devotees following the early Buddhist or Theravada tradition in Ceylon, Burma, Thailand and among the recent converts to Buddhism among the former untouchables or Mahar followers in western India unequivocally reflects an attitude which is not far from, if not identical with the attitude of bhakti. Narada Thera and Bhikkhu Kassapa have compiled a manual for everyday and special devotions for the lay devotees. The work begins with the formal declaration of homage and the taking of the ''three refuges ( tisarana)'', the five, eight and ten precepts, the salutation to the Buddha, dhamma and Samgha, the ceremonial offering of flowers, camphor, perfume, perfumed smoke and food, the worship of the Bodhi-tree and the asking of forgiveness of faults, the recitation of the suttas such as the Mangala and the Ratana, and then goes on to describe the various meditations. Anyone familiar with Hindu ritual in the home and/or the temple will at once be struck with points of similarities not only in ritual actions but also in the emotional attitudes. 34 Another Ceylonese

BHAKTI IN EARLY BUDDHISM

25

Buddhist tract discusses the implications of the act of homage. It may be an ''emotional reaction in gratitude, veneration and joy'', preparing the disciple "emotionally for complete self-surrender". The entire process involving "refuge, the going for refuge, and the person who goes for refuge are three elements inseparably fused in a momentous religious experience''. It is a "delicate transformation" creating a unique experience. 35 In the everyday life of the Buddhist lay devotee the act of worship plays a significant role. Every Buddhist home is expected either to have a separate shrine room with the image of the Buddha as the central object, or a marked off and elevated place where the image of the Buddha is placed ... The daily worship involves the offering of flowers and incense, fruits and the burning of an oil lamp, the chanting and recitation of selected texts and the observance of special precepts on certain days. 36 On these special days (uposatha), the lay devotee is expected to visit the pagoda to listen to the exposition of the dhamma by a monk who has specialized in the preaching of dhamma ( dhammakathika). On especially holy days the lay devotees are enjoined upon to participate in processions carrying sacred objects such as the relics of Buddha or his outstanding disciples. "A procession", declares one devout Buddhist, "is a sine qua non of Buddhist festivity''. It expresses a ''joyousness'' and a ''spirit of pure devotion to religion''. On such occasions, "women clad in their best attire, boys in their holiday dress, singing beautiful songs in praise of the world's greatest Teacher, invariably form the majority in a religious procession''. These processions are very similar in their ritual and emotional content to practices in Hinduism such as those undertaken by the Warkaris of Maharashtra. 37 Ritual worship of Buddhist sacred objects and processions also form an integral and important part of the Buddhism of the recent converts to that faith from among the former untouchable castes in India. 38 Our survey of the history of the bhakti in early Buddhism reveals the philosophical, spiritual, emotional and social roles played by bhakti in the emergence of Buddhism as a religion of the broad masses of people in Theravada Buddhist countries and more recently in India. It is this element which makes for the social cohesion and socialization of a creed which began as a way of deliverance for those who had left behind their home and family. But such a creed, in order to survive, had to transform itself into a religion in which the laity had to be accorded a position of relevance and importance. The personality of the Buddha and devotion to him secured a common focus both for the monastic and lay orders of the Buddhist society. Bhakti (saddha, payirupasana) provided a social bond for what was initially an a-social movement. The close relationship between the chetiya (shrine) and the vihara (monastery) reflects this social bond of bhakti. REFERENCES Pali texts used in the paper belong to the series published by the Pali Publications Board, N alanda, Bihar, during 1958-1960. BuooHADASA, Toward The Truth, Philadelphia: Westminster Press 1971.

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CHALMERS, R., (trans.), Thejataka, London: Cambridge University Press, 1957. CooMARASWAMY, A. K., Yaksas, New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1971. ERGARDT, J. T., Faith and Knowledge in Early Buddhism, Leiden: Brill, 1977. FAUSBOLL, V., Thejataka, London: Luzac, 1963. GoKHALE, B. G., Asoka Maurya, New York: Twayne Publishers, 1966. GoKHALE, B. G., Buddhism in Maharashtra, Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1976. GoMBRICH, R. F., Precept and Practice, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971. GuRUGE, A. C., (ed.), Return to Righteousness, Colombo: Ministry of Education and Cultural Affairs, Ceylon, 1965. HORNER, I. B., The Collection of Middle Length Sayings, London: Luzac, 1954. jAISWAL, S., The Origin and Development of Vaisnavism, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1967. jAYATILLEKE, K. N., Early Buddhist Theory of Knowledge, London: G. Allen and Unwin, 1963. KING, W. L., A Thousand Lives Away, Oxford: Bruno Cassirer, 1964. LAW, B. C., Buddhistic Studies, Calcutta: Thacker, Spink & Co., Ltd., 1931. LAw, B. C., A Study of the Mahavastu (Supplement), Calcutta: Thacker, Spink, 1930. LuDERS, H., Appendix to Epigraphia Indica, Calcutta: Superintendent Government Printing, 1912. MITRA, D., Buddhist Monuments, Calcutta: Sahitya Samsad, 1971. MORGAN, K. W., (ed.), The Path of the Buddha, New York: Ronald Press Co., 1956. NANAMOLI, (trans.), The Path of Purification, Colombo: A. Semage, 1964. NARADATERA and BHIKKH-KASSAPA, The Mirror of the Dhamma, Kandy: The Wheel, 1963. NARAIN, A. K., (ed.), Studies in Pali and Buddhism, Delhi: B. R. Publishing Corp., 1979. RHYS-DAVIDS, T. W., (trans.), The Questions of King Milinda, New York: Dover Publications, 1963. RHYS-DAVIDS, T. W. and C. A. F., (trans.), Dialogues of the Buddha, London: Luzac & Co., 1959. SNELLGROVE, D. L., (ed.), The Image of the Buddha, New York: Serindia Publications, 1978. SPIRO, M. E., Buddhism and Society, New York: Harper & Row, 1970. THOMAS, E. J., The History of Buddhist Thought, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd., 1971. TRENCKNER, V., (ed.), The Milindapanho, London: Williams and Norgate, 1880. W1NTERNITZ, W., A History of Indian Literature, New York: Russell & Russell, 1971. NOTES

2 3 4 5

6 7

J. Kashyap (Ed.), The Majjhima Nikaya (Nalanda: 1958), I, p. 96. The Pali texts used here are from the series published as The Nalanda-Devanagari-Ali Series by the Pali Publication Board of the Bihar Government during 1958-1960. They are abbreviated as Mahavagga = MV; Digha Nikaya = DN; Majjhima Nikaya = MN; Samyutta Nikaya = SamN; A nguttara Nikaya = AngN; Khuddaka Nikaya = KhN; Theragatha = Thag; Theri Catha= Thig; Dhammapada = Dhp; I. B. Horner, trans., The Collection of Middle Length Sayings (London: 1954), I, p. 91; other texts referred to will be cited separately. DN, II, p. 197; MN, I, p. 32. J. H. Murray (Ed.), A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles (Oxford: 1901), IV, p. 31; P. B. Gove, ed., Webster's Third International Dictionary (Springfield, Mass.: 1971), p. 816. For a detailed discussion of these ideas, see J. T. Ergardt, Faith and Knowledge in Early Buddhism (Leiden: 1977), pp. 141-146; also see K. N. Jayatilleke, Early Buddhist Theory of Knowledge (London: 1963), pp. 380-383. For such a recent excursus, see S. Jaiswal, The Origin and Development of Vaisnavism (Delhi: 1967), pp. 37ff. MN, III, pp. 214-215, 350; SamN, I, pp. 51, 53, 54; AngN. I, p. 76. DN, II, p. 60; MN, III, pp. 214-215, 350; SamN, I, pp. 51, 53, 54, 209; AngN, I, p. 257; II, p. 76; KhN, I, pp. 108-109; V. Fausboll (ed.), The]ataka (London: 1963), I, pp. 154, 168, 169, 221, 329, 363, 412, 414, 415, 423, 425, 441, 473, 474, 482, 497, 499; II, pp. 107, 113, 142, 151, 161, 179, 212; H. Luders, Appendix to Epigraphia Indica (Calcutta: 1912), X, Nos; 63, 85, 717, 726, 736, 737, 740, 744, 745, 746-749, 752, 753, 770, 771, 790, 794, 795, 811, 871, 902, 958; A. K. Coomaraswamy, Yaksas (New Delhi: 1971), I, pp. 14ff., 27ff.

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8

9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16

17

18 19 20 21 22 23

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

27

For the meaning of the term, dhammata, see T. W. Rhys Davids and W. Steede, eds., The Pali-English Dictionary (London: 1959), p. 339; DN, II, pp. lOff., 84, 85, 90, 91, 104, 106, 121; III, pp. 4ff.; MN, III, pp. 183ff.; AngN, II, pp. 136-138, 480-481; MV, p. 26. DN, II, pp. 90-93. DN, II, pp. 4-6; AngN, II, p. 77; Luders, op. cit., nos. 714, 722, 783. DN, III, p. 66; AngN, I, p. 266; IV, p. 214; SamN, II, p. 341; also see Buddhadasa, Toward the Truth (Philadelphia: 1971), pp. 14-15, for modern Theravada interpretations. See, for instance, R. Chalmers, trans., Thejataka (London: 1957), I, pp. 55, 90, 184. MV, pp. 1-8, 23ff., 25ff.; MN, I, pp. 23ff., 212-223, 291ff.; II, pp. 320ff., 484ff.; AngN, I, p. 134; II, pp. 23ff.; SamN, I, p. 134. MV, p. 27; DN, I, pp. 5, 6, 12, 40, 84, 191, 197; II, pp. 16, 31, 80, 94, 95, 154, 166-168; SamN, I, pp. 8, 10, 39, 66; III, p. 88; AngN, I, pp. 68, 247; II, pp. 10-11, 26, 84; IV, p. 128; Thag, verses 6, 24, 29, 50, 69, 89, 94, 97, 135, 188, 189, 204, 291, 292, 369, 420, 429, 485, 539, 563, 628, 725, 842-843, 873, 905, 924, 1255; Thig, verses 22, 46, 108, 135, 148, 153, 157, 185, 192, 307, 320, 335, 389, 457, 459; Vimanavatthu, verse 80; KhN, I, pp. 34-35, 324, 334; VI, pp. 6-7; V, p. 147; VII, pp. 303, 380, 387. Thig, verses 161ff.; also see Thag, verses 692ff., 821ff.; KhN, VII, p. 300; for Mahayana stotra literature see M. Winternitz, A History of Indian Literature (New York: 1971), p. 375ff. For saddha as "confidence" see Mahathera U. Titthila's paper in K. W. Morgan, ed., The Path of the Buddha (New York: 1956), p. 73; for saddha as faith see DN, I, p. 184; II, pp. 32, 61, 75; AngN, II, pp. 37-38, 84-85, 318; IV, p. 195; Dhammasamgani, pp. 22, 33, 79; Thag, verse 592; KhN, I, p. 281; V, pp. 100, 115, 269, 294, 372, 415, 425; VI, p. 6. For synonyms of saddha, see Pali-English Dictionary, pp. 163, 250, 357, 674-675; also, see Nanamoli, trans., The Path of Purification (Colombo: 1964), p. 770; B. M. Barua, "Faith in Buddhism", in B. C. Law, ed., Buddhistic Studies (Calcutta: 1931), pp. 341-343; N. Dutt, "Place of Faith in Buddhism", in Indian Historical Quarterly, XVl/3, Sept. 1940, pp. 639-641. DN, II, pp. 109-110, 126-128; T. W. and C. A. F. Rhys Davids, trans., Dialogues of the Buddha (London: 1959), II, pp. 152-154, 155-156; AngN, II, pp. 126-127. For details, see B. G. Gokhale, Asoka Maurya (New York: 1966), pp. 74ff., 164. DN, I, p. 171; II, p. 69; MN, III, pp. 341-342; AngN, II, pp. 262, 307, 450, 452, 454, 457-458; III, p. 200; KhN, VI, p. l; Dhp, verses 195-196. DN, I, p. 43; SamN, I, p. 31; AngN, I, pp. 26-27; IV, p. 252. Luders, op. cit., numbers 10, 11, 12, 13, 38, 43, 125, l'.l8, 144, 158, 200, 234, 273, 351,

571, 666, 705, 844, 866, 1207, 1217, 1219, 2665. For details on the lay-out of the great stupas and their religious significance, see D. Mitra, Buddhist Monuments (Calcutta: 1971 ), pp. 92ff., 96ff., 200ff., 204ff.; for the non-image as image in the development of early Buddhism as a religion, see D. L. Snellgrove, ed., The Image of the Buddha (New York: 1978), pp. 23-41. E. J. Thomas, The History of Buddhist Thought (London: 1971), p. 178. V. Trenckner, ed., The Milindapanho (London: 1880), pp. 19-20. T. W. Rhys Davids, trans., The Questions of King Milanda (New York: 1963), II, p. 55. Bhagavadgita, IX, 26. B. C. Law, A Study of the Mahavastu (Supplement) (Calcutta: 1930), p. 10. See B. G. Gokhale, Buddhism in Maharashtra (Bombay: 1976), pp. 95, 114. A. Pereira, Escape to Reality (Kandy, Ceylon: 1962), pp. 95, 114. W. L. King, A Thousand Lives Away-Buddhism in Contemporary Burma (Oxford: 1964), pp. 174-176. M. L. Spiro, Buddhism and Society (New York: 1970), pp. 144-151. R. F. Gombrich, Precept and Practice-Traditional Buddhism in the Rural Highlands of Ceylon (Oxford: 1971), pp. 263-264. Narada Thera and Bikkhu Kassa pa, The Mirror of the Dhamma (Kandy: 1963), pp. 1-13, 28ff. Nyanaponika Thera, The Threefold Refuge (Kandy: 1965), pp. 20-21; also see J. R. Carter, "The Notion of' Refuge' (Sarana) in the Theravada Buddhist Tradition", in A. K. Narain, ed., Studies in Pali and Buddhism (Delhi: 1979), p. 44.

28 36 37 38

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Bhikkhu Khantipalo, Lay Buddhist Practice (Kandy: 1974), pp. 2-5, 40ff. A. Guruge, ed., Return to Righteousness-A Collection of Speeches, Essays and Letters of the Anagarika Dharmapala (Colombo: 1965), pp. 523-524. For details, see J. R. Macy and E. Zelliot, "Tradition and Innovation in Contemporary Indian Buddhism", in A. K. Narain, ed., Studies in History of Buddhism (Delhi: 1980), pp. 131-151.

Bhakti or Vidroha: Continuity and Change in Dalit Sahitya ]A Y ASHREE B. GOKHALE-TURNER Landen berg, Pennsylvania, U.S.A. IN RECENT YEARS, a literary-cultural movement known as Dalit Sahitya (literature of the poor or down-trodden) has emerged on the Indian literary scene. Since the early 1960' s, a growing number of poets and writers, largely from the Scheduled Caste communities of Mahars and Buddhists in the state of Maharashtra in western India, have been producing literary works dominated by the themes of U ntouchability and poverty, repression and revolution, and above all, contain fierce attacks on the Hindu religious and social order of caste and its modern forms. Dalit Sahitya is considered to be a unique genre of modern Indian literature, for now Untouchables themselves, using the traditionally-denied weapon of literacy, are exposing the conditions under which they have lived, as well as directly rebelling ( vidroha) against the Hindu institution which has assured their perpetual subordination, the varna (caste) order. Yet the emergence of Dal it Sahitya is not without its historical antecedents. The thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in Maharashtra saw the development of a literary tradition among members of the non- Brahman and Untouchable castes through the medium of the bhakti (faith or devotion) movement. While the bhakti tradition has been most prominently identified with the Brahman saints Dnyaneshwar and Eknath, it also included the Mahar saints Chokha Mela, Karma Mela, Banka and Nirmala, the courtesan Kanhopatra, as well as the non-Brahman saints Namdev (tailor), Gora (potter), Sawata (gardener), Sena (barber), and Tukaram (Kunbhi or peasant). Many of the abhangs (religious poems) of these poet-saints (and especially those of the Untouchables) expressed in poignant terms the inequalities and injustices suffered by the lower castes as a result of the varna order. The bhakti tradition, therefore, first raises certain themes pertinent to the life of those at the bottom of the varna hierarchy, which reappear in Dalit Sahitya, even though the perspective of both movements is quite different. This paper examines some aspects of the relationship between the two by focussing on Dalit Sahitya's understanding of bhakti and on the treatment of caste and U ntouchability in the abhangs of the Untouchable saints and in the poetry of modern dalit writers.

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I The bhakti movement of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in Maharashtra represented a remarkable instance of literary and cultural efflorescence. 1 Inveighing against the excessive ritualism and Brahmannical supremacy of the day, and insisting that the individual by means of sublime faith or bhakti could attain the Divine, poet-saints from various castes gathered at Pandharpur and spread their message throughout the region known today as Maharashtra. Dnyaneshwar stressed, for example, that in the eyes of God there were no varnas or jatis (caste as an occupational division), and further, in the social realm, all varnas andjatis were inherently equal as the proper functioning of each was necessary for the well-being of the whole society. 2 While the social effects of the teachings of Dnyaneshwar and the other poet-saints may have been quite limited, it seems that among the saints themselves few caste distinctions were observed. It was in this context that the Mahar Chokha Mela's claim to religious knowledge was honoured by his fellow saints. 3 The details of Chokha Mela's life are not precisely known. It is thought that he was born in a village near Pandharpur but spent the bulk of his life in Pandharpur itself. Several instances proving that Chokha Mela enjoyed divine favour (beginning with his birth) are reputed to have taken place during the course of his life. Each instance pointed up the discrepancy between Chokha Mela's earthly station as an Untouchable, and the purity of his heart and the intensity of his devotion to Vitthal. The birth of his son Karma Mela, for example, was occasioned by divine dispensation: an aged and famished Brahmin came to Chokha's house and begged for food. Chokha's wife was reluctant to serve him as she was a Mahar. He insisted, however, and she yielded to his entreaties. Upon having finished his meal, the Brahmin (who was actually Vitthal in disguise) assured her that she would give birth to a son for whom she had long prayed. Similarly, even though access to the temple was forbidden to Chokha, the god Vitthal carried him into the sanctum sanctorum and even bestowed on him his own necklace. The towns people, however, did not accept that Chokha was beloved by the Deity and continued to harass him as an Untouchable. Finally, even in death Chokha could not escape his position as a Mahar. He died while performing veth (forced or compulsory labour required of all Untouchables, especially Mahars). The Mahars of his village had been called up to repair the village walls. The walls collapsed and many Mahars, including Chokha Mela, were crushed to death. His friend, the saint Namdev, describes in a touching series of abhangs how he was asked by Vitthal to go and find Chokha's remains so that a monument could be erected over them. 4 While the majority of Chokha Mela's abhangs describe his devotion to the deity Vitthal and sing his praises, several express in very direct and heartfelt tones the consciousness of his existence as an Untouchable. Indeed, some of his most emotional abhangs concern the tension between his love for Vitthal and his difficulties in displaying that love due to his U ntouchability. It should also be pointed out that the consciousness of U ntouchability or of low birth is evident

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in the abhangs of almost all the non-Brahman saints. The intensity of this consciousness seems to vary with the caste of the saint concerned, so that the Mahars and the courtesan Kanhopatra make the most frequent and emotional references to their low birth, while the non-Brahman saints seem to be more accepting and even basically contented with their caste and its status. 5 It is Chokha Mela and his son Karma Mela, however, who seem to show the most varied set of emotions in dealing with caste and Untouchability. In dealing with the problem, Chokha travels through a whole gamut of emotions: confusion, pain, anger, bitterness, loneliness, resignation, and finally acceptance and the affirmation of the Deity. 6 Life as an Untouchable is a neverending procession of vital, or pollution, beginning with birth and continuing beyond death. This fact causes Chokha to pose two different questions: first, why was he ever born, and second, how may he attain the Divine if the very shadow of his presence is defiling? 7 Chokha Mela answers the first question by saying that his birth as an Untouchable, and indeed the very existence ofUntouchability, are the result of crimes committed against the god Krishna. 8 U ntouchability is an act of Divine Providence; it is not amenable to human understanding or remedy. The sufferings of Untouchables in the present life are inevitable and inexorable; they are atonement for an ancient unpardonable offence. They cannot be opposed but only accepted. Yet it is still possible to reach God; through sublime and transcendent faith, one may attain God's service and perhaps His grace. Indeed, it is the merging of oneself with the Divine through bhakti which seems to be Chokha's solution to Untouchability. Thus, it is only through acquiescence to the varna order and the fulfilling of all duties prescribed for Untouchables, accompanied by an intense devotion to the Deity, that the stain of Untouchability may be erased in future years. In the eyes of God, there is no inherent impurity in the tasks reserved for Untouchables in the system ofjatis. There are references in Chokha's abhangs, as well as in the abhangs of other saints, to the help that Vitthal extended to Chokha in the performance of his daily chores, specifically, to the disposing of dead cattle. 9 The suggestion is evident that Untouchables should not be ashamed of or shrink from doing their special chores, however impure and unclean they may seem; in fact, they are not so, and they are blessed by the Deity. Towards the end of his abhangs, Chokha utters his sad but serene reconciliation with the prevailing order: Johar maybap johar I am your Mahars' Mahar I am hungry For your leftovers I am hopeful I am the servant of your slaves For your leavings I've brought my basket. 10

Chokha Mela's quest for meaning and salvation has ended with the resigned admission, even affirmation, of his servitude. His abhangs reveal the

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character of a pious and good man who is punished beyond endurance by his fellow men and who, despite this, retains and even strengthens his faith in God and his compassion towards men. His son Karma Mela seems less forgiving and accepting; some of his abhangs bespeak an anger which he is hard put to assuage: You made us impure I don't know why Lord We've eaten leftovers all our life Doesn't that trouble you Our house is stocked with rice and yogurt How do you refuse it Chokha's Karma Mela asks Why did you give me birth. 11

In later verses, however, Karma Mela's doubts and anger are resolved, and he turns once more to God, suggesting that he is his own worst enemy. 12 The legacy of the bhakti tradition, therefore, lies in the acceptance, however reluctant and questioned, of the varna order and the place of the Untouchables in it. However clearly and painfully the Untouchable saints may express the cruelties and inequities of varna andjat, ultimately their message is that the Untouchable must accept his lot with fortitude and serenity, and above all, with faith. It follows, then, that for the bhakti tradition no social solution to Untouchability is possible; indeed, the very question is irrelevant. As Untouchability has suprahuman origins and justifications, it is pointless to call for social action to remedy it. Moreover, in some senses, opposing Untouchability in this fashion is sacrilegious and self-destructive: man must not challenge or rebel against the divine plan. In practical terms, this means that he must accept the dictates of those above him in the social order; acceptance of the divine plan must also mean obedience to the secular hierarchy. Secondly, the solution to Untouchability rests solely on an individual level, and on a religious, even spiritual plane. The distinctions of varna and their social consequences rest only in the minds of men and not in the eyes of God; to that extent they are insignificant, and ultimately, unreal.

II If Chokha could repose his sorrows as an Untouchable at the feet of Vitthal, his modern inheritors cannot, and neither can they accept the notion that Untouchability and caste are merely earthly chimerae which will fade away through the grace of God. Indeed, modern dalit writers seem to find it hard to come to terms with their literary predecessor. It is ironical that Chokha Mela's standing with modern dalit intellectt,als is oftentimes as low as it was with the caste- Hindus of his day. Modern dalit views of Chokha Mela and the bhakti tradition are ambivalent at best, and condemnatory at worst. On the one hand, the voices of the Mahar poet-saints are isolated in the otherwise largely mute Untouchable past. Given the tremendous odds against Chokha due to the social circumstances and rela-

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tionships of the day, seemingly it would constitute a source of pride to modern

dalits that one of their ancestors dared question his situation, however limited

and incomplete his queries sound today. In that sense, the case ofChokha and the other Untouchable and lower caste saints, serves to refute the assumption that Untouchables were unconscious of their conditions and accepted them without protest, verbal or otherwise. 13 Hence, remembrance of Chokha and the bhakti tradition might serve to establish a continuity with the past and thus give Dalit Sahitya its own unique roots. As Harish Bansode, in a poem entitled "Gift to My Teachers", put it: The blood of Chokha Mela Runs through my veins The remembrance of Bhimrao, Mahatma Phule Stirs through every hair on my body. 14

Yet, according to a leading dalit intellectual, even if the dalit writer does not feel that there is a direct bond between himself and Chokha Mela, he still ought to recognise the contributions of the Mahar saints and the bhakti tradition as a whole. For within its own historical context, the poet-saint movement was fully as revolutionary as the dalit movement is today. In their own way, and given the limitations of the period, the saints rebelled against the varna order even though they were by no means effective in overthrowing it. 15 Thus, from the standpoint of providing some features to a seemingly blank past, as well as questioning the notion that Untouchables were invariably supine, the figures of Chokha Mela and the other lower caste saints would constitute, it would seem, a source of identification and pride to the dalit writer today. Yet, by and large, such has not been the case. The teachings of Chokha Mela have been almost completely repudiated, and the bhakti tradition's understanding of caste and the solution to Untouchability is now seen as an ideological mystification perpetrated by the higher castes and succumbed to by the lower castes. In their place, a new explanation of caste and a different resolution to Untouchability, are offered by the writers of Dalit Sahitya. And Chokha Mela as a historical figure is also almost completely ignored, or in company with the other saints, is roundly condemned. The reasons for this, it is suggested, lie in the dalit writer's understanding of, and relationship to, his own history; this, in turn, helps to explain the new approach to caste and Untouchability which Dalit Sahitya offers. It is significant that a representative sampling of contemporary dalit poetry yields such sparse references to Chokha Mela, let alone the other low caste saints of the bhakti tradition. The poem by Harish Bansode quoted above is an isolated example on two counts: first, that he mentions Chokha Mela by name, and second, that he mentions it approvingly. Bansode' s fellow poets have not seen it appropriate to evoke Chokha either directly or approvingly. Rather, on the whole, their treatment of Chokha is both oblique and condemnatory. This excerpt from a poem by Y eshwant Manohar entitled "Enemies" is especially pointed in this regard:

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All those gods and believers are my enemies Those who wrote poems in pretty rhymes to Untouchability Clearly they are my perfect and absolute Enemies They who have not let me be free until today. 16

Another typical poem by Sapkale speaks of the Mahatmas and saints who have come and gone, while the poor unfortunate people remain where they were, bewailing their lot and ascribing it to their karma (fate).17 A poem by K. M. Shinde depicts the modern form of the bhakti tradition: Out of the bhaJans Oozed a thin fear Hands landed on each other in fraternity The night made them saints They were enemies at dawn Out of the abhangs Burst rounds of fire. 1s

For the most part, then, dalit poets have made clear 18 that Chokha Mela and his tradition exercises no particular appeal or attraction for them. They do not derive any inspiration from his life and example, nor do they consider him to be a dalit poet in the same sense that they are. Waman Ingle, for example, declares that "even if Chokha Mela, Bankasena and other saints were born in a particular ( dalit) caste, we do not call them dalit writers". 19 The dalit writer's exclusion of Chokha Mela seems to arise out of a series of interlinked sentiments pertaining to his own history. Firstly, Chokha's life embodied principles which they most wish to reject and to rebel against ( vidroha). His example of acceptance and self-abnegation, coupled with an unswerving faith in the religious system which made him Untouchable, is anathema to a generation raised on the teachings of the Ambedkar movement. 20 The part of their history which Chokha Mela evokes is to be overcome and rejected on two somewhat disparate grounds. Firstly, that was a past in which their people willingly accepted their status and behaved according to the strictures of caste. The performance of those tasks, which for Chokha was a sacred duty, is to the dalit poet an article of profound shame. The shame must not be forgotten and those who would elevate it, in effect celebrate it, must be submerged and repudiated. This excerpt from a poem entitled "Revolution" by Arjun Dangle expresses the contemporary perspective on the traditional tasks of the Untouchable: When we had clay pots around our necks And tied a broom to our rumps When we announced our presence to those above us With a "Johar Maybap" Then we were their friends And we fought with the crows For we never even gave them the snot from our noses When we dragged away the carcasses of their cattle And shared the meat amongst us

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Keeping it far away from them Then they found us dear And we fought with the foxes dogs and vultures Because we ate their share. 21

From the modern perspective, therefore, Chokha Mela is a false prophet, and his message recreates a past which must be overcome if dalits are to progress, indeed, to survive. The dalit poet cannot separate the figure of Chokha Mela from his teachings, and since that is the case, they cannot acknowledge the faintest connexion between themselves and their ancestor. But in another sense, the dalit writer does not even recognise that Chokha Mela is his ancestor or that the period in which he wrote, as well as the principles which he upheld, is an authentic part of their history. According to this line of reasoning, Untouchables have no real history as Hindus. Rather, they, and particularly the Mahars, were the original inhabitants of the land who practiced not Hinduism but Buddhism, and who were conquered and enslaved by the Aryan invasion. The Aryans then deprived them of their ancestral religion and made them Hindus, allowing them to survive as long as they performed those tasks which were considered the most odious and impure according to the Aryan principle of varna. 22 Chokha Mela, in offering worship and allegiance to the Hindu god Vitthal, demonstrates that he is alien to the true dalit tradition, and therefore cannot be considered as a legitimate ancestor of dalits and of Dalit Sahitya. There is no connexion, therefore, in this interpretation, between the bhakti tradition, even if it had the participation of the Untouchables, and dalit society and culture today, as seen in this poem by Bansode: We've lived our whole lives On the steps of the temple Roaring out our songs of bhakti Singing and weeping We've walked hundreds of miles to Pandharpur We've lived our whole lives Worshipping God Adoring that stone image Even then we were left on the steps As Untouchables We've lived our whole lives At your doors Enduring our slavery Serving you honestly and piously We've lived our whole lives At your doors But we never met each other You were inside we were outside You were in the temple we were on the steps Because you thought us Untouchable But those days are over.

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We've begun a new life We've found our own temples Regained our lost faith Our gods are where we are All are equal here ... This faith is going to Penetrate every corner of the world Now you can scream It's fallen! It's fallen! Brahman dharma has been overthrown You lit your own pyre What can you do now? 2 3

Just as Bansode's poem reveals the advent of a new history through the Buddhist conversion, it also suggests the dalit poet's understanding of caste and U ntouchability. The divine and suprahuman explanations for U ntouchability which Chokha Mela offered no longer suffice; indeed, they are seen as attempts by the upper castes to ensure the compliance of the lower. The Untouchables were not allotted that position because of some heinous crimes against God; rather Untouchability arose as a result of defeat in war and was maintained because it benefitted the interests of the upper castes. The Hindu dharma, bhakti, and Vitthal were merely instrumentalities through which the slaves accepted their servitude willingly. Hinduism promoted ideas, attitudes, and behaviours which were inimical to the development of self-respect, autonomy, and freedom among the lower castes. For this reason especially, it was to be rejected in its totality, and all efforts were to be made through the medium of literature to extirpate all traces of Hinduism among the dalits. This poem, entitled "Rejection", clearly shows the dalit poet's emphatic and categorical rejection of all aspects of Hinduism: No! No' No' A triple rejection To your economic, social, political, mental, religious, moral and cultural pollution. You ever-living, ever-luminous suns' Your very touch brings a contagious disease. But I am a new sun Independent, self-luminating, Possessed of a new spirit. I reject your culture. I reject your Parmeshwar centred tradition. I reject your religion based literature. My brothers' I have proclaimed my hatred My hate is unyielding It is without end. I have taken into account the unceasing battles I may bend but I won't break. 24

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Other poems speak of the poet's adamant and passionate curses against Parmeshwar, compare Him to an impotent husband, rale against the unearthly stench of the Hindu tradition, and promise to burn that culture's rotting corpses. 25 The message is unmistakable, and in poem after poem, replete with images of violence and death, the contemporary dalit poet announces his intention of destroying the old world and constructing a new one in its place. 26 But on what basis is the new world to be erected?

III With the destruction of the Hindu system (at least on the theoretical and ideological plane), there arises a need for some tradition with which the dalit poet can identify and which can become the foundation of the new world. Having denied their history as Hindus, dalits must find or construct a new history for themselves. Two traditions present themselves in this regard, and most dalit poetry seems to lean towards one or the other, or, in many instances, to attempt to form a synthesis. These two traditions are, first, the world revolutionary movement, and second, Buddhism and its interpretation by Dr B. R. Ambedkar, the pre-eminent Untouchable leader in modern times and the architect of the Buddhist conversion by Untouchables in 1956. The world revolutionary movement and Buddhism, then, provide the frames of reference for the dalit poet; they supply the symbols, images, and metaphors through which he interprets and judges the world around him. The world revolutionary tradition, especially in its socialist forms, seems to have infused the consciousness of many dalit poets. There are often references to Marx, Lenin, Mao Zedong, Che Guevara, Lenin, Ho Chi Minh, Martin Luther King, and Malcolm X. The lives of these leaders are considered instructional and exemplary for the dalits in India. Interestingly, many dalit poets also reveal a familiarity with revolutionary literature in various parts of the world; there are references to Pablo Neruda and Mayakovsky, along with figures in Black literature such as James Baldwin. 27 Dalit writers seem to place themselves within the world revolutionary literary tradition, which provides them with a wider frame of reference and, at the same time, replaces the Indian tradition from which they have already declared their separation. The eclectic and cosmopolitan origins of Dalit Sahitya, as its authors see it, may also arise from another impetus, namely, the need to overcome the traditional cultural isolation in which dalits in Indian society have lived. This line of reasoning is supported if one considers that in much dalit poetry there are often references to liberation struggles and attempts by minorities the world over to achieve equal rights. The dalit poet sees the struggles against caste and U ntouchability, and for the attainment of equality in Indian society, to be a part of, and identical with, the world-wide movement for justice and equality. Through association with the world revolutionary literary tradition and the world-wide liberation movements, dalits in India are provided with new allies, and with a new culture; in this fashion, the historical isolation of

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dalits is ended. These traditions also supply the intellectual and moral basis on which a new society in India can be constructed. In a perhaps more immediate and tangible way, however, it is Buddhism as taught by Ambedkar which for most dalit poets forms the ethical and cultural basis for a new society. The Buddhist Dhamma is considered to be the very antithesis of Hinduism; in its essence Buddhism is opposed to caste and is based on notions of equality, rationality, and justice. Gautama Buddha becomes a cultural symbol as well as a hero figure in ways that Chokha Mela did not, as seen in this poem by Daya Powar: Siddhartha Never do I see you In the Jetavana Sitting in the lotus position With your eyes closed Or in the caves of Ajanta and Werule With your stony lips touching Sleeping your final sleep. I see you Speaking and walking Amongst the humble and the weak Soothing away grief In the life-threatening darkness With torch in hand Going from hovel to hovel Today you wrote a new page Of the Tripitaka You have revealed the New meaning of suffering Which like an epidemic Swallows life's blood. 2 9

The Buddha is seen as the all-compassionate one, who dared to directly challenge the Brahmannical system and, in so doing, offered the victims of that system hope. He is not seen as a monastic recluse, but as an active social reformer who was closely concerned with the day-to-day problems oflife for the poor, the powerless, and the exploited. Even more significant, perhaps, is the figure of Ambedkar and its connexion to the Buddhist tradition. For Ambedkar is seen as a Boddhisatva, or Buddha-to-be, who shares all the attributes of the Buddha, but is perhaps more accessible and, for that reason, evokes a more emotional response from the dalit poet. Ambedkar is treated as the life-giver, as well as the protective father of his long suppressed community, and he is worshipped with as much fervour and piety as Vitthal was by Chokha Mela. This poem by Arjun Dangle, which treats a pivotal moment in the Ambedkar movement, the 1927 Mahad satyagraha for equal access to communal water supplies, is typical in this regard: In the motionless alleys Outside the village gates You came and thundered Everyone started

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Brushed off the dust and woke up You walked forward Holding a flaming urn All the merchants of darkness were fearstruck You kept on walking With everyone following You stopped at the banks of the pond And gave us life ... 29

With the development of a cult centred around the figure of Ambedkar, a transmutation of bhakti seems to have occurred. Ambedkar has become a new deity to be adored, and his writings are treated as holy writ to be followed exactly. Contemporary events and leaders are judged in the light of Ambedkar's thoughts, and the story of his life is retold in order to provide inspiration for the younger generation of dalits. Each issue of the major Marathi periodical devoted to publishing works of Dalit Sahitya, Asmita Darsha, has at least one speech by Ambedkar, one article about his life and teachings, and one poem pertaining to the same topic. The deification of Ambedkar, however, is especially apparent in the informal poetry and folk ballads of Dalit Sahitya, which are generally composed for public meetings and festivals, and are read or sung at them. One such ballad, for example, links Ambedkar with the Buddha in this fashion: Bhimajayanti and Buddhajayanti are celebrated. Buddha gave the message of peace to the world And Bhima gave us the Panchashila. Following the advice of the Panchashila We gave up the language of revolution And made our enemy our friend. 30

Finally, the relationship between the dalit masses and the deified Ambedkar as portrayed in the works of Dalit Sahitya, seems to be reminiscent of the relationship between the devotee and the Deity in the Bhakti tradition. While that tradition has been repudiated by the modern dalit writers, its emotional tone remains and reappears, suggesting that the idea of bhakti has significant mobilisational and psychological import under the conditions of dalit life in modern Indian society. The uses of bhakti, however, have changed; now it is to be used to destroy that very tradition within which it was moored, and to create a new culture in many ways antithetical to the old. In this manner, a traditional idea may serve both to overthrow tradition and as an agent of modernisation. REFERENCES Asmita Darsha (Marathi periodical devoted to Dalit Sahitya), Aurangabad. BANSODE, HARISH, Who Will Diagnose ft? Aurangabad: Astitva Prakashan, 1979. BHAGWAT, VmvuT, "A Literary Movement in Maharashtra; How I See Dalits", Times of India

(Bombay), 12 December 1976, p. 11. BHAWARE, N. G., "Dalit, Woman, and Writers", Eve's Weekt)i (Bombay), 5 January 1980, pp. 54-55.

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CHENDWANKAR, PRALHAD, Audit, Bombay: Abhinav Prakashan, 1976. DANGLE, ARJUN, Cchavni Halle Ahe, Bombay: Karmaveer Prakashan, 1977. DHASAL, NAMDEV, Golpitha, Paone: Nilkanth Prakashan, 1975. Murkha Mhataryane Dongar Halavle, Paone: Magova Prakashan, 1975. GoKHALE, B. G., "Dr Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar: Rebel Against Hindu Tradition", Journal of Asian and African Studies, v. 11 (1976). GoKHALE-TURNER, J. B., From Concessions to Confrontation: The Politics of the Mahar Community in Mahrashtra, Ph. D. Dissertation, McGill University. Montreal: 1980. INGLE, WAMAN, Datil Muktiladha ani Dalit Sahitya, Aurangabad: Kalachakra Prakashan, 1975. Josm, K. A., ed., Shrisakalasantagatha, vol. I. Paone: Shri Santa Wangmaya Prakashan Mandir, 1967. KADAM, S. B., Shri Santa Chokha Mela Maharaj Yanche Charitra wa Abhang Catha, Bombay: Privately published at Bhimdiwala Building, Worli Naka, 1969. MESHRAM, KESHAV, Utkhanan, Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1977. MESHRAM, KESHAV, ed., Vidrohi Kavita, Paone: Continental Prakashan, 1978. NIMBALKAR, WAMAN, Gaokusabaheril Kavita, Aurangabad: Asmita Darsha Prakashan, 1973. NIRANTAR, G. B., Marathi Wangmayacha Paramarsha, Poone: Venus Prakashan, 1964. PENDSE, S. D., Maharashtracha Sanskritic ltihas, Nagpur: Suvichar Prakashan Manda!, 1951. PHADKE, BHALCHANDREA, Datil Sahitya; Vedana wa Vidroha, Poone: Shri Vidya Prakashan, 1977. PowA~, DAYA, Kondwada, Paone: Magova Prakashan, 1974. Pow AR, J. V., Nakebandi, Bombay: Ratan Kumar Pataliputra, 1976. SHENDE, N. R., Dalitanchejag; Vedana wa Shistai, Nagpur: Sunil Taksa!e, 1978. SuRVE, NARAYAN, jahirnama, Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1975. WANKHEDE, M. N., "Do Dalit Writers Protest Too Much?" Times of India (Bombay), 30 May 1976, p. 13. ZELI.IOT, ELEANOR, "Dalit-New Cultural Context of an Old Marathi Word", Contributions to Asian Studies (1978). - - , "Dalit Sahitya: The Historical Background", Vagartha (no. 12), 1976. - - , Dr Ambedkar and the Mahar Movement, Ph. D. Dissertation, University of Pennsylvania. Philadelphia: 1969. NOTES

2

3 4 5 6

For detailed discussions of the bhakti movement, see G. K. Kelkar, Marathi Sahityache Sinhavalokan (Paone: 1966), pp. 60-255; G. B. Nirantar, Marathi Wangmayacha Paramarsha (Paone: 1964), pp. 46-102; S. D. Pendse, Maharashtracha Sanskritic Itihas (Nagpur: 1951). pp. 140-173; N. K. Behere, The Background of Maratha Renaissance in the 17th Century (Bangalore: 1946). For biographies and the abhangs of the poet-saints of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, see K. A. Joshi, ed., Shrisakalasantagatha (Paone: 1967), vol. I. For additional bibliographic references, seeJ. B. Gokhale, "Region and Regionalism in the Study of Indian Politics: The Case of Maharashtra", in N. K. Wagle, ed., Images of Maharashtra (London: 1980). Gandhi was to adopt a remarkably similar argument. See N. K. Bose, Selections from Gandhi (Ahmedabad: 1948), pp. 231-234 and 237-238. It must also be pointed out that Dnyaneshwar's claims as to the equality of all varnas was also designed to allay the discontent brewing amongst the various castes and to restore the varna hierarchy. See Pendsc, op. cit., pp. 142-148. Kelkar recounts some instances of equality observed among the poet-saints at Pandharpur. See op. cit., p. 104. A biography of Chokha Mela and his abhangs are contained in S. B. Kadam, Shri Santa Chokha Mela Maharaj Yanche Charitra wa Abhang Catha (Bombay: 1969). Shrisakalasantagatha, Kanhopatra Abhang, p. 89/ 10; Gora Kumbhar Abhang, p. 92/ 17; Narahari Sonar Abhang, p. 93/12; Sawata Mali Abhang, pp. 98-99/4-5, 8. Ibid., pp. 134/86-90; 137/120; 138/129; 139/147; 1411167; 143/189-192; 144/190.

BHAKTI OR VIDROHA

7 8 9 10 II 12 13

14

15

16

17 18 19

20

21

22

41

Ibid., pp. 137/120; 138/129. Ibid., p. 134/89. Kadam, op. cit., p. 45. Shrisakalasantagatha, p. 144/190. This and all subsequent translations from the Marathi are

done by the author unless specifically noted. "Johar" is an untranslatable Mahar greeting; "Maybap" means mother and father. Ibid.,p.15513. Ibid., p. 155/ 18. Recent scholarship suggests, in fact, that there were continuing protests by the Untouchables against their situation, even though the protests were unsuccessful. See J. B. Gokhale-Turner, "The Mahars in Traditional Maharashtrian Society", in B. G. Gokhale, ed., Asian Studies III (New Delhi: forthcoming). Bansode, "Gurudakshina" in op. cit., p. 18. Mahatma Phule was the non-Brahman social reformer and opponent of Untouchability of the nineteenth century who has become a celebrated figure in dalit history. "Bhimrao" is a reference to Dr B. R. Ambedkar, the preeminent Untouchable leader of modern times. Sharacchandra Muktibodha, "Santa Wangmaya wa Dalit Wangmaya; Virodha Sambandha?", Asmita Darsha (Diwali Anka: 1979), pp. 144-146. See also Bhalachandra Phadke, Dalit Sahitya; Vedana wa Vidroha (Poona: 1977), pp. 36-42; Eleanor Zelliot, "Dalit Sahitya: The Historical Background", Vagartha no. 12 ( 1976), pp. 2-3; and Keshav Meshram ed., Vidrohi Kavita (Poone: 1978), Introduction. Yeshwant Manohar, "Vyeri" in Vidrohi Kavita, p. 45. Also see the commentary on Manohar's poetry by M. S. Patil, "Dalit Kavita-2", Asmita Darsha, Oct/Nov/Dec 1979, pp. 6-8. Manohar uses words which have a special meaning in Hinduism, such as abhang, owi, dyevvadi, sagun and nirgun. An owi is a poem in a particular type of metre, dyevvadi is the doctrine of fatalism, sagun refers to the Deity who is perfection, nirgun signifies the Deity who is without any attributes. See also, Namdev Dhasal, "Bembicha Deth Ola Honarya Vayaat", in Golpitha (Poone: 1975), pp. 10-11; andj. V. Powar, "Chorus" in Nakebandi (Bombay: 1976), p. 56. Tryambak Sapkale, ''Manus'', in Vidrohi Kavita, p. 35. K. M. Shinde, "Desh Manasa Mulya Ityadi Ityadi", Asmita Darsha, (Diwali Anka: 1979), p. 54. A bhajan is a religious song. Waman Ingle, Dalit Muktiladha ani Dalit Sahitya (Aurangabad: 1975), pp. 1-2. This is an important book not only for an understanding of Dalit Sahitya, but especially for the insights it offers into the connexions between the literary-cultural and political aspects of the dalzt movement, or between Dalit Sahitya and the Dalit Panthers. The Panthers are a militant political organisation founded in the early 1970's largely by dalit writers and poets. The formation of the Panthers was intended to actualise the ideas and themes which animated Dal it Sahitya; it was intended to be the practical expression of that ideology. For a treatment of the Dalit Panthers, see J. B. Gokhale-Turner, "The Dalit Panthers and the Radicalisation of the Untouchables", Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, v. XVII, no. I (March 1979). For a historical and political analysis of the Mahar movement from the 1890's to the present day, see J. B. Gokhale-Turner, From Concessions to Confrontation: The Politics of the !v!ahar Community in Maharashtra, Ph. D. Dissertation, McGill University (Montreal: 1980). See also Eleanor Zelliot, Dr Ambedkar and the Mahar Movement, Ph. D. Dissertation, University of Pennsylvania (Philadelphia: 1969). Arjun Dangle, "Kranti" in Cchavni Halle Ahe (Bombay: 1977), p. 29. The first two lines refer to traditional caste strictures as to how Untouchables were to comport themselves in the village so as to avoid polluting caste-Hindus by the merest trace of their presence. See also Madhav Kondvilkar, "Wadhat Hoto", in Vidrohi Kavita, pp. 65-66. For a discussion of Ambedkar's ideas on Buddhism as the original religion of the Mahars, see Gokhale-Turner, From Concessions to Corifrontation, Chapter V. See also Daya Powar, "Broken Men", in Kondwada (Poone: 1974), p. 58. "Broken Men" was Ambedkar's term for the original Mahars, whom he called the Naga people.

42 23 24 25

26 27

28

29

30

JAYASHREE B. GOKHALE-TURNER

Bansode, "Tumhi Bombla Aata", in op. cit., pp. 34-35. V. L. Kalekar, "Nakar", Asmita Darsha, Oct/Nov/Dec 1979, p. 24. For a representative sampling, see Keshav Meshram, "Ek Diwasa Parmeshwarala": Waman Nimbalkar, "Japoon Thevale Ahe"; Tryambak Sapkale, "Tyachya Palnyasathi"; Yeshwant Manohar, "Mi lthlya Dishanchya"; and Prakash Jadhav, "Maran", in Vidrohi Kavita, pp. 15-17, 19-20, 33-35, 46-54, 58-59. See also Daya Powar, "Arvat'', in Kondwada, p. 3 and Narayan Surve, ''Suryakalatila Loka' ', in jahirnama (Bombay: 1975), p. 13. See, for example, Madhushree, "Aarambha", Magova (Diwali Anka: 1974), p. 51; Daya Powar, "Tumhi Prakashache Punjke Wha", in Kondwada, pp. 5-7; Namdev Dhasal, "Raktat Petlelya Aganit Suryano", in Golpitha, pp. 13-14. See Bansode, ''Karl Marx'', in op. cit., p. 32; Dangle, ''Cchavni Halte Ahe'' and ''Uncle Ho", in op. cit., pp. 43, 45-46; Namdev Dhasal, "Pablochya Maranane Apun Kay Shiklo", in Murkha Mhataryane Dongar Halavle (Paone: 1975), pp. 25-35, as well as a host of other poems in that collection of Dhasal's poetry; J. V. Powar, ''Dawadaroo'' in op. cit., p. 44; Narayan Surve, "Karl Marx", in op. cit., pp. 35-37. Also see Meshram ed., op. cit., Introduction. Also note footnote 19. Daya Powar, "Siddhartha", Panchasheel, l 7 October 1972, p. 7; Arun Kale, "Tathagatache Smit", Dhammachakra, 14 October 1975, p. 69. Jetavana is a forest significant in the Buddhist story; Ajanta and Werule are Buddhist cave temples in Maharashtra; and the Tripitaka is part of the Pali Buddhist Canon. Arjun Dangle, "Haat'', in op. cit., p. 11. See also Namdev Dhasal, "Dr Ambedkar", in Golpitha, pp. 50-53; Anant Kamble, "Babasaheb", Panchasheel, 6 December 1973, p. 27. For references to Ambedkar as an exemplary figure for the poet as a child, see Dangle, "Aaj Mi Ubha Ahe", in op. cit., p. 8, and Daya Powar, "Mazhe Shabda", in op. cit., pp. 1-10. "Bhima Jayanti", translated by Mrs. Indirajhungare in "The Image of Dr Ambedkar in Marathi Folk Songs'', a paper presented to the Maharashtra Studies Group of the Association for Asian Studies, 30 April 1978, Indiana University of Pennsylvania, Indiana, Pa.

Krishna in Black and White: Darsan in the Butter Thief Poems of the Early Sur Sagar JOHN STRATTON HAWLEY University of Washington, Seattle, U.S.A.

ANYONE FAMILIAR with Indian religion knows the potency that Hindus sense in the experience of sight (darsan). Much of Hindu bhakti is specifically iconic: perhaps nowhere else in the world is it so literally true that seeing is believing. Indian eyes silently search out the inner meanings of a guru's face for hours on end; crowds in the streets push and shove to see the great pass by; babies are held aloft to absorb the blessings that visual contact with a revered figure or icon can bring, even if the understanding is not mature enough to comprehend; villagers unable to name the images in temples nonetheless stand transfixed before them: the sight itself suffices. And icons of Krishna are sometimes clothed, bejewelled, and garlanded afresh eight times a day, in part to retain the wonder that comes with the sight of the god. Many devotional poems are sung on such occasions and some among them seem to achieve their main force by simply describing what the devotee sees. In the case of compositions which can reasonably be attributed to the sixteenth-century Hindi poet Sur Das, however, there is much more than description.' Sur's darsan poems not only record but stimulate, structure, and enhance the magical vision to which they refer. Sur Das is by common consent one of the two greatest poets in the Hindi language family. His only rival is Tulsi Das, who lived in Avadh and Benares and was the most magisterial voice of Avadhi and its associated eastern Hindi dialects. Sur, by contrast, lived in Braj, the region just to the south of Delhi which has nurtured the other major branch of Hindi literature, the western, and whose dialect, Braj Bhasa, served as the most important medium for Hindi poetry from the sixteenth century through the nineteenth. Sur's lyrics are among the earliest examples of Braj poetry to have been preserved, and among the most influential. Part of the reason that these poems have been so carefully kept and so generously imitated is that they are more than literature; they are devotion. Written in a time when Moghul rule had attained successes that earlier dynasties had only dreamed of, and in a place sandwiched between the two great Moghul capitals at Delhi and Agra, Sur' s songs of devotion remain to

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all appearances untouched by the Muslim presence. Their language is remarkably free of Urdu words, and there is nothing in Sur's devotion to Krishna which suggests a religion on the defensive (unless, perhaps, its sheer self-absorption). Quite the contrary. For centuries the worship of Krishna had been one of the major foci of Braj culture, since Krishna is thought to have begun his earthly sojourn there and to have held the area and its people in matchless esteem. And in Sur's time the venerable religious life of Braj had been infused with new vigor as the followers of Caitanya and Vallabha-great figures in the bhakti movement which spread across North India-took a special interest in the region. Although they have been canonized in a special way in the bhakti community which looks to Vallabha as its founder, 2 Sur' s poems form an important part of the devotional heritage of all the Vaisnava sects of Braj, and are sung not only there but wherever Krishna is worshipped and Hindi understood. Tradition has it that Sur was blind; hence the quality of his vision of Krishna is thought to have been particularly pure. Or perhaps the clarity of this vision has given rise to the conviction that Sur' s eyes cannot have been the common sort. His visions of Krishna are much celebrated, and many worshippers are aided by them in the task of attaining similar perceptions. Certain moments in the life of the cowherd god are particularly useful in this quest and serve as frequent subjects for Sur's darsan poetry: the youthful Krishna playing his flute, a glimpse of young Radha, the amours of the two of them, Krishna returning dustladen from a day of herding the cattle. But none is more vividly suited to an experience of concentrated vision than the moment when Krishna steals butter away from his mother Yasoda or from one of the other milkmaids of his native Braj, and an analysis of the butter thief poems which occur in the earlier strata of the Sur Sagar shows why. In poems transmitting the vision of the butter thief ("verbal icons", Kenneth Bryant calls them)3 Sur plays out and resolves the most fundamental of visual tensions, black and white, symbolically bringing the whole world to harmony in this tiny child: "heaven and earth in lite! space'', as the old English carol has it. 4 Typically these darsan poems emphasize that overcoming of boundaries by alluding to and encouraging the surrender of the beholder to what is seen, thus becoming themselves occasions of bhakti, for the word means not only devotion in the broad sense but specifically ''sharing''. 5 Within the well-known and well-loved poems of Sur Das, the butter thief darsan poems enjoy a particular prestige. Part of the reason for this is that no image of Krishna is more widely worshipped today than the one showing him crawling across the floor on his hands and knees, displaying a ball of butter in one hand. And it is probable that this image was as popular in Sur's day as it is now. 6 Another group of butter thief poems is equally fascinating to modern audiences: these focus more on complaint (urahan) and have their own set of distinctive characteristics. 7 But darsan poems emerge strongly among Sur's portrayals of the butter thief and deserve analysis in their own right.

KRISHNA IN BLACK AND WHITE

45

In what follows we shall consider two settings in which the thief is envisioned. First come the poems depicting Krishna in the act of stealing itself, then those showing him later, after his mother has taken steps to control his wanton appetite by binding him to a heavy mortar. It is hoped that by giving close attention to a few poems we can illumine the dynamics of the genre as a whole and show what rich verve lies beneath exteriors which often seem placid and unprepossessing at first glance. The butter thief at large 1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

"Far off and furtive, Copa!' s in the butter. 8 "Look my friend, what a bright shimmer streams from the dusk-toned figure of Syam, "With drop after drop that was churned from curd trickling onto his chest ''As if the far ambrosial moon had rained its beams below on loves. "Look, he's standing now to peer from his lair, to look around, "Warily to scan the surrounding scene, then cheerfully feed his friends. "His hand lends grace to his proximate face and flashes forth as if ''The lotus had dropped its feud with the moon and come forth bearing gifts". Seeing Sur's lord in his boyish fun, the maidens start, they slump and weaken, Until their hearts are lost to speechdrowned in thought after thought after thought. 9

In the Braj country butter retains its naturally white color and tends to be more liquid than what we are accustomed to. Its taste may be touched with a hint of sourness deriving from the lemon or other substance used to hasten the curdling process, but that tart edge merely accentuates its native sweetness. Krishna is irresistably attracted. In this poem a gopi sees him eating butter at a distance and motions to her friend to share the sight. The word dure ("far off', "furtive") in the refrain does double duty, signifying both the measure of distance involved in the vision and the secrecy with which Krishna acts. His need to keep watch, together with the involvement of his friends, of which we learn later in the poem, confirm the fact that this is not just a meal but a stolen meal. He hides behind a pillar (ot, v. 5) to enjoy it. This unassuming word dure signifies more than even its two meanings suggest. It announces the subject of the poem as a whole: distance and how that distance is overcome. As the poem begins we are made aware of two distances. First there is the distance to which the word dure itself refers, the distance between the observant gopis and what they see. But the gopi who is speaking immediately makes us aware of another, the distance from Krishna's shining face to his chest. She draws our attention to how the butter he smears into his

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JOHN STRATTON HAWLEY

mouth drops from one level to the other. Each line in the second couplet begins with a verb of vertical motion, verbs of falling and raining (giri, girz~ barasat). At first she names these lumps of butter with disarming directness. She says, simply, "they are drops of dadhi-sut", that is, butter. For they are "churned from curd" or as the compound literally says, "sons of curd" . 10 This term dadhi-sut, however, has another meaning as well. It refers to the moon, which is dadhi-sut because it too was engendered from curd, or rather milk, and again by churning; for soma, the moon, first issued forth into the created world as the gods and anti-gods churned the primeval milk-ocean in pursuit of the liquor of immortality. 11 This second meaning of dadhi-sut suggests the simile which the gopi then offers: these drops of butter are like drops from the moon, like moonbeams. Her simile greatly expands the little distance between Krishna's face and his chest. It becomes the distance between heaven and earth, and she specifically draws attention to its vastness by using the adjective agam (v. 4, Skt. agamya) to characterize the moon. It is supernal, she says, unapproachable. As her metaphor implies, however, there is another dimension to this distance than simple mileage. There is contrast. The white of Krishna's buttersmeared face contrasts with the black of his body as the brilliance of the moon contrasts with the night pitched below. This is a more absolute distance, and one that she fastens upon in concluding the second quatrain of the poem with a lunar metaphor, as she had the first. Once again the gopi is fascinated by the contrast between his face (anan) with its lively eyes (cakrit nain) and his body (gat) with its beautiful hand (sundar kar, v. 7). This time, indeed, she characterizes the contrast between black and white, day and night, as sheer enmity (bair, v. 8). The enmity involves the moon, whose rising is inimical to the dark lotus which blooms by day and must close at nightfall. 12 She sees Krishna's face as the moon and his hand as the lotus. 13 In both her considerations of Krishna's moon-like face, the gopi finds that distance and rivalry are overcome. In her first metaphor the moon had befriended (priyajan, v. 4) the distant earth with gifts of ambrosia (the falling droplets of butter). In her second reference to the moon, the dark terrain below responds with a gift intended to bridge the distance and terminate hostilities (again, a lump of butter, whose white color makes it a fit offering indeed). In the realm defined by Krishna as he eats butter, then, distance is dissolved. As the poem began we heard of distance (dure, v. 1); now it is proximity (samip, v. 7). In the couplet remaining we see the effect this vision of nearness and concord has upon the women who see it from afar. It collapses their own distance from Krishna and silences whatever reserve they may have felt about his thievery as he accepts their offering of butter, given willingly or not. The gopis who have been watching and generating these metaphors can no longer sustain their effort. Words fail as the vision overcomes all their cognitive processes (rahi bicari bicari, v. 10). The overcoming of contrast in the butter scene they behold

KRISHNA IN BLACK AND WHITE

47

has the effect not only of abrogating the distance between them and what they see but also of overcoming that internal mental distance that the act of generating speech requires. They become totally absorbed by the sight of Krishna: this renders them wordless, and then the poem must necessarily end. One manuscript tradition names this transformation in the spectators as a process of dissolution (sithil, v. 9)-liquefaction, as it were. In the poems of Sur, this is a very familiar way of describing the speechlessness such a vision can induce. We frequently hear the poet speak about being absorbed into the sea which is Krishna (ras sagar, sukh sagar, kripa sagar, etc.), thereby shedding in a change of medium whatever separated the seer from the seen. In the poem at hand, as in other butter thief darsan poems, the liquidity of the vision itself stimulates that reaction. It seems no accident that the lotus hand which brings its liquid offering to Krishna's moon-like face is designatedjalaruh (v. 8), that which arises from water. And early in the poem it is made clear that the moon itself has liquid properties. Not only does it arise from what is liquid, as its name dadhi-sut implies, but it is itself potentially liquid, as is implied whenever it is called soma and as is manifest here by its being called sudhakan (v. 4), "made of ambrosia". Indeed soma and ambrosia are intimately associated. Butter's luscious liquidity, which suggests all this lunar imagery to the gopi, is thus an important factor in its being able, as she sees, to draw face and body into a harmonious whole, devoid of tension. And the sight of butter on Krishna's face and body has the effect of liquifying the spectator too, dissolving words. All this anticipates what we find in other poems which transmit a vision of Krishna in the act of eating butter. Repeatedly, the poet attends to the juxtaposition of black and white, and often he refers to the liquefaction of the heart, as in the following (S 790): 1 2

3 4 5 6

''Behold-curd lifted to the son of curd' Look friend, an awesome sight: opposites, but tightly held, his face A sea of images: like a bird resting on curd his nose, above it his lotus eyes Crested with leaves". On seeing this the herdsmen like flowers bloomed. Nanda, seeing too the lustre of dark Syam, yielded slowly to a smile: Those who center themselves on Hari, says Sur, they give their souls, their all. ' 4

In this compact poem, black and white dance together again. At first we see white gleaming on white, curd (dadhz) on Krishna's moon-like face (dadhisut). But in the comment of the entranced gopi we learn that there is a hidden enmity behind this seeming concord. Father (dadhi, curd or yoghurt) and son (dadhi-sut, here the moon) may seem simply to reinforce one another in their brilliant coloration, but the gopi reminds us that these are also enemies now reconciled. She means that Krishna's dark lotus hand, which holds the yoghurt, is the enemy of the bright moon, as in "Gopal's in the butter". His

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hand, by virtue of its shape and color, is that lotus for whom the rising of the moon spells retreat; yet it has advanced against its foe. Hence the family likeness between yoghurt and the moon, when viewed in terms of what holds the yoghurt, becomes quite the contrary, a polar opposition. This contrast between lotus hand and moon-like face is the standard one, and the poet may fairly expect us to see it. But he may intend another as well, especially since he does not explicitly use the term "hand", only mentioning what it holds. If we focus on the curd, we may find the enmity instead in the fact that this white substance is being pressed against Krishna's face, which for all its lunar brilliance is also dark and lotus-like. From this point of view, it is a contrast of white on black, not black on white, which has been overcome in the reconciliation we see as white on white. The next line takes us further into this ever-shifting kaleidoscope by effecting another reversal. Thus far, whatever the alterations of color, it has at least been clear where the background lies and where the foreground: the hand, with its yoghurt, is placed on the face; dadhi is superimposed on dadhi-sut. Yet the words the poet has chosen to express this fact give a hint of something incongruous (or perhaps "miraculous, awesome" as the gopi says), for would it not be more natural to see the progenitor as the base ( dadhz) and irs fruit ( dadhisut) the superstructure? The poet now confirms this suspicion by reversing that relation of background to foreground, base to superstructure, just as he has already reoriented our initial assumptions about the colors involved. For in verse three dadhi is no longer the upper, foreground object. It itself-by being identified now with the mouth, not implicitly with the hand-becomes the base. But the base of what? First, evidently, of a parrot (kir), the bird of which mention is made in verse 3. The reference is to the parrot's beak, and that in turn to Krishna's nose. His nose, as one looks upon him, sits atop his curd-smeared mouth. And above that are his lotus eyes and his eyebrows which resemble lotus leaves. This amounts to another reversal of black and white: now it is not the curd which is balanced on his lotus hands, but rather the lotus, leaves and all, which are, in his face, balanced atop the curd. We have black on white rather than white on black. Yet something seems awkward in this vertical succession: the second element seems out of place. How does one go from curd to lotus by means of a parrot? Has the poet merely introduced a standard term of comparison for the nose (the parrot's beak) in order to enable us to look up from Krishna's mouth to his eyes and eyebrows? No, the term kir, "parrot", is not so extraneous as it seems, for it carries a double meaning. It may refer to the bird, as it does in Sanskrit and as one would normally expect in the construction of a poetic simile, or it may refer to mud, as it does in common Hindi (kida). This second meaning makes of this vertical succession an organic whole. The lotus now springs from mud, just as it should, for the very term which the poet uses here to name it, pankaj, means literally "mud-born". And mud rests quite rightly on curd, for as Hindu cosmogonic mythology explains, the earth emerges from an ocean of milk.

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49

The remaining lines comment on this dazzling, ever-changing vision of black and white by recording the reaction of those who see it. We are told that the cowherd folk, especially Nanda, are entranced. Again, however, there is more than meets the eye at first glance. First, we must remember that this father and his son, unlike the filial pair with which the poem began-dadhi and dadhi-sut, yoghurt and the moon-are quite definitely not of the same color. Nanda is white, Krishna is black. Are they then enemies, as dadhi and dadhi-sut alternatively are? The poem thus far has led us to ask such questions, but there seems no real enmity here-only a difference of position and lineage which the color contrast underscores. And that is what Nanda, as he meditates on Krishna, leaves behind. Introduced as pasupalak (v. 4), a protector of cattle, this father and protector now gives up those roles, reverses all expectations about who is independent and who is dependent, and takes refuge in his son. He gives up his strength, as the expression balihari literally says. 15 With this last inversion in the poem-color-coded, like the rest-we hear a distinct echo of the wonder expressed in the refrain. The father takes his place in the son, and the series of reversals passes from the realm of the cosmic and iconic to that of the human and divine. Nanda's transformation, furthermore, has some of the quality of liquefaction that we found in "Gopal's in the butter". It is said in verse four that the cowherds' response to this vision is to flower. They flower in a sympathetic reaction to the flowering lotus they see in Krishna. Nanda is one of them and his reaction is sympathetic too. Seeing Krishna's mouth besmeared with yoghurt, his own responds with a smile. At the sight of his son's mouth with its great circumference of butter and curd, he himself is drawn in, liquifying in the process. He gives his all. 16 Other poems also reveal how the vision of the butter thief encompasses the contrast between black and white and dissolves it, dissolving the viewer at the same time. Sometimes, however, the order is reversed. One begins in harmony and ends in discord (S 777): 1 2

3 4 5 6

"Arise, Gopal, my lovely child, My lotus-love, I plead with you to wake and move: the waking time has long since past". His hands reached out to grasp the pot and down came drops of pearls, The curd, which laced across his breast, a glittering garland against the black. No success-so he tried another game: and when his demands for rice weren't met He writhed and rolled upon the earth, says Sur, his earth, for he holds in his hands the world.

Here Yasoda offers everything she is, as the idiom again has it (bali balijau v. 2) in pleading with her son. But to no avail: Krishna is not to be roused. Unsuccessful, she evidently turns aside and begins churning, a familiar morning task, for the next thing we know Krishna is reaching past her to get at the butter pot and the familiar contrast between black and white breaks forth as drops

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of curd spatter onto his front as she tries to continue her work. Rebuffed at butter, he pesters her 17 to give him some rice, and when that ploy also fails he ends up on the floor in a fitful tantrum. The joke of it all, and the needlessness, is pointed up in the final phrase. Thus our two familiar darsan motifs are put to quite a different purpose. Formerly contrast was reconciled and distance overcome as the poem developed, but here we begin with the generous expression of self-giving we have normally heard in conclusion. And this time we watch things get worse and enmities increase-if only in fun-as the poem proceeds. These darsan motifs can also be used on a smaller scale. The following poem, for example, adopts the format of complaint but is laden with appeals to look and contains in cameo a darsan experience. The lamenting gopi describes the wondrous contrast of black and white she observed as she saw Krishna eating butter (S 894).

2

3

4

5

6

Come look, Yasoda: do you recognize this lad I have in tow? Is he yours, or whose? I've suffered in silence the loss of milk and curd 'ti! now, but now I know whose fault it is: it's Kanh's and no one else's. Searching, I bring a lamp near and suddenly one of his arms is four and then in a flash he disappears, dazzling me like daylight. I look for him indoors, but then his body's twilight black: each moment he invents another trick, that lively lad, Nanda's first-born. His body spattered with butter sparkles-how can I say?like the dark imprisoned-poison Jumna sprinkled with the light of stars. Then he laughs and laughs, this lad who protects the pious, warns the wicked; and all his fast adventures, says Sur, turn and leave me spinning.

The gopi's simile in verse five, with its contrast of black and white, is rendered more vivid by the fact that the poet has devoted the two preceding verses to describing first Krishna's blinding brightness and then his brilliant blackness. Then in verse five itself, the picture of the dark J umna shimmering with stars is enlivened by the legendary context in terms of which Sur describes it. "Badhi vis/udapati rath herau", he says, and our minds flash to the story of the churning of the milk ocean, according to which Siva imprisoned in his throat the poison that had been churned up and, with danger past, the moon emerged on her chariot of stars. Thus black (or deep blue) yields to white. This "imprisoning" of poison works in another way too, this time in connection

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with the river rather than the stars. For the Jumna was also released from poison's bondage as Krishna tamed the venomous Kaliya and banished him downstream. A final twist is provided when the poet refers to the stars as udapati rath, "the chariot of the moon", or in the simpler locution of later versions udagan path, "the starry way", for on hearing this phrase Sur's listeners will inevitably recall the more normal way of thinking of the Milky Way he is describing. Usually it is called akas ganga, the Ganges of the heavens. That association further reinforces the color contrast the verse is meant to intensify, for the color of the Ganges is white and in Krishna's face she mixes with her black sister the Jumna. Black and white figure frequently in descriptions of Krishna and always have, back as far as the Harivamsa Purana. 18 In the poetry of Sur Das we see Krishna, black as the tamal tree, embracing the pale Radha (S 2748.1-2); we hear Krishna calling cows both black and white (S 1231.1, 1235.4); and in the childhood poems there is a special interest in the colors one sees when the dark Krishna plays with his white brother Balaram (S 693, 737, 775). There is the well-known poem in which Balaram teases Krishna about his dark skin, taunting him with the charge that since his skin is so dark and his mother's so light, he must be an adopted child (S 834). The charge of course-this is part of the humor-is true, though Yasoda does not know it. But then it is also true for Balaram himself! In another scene, which shows Krishna and Balaram not scrapping with one another but rather cooperating in the face of a common enemy, this difference of color is exploited with even greater effectiveness (S 779, 783). The boys have been demanding butter ofYasoda but she has been too busy to comply. So they join forces against her, these natural opposites, black and white, with the black pulling from behind at that of Yasoda's which is black (her braid) and the white pulling from the front at that of hers which is white (her pearl necklace). And all this is explicitly in the service of satisfying their common hunger, for the black brother as he grasps her braid is compared to the peacock (nilakanthir, mor) stalking its prey, the snake, and the white brother is the goose (maral, hams) going after its food, the string of pearls (S 779.4, 783.4). But the person of Krishna himself provides an even sharper focus for this contrast of black and white. True, there are times when the poet relishes the piling of black on black, as when at evening Syam comes back with his black hair covered with the dust ofBrindavan (S 1035.2); or his eyes, dark as lotuses, are obscured behind his unruly curly locks, black as a swarm of bees (S 1094.3-4, 1095.5-6); or his whole body is invisible in the blackness of an inner room where he goes to steal butter (S 894.4). More often, however, it is contrast that delights the eye, as when the little child reveals his brilliant white baby teeth and they flash out like lightning against the background of his face, dark as the rain-bearing clouds of the monsoon season (S 726.9-10). Or again, his curls, eyebrows and eyelashes may all contrast darkly with his moonlike face.

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Part of the particular fascination of the figure of Krishna, then, consists in the fact that his face has this potential of being seen either as black or white; it encourages poetic versatility. The presence of butter or yoghurt in Krishna's hand and on his face further increases the possible permutations on black and white and that, it seems to me, is one important reason for the perennial popularity of Krishna as a lover of butter. This aspect of Krishna renders him an appropriate field for the experience of darsan on purely aesthetic grounds, and for a religious tradition which holds beauty as dear as truth, little could be more important. 19

The Thief Tied Down Among the poems which offer a vision of Krishna as a thief of butter, it is perhaps the ukhalbandhan (mortar-binding) poems that most frequently exploit this sharp contrast between black and white. For Sur Das as for Bilvamangala and the writer of the Balacarita centuries before, the ukhalbandhan episode is explicitly associated with Krishna's butter thievery. 20 His mother ties him to the mortar not because of his general indiscipline, as in the Visnu or Bhagavata Purana, 21 but because she is bombarded ceaselessly with complaints about his stealing butter. Hence, when we see this captive child, we are seeing, quite specifically, the butter thief, and the poet makes full use of the fact in presenting this vision to us. For whereas before there were droplets of butter scattered around his mouth and body, now, pathetically, they have been mixed with or replaced by tears. These tears, which have butter as their cause and prototype, provide the translucent whiteness needed to contrast with the child's dark face, and the face is made darker, cloudier still, by being given over to weeping. The moment is especially ripe for darsan because at this point in the story Krishna is, for once, tied down and stable, not running off to some new adventure. The gopis can gather around and look to their hearts' content, and we with them. The intrinsic appropriateness of this moment to the experience of darsan may help to explain why so many of Sur' s poems which provide a vision of the butter thief do so in this context. A simple statement of the vision of Krishna tied to the mortar is provided in the following poem (S 972), in which one of the gopis who have gathered to look addresses Yasoda. 1 2

3 4 5 6

What if he took some butter) So what) Shouldn't you give him his free release and lay down that stick you've angrily raised? Listen, that's no way to be, for he has become afraid; and see, He trembles as the lotus trembles and closes at evening when the moonlight comes. Why then bind poor Mohan to the mortar stone, your dearest son? Beset, says Sur, in sweet release the tears from eyelids come.

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This is a poem about bondage and release that makes its point by contrasting Krishna with his mother. As it begins the gopis rail against Y asoda, who will release neither her son nor the stick she holds in her upraised hand to threaten him into cowering submission. Having compared him to a dayblooming lotus that closes by moonlight, the gopis return to their charges and demands; but this time there are results, if not in quite the way they expect. Krishna releases himself, as it were. The same verb with which the gopis had taunted Y asoda for not releasing her son ( chodati, v. 2) is now repeated in the affirmative (cuvat, v. 6). Release comes as the release of tears. They drop and pour in just that motion which the gopis could not persuade Y asoda to adopt with her stick. For the verb the gopis used there was darati (v. 2), which means "to pour" as well as "to lay down" and which has already come over to Krishna's side of the scene in the similar sounding word which describes his reaction to his mother's intransigency: dar, his fear (v. 3). This clever way in which the poet reverses a seemingly intractable situation is accentuated by the metaphor he brings to it. As in several of these ukhalbandhan poems, he contrasts Krishna's dark face to his mother's white face by comparing him to a dark-colored lotus that shrinks away from the brilliance of the moon. Then in the last verse, when he transforms the scene and makes bondage yield to a release which is poetical if not literal, the contrast is underscored with a change in the color scheme. No longer shrinking away from its luminous opposite, Krishna's dark and brooding face becomes covered with tears which glisten in their own right: in certain versions they are said to be "snowy pearls" (mukuta himakar, v. 6). The moon, too, is snowy (himakar) and its beams are often likened to pearls, so the effect is to transfer the lunar imagery from Yasoda's side of this domestic conflict to her son's. This makes even more striking the change of color which has already taken place as the contrast between black and white is compressed in Krishna's own face. The transformation from bondage to release which occurs between the beginning of the poem and its end is further accentuated by the comparison between butter and tears, which the customary repetition of the refrain after the last line would reinforce. He may have been denied butter, but no one can deny him his tears. In this poem such a comparison is only implicit, and elsewhere, too, it is a common store of similes-pearls, for instance (S 976.6), or ambrosial moonbeams (S 977.4 )-which connects butter on Krishna's face with tears, rather than a simultaneous vision of the two. Sometimes, however, they are observed together and then the similes they share are doubly appropriate, and appropriate to either: butter and tears are seen to flow down the child's face "like pearls of ambrosia mingled with stars" (S 967 .5-6). At other times, of course, more novel images are employed. In one poem, for instance, the contrast between black and white, dark and light, is conveyed by seeing the tears on Krishna's face as fish wriggling on hooks, their shiny bodies flashing against the deep hues of the sea (S 976. 5-6). The metaphor is appropriate not only because of the coloration it suggests but also because the fishes' pain recalls Krishna's own. Furthermore, it is a liquid image, and in

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these poems of bondage at the mortar, Krishna's abundant tears add a new dimension to the motif of liquidity which is characteristic of butter thief darsan poems as a whole, expressing the liquidation of the spectator's heart and encouraging the same emotion on the part of the listener-spectator. Formulae such as bali jana, balihari hona, nyauchanvar hona, vari hona, vari dalna, and varna-all implying an abandonment of the self in the face of something greater or more intense-are unmistakably common in these darsan poems, as in darsan poems throughout the Sur Sagar. Doubtless there are occasions on which these utterances become somewhat conventional, but to dismiss them as entirely perfunctory would be to miss a major point about these darsan poems. They point beyond themselves and beyond language. In the cultic setting in which many of them must have been sung, they may well have had the specific meaning of directing the listener's eye to the image itself, but they reveal a more general truth as well. Poetry's mission here is the liquefaction of the heart. It is significant in this connection that many darsan poems, like "Gopal's in the butter" and "So what?", strike this specifically liquid note as they conclude. Another example is the following (S 709), which begins with an expression of self-surrender (varz) and ends at sea: 1 2

3 4 5 6

'' l give my alt to dear little you. I'd sooner suffer any ill or harm than have it yours, my little one". His beauty too vast to see beyond, his mother gazes on his lovely form And as he laughs and shrieks for joy her own enjoyment magnifies. His tiny teeth and tumbled talk turn her thinking upside down, And then she melts, a drop in Sur's sea, her thought, her mind-and mine.

Countless other poems refer to Krishna in similar terms in their final moments. He is described as an ocean of purity, auspiciousness, freshness, goodness, compassion, love, and most frequently of all, happiness (S 157.6, 247.8, 339.8, 738.5, 639.6, 1270.6, 2274.8, 2522.6, 4387.6, pari. 250.8). Although such titles can occur at any point in a poem (S 976.2, 748.2, 756.3, 1246.1 ), they are found with special frequency at the end. By being so placed, they serve a summarizing function, but they receive added meaning from their proximity to the name of the poet himself, his seal (chap). These epithets for Krishna often serve to epitomize the poet's own faith, since one easily connects them with the seal one has often just heard: "Sur's sea" in the example above. This juxtaposition would not, I think, have been so frequent if it had not been intended. To read it as merely conventional is to underplay the poet's involvement in his own poetry. In many poems this would be hard to demonstrate: indeed the undisturbed internal cohesion of Sur's poems is a mark of poetic craft that often distinguishes compositions in the early Sur Sagar from those added later. But "I give my all'' strongly suggests that there are times when the poet is more than a

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detached narrator, and one is left with the suspicion that even when Sur is careful not to intrude himself directly into the language of the poem, there is in fact a greater involvement than meets the eye. In "I give my all" this conclusion is almost inescapable. The first two lines, where Yasoda speaks, are plainly in the first person. The third, equally plainly, is narration in the third person. After that, however, there are no specific pointers. As one hears verses four and five it is most natural to assume one is still in the third person, hearing Yasoda' s motherly reactions described by the poet rather than Yasoda herself. This holds in the final verse too, up to the very last word, hamari, which, because it is a possessive adjective in the first person, jolts the listener to attention. One solution is to rethink the last three lines-to "rehear" them, as it were-and to construe them in the first person. In the original, no possessive pronouns are expressed where the English translation requires them, so this is entirely possible: these verses then become Yasoda's own exposition of her son's beguiling charms. The other solution, and the one which almost forces itself on the listener despite the conventions of narration by which Sur' s poems normally operate, is to accept the discontinuity and regard the final word as the poet's personal interjection. By offering us three lines in which there was no incentive to shift back to direct quotation, Sur has almost made this choice for us: this last word, too, must be his voice. Almost, but not quite, for the poet wants to throw his audience into a quandary and ask of them a measure of the same involvement he suggests as his own: hamari, "-and mine" or, more inclusively, "-and ours". There are a number of occasions when it becomes appropriate for the poet to confess his own involvement. One of the most frequent is a pause in which he, like the speechless gopis in "Gopal's in the butter", admits the inadequacy of his own language and says he is unable to describe the Krishna he sees. Not to be able to shape a verbal image is the form of liquefaction most specific to a poet's heart: Krishna's image submerges those he might fashion himself. An example is the final phrase of the following poem (S 969), which the gopi's pleading and Krishna's tears locate in the ukhalbandhan genre, and there are many others. 1

2

3 4 5 6 7 8

Yasoda, behold his beautiful boyish face. It outshines and shames the countless beams and steals the brilliance away From the autumn moon, obscured by the tears from his tremulous eyes, Which shed their drops as dewdrops shake from stolen water lilies. And from his ears the earrings glistencrocodiles of glowing goldAs if twin suns had hurtled from heaven to join and rescue a saddened friend. The twist in his curls like a whirl of bees entwined in the buzz of battleThat face where splendor vies with glory: how can Sur ever describe it?

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In "I give my all" we have seen one way in which Sur attempts to draw his audience into his own confession. Here we have another: what the gopis urge on Yasoda, the poet implicitly urges on his hearers. The gopis take on this brittle Yasoda, whose will, whose posture, and whose very weapon Sur often describes as adamantine (vajra, S 975.5; kulisu, S 980.4). What they try to do is to get her to look at her son (cf. S 976.10). They believe that the sight of him, whose appealing softness is described so persistently, will soften her. As he begins to cry he becomes softer still, liquified to tears as it were; and that is the transformation the gopis urge on Yasoda. "Body, mind, wealth, submit yourself for Syam's sake" (S 967.8, cf. S 968.8). This militancy, which comes out in some of the ukhalbandhan poems as a veritable stretto ofappeal to Yasoda (S 981.10, 982.8), is in a way the last word in darsan poetry. It is darsan with a vengeance, darsan not only accepted but propagated. And the ukhalbandhan situation is uniquely appropriate for such an appeal. It provides an occasion on which it becomes narratively plausible not just to confess the giving up of one's own self-the liquefaction of one's own heart- but to urge it on another. The passion of this appeal is not unguarded: there is irony here. The gopis are not always so disinterested and generous as their present posture implies. It is they, after all, who have driven Yasoda to her present extremity through their constant complaints about Krishna's butter rampages. But to get a sense for this would require an exploration of another entire aspect of Sur' s offerings to butter thief: the poems of accusation and counter-accusation which constitute the genre of complaint (urahan). For that there is no space. Suffice it to say that this more overtly ironic dimension in Sur' s butter thief poetry serves to underline the quality of lightness and delight which permeates even the most stringent appeals for a deep response to the vision of the butter thief. Through this medium, Krishna's untoward childhood adventures remain in their poetic form what they should always be: lilas, sports, acts of play. And this is so even in the darsan poems themselves. For all that Sur jousts back and forth with the most extreme contrasts of white and black and draws the whole world into the tiny drama of hand and face, butter and mortar, liquifying it in the process, his butter thief remains a little child. To set one's gaze on him and to be transformed is to sense that ultimate meaning comes not from denying the particulars of this world-its common gifts, even one's own progeny-but by looking at them intensely. This is what darsan means, and the butter thief invites this visual devotion in the most vivid way. NOTES For purposes of this discussion I shall consider poetry which appears in manuscript versions of the Sur Sagar before about 1700 A.D., or to be precise before vikram 1764, as reasonably attributable to Sur. This is what I mean by "the early Sur Sa.gar", as opposed to later, more voluminous additions to the corpus. One should remember, however, that the growth of what Kenneth Bryant has called "the Sur tradition" was a gradual one and that there is no way of guaranteeing that Sur Das himself composed any given poem. (Bryant, Poems to the

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2 3 4 5 6

7

8 9

10

11 12 13

14

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Child-God, [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978], pp. ix-x). Rather, to speak of Sur is to speak of the undoubtedly to some extent collective authorship of these early poems. Further information on the early Sur Sagar can be obtained from Hawley, "The Early Sur Sagar and the Growth of the Sur Tradition", Journal of the American Oriental Society 99:1 ( 1979), pp. 64- 72. On the liturgical use of poems from the Sur Sagar in the Vallabh Sampraday, see Dharmanarayan Ojha, Sur Sahitya me Pustimargiya Seva Bhavana, (Allahabad: Sodh Sahitya Prakasan, 1973). Bryant, Child-God, pp. 72-112. Anonymous, "There Is No Rose", in Benjamin Britten, A Ceremony of Carols (New York: Boosey and Hawkes, 1943), p. 12. On the etymology of the term bhakti and its relation to bhaj, the Sanskrit verb of sharing, see Mariasusai Dhavamony, Love of God according to Saiva Siddhanta (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), pp. 13-14. I have hinted at a number of reasons for the popularity of the butter thief in "Thief of Butter, Thief of Love", History of Religions, 18:3 (1979), pp. 201-220. On the history of the relevant icons see Hawley, "The Butter Thief' (Ph. D. dissertation, 1977: Harvard University), pp. 73-264, 516-520, 1002-1204. Ibid., pp. 367-396. It is significant that Friedhelm Hardy, in an attempt to discover links between the early devotional poetry of South India and that of the Caitanya movement in Bengal by means of transmissions in Sanskrit, has isolated two "well-defined poetic-stylistic patterns" which almost exactly correspond to the categories of darsan and urahan. Hardy names them "vision" and "separation". See Hardy, "Madhavendra Puri: A Link between Bengal Vaisnavism and South Indian Bhakti", Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (1974), pp. 37-39. Italics indicate the tek, the portion of the poem which serves as both its title and its refrain. The tek is customarily repeated at various points when the poem is sung, certainly at its conclusion. The poem translated here is a critically edited version of the one which appears as entry 901 in the standard edition of the Nagaripracarini Sabha. See 'Ratnakar' et al., Sur Sagar, (hereinafter abbreviated to S) vol. 1, (Kasi: Nagaripracarini Sabha, 1972), pp. 355-356. I will cite volume 2 of this work in the 1976 edition. The critical text of S 901 appears along with all others to which reference is here made in Hawley, "The Butter Thief', Appendix II. These critical reconstructions are necessarily tentative until the full-scale critical edition of the Sur Sagar, which Kenneth Bryant and I are now undertaking, is complete. The term dadhi is wide enough in its reference to encompass both curd and yoghurt, though the latter contains a fermenting agent and the former does not. Krishna is fond of both dadhi and dadhi-sut. When he is depicted eating dadhi, however, the meaning is yoghurt, since curd is not customarily eaten as such. Dadhi-sut, butter, is a product of curd, but since in Hindi the phrase could also mean ''son of yoghurt'', the association between the two milk products of which Krishna is most fond remains close. Alternatively dadhi-sut may be interpreted as a shortening of udadhi-sut, ''born of the ocean", but the mythological reference is the same. Elsewhere, somewhat less frequently, Sur makes the night-blooming lotus, the kumud, his point of reference and contrasts it to its brilliant enemy, the sun (e.g., S 976. 4 ). The moon, particularly the full autumn moon, is the natural simile not only for Krishna's face, as here, but for any beautiful face, especially a woman's. In the Sur Sagar, Radha is often thus described (e.g., S 232.2). But when the element of butter or yoghurt enters the picture, in Krishna's case, the simile becomes even more apt, for it adds whiteness to brilliance and supplies the accompanying moonbeams. The comparison between Krishna's hands and lotuses is equally familiar. Nanda is Krishna's father, or to be more precise his foster father, as Yasoda, Nanda's wife, is Krishna's foster mother. Though both of them, and particularly Yasoda, regard Krishna as their own, he was actually born in the royal family of nearby Mathura. His biological

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16 17 18

19

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father brought him to Nanda and Yasoda as an infant so that he would escape death at the hands of the tyrant ruling Mathura. Here, bali jat (v. 6). An alternate translation would interpret bali as "sacrifice", not "strength". Balihari is a term used commonly enough in Braj to have become formulaic. One says "balihari" to indicate full assent, full appreciation, one's total submission. This last sense, however, builds directly upon the literal meaning of the word and in Sur's usage more than a formulaic meaning often seems intended, as here. On the relation of the psychological state designated by such terms as balihari and vari to metaphors of liquidity see also S 709.1, 10; 749.4, 6. The meaning of ari ke ath (v. 5) is not altogether clear. I have taken ath as arth. Alf Hiltebeitel has analyzed the interplay of black, white, and red in ancient Krishna legendry in The Ritual of Battle (Ithaca: Cornell, 1976), pp. 68-74. It seems to me that red is the member of the triad whose independent force is hardest to establish in the Mahabharata, and this certainly holds true for the Sur Sagar, though red also figures there (e.g., S. 775.2, 982.5, 1094.5, 3300.1). The purely aesthetic fascination of the high contrast between black and white is evident in the ritual calendar of the great temple of Dvarakadhis in Mathura. There a special and much-celebrated day called kali ghata (sravan sukla paks 9) is set aside when all decorations-the dress and jewelry of the images as well as the hangings inside the temple-are executed only in black and white. Krishnakarnamrita 2. 23, critically edited and translated in Frances Wilson, The Love of Krishna, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1975), pp. 148-149; Balacarita, act

3.

Vishnu Purana 5.6.13-20; Bhagauata Purana 10.8-10.

Paradox and Divine Wickedness in the Krishnakarnamrita: Reflections on the Uses of Discrepant Symbols CLIFFORD G. HOSPITAL Queen's University, Kingston, Canada

IN CONSIDERING the possible contemporary relevance of bhakti movements for social change, it is valuable to contemplate the dynamics of past examples in which it is possible to detect, in the use of symbols, a creative reworking of established symbolic structures. A striking example of such reworking is afforded by some of the poems in the Krishnakarnamrita of Lilasuka Bilvamangala. 1 The Krishnakarnamrita consists of a series of short poems, in number somewhat in excess of three hundred, arranged in three ''cantos''. In essence each poem is a meditation upon Krishna. Many describe his inexpressible beauty, others his marvellous deeds. Most of the raw subject matter is found in earlier narrative texts like the Harivamsa, 2 the Vishnu Purana 3 and especially the Bhagavata Purana. 4 It is generally accepted that K originated in South India. (Frances Wilson finds confirmation of this in the use of Dravidian verse-forms in some of the poems). But who the writer ofK was is subject to considerable debate. At issue is whether Lilasuka Bilvamangala was the author or merely the compiler of the poems; whether, therefore, the bulk of the poetry was written by one person or by numerous poets; whether Bilvamangala was a noted grammarian of that name who lived in the twelfth or thirteenth century, or another Bilvamangala who lived in the ninth century. Also at issue is whether Canto I, brought back to Bengal by Cai tan ya c. 1610 is the authentic K, the other cantos being added later; or whether, although Caitanya received only the first canto, the other two cantos were in existence at the time. Wilson, on the basis of her consideration of the various discussions of scholars who have worked on these questions, thinks that the grammarian was responsible for the compilation of all three cantos, but that he may have drawn on the work of an earlier unknown poet. How many of the poems are the work of Lilisuka Bilvamangala is still, for her, open to question. 4

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What seems clear, however, is that the poems originated in South India, in a period which might be thought of as the mature phase of South Indian Vaisnava bhakti. The vital movement to which the Alvars gave the first major poetic expression, and which was given its creative puranic form in BhP, was by the time of K reaching mature and "classical" proportions in the work of noted systematic thinkers like Ramanuja, and in highly sophisticated poetry. A surprising number of the verses of K depend for their poetic force upon the juxtaposition of two contradictory or apparently contradictory aspects of Krishna's nature. Some verses draw on a contrast between the smallness of the child or the lowliness of the youth and the inherent greatness of God who has assumed this form of child and youth. Thus, 2.62 and 2.65 are about the episode of Krishna's eating earth, the former with the new and subtly humorous twist that Yasoda is afraid Krishna will suffer from indigestion. 2. 60 tells of an episode in which Krishna asks Yasoda for a drink of milk, and when he is told he may have some at night when it is dark, he closes his eyes. There is here an effective utilization of a common experience-the little child thinks that if he closes his eyes you can't see him; and the juxtaposition of this with the ancient tradition that the eye of the cosmic purusa is the sun. 5 Other verses juxtapose Krishna's childhood dreaming and his greeting other great deities in a heavenly court (2.59), and the massive size of the Lord in his Boar incarnation with the tiny form of the baby Krishna (2.27). 6 And 2. 72 develops poignantly the situation in which Krishna is being told a bedtime story, the subject of which is himself in his former incarnation as Rama. "Once here was a man named Rama". "Hmm". "His wife was called Sita". "Hmm". "They were living in the Pancavati forest in obedience to his father's command when Ravana carried her off'. From Hari, listening thus with "hmms" to his mother's bedtime story, suddenly, "Laksmana, my bow, my bow, where's my bow?" May these alarmed words protect us.

In some verses the juxtaposition is simple: he who lies on Radha is the one who lies on Sesa (1. 76); he is a cowherd as well as the lord of the ocean of milk (3.96); he who is called lord of the worlds has as his royal camp a cowpen, his lieutenants are cowherds, his harem, milkmaids (3.61). A verse which makes the point of the paradox with a zingy sauciness is 2.106. A woman is speaking: So a little hill sitting on the ground is playfully raised by you with your two arms, and for this, in heaven and on earth you are always praised as ''Govardhana'' ! That I bear you, who contain the three worlds, on the tips of my breasts is counted as nothing!

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There are thus many verses which contrast the human-often delightfully human-qualities of Krishna and his qualities as lsvara. 7 A second set of juxtapositions is of a different order. Behold it sprinkled with brilliant kalpa blossoms falling from the fingertips of heavenly maidens; nirvana-calm, it pours forth waves of sound from its illustrious flute. Surrounded by a thousand playful gopis whose clothes are ever slipping, slipping off, it grants release into the hands of those who worship it. Behold it, the object supreme, a youth uncouth. 8

Here there is a contrast of the nirvana-calm and the agitation of the waves of sound of the flute, the release which implies escape from the world of flux, and the intense and agitated movements of the gopis whose garments are described as "loosened, loosened" or "fallen off, fallen off'. 9 These are characteristic of clusters of images in which restlessness and movement are juxtaposed with peace and calm. Thus, the Lord, the essence of nirvana, becomes a fickle and wavering youth, with tremulous eyes, darting glances, and a general mood of inconstancy (1.18, 20, 26, 27, 35, 65, 74). 10 Krishna's effect on people is also often to agitate, to distract. 11 In 1.34 the poet asks to have his samadhi interrupted by the nectar of music of divine flute play ( lilamuraliravamritam) and 1.18 speaks of Krishna as that amrta whose ''flute notes flutter in agitation the lotus minds of munis '' . 12 His smile is to the gopis intoxicating and distracting ( 1.27), 13 his charms torment the mind ( 1.36), and he is frequently described as infatuating or stupifying the three worlds (1.54, 1.88, 2.102, 2.104). 14 The most telling picture of Krishna's ability to infatuate is the verse about the gopi who is selling her curds (2. 56): A milkmaid set out one day intent on selling her yoghurt and so forth but all her thoughts were attached to Murari's feet. On account of this infatuation she raised her street cry thus: "Govinda! Damodara! Madhava!"

Krishna does not merely agitate and infatuate, however. Using images which compare Krishna to the moon, verses 1.24-26 praise the soothing or cooling (sisirikr) effect of Krishna's moon face and of the sound of his flute. 15 A third set of contrasts is more startling. Although a child, you hold aloft a mountain with a finger-tip. Although dark, you are a light in deep darkness. Although your own man, you are captive to the eyes of Radha. Although a villain, you take away samsara. How are you all this? 16

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In this verse, a range of paradoxes about Krishna leads into the most surpris-

ing picture of the sinner 17 who releases people from that binding flow of the effects of sin. Another verse (2.69) depends for its effect upon the wellestablished paradox of the child who is much more than a mere child. Kissed by the gopis, who thought him a child, he clung to their lips; hugged by them, he seized their necks so tightly as to leave red marks; placed on their laps, he caressed their private parts with his hand: may this chief of sinners, the baby Krishna, take away our sin.

These verses depend on the traditions which suggest that Krishna is a sexual libertine, wayward, a rogue. These suggestions receive a passing mention in other verses of K. 18 Another portrayal of Krishna as sinner is built out of the traditions about him as butter-thief and about his stealing of the clothes of young gopis while they are bathing. K. refers to Krishna as "fresh-butter thief'', 19 but then uses the thief image in such a way as to suggest both negative and positive connotations: He He He He

it it it it

is is is is

who who who who

stole stole stole stole

the the the the

torment from the minds of great munis. clothes of passionate young women of Vraja. pride of Indra, lord of the highest of the three worlds. lotus of my heart. 20

Most tellingly, however, this thief is the one who steals away the sins of his devotees (2.99). And this idea is brought to an artistic peak in a verse which juxtaposes Krishna's sins-theft, adultery, killing, drinking-and the equivalent sins of his devotees. The link made between them is of the order, ''His sin takes away our sin''. His theft of new butter takes away the sin of theft, his adultery, the sin of offending the guru's marriage-bed; his slaying of Ravana takes away the sin of murder, his drinking of milk from the breast of Putana takes away the sin of drinking intoxicating liquor. May this Krishna purify us. 21

The word translated "takes away" is harati, which frequently means "steals"; so the thief motif is combined with other "sinner" motifs into a quite tight series. 22 One way of understanding these juxtapositions might be to look at them in terms of Indian aesthetic theory. The Sahityadarpana of Visvanatha Kaviraja contains an extended discussion of the figure of speech virodha, contradiction. When there is an apparent incongruity between a genus and any of the four beginning with genus (jati, guna, kriya and dravya), between a quality and any of the three beginning with quality, between an action and another action or substance, or between two substances, there is virodha ... 23

The contradiction must be only apparent; it must be resolvable at some other level. For example, in the statement "the beams of the moon are im-

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pregnated with heat", the contradiction is removed by the knowledge that to one m separation from a lover, the moon may appear to be full of heat; or, as an example from K: ''although dark, you are a light in deep darkness''-the contradiction is removed by the awareness that the word "dark" refers to the colour of Krishna's skin, while light refers to another dimension. An example given in the Sahityadarpana refers to God, to a contradiction between the quality aJatva, the state of being unborn, and the action of being born. The contradiction is here removed by the fact that God's greatness is transcendental. Many of the paradoxes in K could be explained in similar terms. One could then see them as merely a rather convenient using of something inherent in the nature of God to produce charming little poems. That is, one could see here an imaginative poet drawing out from an array of traditions about Krishna apparently contradictory elements. The resultant juxtapositions produce a charm which arouses emotion in the hearer of the poem, an emotion which could be seen as central to bhakti. To what extent the poet is consciously using such a theory of bhakti is impossible to say, though he seems thoroughly familiar with BhP where such a view of bhakti appears. 24 This explanation in terms of the mechanics of aesthetics, however, says both everything and nothing. A passing reference to "something inherent in the nature of God" and a suggestion of "contradictory elements" in the traditions about Krishna suddenly become pointers to a deeper approach to understanding these materials. While it might be arguable that apparently contradictory elements are found in all views of God, it is clear that specific traditions develop their own patterns in their portrayal of the Supreme Being. That the last of the juxtapositions we have seen in K-God the sinner who saves from sin-is unique in the history of religious thought suggests that an investigation of the historical background of these motifs is important. The first set of juxtapositions we have noticed in K are found earlier in BhP. 25 Two stories highlight the situation. When Krishna's foster mother, Y asoda, looks into his mouth one day, when like any good healthy toddler he has been stuffing earth into it, she sees there the entire universe. 26 Similarly, when six-year old Krishna dances on the heads of the serpent king of the Yamuna, Kaliya, it is noted that Krishna bears within himself the entire universe, so that the weight of the universe comes crashing down on Kaliya's heads and he is soon overcome. 27 K does little different from this, except to add quite a number of new examples to those of BhP. One cannot be certain how the contrast is intended to work for the devotee in K, but recorded responses follow the traditions of BhP where the response of the cowherd people varies from wonder to fear. 28 The response of fear is related in BhP to the cowherds' ignorance of who Krishna is. 29 For those with the knowledge of the poet, the more likely response is wonder. But it is not clear whether the focus of this wonder is that this little child is also lord of the universe or that the lord of the universe has assumed the form of a little child; or both. 30 But in general it appears that in K the focus is

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on the wonder of the human form of Krishna: many verses attest to his beauty and his actions and the way these enchant, delight, call forth love. 31 The second set of juxtapositions draws on the discrepancies which exist between different religious strands accepted within the wide-ranging Hindu tradition. Agitation, restlessness and infatuation, for example, have a strongly negative connotation for a great deal of Indian thinking and living of a style which becomes enshrined in the practices of yogis and the speculations of Advaita Vedantists; and not only those, for moksa, the final end oflife, is frequently seen as involving a negation of the infatuating and restlessly transient world. 32 The utilization of these negative motifs to describe Krishna is paralleled by a negativizing of certain highly positive symbols of Indian culture. That face which charms the three worlds must be sought on many a hard path by munis but can be seen any time by the young women of Vraja. He is not to be found even in the eternal words of the Vedas ... 33 To this very day the thousands of Upanisadic seers have never found you before their eyes or in their hearts. 0 Lord, why are you merciful to me and ever come within the sight of these my eyes? 34

One might note the difference between this approach and that of the

Bhagavadgita. W. D. P. Hill referred to BhG as "an uncompromising

eirenicon". 35 Certainly within BhG there is a concerted effort not only to accept all paths but also, at times, to unify them; e.g., by denying that samkhya and yoga are different (8. 4) and by ending a section on the yogi with the intimation that the true yogi is one who is devoted to Krishna (6.47). By the time of BhP, however, the different paths appear further apart. While didactic sections treat of jnanayoga, karmayoga and Kapila's Samkhya, much of what happens in the context of bhakti is contradictory to, or at least in tension with, these other paths. There is one portrayal of bhakti which is in striking contrast to the order and tranquility so often central to the Hindu quest. When a man has heard the incomparable glories and heroic deeds performed by Hari in bodies assumed in playand when, from too much joy, the hairs of his body stand on end, and with tears in his eyes and uncontrolled speech and neck stretched taut he sings out loud, lets out a yell, and dances-

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When, like one possessed, he laughs and cries, he meditates, and pays homage to men, often sighing, engaged in introspection, all bashfulness gone; and "Hari! Lord of the world! N arayana!" he criesthen is a man released from all bondage. 36

The devotion of the gopis to Krishna is similarly portrayed as an intense infatuation with and desire for Krishna. BhP does not, however, accentuate these tensions. It remains for K to utilize potential contrasts for poetic force. 37 The third set of juxtapositions is of the same order as the second in its use of what have been negative symbols. Yet it goes much further in that it points to Krishna as one guilty of mahapatakas, great sins-theft, adultery, killing. 38 There are claims earlier in Indian literature that Krishna is a sinful person. The most celebrated is that of Krishna's great enemy in MBh, Sisupala. Sisupala here strongly objects to the honour paid to Krishna in the form of a guest gift given by Bhisma and Sahadeva, maintaining that Krishna has violated dharma. 39 Later, after Bhisma has defended Krishna's honour, Sisupala in reply to Bhisma specifies his criticisms. You who know the Law, is it not a great wonder that he killed Kamsa, the mighty prince, whose food he had eaten? Certainly you do not seem to have heard good people tell what I shall now tell you, basest of Kuru's line who know of no Law. Strict, honest, law-abiding people have always instructed us in the world not to raise weapons against women, cows, brahmins, him whose food one has eaten, and him who seeks mercy with you: all this is perverted with you, Bhisma. You talk to me praising Krishna as ancient in wisdom and old and superior, as if I knew nothing? But how does a cow-killer and woman-killer deserve praise, Bhisma?•o

There is no attempt to refute Sisupala' s claims. Instead, Bhisma tells of Sisupala's birth and history and predicts his death at the hands of Krishna in accordance with fate. 41 In relation to a quite different set of events, BhP spends some time wrestling with the problem of whether Krishna has sinned in his relationships with the gopis. An extended discussion arrives at the conclusion that, in fact, he has not sinned. 42 The argument is presented in two parts. In the first, it is acknowledged that gods do deviate from the path of dharma, but for them this is not a sin, just as it is no sin for fire to consume everything it touches. The implication is that the gods transcend questions of dharma. As a result, the writer argues, ''How much less will the Lord of all beings ... conform to what is proper or improper''. ( v. 34) The second part of the argument is that the activity of the Lord is done in play, in order to manifest his grace to living creatures. There is no selfish motive for his actions, for he is completely selffulfilled. BhP is concerned to show that Krishna's actions are not sinful even though they may appear to be. K does not trouble itself with such explanations, but blatantly accepts that Krishna is a sinner-indeed, he takes delicious delight in

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calling him such. And for examples the poet draws on those cited by Sisupala and on those about which BhP worries. He adds to these another motif not raised previously in the context of claims about Krishna's sinfulness or otherwise-that of the thief. Having traced historically these shifts in what the poets have to say about Krishna, we can now move to some more general theoretical considerations for understanding the juxtapositions in K. Initially the work of Mary Douglas is helpful as a theoretical base. In Purity and Danger Douglas presents a theory of religion which makes understandable in similar terms the functioning of pollution and tabu and purification rituals, the experience of culture shock, the repulsiveness of the viscous, and our attempts at wall-papering, painting, etc. 43 Douglas is interested in the process whereby, in different cultural contexts, humans order their world. She sees dirt as essentially a by-product of the ordering process and argues a very good case that the animals tabood in Leviticus receive their tabood state because of their anomalous condition; i.e., they do not fit into the categories that the Hebrews develop in ordering their world. 44 A crucial part of Douglas's discussion vis-a-vis our examination of the paradoxical in K is her treatment of the Lele pangolin cult in which an animal normally classified as highly forbidden, becomes the focus of a fertility ritual. She shows the Lele as a people who are very pollution conscious, and who work out detailed classifications of various animals, with a correlation between animals that are unfit for human consumption and animals that are ambiguous according to their classifications. For the main part, their formal rituals are based on discrimination of categories, human, animal, male, female, young, old, etc. But they lead through a series of cults which allow their initiates to eat what is normally dangerous and forbidden, carniverous animals, chest of game and young animals. In an inner cult a hybrid monster which in secular life one would expect them to abhor, is reverently eaten by initiates and taken to be the most powerful source of fertility. At this point one sees that this is, after all, to continue the gardening metaphor, a composting religion. That which is rejected is ploughed back for the renewal of life. 45

Douglas is suggesting that something which is given a highly negative valency in the process of a cultural ordering of reality may, at another stage or another level, be reintegrated into the total picture and used for a revitalization of the culture. Before we attempt to use Douglas in understanding K, three brief comments are necessary. First, in her discussion Douglas concentrates upon rituals, particularly in relation to eating habits. It seems to me that her discussion could be equally well applied to myths and to poems like those of K. Second, Douglas makes the point that it is not always unpleasant to confront anomaly and ambiguity; there can be a range from revulsion and shock through to laughter, which again may have a range in tone from embarrassment to a pleasant awareness of incongruity. Third, it is not only anomalies and ambiguities which receive negative weighting in cultural symbolizations;

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one of the commonest types of negativizing is found in a number of the major traditions-a development of concepts of good and evil as ethical categories. So within a given culture it is common for certain symbols to be negativized. In addition, as the idea of a Supreme Being is developed there is a tendency for this Being to be portrayed as perfectly good, many of the attributes of God being examples of this ethical perfection. 46 The perfection aspect itself derives from another common feature of the imagining of a Supreme Reality. Frequently God bears the effects of the unlimitedness of the human imagination: hence, such common attributes as eternality, omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence. Returning to consider K, we can see the paradox inherent in the divinebecome- human as the product of a discrepancy between the unlimitedness of the human imagination (from which, as we have said, many of the attributes of God are derived) and the very real limitations of human living. It is clear that if the anomaly of the divine-human can be intellectually troublesome-as it has been for Christian theologians attempting to explain how God can become Man in Jesus Christ-it can also be a focus of wondering contemplation. 47 In K this wonder is particularly focussed on contrasts between the greatness of God in his form as Isvara and the smallness of God in his human form (special weight being given to the child form). But then this contrast evokes another shift so that while attributes classically associated with the supreme reality or supreme goal are seen as attributes of Krishna, so also are contrasting qualities. And beyond that again, quite negative symbols of Indian culture, symbols usually projected on to the enemies of goodness and truth and God, are here focussed on Krishna. It is particularly in relation to this last set that Douglas's discussion of the pangolin cult seems helpful: if, in the process of the human ordering ofreality, certain features of human life are given a strongly negative valency, the result of which may be a determined holding at bay of elements which enrich human life-beyond this, one may expect to see a recycling of certain negative symbols, the reincorporation of them into a fuller picture, more vital, more sparkling. 48 The scenario provided by Douglas does not, however, enable us to understand why such a positive recycling of negative elements takes place at certain times and not at others. Nor does it explain why this picture of the sinful Krishna, despite its vitality and sparkle does not become an important motif in subsequent Vaisnava tradition which makes use of K. In an attempt to deal with this problem, it is valuable to look again at the treatment of Krishna's sinfulness as we have seen it in MBh, BhP and K. If one asks why there is no attempt in MBh to refute Sisupala's accusations, the answer is likely that here, as in other Indian literature, it is accepted that rogues often mouth virtue, profess an interest in dharma. But they are deceptive; their fine words are a cover for their evil actions. The result is that one learns not to take their words seriously. A corollary of this is that it is dharmic actions that count, not a profession of virtue. Sisupala is so thoroughly

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painted in a negative mode that one can assume that what he is saying about Krishna is a series of half-truths: one does not need to consider seriously what he is saying. In BhP the situation is quite different. As we have shown, there are elements of serious discrepancy with the older traditions in the emotional quality of the bhakti shown here. 49 And that fact contributes a threat which must be dealt with; hence, the question of Krishna's relation to dharma must be met squarely. By the time of K, what BhP has attempted to establish is accepted. The bhakti tradition had been integrated quite thoroughly with the older traditions so that no sophisticated reader of these poems was likely to take too seriously the picture of the sinful god. It could tittilate and charm. It was not likely to cause a revolution in thinking or practice. Such discrepancies do not always remain chiefly as food for the devotional and poetic imagination, as can be seen from a brief consideration of another more recent set of symbols from that area where Lilasuka is thought to have lived, Kerala. There is a famous song sung at Kerala's most popular festival, Onam, which refers to the time of perfection, the golden age when Mahabali ruled the land. The song constitutes part of the Kerala version of the wellknown myth of the Asura Bali and the Dwarf avatar of Vishnu. In this version, the positive focus is not on the tricking of Bali by the Dwarf or the subsequent victorious striding of Trivikrama, but on the reign of Mahabali ("the great Bali"). In this golden age, in addition to the standard utopian absence oflying, cheating, theft, or untimely deaths, there existed an ideal social arrangement rather uncharacteristic of Indian texts: "When Mahabali ruled the land/all men were equal''. 50 The continued popularity of this song-its first literary form is in the Mahabalicaritam dating probably from the seventeenth century-makes most sense as a protest in the form of a ''nostalgia myth'' against the severity and inequalities of the purity-privilege hierarchy which was notorious in Kerala in recent centuries. The society, however, appears to have been incapable for a long time of anything other than some humanization of the system in the general festive goodwill and gift-giving of the Onam season, often commemorated as the time when Mahabali returns to visit his beloved people. More recently, however, the ideal of Mahabali's rule has been used as legitimation for social change by E. M. S. Namboodiripad, noted Communist and Kerala's first Chief Minister: In its campaign for a united Kerala, the (Communist) Party drew its inspiration from the legendary story of ancient Kerala ... the regime of Mahabali when, according to legend, 'all were equal' and there was plenty for everybody .... Basing itself on this legend, and the social customs centred around it, the Communist Party raised the slogan of working for the revival of the days of Mahabali in the new international and national set up. In other words, it was as the modern and scientific interpretation of the national aspiration for equality, democracy and prosperity, contained in the legendary story of Mahabali, that the Communist Party evolved its slogan of a new, united, democratic and prosperous Kerala. 51

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One can thus see that symbols which are counter to or discrepant with the central structuring of cultural symbols may act for a time as a kind of antistructure, providing creative input into the central structure but not seriously disturbing it; but then at another time they become the basis of a counterstructure which acts to transform or even replace the central structure. To return again to K, we may then suggest that what we see here is also in part the providing in discrepant symbols of a kind of anti-structure in devotional contemplation. Within the Krishnaite tradition, however, discrepancies of the kind evident in K remain; at another time, in other circumstances, they might well contribute towards a transforming counter-structure.

NOTES

2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

This work has recently been critically edited by Frances Wilson and published under the title The Love of Krishna (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1975). I have adhered to her texts and verse numbers. The translations are my own. Unless otherwise indicated, verse numbers refer to this critical edition of Krishnakarnamrita (which I have abbreviated as K). Wilson's discussions of authorship and related problems, which I attempt to summarize very briefly below, are found at pp. 6-21 of her work. Harivamsa, V. S. Sukthankar, S. K. Velvalkar, and P. L. Vaidya eds. (Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1969-71). Vishnu Purana (Gorakhpur: Gita Press, 1967). See also the translation into English by H. H. Wilson (Calcutta: Punthi Pustak, 1972) (original edition, 1940). Bhagavata Purana (Bombay: Venkatesvara Press, 1910). Abbreviated as BhP. Found in numerous texts from Rgveda Samhita 10.90. See also 1.46. See also 1.102, 2.23, 2.44, 2.70, 2.71, 2.82. 1.2. srasta-srasta ...

Thus, for example, adhiram alokitam (1.27), mugdhacapalena vilokitena (1.35) capalyad api capalam (1.65), capalyasima capalanubhavaikasima (l. 74). See 3.20. muraliravataralikrtamunimanasalinam. See also 1.19. akulonmadasmitam. E.g., in 1.54 "murtimjaganmohinim; in l.88jagattrayavimohanam. See also references to nirvana (1.83), shelter (1.93), quieting distress (1.56). A verse which

suggests both infatuation and soothing is 2.50. 2.73. The word translated ''villain'' is dhurta which can mean ''cheat, rogue, swindler'' or ''libertine, adulterer'', the difference depending on the context. The common element seems to me best translated by ''villain'' or ''scoundrel''. See 3.37, 3.21. "navanitacora" (2.51, 3.88); "navanitamuse" (2. 74). 1.81. 3.90. For other examples of the motif see 2.15, 2.88, 2.34, 3.9. Visvanatha Kaviraja, The Sahityadarpana, Paricchedas I, II, X, with notes by P. V. Kane (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1965), p. 240.

70 24

25 26 27 28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

39 40 41

42 43 44 45 46 47 48

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This is found most explicitly in the section cited below (page 8) from BhP 7. 7. 34-36. But one can see it also in the sections of the tenth skandha which are focussed on the childhood and youth of Krishna, where there are frequent indications that the people surrounding Krishna are devotees who respond to the Krishnalila in a variety of emotions-which become something of a measure of their devotional attachment. Also in Bhagavadgita, 11.44-46 the contrast is drawn between Krishna's form as universal Lord and his friendly human form. BhP 10.8. BhP 10.16.28. See for example 10.9.17-19. SeeBhPl0.7.10. The BhP, like Harivamsa and Vishnu Purana before it, seems content just to draw on the widespread motif of the amazing childhood acts of heroes-see Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968, 2nd ed.) pp. 318-334-extending it to the perception that this child is not merely superhuman but Lord of the universe. 1.102, 2.54, 2.68, 2.61, 2.68, 2.76, 2.77, 3.94. In relation to this, see D. Prithipaul, "Maha: The Study of a human emotion in Hindu religious thought", Studies in Religion/Sciences Religieuses 4/4 ( 1974-5 ), 35 7-66. 1.48. 1.94. W. D. P. Hill, The Bhagavadgita (London: Oxford University Press, 1953, 2nd. ed.), p. 21. BhP 7. 7 .34-36. Not that it always does so. See 2.18, 2.21, 2.48, 2.55, etc. I say "points to" because the mahapatakas as presented in Manavadharmasastra 9.235 and 11. 55-See George Buhler, trans., The Laws of Manu (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1886) SBE Vol. 25-are, more specifically, those which Krishna "takes away" (3.90-see above pp. 4ff). Mahabharata, critically edited by V. S. Sukthankar and others, 19 Vols., (Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1933-66), 2.34.4: "ayam ca smrtyatikranto hy apapego

'lpadarsanah" . The Mahabharata, translated and edited by J. A.B. van Buitenen, (Chicago: The University

of Chicago Press, 1973-), Vol. 2, p. 98.

Mahabharata 2. 40-41. It should perhaps also be inferred that Sisupala has distorted the

truth-the events are referred to so sparsely that one must surely assume that the writer expects the reader to know about them and to know that Sisupala has not given the full picture. For example, he suppresses the tradition that Putana suckled Krishna in order to kill him. BhP 10.33.27-37. Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 1970). Ibid., pp. 67ff. Ibid., p. 197. This is not inevitably the manner of portrayal of supreme reality. While in Christian and Muslim theologies it does seem to apply with various modifications, in the case of Hindus, the supreme reality is often portrayed as transcending ethical categories completely. See for example, the version of the "Cherry Tree Carol" given in Percy Dearmer, R. Vaughan Williams and Martin Shaw, The Oxford Book of Carols (London: Oxford University Press, 1928), p. 137. At the same time, one should beware of pushing too far the implications of the use of these negative symbols. The portrayal of Krishna as sinner does not imply the condoning of sin. The reincorporation of the negative symbols is quite subtle. For example, to say that a babe in arms being passed from woman to woman is a sinner is ridiculous, unless he is more than a mere human baby-which he is: it is because the baby Krishna is God that can call him a sinner I The effect of such subtlety is not to shock but to tantalize. The success of Krishnakarnamrita lies in the ability of the poet to tickle the imagination.

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71

Evidence of further discrepancies is given in Thomas J. Hopkins, ''The Social Teaching of the Bhagavata Purana", included in Milton Singer, ed., Krishna: Myths, Rites, and Attitudes (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966; Phoenix edition, 1968), pp. 3-22. The fullest version of the song is given in the Mahabalicaritam, included in K. Raghavan Pillai, Pattukal (Part I) (Trivandrum: University of Kerala, 1964), pp. 49-62. E. M. S. Namboodiripad, Kerala: Problems and Possibi'lt'ties (New Delhi: Communist Party Publications, 1957), p. 8.

Bhakti Tradition and Modernization: The Case of Lingayatism K. ISHWARAN York University, Toronto, Canada

THIS AR TIC LE examines the case of Lingayatism as an illustration of the ways in which the bhakti tradition contributes to modernization. In the following, I shall elaborate the meaning and implications of the concept of modernization, and present a brief account of the major bhakti movements, in order to provide a comparative focus and historical depth to our analysis of the Lingayat version of the bhakti movement. Then, I shall sketch briefly the historical background to Lingayatism and provide an analysis of the Lingayat religious system from the perspective of its modernizing potentialities and achievement. Finally, an overall assessment is presented of the contribution of Lingayatism as a bhakti movement to the process of modernization in the Karnataka region in Southern India.

Modernization As An Operational Concept While in some form or other modernization has been at the heart of modern sociological theory-especially in the form of the evolutionary concept of progress and development and even in the work of one of the founding fathers of the discipline, Comte-it mushroomed into a theoretical industry in the post-World War II period. We need not go into the complex historical developments which together pushed the concept into the centre of sociological attention and focus. Suffice it here to note that the historical fact of systematic decolonization of most of the non-Western world-leading to its political independence-raised the issue of modernization as a central issue in sociology, and, indeed, in the social sciences as a whole. Theoretical discussions and formulations reflected the concern for the practical problems of "modernizing" the newly independent societies. As a consequence, the concept came to be mixed up with political realities in a world complicated by the near end of political imperialism in the non-Western world. One important consequence of this situation was that modernization became historically tied to the process of development which had brought the modern West into existence over a period of centuries since the Renaissance. We may designate this the ethnocentric phase in the development of the

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concept of modernization. In this early phase, much theoretical energy was spent in constructing patterns, sequences and structural-functional models of modernization, all equating uncritically Western historical development as the only pattern of modernization. In terms of theory, this exclusive concentration on a narrow historical experience led to a dichotomous frame in which tradition and modernity were cast in polar roles. The traditional society, cutting across the massive tangle of historical and empirical facts relating to a bewildering variety of non-Western societies, was conceptualized simply in negative relation to what was a modern society. A traditional society came to be defined as one in which the features central to a modern society-meaning the advanced Western societies, culminating in the U.S.A.-were absent. The model presumed in this framework was that of a highly urbanized, industrial society, run economically on the lines of a capitalistic system of competitive free enterprise, characterized sociologically by increasing individualism leading to dissolution of traditional structures like the joint family, and characterized politically by the nation-state. In its more abstract and abstruse formulation, this became the Parsonian paradigm, involving a structuralfunctional schema based on subsystem differentiation and maintenance of pattern variables allegedly modern. In this conception of modernization, it was clear that the third world was doomed never to catch up with the West, since there remained an eternal gap between the two. Most of sociological theory on modernization right up to the mid-1960' s remained at this stage. But since then the modernization model has been in serious trouble at home, with a constellation of internal and external challenges making it difficult, if not impossible, to sustain the dichotomous version of modernization. As could be expected, theoretical revisions took place to accommodate the reality, grudgingly in the beginning and more seriously later. The dichotomous model was abandoned for a continuum model in which tradition and modernity were not postulated as necessary adversaries but as mutually complementary phenomena. One of the most outstanding works in this direction was the Rudolph's volume, The Modernity of Tradition, 1 which came out around the mid-sixties. In this study of Indian political development, the authors tried to demonstrate the extent to which traditional structures, values and processes were receptive to modernization. While a distinct advance over the earlier concept of modernization, this, too, did not free itself sufficiently from the assumption that the Western model of modernization was the authentic model. In short, it was now conceded that the non-Western world was after all not very bad, since it could be like the West, whereas the dichotomous model had denied this hope altogether. This framework continued to be ethnocentric to the extent that it retained the Western specificities of the modernization process. While this concept satisfied some moderately worried scholars, it could hardly do more than merely shift from extreme ethnocentrism. Certainly it could not satisfy the emerging third world scholarship. This may be regarded as the second phase in the development of the concept of modernization.

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Currently, the concept is in a state of flux, and it has yet to emerge out of this impasse as a genuinely universalistic category. In a recent discussion of this concept, Susanne Rudolph goes beyond her earlier continuum stance to hold out hopes for a theoretically less ethnocentric formulation of modernization, when she concludes, " ... But if they mean to be academic scholars, their reference is not merely their countrymen or ideological colleagues, but also someone of equivalent scholarly rigour who is not held by the same cultural and historical and class consciousness as he. Scholars cannot help living in history. But they must attempt, at least, to transcend it". 2 From this perspective of a genuinely scientific and universalistic ambition, we suggest that the concept of modernization may be made less ethnocentric by being stripped of ideological encrustrations and reduced to a set of universally acceptable values. I shall, therefore, work with the concept of modernization as a process by which any society at any time transforms itself structurally and functionally to realize the values of individual freedom, equality, rationality and community. Further, I hold that modernization cannot take place unless all the four values are co-present in some proportion. The relative proportion of the four values and the specific structures embodying them are matters of historical specificity. We hope that such a wide-open concept, while certainly losing in theoretical rigour, would be more realistic in view of the problematic and contested scientific status of most sociological concepts. Bhakti Movements in India 3 as a Context Before considering the Lingayat movement in some detail, it is in order to give a brief general account of bhakti movements in India. Such an account serves as a background to our analysis of the Lingayat movement as a specific form of the general Indian tradition of bhakti. It would enable us to examine the Lingayat movement from a comparative perspective. A careful consideration of the bhakti movements in general shows that they tend to get organized and function within the existing socio-cultural order. While they do take a critical attitude towards this order, their activity seldom transcends beyond a merely negative position. In historical retrospect, their function appears to have been to reinforce the existing order by channelling discontent into a negative form, rather than bring about a structural change. It served as a safety-valve, containing a variety of potential challenges. For instance, it vaguely castigated caste as an iniquitous system, and, in practice, provided for some extraordinary individuals some escape from its crippling regime but it tended to blunt the consciousness of its victims through religious mystification. It is not, therefore, surprising that individual dissent spills over into protest which is somewhat organized, and eventually results in "reform movements [which] more or less operate within the framework of the established socio-cultural norms ... '' 4 . The bhakti movement has a hoary tradition in South India, and, in the Tamil linguistic region it emerged as far back as the sixth century, and continued for the next three and a half centuries. It was carried on in the Shaiva

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represented by the Nayanar saints. Their modality of action was templebuilding and Sanskritization, and among their positive achievements was the creation of a Tamil linguistic cultural consciousness cutting across political divisions. But such popular consciousness was neutralized and compromised since the movement was essentially geared not to eliminating the Hindu Brahminical system but to making it more workable and acceptable to the discontented masses. The movement was also mystifying in the sense that it diverted ordinary people's actions and consciousness from their mundane lives and problems through emotional outbursts of personal devotion to God. These movements, therefore, could be integrated easily into the mainstream elitist Sanskritic, Brahmanical Hinduism. These comments apply equally to the Vaishnava bhakti movement and to the Dasas in Karnataka, who also attempted to renovate, streamline and sugar-coat Brahmanical Hinduism to make it acceptable to the masses who were groaning under the inequalities of the caste order. No doubt, some like Kanaka Dasa explicitly decried caste, but his was a mere gesture of despair incapable of challenging the order of castes in any serious sense. The saint-poets of Maharashtra in the period from the thirteenth to the sixteenth centuries, while more vocally universalistic and egalitarian, were not ready for any organized confrontation with the establishment. The tradition of Warkari saints was more socially oriented, but this orientation had the objective of making religion easier to practise socially. However, while not challenging the content of traditional religious order, it made institutional innovations with regard to religious communication, such as the kirtan mode. In the north, the outstanding case of Kabir shows that the movement, as in the south and in Maharashtra, had egalitarian and humanistic aspirations. This framework was continued in Nanak, Dadu Dayal, and others. The example of the bhakti poets, Surdas and Tulsidas, is very significant because it illustrates the unresolved contradiction in the bhakti movement in general between a rejection of caste inequality at the level of an intensified bhakti mode of religious action, and the acceptance of the hierarchy in other, secular contexts. The overall impression which emerges from a brief survey of the bhakti tradition is (a) that it was critical of the existing social order in a negative sense, as it was devoid of any programmatic content, (b) that it was concerned with strengthening the orthodox order by making it more acceptable to the masses, and ( c) that it was interested primarily in legitimizing the status quo rather than in challenging it at the roots. In their incisive analysis, Narayanan and Kesavan demonstrate how the bhakti movement in the south could easily decline from a movement of protest to a process of re-integration of the rebellious elements into the Hindu orthodoxy. 5

The Lingayat Movement: The Historical Background While there is some controversy about whether Basavanna was the founder of Lingayatism or whether he merely revitalized a pre-existing tradition,

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there can be no controversy whatever about the fact that he was the person who forged it into a well-organized, ideologically articulated and mass-based movement in the twelfth century Karnataka. To realize the full measure of his stature and role in the history of the Lingayat religion, it is necessary to see him in a historical perspective. In particular, we have to understand the source of his rebellion-the system against which he waged an organized offensive. Medieval Karnataka was divided politically into feudal kingdoms and minor principalities. From the point of view of the emergence of Lingayatism as a militant religious movement, the reign of one of these kings of Karnataka, Biijala II (1100-1167), is significant. He belonged to the Kalachurya dynasty of Karnataka, which managed to gain political control over sizeable Kannadaspeaking areas in what are today known as Bombay Karnataka and Hyderabad Karnataka. The rule of the Kalachuryas was characterized by the dominance of traditional Brahmanical Hindu values, a social system based on caste, and a polity and economy governed by feudal principles. It was a system supported by three institutions-the court, the temple and the Mahajana settlement. These were mutually supportive and reinforcing institutions. The court was legitimized by the temple and the religious structures associated with it; the temple, in its turn, was supported by extensive royal patronage; and the Brahman priests who were the ideological spokesmen for the regime received Mahajana Agrahara settlements for their sustenance. The power structure of medieval Karnataka rested on an alliance between the physical prowess of the king, the magico-religious manipulations of the Brahman priests, and the Mahajanas. This power structure sustained, protected and strengthened a society which was dominated by hierarchy, exploitation and superstition. Karnataka at this time had a Shaiva tradition, represented by the Kalamukha priests, and this Shaivism was well integrated into and attuned to the Brahamanical Hindu social order and ideology. It is of utmost importance to see that Lingayatism, while historically related to this brand of Shaivism, was born as a negation of its fundamental principles which were indistinguishable from the mainstream Brahmanical Hinduism. Thus, whatever the doctrinal differences in technical terms, the existing religious traditions accepted the socio-cultural framework of Brahmanical Hinduism. This meant that they accepted the caste hierarchy, a belief in the supernatural order and its supremacist faith-in-fate acceptance of re-birth, and the whole ritualism of orthodox Hinduism. It was in the distinctive nature of Lingayatism under Basavanna that it challenged this order. Lingayatism was, therefore, born as a movement that aimed not at reforming the existing order, but at overthrowing it and replacing it with a new order based on Basavanna's vision of human freedom, equality, rationality and brotherhood. Basavanna acted in the name of a universalistic and humanistic ideology. It is an indication of the continuing vitality and relevance of Lingayatism that, throughout the centuries, despite the downswings it has suffered, Lingayat religion has provided a framework and a context for tackling successfully the

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varying challenges of history. In the modernization of Karnataka in recent times, the Lingayats have played a significant role, especially in the areas of educational, economic and political modernization. Today they constitute one of the largest groups in the modern Karnataka State within the Indian Union, with a population of over twenty million. It is easy today to point out major departures from the original ideals of Basavanna among contemporary Lingayats, but lapses in practice cannot be interpreted as evidence of the strength and viability of the original vision itself. It is very important to realize that modern Lingayats, even as they deviate from the norms of the founding fathers, remain within a Lingayat framework.

The Lingayat Model of Modernization Through an examination of the ideas of Basavanna and also on the basis of the historical record of the Lingayats' achievements, we suggest that it is meaningful to refer to a Lingayat model of modernization. Both ideologically and in its subsequent efforts at institutionalization of its values, Lingayatism has been close to our formulation of the concept of modernization. As we have argued earlier in this paper, the process of modernization may be conceptualized best as a process of realising the modernistic values of individuality, equality, rationality and community in any given setting. It is possible, as we shall show, to relate Basavanna's ideas, objectives, aspirations and vision to the modernistic values. What, then, were Basavanna's basic ideas and ideals? From a sociological point of view, Basavanna rejected a major principle of social organization underlying the Brahmanical Hindu tradition-the caste hierarchy. His vachanas 6 (prose-lyrics) are replete with caustic comments on, and explicit condemnation of, the institution of caste. In one of his vachanas, he asserts: " ... the birthless has no caste distinctions, no ritual pollution .... " (B. V. No. 417)

In another place, he states that true self-knowledge would dissolve the ignorance that gives rise to caste distinctions. He says: " ... To him who has self-understanding, there is but one caste .... " (B.V. No. 878)

Rooting his rejection of caste in a humanistic ideal of equality, Basavanna exclaims: "The murderer is an untouchable, the eater of filth is untouchable"! (B. V. No. 590)

The equality of man is associated with his equal right to have access to God. Thus, man's belief in God becomes the basis of Basavanna's equalitarianism. Further, the assumption of equality is related to individuality, since a man should be judged not by the ascriptive criterion of who he is, but rather by the achievement criterion of what he has done.

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Basavanna' s rationality, based on his faith in the power of human reason, led him to reject Hindu Brahmanical ritualism and its uncritical adherence to sacred texts such as the Vedas. In a popular vachana, he asks: ''Of what avail the reading of the Veda? Listening to sciences? Performing of ritual meditation? Performance of penance? Of what avail anything you do? ... " (B.V. No. 598)

In another celebrated vachana, Basavanna draws sharp attention to the futility of the orthodox Hindu modes of knowledge. He states: "Shall I call Sastra great? It glorifies Karma. Shall I call Veda great? It enjoins animal sacrifices ... " (B. V. No. 208)

But Basavanna' s rationalistic individualism, given the religious nature of the historical period, became formulated in the language of divinely ordained equality. Human rationality and individuality come to be perceived as modes of the divine. Basavanna sometimes moves close to a position which may be termed divine humanism: at other times, he moves closer to what appears to be a different position-naturalistic humanism. In Basavanna's thinking, however, the two positions stem from the same assumption-that God creates man but He also creates nature as man's context. Basavanna's humanistic rationality results in his outright rejection of supernatural sanction, traditionally formulated in the concepts of Heaven and Hell. He advances his position as follows: "There is no other heaven and hell. Truth-speaking is heaven, lying hell. Performance of right conduct, heaven; its non-performance, hell. .. " (B.V. No. 239)

In these lines, Basavanna maintains that the natural human world of experience is the only context in which human life must be lived. It does not need any supernatural point of reference. Basavanna's rejection of polytheism and his acceptance of one God should not be seen as inconsistent with his rejection of the supernatural. The position is a great deal more complicated. What Basavanna does is to use the doctrine of one God as the basis for human equality and the bonds of community. Basavanna rejects the Brahmanical Hindu notion of Karma and re-birth as being outside his framework of naturalistic or divine humanism. He holds, for instance, that the activists committed to the Lingayat movement, the Saranas, were not bound to Karma because they had negated it. Basavanna's ideology of Lingayatism recommends a rigorous commitment to empirical reality, the here and the now, blocking any escapist route towards a non-existent past or the future. He says, " ... Why hastle about today or tomorrow?" (B.V. No. 83). The same point is elaborated in another vachana which runs: "Let what is supposed to come tomorrow, come to us today itself. What is supposed to come today, come to us this moment. Who is afraid of this? Who is upset by this? ... " (B. V., No. 696)

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Basavanna's rejection of the supernatural order, ritualism and the sacred texts implied a rejection of the priestly class. One of his bitterly ironical vachanas pours ridicule on this class in the following words: "What is this? The Brahman priests do not practise what they preach? How come? They tread one path, while their Sastra treads another? ... " (B.V. No. 574)

The priestly class survived by threatening people with punishment in the other world through supernatural mechanisms. They made systematic use of the concepts of Papa and Pu19'a-sin and merit, respectively. Basavanna rejects these concepts and comments on them thus: ''Are not sin and merit creatures of our fashioning? If you say, "Lord", you go to heaven, and you say, "You there", it is hell ... " (B.V. No. 240)

The logical development of this cluster of ideas and ideals, perceptions and prescriptions, is a final and fundamental rejection of the otherworldly preoccupations and commitments of the Brahmanical Hindu tradition. Therefore, Basavanna emphasizes an active life of commitment to this world and its problems. He sums up epigrammatically his whole ideology and philosophy of world-commitment in the following line from one of his vachanas: ''The world of empirical reality, Sansara, is our salvation ... ''

Basavanna proclaims his faith in the universal community of man. Again, this is a logical conclusion of his notions about individuality and equality, themselves rooted in human rationality. He transforms the hierarchical kinship terminology of the Brahmanical Hindu order into his own terminology of universal kinship of all men. He declares: "Our untouchable Chennayya is father, Drummer Kakayya is grandpa, Look, Chikkayya is our father, Flutist Bommayya is brother. How can they not know me?" (B.V. No. 348)

Finally, the concept which is most appealing, and perhaps most associated with Lingayatism, is Kayaka-human labour. A popular quotation from one of the Vachanas is the statement '' Kayaka is Kailasa'', which means to do labour is to attain heaven. However, Basavanna defined Kayaka not merely as labour or work related to the livelihood of the individual: he added to it a crucial social dimension. As a result, Kayaka was defined as labour whose fruits should not only go to the individual but, once that is achieved, must be shared by others. Thus, the principle of community co-operation is built into Basavanna's doctrine of the work ethic, which differs from the aggressively individualistic work ethic propounded by Calvin. The Calvinistic doctrine could, therefore, legitimize ideologically the capitalistic system which is based on unrestrained individual self-interest. The foregoing brief analysis of the ideological system worked out by Basavanna and his immediate followers shows that it constitutes a system of

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ideas in which the individual, his freedom and his rationality are defined within a communitarian and egalitarian context. This ideological structure became a basis of the first major effort in Karnataka to establish a society based on what may be characterized as modernistic values. It is significant that this ideological structure enabled the modern Lingayats, who had suffered decline in the post- Basava period, to resume their task of modernization in a historically different form, namely populistic modernization. Basavanna was no mere ideologue or philosopher-he was a great institutional innovator. His efforts to build an ideal community, with the help of his devoted colleagues, the Saranas, in the twelfth century, remains the first monumental effort in Karnataka to establish a community based on a modernistic ideology. Basavanna's institutional innovations included his communication technique-to reach the common folk through their own spoken language. In this, Basavanna made a radical shift from the Sanscritic channel favoured by the elitist Brahmanical Hinduism. In a sense, he was the leader of the first mass movement in Karnataka. He also established a Hall of Experience, a forum where the Lingayat leaders developed a critical and progressive consciousness as necessary preparation for the challenging task of building a universal, egalitarian community of free, rational and equal individuals who had broken through the fetters of the prevailing Brahmanical Hindu structures. The institution of Dasoha also tended to generate a sense of sharing between free and rational individuals. The system of preaching cadres as originally instituted had no hierarchical implications, though over the centuries, like much else in Lingayatism, this institution became distorted. Lingayatism, after a break of several centuries, resumed its modernization process towards the close of the last century. In the modernization of Karnataka, this religion has been a great resource for its followers. In the field of politics, Lingayatism has enabled its adherents in Karnataka to pioneer new types of institutions, new organizational skills and knowhow, new leadership resources, and new behavioural norms. In this development, the most noticeable achievements have been in the fields of education and politics. The Lingayats have established a chain of educational institutions in Karnataka, from secondary schools to Colleges, serving the modern educational needs, not only of Lingayats, but of non-Lingayats as well. In the political field, their distinctive achievement (apart from such specific achievements as leadership in the struggle over the formation of a united Karnataka State, and political management of it for over fifteen years following the emergence of the State in 1956), has been the integration of the rural population into modern political structures and processes which were inaugurated by the new Indian Constitution of independent India. I describe this process as populistic modernization 7 since it has involved the systematic utilization of the democratic and modernization potentials of the populistic rural communities in Karnataka. Thus, in terms of ideology and institutional innovation, Lingayatism has demonstrated its capacity for modernization, both in the past and in more recent times.

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Lingayat Modernization and the Bhakti Framework: An Analytical Overview We are now in a position to ask and answer the following questions: To what extent did Lingayatism conform to the general model of bhakti tradition? How can the record of modernization be related to its functioning as a bhakti movement? My general discussion earlier of the bhakti movement suggested that it did not transcend the levels of individual dissent, vocal and articulated protest, and reformistic readjustment. In all these respects, Lingayatism made radical departures from the traditional bhakti paradigm. The radical departures, however, do not rule out parallels. Lingayatism shares with the other bhakti movements the notion of personalised devotion to God, a certain subjectivization of the attitude to the divine. It also shares with them the ideal of divine humanism, that is, the ideology of human equality rooted in the notion of one common God. Like the bhakti movements elsewhere, it rejected the caste order. Thirdly, like the other bhakti movements, Lingayatism activised and mobilised the common folk through the use of local language and a simplified message. But at this point we run into some very fundamental differences between the two. From a sociological perspective, the other bhakti movements remained transitory protest movements, subsequently easily re-integrated into the existing order. They never rose beyond the level of subjective psychological outlet to individual people dissatisfied with their situation. They, therefore, never went beyond emotionalism and passionate personal devotion. Lingayatism, in sharp contrast, was oriented to building institutions based on an elaborately worked out ideological, metaphysical and theological structure. To this extent, it may be questioned conceptually whether Lingayatism as a whole can be called a bhakti movement. We suggest that Lingayatism contained elements of bhakti, but it was not a simple bhakti movement. The whole weight of historical evidence, and the recent record of its modalities and achievements, lift it out of the bhakti level and show it to be a sect or even a religion in its own right. While the conventional bhakti movements were marginally, vaguely and emotionally critical of the existing Brahmanical Hindu system, Lingayatism challenged it to its roots, and made good its challenge by becoming a highly structured movement, striving for the institutionalization of the same or similar values professed by the bhakti movements in general. Its leader, Basavanna, is a good example of a leadership which combines charisma with a more prosaic capacity for institutionalization. While the other bhakti movements were related to the modernization process in a limited sense, Lingayatism, precisely because it was more than an ordinary bhakti movement, was able to undertake modernization on a substantial scale. The contribution of the conventional bhakti movements to the process of modernization and the implied social transformation, has been to raise the level of consciousness of the common people to some extent, but at the same time to prevent them from turning this consciousness into a radical or revolutionary movement. Hence, their contribution to modernization remains

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negative and negligible. Lingayatism, on the contrary, tried to integrate its radical and revolutionary ideology into a strategy of radical and revolutionary re-structuring of society in Karnataka along lines which challenged the Brahmanical Hindu system on every crucial issue. Paradoxically, Lingayatism as a merely bhakti movement could not have contributed greatly to the modernization of Karnataka. While being related to bhakti tradition, it transcended it-and it was thus able to overcome the self-contradiction built into the bhakti movements namely, the self-contradiction between consciousness and existence.

NOTES

2

3 4 5 6 7

L. Rudolph and S. Rudolph, The Modernity of Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967). "Beyond Modernity and Tradition", in Tradition and Politics in South Asia R. J. Moore, ed., (New Delhi: Vikas, 1979), p. 31. Refer to S. C. Malik, ed., Indian Movements (Simla: The Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 1978). Ibid., p. 2. Ibid., pp. 33-66. See R. C. Hiremath, ed., Basavannavar Vachanagalu (Dharwar: Karnatak University, 1968 [Kannada]). All Vachanas of Basavanna are cited from this book. For details about this process, see K. Ishwaran, A Populistic Community and Modernization in India (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1977).

Devotion as an Alternative to Marriage in the Lives of Some Hindu Women Devotees DAVID KINSLEY McMaster University, Hamilton, Canada

Introduction

THE

Bhagavad-gita teaches that devotion is compatible with one's social duty. Nowhere is devotion presented as an alternative to social duty; rather, devotion is a means of undertaking dharma in such a way that it becomes religiously potent. In the Gita, devotion is described primarily as a meditative exercise which may be integrated into, or superimposed upon, one's normal life in society. The central dramatic point of the Gita is to persuade Arjuna to fight his enemies, to perform his social duty as a warrior-painful as it may be-as an act of devotion to the Lord. In many, if not most, later devotional movements, the theoretical harmony between doing one's social duty and loving the Lord is called into question, if not explicitly, then implicitly. 1 In many devotional movements, a tension is apparent between bhakti and dharma, between one's inherited duty and one's inherent duty, which in these movements is the same for all people, namely, loving the Lord. Devotion is no longer described as a meditative technique, the concentrating of the mind on God, or the act of making all of one's actions sacrifices to the Lord. 2 Devotion in these later movements is an all-consuming emotion which is described as love for a personal being, usually Siva, Vishnu (or one of his avataras), or a manifestation of the Great Goddess. If social duty or inherited social roles come into conflict with the devotee's passionate yearning for his God, then social duty, custom, and decorum are often cast aside. The tension between bhakti and dharma is particularly clear in the lives of several women saints who found it difficult, and ultimately impossible, to reconcile their traditional marriages with their inherent urge to love the Lord. In some cases the tension was expressed in terms of the devotee's inability to serve two masters, to be a faithful lover to two husbands. In the lives of these saints, devotion to God becomes an alternative to marriage (or an alternative form of marriage), a way of resolving an otherwise impossible situation. In the writings of these women saints, their worldly marriages represent both the lure

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and the bondage of the world, while their relationship to God (sometimes spoken of as a spiritual marriage) represents a renunciation of the world and traditional roles.

Mahadeviyakka Mahadeviyakka is one of the most famous poet-saints of the Virasaivas, or Lingayats. She was a contemporary of the founder of the Virasaivas, Basavanna (1106-1167 A.D.), and expresses in her poems many of his concerns for an unmediated vision of the divine at the expense of society, custom, and tradition. Mahadeviyakka was part of a fervent group of devotees who expressed the uncompromising nature of devotion in radical ways. Basavanna, Mahadeviyakka, and other early saints of the Virasaiva movement, often criticized society and tradition for imposing restraints upon loving the Lord. They saw traditional roles, religious practices and beliefs as inhibiting an intimate relationship with the Lord, and therefore mocked them. 3 Mahadeviyakka' s biography is itself a kind of metaphor of the tension between dharma and bhakti-between conforming to social expectations and giving full rein to one's fervent devotion to God-which is so often expressed in early Virasaivism. The tension is expressed most clearly in her life in the context of her unhappy marriage to Kausika, the king of her region. Legend says that one day the king saw Mahadeviyakka, who was very beautiful, and expressed to her parents his desire to marry her. Mahadeviyakka insisted that she had already devoted herself entirely to Siva and declined Kausika's offer of marriage. The king was not easily put off, however, and threatened to kill her parents if she did not consent to his proposal. According to one version of her legend, it was at this point that she renounced the world and wandered off naked to sing in praise of her true husband Siva. According to another version of her biography, she actually married the king under the condition that she be allowed to continue to worship Siva, meet regularly with her guru, and associate when she wished with devotees of Siva. Her marriage was distasteful to her, we are told, as inwardly she was spiritually married to Siva, and Kausika's carnal desires distressed her. Eventually Kausika violated the promises he had made to her, and Mahadeviyakka left the palace to roam the countryside naked, having renounced all aspects of the worldly life including clothing. She joined Basavanna and his devotees at Kalyana, the center of the Virasaiva movement at that time, and after having been accepted by them as a devotee, spent some time among them. Eventually Mahadeviyakka left this assembly of devotees in search of a solitary environment in which to praise her God. She apparently spent the last years of her life at Srisaila, a sacred mountain associated with Siva, seeking a unitive vision of her Lord. Several of Mahadeviyakka's poems express her dissatisfaction with her role as a wife in a human marriage. In these poems she speaks of fleeing the world to be with her true husband, Siva. Her poems bespeak tension between continuing to live in the world according to its ways, especially continuing in a painful marriage, and renouncing the world to revel with her God. In the

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following poem, the tension is phrased unambiguously when she speaks of cuckolding her human husband to be with Siva. I have Maya for mother-in-law; the world for father-in-law; three brothers-in-law, like tigers; and the husband's thoughts are full of laughing women: no god, this man. And I cannot cross the sister-in-law. But I will give this wench the slip and go cuckold my husband with Hara, my Lord. My mind is my maid: by her kindness, I join my Lord, my utterly beautiful Lord from the mountain-peaks, my lord white as jasmine, and I will make Him my good husband.•

The impossibility of continuing to live in the world while inwardly devoted to Siva is also clear in this poem. Husband inside, love outside. I can't manage them both. This world and that other, cannot marriage them both. 0 lord white as jasmine I cannot hold in one hand both the round nut and the long bow. 5

In her poems Mahadeviyakka speaks in concrete terms of marrying and making love to Siva. Her poems indicate that she has sought for and achieved a spiritual marriage with her God. Whether these poems were written during her marriage to Kausika or after she left him is not clear, but in them we see how her love for Siva has provided Mahadeviyakka with an alternative to a difficult marriage. The following poems indicate the intensity and the immediacy of her love affair with God. He bartered my heart, looted my flesh, claimed as tribute my pleasure, took over all of me.

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I'm the woman of love for my lord, white as jasmine. 6 Riding the blue sapphire mountains wearing moonstone for slippers blowing long horns 0 Siva when shall I crush you on my pitcher breasts 0 lord white as jasmine when do I join you stripped of body's shame and heart's modesty?'

In striking images Mahadeviyakka makes clear that bhakti is an allconsuming affair which any ardent devotee cannot compromise. Obsessed with her devotion to Siva, nothing else matters to Mahadeviyakka but embroiling herself in his service, which she finds completely overwhelming and likens to physical possession by him. Her affair with her God is no part-time affair, and she finds it impossible to share him with another. In apt and vivid images she speaks of the impossibility of having two husbands at the same time, and consistently denegrates her earthly husband and the world he stands for in favor of Siva. To love the Lord for Mahadeviyakka involved giving up traditional social duties. Her devotion was no mere mental discipline which enabled her to achieve liberation while performing traditional roles. It was an all-consuming, disruptive emotion which turned the normal world of social roles upside down.

Lallesvari

Lallesvari lived sometime during the fourteenth century A.D. and is one of the most popular poet-saints of Kashmir. She was a devotee of Siva and spent the latter part of her life seeking union with him whom she identified as her inmost essence. Like Mahadeviyakka, Lallesvari's life illustrates the tension between dharma, the acceptance of one's customary social roles, and devotion to God. Lallesvari was born in a village near Srinagar to an educated family and was married at the age of fourteen. Her domestic life after marriage apparently was extremely difficult. Many legends tell of the harsh treatment she received from her mother-in-law and husband, and extol her patience and forbearance. According to legend, her mother-in-law persecuted her unmercifully, while her husband was indifferent to her and refused to comfort her in her sufferings. Some of Lallesvari's songs seem to refer to these domestic difficulties. One has to bear lightning flashes and thunderbolts. One has to put up with pitch darkness at mid-day: Forbearance is tantamount to getting ground to powder between the mill stones, (If one can stand all this), contentment and peace attend on you. 8

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He hurled a thousand abuses at me, But I did not take it to heart. If I am a true devotee of Sankar (Siva), How can the mirror of my mind get defiled with ashes and dust? 9 Only the wearer knows where the shoe pinches! I went door to door, in my robes of sorrow, Nothing did I receive but stones; I did not find any one supporting me. 10

At a certain point, about twelve years after her marriage, Lallesvari suddenly left home and became a wandering religious singer. Precisely what incident prompted her to leave home is not clear. Her difficult domestic life, however, must be understood as the background against which she rebelled when she set off naked to sing songs of her beloved Siva. Lallesvari probably had been cultivating devotion to Siva for some years prior to renouncing the world. In her difficult domestic situation it is likely that she increasingly found solace in her devotion to her God. Her final departure from her in-laws marked the end of her attempts to reconcile two worlds: the world of custom, duty, and social acceptance and the world of devotion to her Lord, which demanded the lifestyle of a wandering devotee. In renouncing her particular domestic hell, Lallesvari found in her quest for union with Siva an alternative to the normal expectations of society, that is, marriage and a life dominated by in-laws. Lallesvari's poetry lacks the concrete qualities of Mahadeviyakka's. Lallesvari's devotion is not modeled on the analogy of sexual love, and nowhere, to my knowledge, does she speak of marrying her Lord. However, her devotion is as all-absorbing as Mahadeviyakka's and provides her with an alternative relationship, or an alternative reality, to that of her earlier domestic life. Passionate, with longing in my eyes, Searching wide, and seeking nights and days, Lo' I beheld the Truthful One, the Wise, Here in mine own house to fill my gaze. 11 Waking when the moon was about to set, I made my mad-heart sing, How I bore the pangs of my Lord's love! Crying 'Lali'! 'Lali'! (I am a seeker' I am a seeker!) I awoke the Ruby in my Self, Meditating on Him, my body was sanctified. 12

Like Mahadeviyakka, she contrasts the ideals of her spiritual life with those of life in the world. Ultimately, service to her husband and in-laws is incompatible with her quest for union with Siva. In the following poem, she contrasts her nudity with customs concerning clothing which has no inherent sanctity. From the perspective of divine insight, life in the world ruled by custom simply is not redemptive. Dance then, Lalla, clothed but by the air: Sing then, Lalla, clad but in the sky. Air and sky-what garment is more fair? "Cloth", saith Custom-Doth that sanctify?''

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Mirabai The sixteenth century Rajasthani princess Mirabai (1498-1546 A.D.) is one of the most beloved poet-saints of North India. During her lifetime she was widely regarded as a saint, and her songs quickly became among the most cherished by devotional Hindus throughout North India. She worshipped the Lord Krishna, and like Mahadeviyakka she approached her Lord as lover and husband. Mirabai was the daughter of Ratan Singh Rathor, the ruler of a small principality in Rajasthan. Mira was an only child and probably was given a good education by her family. As a member of the nobility, it is certain that she was taught to read and write, and she may have learned some of the martial arts as well. In 1516 Mirabai was married to Bhoraj, the heir to one of the most powerful Rajput dynasties of that time. Her marriage, it seems, was part of a political alliance, and Mirabai was opposed to it from the start, although such arranged marriages were the rule, not the exception. At her wedding, legend says, instead of circumambulating her husband as she was supposed to do, she circumambulated an image of Lord Krishna, and subsequently refused to consummate the marriage on the grounds that her true husband was the god Krishna. Mira's husband died of battle wounds sometime around the year 1521, and her father died in battle in 1527. Her mother having died shortly after her birth, Mirabai was left at the mercy of her in-laws after her father's death. Following her husband's death, she was free to live the life ofa religious nun, her overriding preference and an accepted vocation for widows, but for some reason her in-laws, particularly one whom she refers to only as "Rana" ("ruler"), insisted on persecuting her. She was criticized, first, for not having committed suttee, ritual suicide on her husband's funeral pyre. She was openly abused by her in-laws, and in some of her poems she even seems to allude to attempts on the part of Rana to murder her. Rana has given me poison; I know. (I am) like gold (which) when it burns in fire, becomes pure. I threw away my reputation and family honor, as one lets water flow away. Put a curtain up in your house, I am a weak woman, and deranged. The arrow from his quiver has struck my heart, and I have fallen into madness. I have dedicated my body and soul to the saints; I cling to their lotus feet. The Lord has saved Mira; he knows she is his servant. 14

Throughout all this, however, Mirabai remained the steadfast devotee of her true husband, Krishna, and eventually left the royal precincts of her in-laws to become a wandering devotee. She traveled to holy places in North India, particularly those sacred to Krishna, and died in 1546 in Dwaraka, where according to legend, she merged with an image of Krishna in a temple. Mirabai's inability to reconcile her love for Krishna with love for her husband and accommodation to the ways of the world is the theme of many of her poems. In the following poem she rejects the world by refusing to adorn herself as expected, and precisely in not adorning herself she prepares herself to meet

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her true husband, Krishna. In renouncing the adornments of the worldly life, that is, she makes herself attractive to her God. I don't like your strange world, Rana, A world where there are no holy men, and all the people are trash. I have given up ornaments, given up braiding my hair. I have given up putting on kajal (collyrium), and putting my hair up. Mira's Lord is Giridhar Nagar; I have found a perfect bridegroom. 15

In the next poem she refuses to give in to the pressures from her in-laws and asserts that her only love is for Krishna. Friend, I cannot live without Hari. My mother-in-law insults me, her daughter humiliates me, when Rana seethes in rage I am imprisoned, kept under house arrest. How shall I surrender our primal love? Love that was born in an earlier life. Mira's lord is Girdhar Nagar. No one else can ever reach her heart. 16

As with Mahadeviyakka and Lallesvari, and as exemplary of medieval devotion, Mirabai did not seek to accommodate her devotion to her Lord with social duty. Her passion for Krishna was so all-consuming that she found it impossible to love a human husband in addition to her God, and she steadfastly resisted attempts to turn her away from her devotional pursuits. The quality of her devotion as an overwhelming emotion of love is clear in this poem. Do not go away, do not go away, my lord. I, as your slave, beseech you. Love and devotion share a unique route: lead me there, my lord. With incense and sandalwood I shall build my pyre: let your hands set it afire. When I am finally consumed, smear your body with my ashes, merge my flame with your fire. 17

In the Bhagavad-gita, bhakti serves to undergird social duty by legitimating caste roles and occupations. By performing one's allotted social task, the logic of the Gita goes, one upholds the world; by performing all one's actions as sacrifices to the Lord Vishnu, one makes of one's social life a religious ritual. For Mirabai, devotion had nothing to do with performing her social duty or sanctifying her wifely roles. Devotion was a passionate love for God which made normal life in the world impossible. For Mirabai, bhakti did not rationalize her existence by providing a context in which her everyday life might be understood as a religious ritual. Rather, it drove her mad in the eyes

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of the world, incapacitated her, as it were, from leading a normal, sociallyacceptable life. Mira danced with ankle-bells on her feet. People said Mira was mad; my mother-in-law said I ruined the family reputation. Rana sent me a cup of poison and Mira drank it laughing. I dedicated my body and soul at the feet of Hari. I am thirsty for the nectar of the sight of him. Mira's lord is Giridhar Nagar; I will come for refuge to him. 18

Radha as a Model of Devotion The extent to which these three examples 19 express a typical tension between dharma and bhakti in the medieval devotional movements is seen in Krishna mythology, where Radha is the central model for devotion for Krishna devotees. Radha is a married woman and has strict obligations to her husband and to society. When she sees Krishna, or hears his flute, however, she is driven to distraction by passionate love for him. Abandoning propriety, ignoring custom, and risking everything, she secretly joins Krishna in the woods to make love to him. In choosing to love Krishna, Radha rejects the demands of dharma and provides a model of devotion which exalts the full expression of the devotional sentiment at the expense of social propriety. At the first note of his flute down came the lion gate of reverence for elders, down came the door of dharma, my guarded treasure of modesty lost, I was thrust to the ground as if by a thunderbolt. Ah, yes, his dark body poised in the tribhanga pose shot the arrow that pierced me; no more honor, my family lost to me, my home at V raja lost to me. Only my life is left-and my life too is a breath that is leaving me. 20

By expressing bhakti through the metaphor of illicit sexual love, and by phrasing devotion in the language of adultery, Radha vividly contrasts devotion with social duty. When Radha as the ideal devotee of medieval devotion is compared with Arjuna as the ideal devotee in the Bhagavad-gita, it becomes clear that the examples of the women saints mentioned above express well the nature of bhakti in the medieval period. Krishna instructs Arjuna on the battlefield, in the midst of the world. Krishna makes love to Radha in the woods and bowers of Vrndavana, away from the eyes of the world. Krishna urges Arjuna to remain at his post, to do his duty even though it may be painful. Krishna lures Radha away from the world and her social duty by the entrancing melody of his flute. The Krishna of the Bhagavad-gita is primarily a stern teacher who elicits respect from Arjuna. The cowherd Krishna loved by Radha

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is always described as beautiful and playful and elicits from Radha frenzied passion. In short, Radha sums up the central features of medieval devotion in contrast to the earlier type of devotion found in the Gita. She dramatically illustrates that devotion is a distracting, all-consuming emotion which often comes into conflict with life in the normal world. She also shows that if such conflict should arise, social duty is to be ignored in preference for loving the Lord. Like the three female devotees discussed above, Radha illustrates the preference on the part of ardent devotees for giving up everything in order to give full expression to their devotion to God. Conclusion Renunciation of the world has been an important emphasis in Hinduism since early times and, as Louis Dumont has argued, it provides a necessary alternative to the highly structured and confining nature of human life within the caste system. Social man in Hinduism, Dumont has suggested, is not truly an individual at all but, rather, a conglomerate of social roles which strictly define him. Only the world-renouncer realizes what it means to be an individual, and the price he must pay for this is his complete rejection of normal society. To realize true individuality in the Hindu context, Dumont suggests, means stepping out of the social matrix by renouncing the world and becoming an ascetic or wandering sage. 21 In traditional Hinduism, the way of the world-renouncer was officially sanctioned in the asrama system. After fulfilling one's social duties in the first two stages of life, one was entitled to renounce the world in the last two stages and give up all social ties and responsibilities. According to this system, the double demands of serving society and of seeking individual liberation by renouncing society were compatible in a sequential sense. The former obligation, that is, was seen to prepare one, or to earn one the right, to renounce the world and seek liberation. Structurally, however, the two obligations are opposed to each other, and throughout the Hindu tradition the tension which arises because of these two opposing demands has lent Hinduism its distinctive nature. For the Hindu, two possibilities present themselves: fulfilling one's social duties (performing one's traditional caste occupation, marriage, etc.), that is, doing one's dharma; or renouncing the world to seek release from the wheel of rebirth. While such texts as the Bhagavad-gita may claim to provide a resolution of the tension arising from the opposing nature of these two possibilities, and while the tradition itself has provided formulas (such as the asrama system) for combining the two possibilities, most Hindus view the two alternatives as radically different religious choices and see quite clearly how the two differing ways of life represent implicit criticisms of each other. In the examples of the women devotees discussed above, bhakti has become an alternative to the first type of possibility, namely, fulfilling one's social obligations. More specifically, bhakti provides these devotees with an alternative to marriage, or to customary domestic situations. Crushed and confined

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by difficult domestic situations, Mahadeviyakka, Lallesvari, and Mirabai found an alternative possibility in their devotion. Traditionally, women are taught to regard their husbands as gods and to worship them as such. Traditionally, women are taught that their identity is defined in relation to their husbands. When husbands (or other relatives) are unworthy of such devotion, women can be caught in painful and degrading situations. The female saints discussed above found a way out of such painful situations by emphasizing their devotion to God. Renouncing marriage, and life in the world generally, they directed their passions to heavenly consorts.

NOTES

2 3

The clearest example of this harmony being called into question is the Virasaivas, who in their radical rejection of tradition and custom formed a new social caste. An example of an implicit criticism of the harmony between dharma and bhakti is the Bengal V aisnavas founded by Caitanya. Taking the model of Radha as exemplary, the Bengal Vaisnavas extolled a kind of devotion which disregarded custom and tradition. However, in actual practice the Bengal Vaisnavas did not openly criticize the performance of one's social duty. Bhagavad-gita, 9, pp. 26-28. There are many examples of accepted customs and ethical values being mocked by the early Virasaivas. A striking example from Allama Prabhu, a contemporary of Mahadeviyakka, is this poem, in which even doing good works is criticized (A. K. Ramanujam, trans., Speaking of Siva [Baltimore: Penguin Book, 1973], p. 167). Feed the poor tell the truth make water-places for the thirsty and build tanks for a townyou may then go to heaven after death, but you'll get nowhere near the truth of Our Lord. And a man who knows Our Lord, he gets no results.

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Ramanujan, p. 141. Ibid., p. 127. Ibid., p. 125. Ibid., p. 136. B. N. Parimoo, The Ascent of Seif (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1978), p. 13. Ibid., p. 14. Ibid., pp. 16-17. Chandra Kumari Handoo, '' Lalleswari or Lal Diddi of Kashmir'', in Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit and Kenneth Walker, Women Saints of East and West (London: Ramakrishna Vedanta Centre, 1955), p. 45. Parimoo, p. 81. Handoo, p. 46. S. M. Pandey and Norman H. Zide, trans., "Poems from Mirabai" (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1964), (mimeographed), p. 26.

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Ibid., p. 12. Pritish Nandy, trans., The Songs of Mirabai (New Delhi: Arnold-Heinemann, 1975), p. 56. Ibid., p. 68. Pandey and Zide, p. 18. Other examples of the pattern are Karaikkal Ammaiyar, a Tamil Saivite saint, whose dates are not known with any precision, and Gauribai (1759-1809 A.D.), a woman saint of Gujarat. See Pandit and Walker for discussions of these two saints. Edward C. Dimock and Denise Levertov, trans., In Praise of Krishna: Songs from the Bengali (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday & Co., 1967), p. 28. Louis Dumont, Homo Hierarchicus (London: Paladin, 1972), pp. 230-232.

Will India's Past be America's Future? Reflections on the Caitanya Movement and Its Potentials

K. KLOSTERMAIER University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Canada Preliminary remarks

THIS CHAPTER does not aim to contribute to the ongoing discussion surrounding the Hare-Krishna Movement in the context of contemporary "cults". Admittedly, the word "cult" is ill-defined and emotion-laden. It could be applied to almost any group-activity which one happens to dislike or misunderstand. If the numerous Christian Protestant Churches in the West (or, for that matter, the many Religious Orders of the Roman Catholic Church) which arose since the sixteenth century qualify as genuine ''religion'', then the Caitanya movement, which originated in sixteenth century India as a branch of the ancient Hindu tradition, certainly has equal right to the more respectable title "religion". Furthermore, if Western Christians consider their Indian converts to be members of a "Church" (and not a "cult"), then Wes tern adherents of an Indian sampradaya (the Indian equivalent to "Church") also have a right to be taken seriously as a religious body. Neoconverts in all religions (and ideologies) are known to show fervour and zeal in spreading their message-a message which they believe to be of crucial importance not only for themselves but for the world at large. Although the proverbially overzealous neophytes very often project an image of the movement which appears bizarre, outlandish and contrary to many assumptions connected with "religion", the further history of such movements shows that the basics can be rationalized and fitted into the context of a ''normal'' citizen's existence. Neither being a member of the movement nor one of its foes, I have no reason either to advocate its tenets or to fight its ways. The Caitanya movement which I came to know in India is, in my eyes, an important enough historical reality to devote some attention to and to reflect on some of its features. Introduction My first contacts with the Caitanya movement go back to 1962. Appropriately so, these contacts were made in Vrindaban, Uttar Pradesh (India).

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Vrindaban, as everyone knows, owes its present existence and status wholly to the efforts of Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu ( 1486-1533) and his immediate disciples, the Goswamis, who settled with their families in the place where, according to the Bhagavata-Puranam, Krishna spent his youth among the cowherds of Braj. 1 In 1962, the "Krishna Consciousness movement", popularly known in America as the "Hare-Krishna movement", had not yet been started and Vrindaban was a place unknown to all but a handful of Westerners who had an interest in Krishna religion. I knew very little about the Caitanya movement when I accepted an invitation by Swami Bon Maharaj-himself a member of the Gaudia Vaisnava Sampradaya by religious affiliation and born in Bengal-to join for two years his "Institute of Oriental Philosophy" (affiliated with Agra University) as the first occupant of the "St. Peter's Chair of Christian Philosophy''. I was interested in Indian religious traditions and welcomed the opportunity to live in an authentic Hindu milieu and to work in an academic institution headed by a widely-respected and knowledgeable Hindu religious. The Institute's director at that time was the late Dr. Datta Majumdar, a former member of the Indian Administrative Service, himself a well-trained anthropologist as well as a great bhakta. He welcomed me as a "participant observer" to the little group of scholars and graduate students then working at the Institute. Gradually I learned to distinguish the various sampradayas who had establishments in Vrindaban-most of them were worshippers of Sri Krishna. I became acquainted with representatives of many groups and received regularly invitations to attend temple festivals, satsangs of local celebrities and ras-lila performances. Overall I learned to respect my Hindu religious acquaintances as much for their devotion to Krishna as for their kindliness, and some impressed me also as scholarly interpreters of their tradition. Gaudia Vaisnavism did not exert a strong enough attraction for me to either join the fold (as was several times suggested to me by well-meaning friends) or to make it the main focus of my academic study of Hinduism. However, I worked my way into it and did some translating of source materials to test my own understanding of the theoretical foundations of the Cai tan ya movement. 2 I did this mainly for two reasons: first, I wanted to be able to follow my hosts and friends belonging to that school of thought. Secondly, I found something in it which caught my interest from the perspective of a comparative study of religion: a combination of the Buddhist concern for "consciousness" as the basis of religion, with the traditional Hindu theism and a highly sophisticated understanding of human emotions. Swami Bhaktivedanta, the later founder of the Hare-Krishna movement was a frequent guest at our Institute. As Swami Bon' s guru-bhai, he used to visit us regularly and I had many conversations with him. Years later, when I first heard of the Hare-Krishna movement, I was surprised to find my old acquaintance of Vrindaban days to be the founder and guru of this rapidly expanding movement.

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I was surprised also because (never having been to North America before) I had considered American Youth to be modern, scientifically-oriented, enlightened and progressive. That is, I had thought them somewhat ahead of ourselves, the young Europeans whose religious ideas were shaped by Existentialism and Demythologisation, with a strong dose of "comparative religion" and an interest in global social issues and contemporary scientific ideas. I was wrong, of course, because I then had no idea of North American religiosity, its strong puritan and conservative roots, its fundamentalist biblicism and its rapid succession of faddish obsessions. In many ways, it turned out to be the exact opposite of what I had imagined it to be. I wonder whether Swami Bhaktivedanta knew better when he arrived in New York. Krishna-Consciousness

Visvambhar, also called Nimai, on becoming a sannyasin at age twentyfour took the name Krishna Caitanya: "Krishna Consciousness". It is a curious coincidence that ''consciousness'' became the watchword for a momentous intellectual re-orientation in the West around the same time. But whereas the sixteenth-century European ''consciousness'' -movement was bypassed and rejected by European Christianity, the sixteenth-century Caitanya-movement led to a vigorous revival and renewal of religiosity. I suspect that this is the deepest source of the attraction for Westerners to the Hare-Krishna movement: a genuine religion, which is centred in consciousness and thus is ahead not only of traditional Western religiosity but also of the modern sciences. In India, the "consciousness-revolution" has a long history before the coming of Caitanya. While "consciousness" as a philosophical keyconcept is a characteristic of recent Western philosophy, thereby distinguishing it from previous metaphysical "classical" ways of philosophising, it has been the key concept in Indian philosophical and theological literature from its very inception. It may easily be the most frequently used concept (caitanyam, citta, vy·nana, etc.) and forms, in fact, the great divide in Indian philosophy and religion. For more than two thousand years, the history of Indian religions has been a history of clarification of religious consciousness: no new Saviour has been introduced, no new Scriptures have been (generally) accepted as authentic, and no basically new traditions have been created. The quest had been for techniques and practices to reach the ultimate depth of consciousness. It is in this context of a ''consciousness'' -conscious religious tradition of (at least) two thousand years that the Caitanya movement has to be seen and appreciated. Krishna-bhakti had been widespread in India many centuries before Caitanya, and movements associated with specific saints were also in existence during his lifetime. It is hard to rationalize fully such broad-based and longlasting popular religious movements. Surely, one can see in the bhaktimovements a kind of protest against, and liberation from, the mainstream school-theology of the late Indian middle-ages, which had become something for super-specialists and consisted largely in the application of an extremely refined system of logics (Nava-Nyaya) to issues of interest only to the profes-

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sional guardians of tradition. Religion for the masses is more a matter of the heart than an exercise of the intellect. Caitanya's movement thus can be seen as a "democratic protest" against the intellectual (and ritualistic) elitism of his own day. Very few people were able to master the intricacies of the (Sanskrit!) sastras oflate Vedanta. Since "knowledge" was considered to be the essence of liberation, the great masses had little chance and turned to their own ways of worshipping the powers which threatened or blessed their lives. Feeling is the most universal social phenomenon-more original than thought, less ambiguous than words. People are attracted to any cause on the strength of sentiments rather than arguments. Caitanya not only re-instated feeling as a valid way to liberation but developed a hierarchy of feelings-creating in the process a new elite based on feelings rather than on knowledge or on possess10ns. In the eight Sanskrit slokas, which according to fairly unanimous tradition contain the authentic teaching of Gaitan ya, 3 all the values are denounced whose successful pursuit determines elite ranking in ordinary societies: social power, public honours, wealth, family, and scholarship. Not even liberation from samsara, the highest aspiration of India's philosophical religion, is aimed at. ''Motiveless bhakti'', further explained as being completely overwhelmed by Krishna-tears, breaking of voice, horripilation are its manifestations!-is the only measure of a successful life in Caitanya's eyes. 4 Rupa Goswami, the movement's chief theologian, who according to tradition wrote his master work Bhaktirasamritasindhu under instructions and command of Caitanya himself, presents a systematization of Krishnaconsciousness which offers a very good foundation for the development of a new elite based on feeling. 5 The programmatic first stanza describes Krishna as '' akhilarasamritamurti' '-the embodiment of joyful consciousness in its totality. Man's Krishna-consciousness-although postulated as "natural" -is not simply "given": it must be acquired through a structured process of ''consciousness-raising''. The whole work is concerned with a description of the structure and the means to reach Krishna-consciousness, which is, of course, the most sublime and only truly authentic human depth-consciousness. The peculiar significance of this approach lies in the use and adaptation of categories of literary criticism and aesthetics to religion: Krishna-consciousness is not a consciousness beside other forms of consciousness, but rather the heart and soul of all human consciousness. In line with the Indian literary and aesthetic tradition, Caitanya assumes and presupposes that the highest form of consciousness appears in (erotic) love: sringara-rasa. Caitanya goes beyond this tradition in so far as he differentiates between several levels of this love-the highest level is applicable only to the love between Krishna and the soul, not to the ordinary love between mortals. Rupa Goswami employs a great amount of technical literary detail to describe the structure of this Krishna-consciousness, its growth and its hindrances, its genuine and its spurious forms. In most people Krishnaconsciousness is assumed to be latent in the sub-conscious. Methods to awaken

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Krishna-consciousness from the sub-conscious are primarily external acts of traditional religion (sadhana-bhaktz). The BRS enumerates altogether sixty-four such practices-mostly concerned with image service, observation of dietary rules, but also regulations governing behaviour towards fellow-men. Five of them are described as "foremost and indispensable": 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Skill in the service of the (Krishna) image, Attentive and joyful reading of the Bhagavata-Purana. Meeting with groups of devotees of Krishna. Congregational singing of the name (of God). Living in Vrindaban.

The practice of these rules (together with the avoidance of what are called "sins against the service") leads. gradually into the lower stage of Krishnaconsciousness. Krishna-consciousness as such is not brought about by the devotee's own efforts but through the grace of Krishna and the grace of his more advanced followers. Leaving out the details of the further development, it may be worthwhile to point out in this context the importance of submitting to the directives of the more advanced devotees-especially the guru. The guru in the Caitanya movement has an importance that goes far beyond the traditional role as we know it, e.g. from Advaita Vedantins. In Sankara's tradition the guru is teacher and adviser-he introduces the disciple into the metaphysical truth of the absolute and makes sure that the disciple does not stray from the narrow path of discipline on which truth is found. Once the disciple has gained the basic insight he is no longer in need of a guide. In Caitanya's school, the guru not only instructs but imparts the grace necessary to reach Krishnaconsciousness. Since he remains a channel of Krishna's grace forever, his role never becomes redundant and a lifelong attachment to the guru is considered essential. The community of those possessing Krishna-consciousness-the new elite offeeling-is hierarchically ordered: there are not only people who possess or know more than others, or those who are more equal than others, there are also people who feel Krishna more than others! When all this is said and explained, there remains still a great deal which is left unexplained when one is asked to detail the impulses behind the original Caitanya movement: although many an a-religious scholar may have no use for a personal God, it is not proper not to mention that it was primarily Caitanya's overwhelming conviction to have seen God-and his despair when he was deprived of this vision-which is the single most important impulse behind the movement. The great promise held out to those who join the movement and who are willing to develop Krishna-consciousness is still Krishna saksatkara-the seeing of God! The genuinely God-filled fervour of the early disciples of Caitanya was potent enough to win over Muslims in high positions for the cause of the movement. Nagara kirtana-public singing and dancing in praise of Krishna-made this new religious movement highly visible throughout Bengal and parts of North-India. The early twentieth-century Neo-Caitanyite Gaudia-Mission (to

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which both Swami Bon Maharaj and Swami Bhaktived&nta J->elonged) had some additional impulses: 6 like the Arya Samaj, it consiaered the most effective means to halt the expansion of Christian missions in Incia ,o be the founding of Hindu missions not only in India but also in Europe and America the homelands of the Christian missionaries. The success of the Gaudia Mission overseas before World War II was very modest-especially after the death of the founder in 193 7, when the whole movement broke apart. It was quite instructive to learn that Swami Bhaktivedanta did not receive any substantial support from his confreres in the Gaudia Mission, but started his Western venture with the help of some pious business magnates who had no specific connection with the Caitanya movement. Consequently the Hare-Krishna movement has acquired some impulses of its own which cannot be derived from the original Caitanya movement, though they are ostensibly connected with it. Revolutionary conservatism? To retain the correct perspective, one has to keep in mind that besides the followers of the original Caitanya movement, whose authorities are largely identical with the descendants of the original Goswamis, there exist now several branches of N eo-Caitanyite missions in India, and Western followers of the late Swami Bhaktivedanta have started building centres of their own in India, propagating their Krishna-consciousness in Caitanya's own homeland. The Western Hare-Krishna people have inherited from their own culture something of the Christian drive to save the world: not only to they take care of drug-addicts and other casualties of modern Western societies, they also feel an urge to establish what they consider to be the true sanatana dharma, the Vedic tradition, in the whole world. Their motto "back to Godhead" is a call to return to the basics-meeting again the fundamentalist conservative Christian demands. In its emphasis on the rural virtues, it responds to the present "ecological consciousness": the basic Krishna mythology is filled with rural (romantic) imagery, while the major foundations of the movement are rural (agricultural) communities. If one considers the century-old endeavour of modern Hindus-from Dayananda Saraswati, to Vivekananda, to Aurobindo, to Radhakrishnan, to Krishnamurti (omitting a great many others)-to prove the harmony oflndian religion and modern science, it comes as something of a surprise to read the massive and unqualified attacks on modern science contained in a number of Swami Bhaktivedanta's recorded interviews. 7 Swami Bhaktivedanta is not inconsistent: his fundamentalist reading of his scriptures does not allow him to compromise with anything which modern Western science asserts about the nature of the world. At the same time, Swami Bhaktivedanta is able to tune in with a modern craze by writing about "Easy Journey to Other Planets". 8 Again-this is consistent with his doctrine. The Bhagavata Purana has a very detailed and colourful cosmology-which, if taken to be a literal description of the universe, as a fundamentalist is apt to do-reads like science-fiction of

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another kind. Unwittingly, the movement supports the growing anti-scientific (and anti-intellectual!) trend of American youth-as well as its interest in science-fiction rather than science! Similarly, its religious art (" Neo-Vedic Art" -its followers say) 9 exhibits the same "realism": its folksiness combined with the exotic touch make it a good parallel to the Christian Nazarene art of the nineteenth century. The widespread disenchantment of American youth with the political system, the corruption of the administration and the cynicism of the managers of public opinion combines with a nostalgic longing to make a society based on true authority appear much more desirable than the one one suffers under. Meanwhile the effects of the total lack of discipline are so evident and so little attractive that demands for a life under strict discipline appear much more reasonable than any crying for more liberties. In many ways, the Western Hare-Krishna movement (apart from its Indian cultural trappings) resembles a nineteenth-century British puritanical pietistic movement much more than a typical Hindu religious movement. Its ideas of orderliness, cleanliness, efficient work and literal following of the commands of the master have hardly any parallel in Indian traditional religious history. It is no surprise to see a religion, which conceives of the Supreme in terms of the ''Highest Person'', develop an anthropology in which inter-personal relationships figure prominently. Normally, theistic religions derive their identity from the assumption of one such relationship governing the intercourse between God and man. Thus, the religion oflsrael was based on the "covenant" which established the relationship between the "Lord" and the "(chosen) people''. The suggestion that the central image was to be that of a parent-child relationship was considered by many adherents of the "covenant" an abominable heresy. Interpersonal relationships have also governed the various Indian theistic religions in defining man's place in a God-created world. The novelty of the Cai tan ya movement consists not only in suggesting a plurality of possible (and actual) relationships between God and man (all, of course, patterned along intra-human relations), but also in constructing a hierarchy of relationships based on fundamental "sentiments". In a largely traditional Indian society, based on strict caste-regulations, the emphasis on "feeling" and the glorification of extramarital passionate love did constitute something of a suspect innovation, which was more .in tune with the perception of poets than of upholders of the dharma. Contemporary Hare Krishna literature, however, suggests that the "revolutionary" element is the insistence on the holiness of marriage, the disapproval of pre-marital or extra-marital sexual activities and the cultivation of a transcendental love for Krishna which suffuses all human relationships. There have been Western antecedents to this too, but it appears that none of the major traditional Western religious institutions is today capable of enforcing as strict a sexual code on its members as the Hare-Krishna movement IS.

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Is it not somewhat bizarre that the best-known Christian(!) "deprogrammer'' of young people who had joined what are commonly called "youth-cults", considers to have brought his charges back to "normalcy" if he has made them eat meat, consume alcohol and have (extra-marital!) sex! Revolutionary conservatism-perhaps! Conclusions I am not even faintly suggesting that the Hare-Krishna movement has any design to ''take over'' America-not even in the idealistic sense in which the TM people develop plans for world-coverage of their peace-plan. What I am suggesting, however, is that the distortions of private and public life have gone, under the most pretentious excuses, so far that people whose basic instincts are still intact may find the Indian past, as depicted (admittedly in an overidealized way) by the Hare-Krishna people, more attractive than the future which can be extrapolated from present trends in America. There are a variety of reasons why one could envisage something of India's past to be in America's future. Without subscribing in toto to any of the organismic theories of civilizations which have been around for some time, one can say that there are certain parallels in the development and growth not only of individual persons but also of societies. The increasing pressure of population does make it necessary to develop life-styles resembling more closely those of countries with a long history of overpopulation. While a small population in a wide area will have its major problems defined in "objective" terms of coming to grips with the physical problems the country presents, a large population on a small area will find "the other", i.e. the fellow-human, to be the biggest problem to deal with. Correspondingly, the major energies will be spent in the first instance on solving "practical" physical problems, in the second instance on regulating society in such a way as to neutralize conflict and to divert people's energies from hurting each other. In some of its more favoured areas, America is entering the phase where the pressure of population becomes a real problem: there is no more open border through which a growing population could push into a new freedom. There are more and more people around with less space and fewer freedoms. Classical Indian religions developed in a time when India was already fairly heavily populated: they had to pay great attention to maintaining social peace by diverting energies into the conquest of interior space rather than by extolling the virtues of subduing the earth and filling it. The precariousness of existence also made it necessary to preserve conditions, which were found favourable, with as little change as possible so as not to endanger survival. Almost forty years ago Heinrich Zimmer wrote: 10 "We of the Occident are about to arrive at a crossroads that was reached by the thinkers of India some seven hundred years before Christ. This is the real reason why we become both vexed and stimulated, uneasy, yet interested when confronted with the concepts and images of Oriental wisdom. This crossing is one to which the people of all civilizations come in the typical course of the development of their capacity and requirement for religious experience, and

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India's teachings force us to realize what its problems are". It is somewhat discomforting for Western Christians especially to be told that "the West is religiously underdeveloped", having been brought up on notions of possessing the whole and sole truth, of having the only and last true revelation, of being chosen and saved, and so on. But-apart from dogma-one has to admit that reflexion on the perennial themes of religion (and life) has been going on in India for much longer and in a much more continuous fashion than in the West, that very basic alternative positions were explored in a climate of vigorous search and debate, and that it will take the West another couple of centuries before it has even absorbed in a broader way the problematics dealt with there. History does not repeat itself, of course, and as the same Heinrich Zimmer has said "we cannot take over the Indian solutions. We must enter the new period our own way and solve its questions for ourselves, because though truth, the radiance of reality, is universally one and the same, it is mirrored variously according to the mediums in which it is reflected. Truth appears differently in different lands and ages according to the living materials out of which its symbols are hewn''. This conviction is shared by not a few people in the West today. They do look to the East for light, because the East has gone through the experience of the breakdown of civilisations and the loss of traditional religious meaning before-and has come out of it wiser and maturer. Considering the nature of the malady of our present civilisation, the cure seems to lie on the level of a deepened consciousness-a consciousness which reconciles the conflicts created by the faiths, the traditions, the sciences and the externalized ambitions of the West. "Consciousness" is the target of the "Krishna-consciousness movement". While the West may not be convinced that the necessary turn to "consciousness" has to be a turn to "Krishna-consciousness", the Caitanya movement does address itself to at least one area which is of crucial concern to the contemporary West. The development of a deeper consciousness, the growth of a new awareness takes time: some of the time which for India's religions is part of their past-and which for us, in the West, is still in the future.

NOTES

2 3 4

For details on Caitanya's background and the historical sources of his movement consult: A. K. Majumdar, Caitanya. His Life and Doctrine (Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 1969). The Bhaktirasamrtasindhubindu of Visvanatha Cakravartin in Journal of the American Oriental Society, Vol. 94/1 (1974), pp. 96-107. The Bengali Caitanya-Caritamrta III, 20 contains eight Sanskrit slokas ascribed to Caitanya himself. For a complete discussion (with many additional texts) of these slokas consult: W. Eidlitz, Krsna-Caitanya: Sein Leben und Seine Lehre Acta Universitatis Stockholmensis: Stockholm Studies in Comparative Religion No. 7, (Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell, 1968).

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The best edition is by Dr. V. Snataka (Delhi: Hindi Vibhaga Dilli Visvavidyalaya, 1963). The Bhaktivedanta Book Trust's The Nectar of Devotion: The Complete Science of Bhakti Yoga ( 1970) calls itself "a summary study of the Bhaktirasamrtasindhu". The translation by Swami Bon Maharaj (3 vols. Vrindaban 1965ff) contains a great deal of expanded commentary. Most of the information concerning the Gaudia- Mission I received in numerous conversations with Swami Bon Maharaj. Cf. Back to Godhead Vol. 14, No. 5, p. 3ff: "Today's Scientists: Making Life or Taking Life?" Published by the Bhaktivedanta Book Trust. Each copy of Back to Godhead contains numerous examples of it. I also received some time ago an invitation for the opening of" FA TE-First American Transcendental Exhibition" and a prospectus of the "A. C. Bhaktivedanta Trust Collection''. Philosophies of India, Introduction.

Community, Discourse and Critique in Jnanesvar JAYANT LELE Queen's University, Kingston, Canada

were behind the idea of TWO RATHER OBVIOUS QUESTIONS sampradaya: a) the continuing

examining the contemporary relevance of Warkari influence of the Warkari persuasion on a large segment of the rural population in Maharashtra, in spite of the rise of "urban" institutions and b) despite large-scale bureaucratically sponsored projects, the fact that no real enthusiasm has emerged in rural areas for a cooperative effort, an effort such as was foreseen in the ideology of Community Development (Krishnamachari, 1968). An important technological fact makes this situation even more acute. In India and particularly in Maharashtra, prospects for large-scale, technological transformation through guaranteed irrigation are severely limited. Any significant rise in agricultural productivity must come from the massive, imaginative and yet routine cooperative effort of the peasants, labourers and artisans in villages across the land (Rao and Sayed, 1973). Indigenous and all-pervasive economic development demands precisely those impulses which have been conspicuously absent in rural India in the last threeand-a-half decades. Self-generating cooperative efforts in village communities may not really gain ground without basic changes in man-land relations. Largely symbolic gestures, such as tenancy regulations, were aborted in practice by the same class of rich farmers which controls the political and administrative apparatus. Frustrated by a lack of consciousness about structural contradictions, convinced of the futility and hypocrisy of the ruling ideology of legal justice, freedom and individual rights through parliamentary democracy, many young men and women have shown their willingness to dedicate their lives to the task of raising consciousness. They usually arrive in rural areas with a predetermined, adverse, orientation to tradition, often imparted to them by their "progressive" teachers. Warkari sampradaya, as an element of that tradition, is usually treated as an obstacle: they have no other way of dealing with it. Consequently, they become incapable of establishing a dialogue of shared meanings with the rural masses because a) they have never before shared the life experience of oppression in the rural context, and b) they bring with them a hostile attitude towards tradition which, paradoxically, can be the only possible common bond between them and the rural folk.

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These considerations point to the need for exploring the contemporary relevance of tradition. They have led me to a study of Warkari sampradaya. At least three major themes deserve detailed investigation. 1. 2. 3.

Warkari sampradaya as a discourse on tradition. Contemporary society and Warkari practice. Lack of appreciation of its critical and liberating impulses by modern intellectuals and activists.

A study of the writings and practices of Warkari poets as part of the first theme alone suggests a variety of directions from which the dialectical growth of tradition can be gleaned. Here, the criterion of successful social transformation as a predetermined outcome of this dialectic is not available. Whether an impulse was potentially revolutionary or not has to be judged in terms of the nature of oppressive social practice, the options open to a given society and the associated development of the consciousness of the oppressed social classes. The context of the social and material conditions of production needs to be examined. Similarly, whether a critical impulse can regain its potential in a changed social practice cannot be determined without adequate reinterpretation of the same impulse. A superficial review of the social history of Warkari sampradaya, its insistence on the use of the language of the masses and its open-door policy with respect to all castes, including the Untouchables, are the obvious indications of its critique of society. On the other hand, the rise of linguistic nationalism under Shivaji and Ramdas and the corresponding disappearance of creative writing by the Warkaris, both point to a hegemonic appropriation by the ruling classes (Lele, 1980). Let us begin with the notion of'' potential community''. It can be explored by contrasting it to that of the actual community in which members live and communicate naively on the basis of shared meanings. Community in the latter sense is living tradition. Family, village and caste are various levels of such actual community in which tradition remains alive and meaningful for all members, not only through language and rituals but through shared productive activities as well. Human communal existence has three basic dimensions-the material world, the social world and the world of the self. Human community is also ''a speech community'', including all native speakers of a given language who share symbols and meanings which stem from the dual character-natural and social at the same time-of the human species. With the human individual mediating, simultaneously, his naturalness and socialness, his entire world comes to be structured and expressed through his own subjectivity, through the objectivity of the material, sensuous world, and through the normativity of his social relations. Together they make up his symbolic-linguistic world of inter-subjectivity (Habermas, 1979). The essentially linguistic nature of this triple world also points to its potentiality. The necessity of having to regard others as subjects, as having intentions behind their beliefs and activities, implies that the latter can be brought into open and

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discussed as to their validity within the community. In this sense, an actual community also implies a potential community in which tradition becomes its own critique. It becomes a critique of the validity of beliefs and activities in all the three domains of human social life. This potential critical scrutiny of social practice, of beliefs and activities, takes as its standards the three principles of truth, justice and freedom because they express the components of intersubjectivity-subjects, objects, and norms, in their potential, liberated existence. In the actual community of everyday life, these principles operate counterfactually (Habermas, 1975). They receive interpretations and meanings which seek to justify rather than to overthrow the domination of nature and man over man. Such interpretations negate the potential community. However, they become available to conscious and active subjects for critical discourse, and through such discourse may be accepted or rejected, depending on their universal validity. The seeds for the revolutionary transformation of a society remain embedded in its tradition. In a genuine and successful revolution, these seeds germinate as critical reappropriations through discourse and transform social practice. Tradition as it remains alive in an actual community constitutes a hegemonic moment, an ideology legitimizing domination. But it also carries within it the opposite moment of critique, a reflection on oppressive social practice which reveals as lies the use of the principles on which a potentially human community rests for justifying oppression. In more concrete terms, this means that the other side of tradition-the discursive, critical side-must become a conscious activity of those who share basic productive tasks, even as they do so under conditions of domination. This discursive ability of tradition must be examined by going behind the official interpretations of the symbols. While suspecting the ideological reinterpretations, we must also listen to the critical meanings they hold for us in our own everyday existence. Since most interpretations of Warkari theory and practice conclude that it has always upheld the Brahmanic social order, we should see whether, initially at least, it was a critical impulse with a potential for creating revolutionary social practice. In this article, I wish to do this in a very limited way. I shall attempt a brief examination of the writings ofjnanesvar (1275-1296), who is recognized as the founding father of the sampradaya. Notions of community, of inter-subjectivity and of the domains of human social existence appear in J nanesvar' s commentary and are basic to his thought. Through these vehicles, J nanesvar develops a dialogue with those who constitute his actual linguistic and potentially human community. He elaborates on the differentiated unity of knowledge, devotion and action in the three spheres of human social existence and of the participants in a discourse. For these reasons, J nanesvari is not merely a hermeneutic on Gita, but an original exercise in critical re-appropriation of tradition. Most readers familiar with J nanesvar' s work will recognize that my translations of his work are at the same time reinterpretations which are consistent with the theme developed in this and other papers. They depart from

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conventional interpretations without violating the spirit of the original works. They are presented here to invit(". a serious critique. The actual community to which J nan es var addresses his exercise in critical re-appropriation can be gleaned from his writings in a variety of ways. It is a community of active producers. J nanesvar explicitly rejects the renunciation of productive life and ridicules the claims of liberation through rejection of activity. He identifies the material basis, the "body-apriori" of human existence, thus: Perhaps one may be able to renounce the self-ordained activity in a conscious manner. However, since the human body itself is activity-oriented, it is incapable of meaningful renunciation. JN 18-222

furthermore, The inaction of a renouncer is like a claim that one can stop breathing by falling asleep. JN 18-223

and therefore, Having attained human body those who regret having to remain active have to be merely stupid. JN 18-216

This celebration of human productive activity does not blind J nanesvar to the domination of man and nature over man in actual community. Thus, for him, it is at the same time a community of the oppressed (samvasarshrant JN 4-32). It is a community of those who experience oppression but cannot find a way to transcend it. J nanesvar' s choice of Gita for his interpretation becomes understandable since it claims to address itself to the oppressed at various levels of consciousness. Gita claims that seekers of universal meanings fall into four categories: those who merely experience oppression (arta), those who consciously seek to analyse its causes (jidnyasu), those who are ready to act (artharthz), and those who have recognized the unity of thought and action (jnanz).

There is an important difference between J nanesvar and others who have turned to Gita for a message. J nanesvar expresses the relation of Gita to seekers of meaning as that of a compassionate mother (maulz): it is not that of a taskmaster-teacher or of a purveyor of sacred and secret knowledge. Mother in this case symbolizes human intersubjectivity, in which the active subjectiveness of both actors is recognized. The intended, emergent equality of the subjects in a dialogue is the crux of this symbol. J nanesvar' s emphasis on community with his audience is not only a ploy to get a message across-it is inherent in all of his reflections on life. Hence, we find in him none of the aggressiveness, obstinacy, deviousness or argumentativeness of a debator (Vinoba, 1958). Emphasis is on the discovery of meanings through dialogue. A differentiated unity of the teacher and the taught, which is always implicit in a dialogue situation, is to be fully realized as a goal. It is this consciousness of the community, actual and potential, which also guidesjnanesvar's choice of the poetic medium. Once again, it is not an instrument for making the complex messages of Vedanta palatable to his audience. For Jnanesvar, the projected

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experience of potential community, of its universality (wiswatmaikya), is itself an aesthetic experience. The dualisms of truth and beauty, content and form, search of knowledge and enjoyment of the muses (rasaswad'), cease in such a community. To such a potential community J nanesvar juxtaposes its negation: life experience in the actual community. The three principles of Being, Consciousness and Freedom (sat, cit, anand') stand as dialectical opposites of illusion, falsehood and pain: Sruti refers to it as Being so as to negate illusion and as consciousness to end the domination of inertness or falsehood. AM 5-10

and also, Through these negations of Being and illusion, etc., the positive unity of the three principles differentiates itself. AM 5-12

Most hermeneutic interpretations locate universality or unity of these principles in atman (the Spirit) as the ultimate reality. For Jnanesvar, atman expresses itself in the form of the world. Spontaneous human community is the ever-changing, joyous manifestation of the Absolute (citvilas). Innumerable forms and sights arise but pure consciousness (cit) unites them all. AM 7-124

Furthermore, J nanesvar compares this relationship to speech: Though millions of words meet in the abode of speech, this gathering can not conceal that they are all nothing if not speech. AM 7-142

Jnanesvar's elucidations of the relationship between speech and experience give this analogy between atman and speech a much deeper significance than as a mere illustration. The crucial and yet paradoxical place occupied by speech in his philosophy is shown in his choice of language and his focus on dialogue (samvad'). I cannot go into a discussion of the relationship between language and community here. If we translate adhyatma as the transcendent, atman as the "Given Unity" (anadisiddha) which also changes with each individual (thus, there can be no two identical perceptions) then atmanubhav, as experience and thought, is communicable only to the extent that the other understands what is communicated in relation to his own manifestation of atman. That is, each individual subject must understand his own experience and thought as a special case of knowledge held in common. This way, what is essentially beyond communication becomes intersubjective knowledge and such knowledge, as adhyatma, becomes also the transcendent. The community which transcends differentiated experience and thought but rests in its unity does so through speech. That is why even in Rg Veda, wag (speech) is the first creation and representation of Spirit. J nanesvar' s choice of Marathi, a language spoken by the productive classes in his society and rejected as vulgar and unsuitable for spiritual knowledge by the Brahmins, rests on this insight into the relationship between language and community. Without it his enormous enthusiasm

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and confidence cannot be understood. J nanesvar does not speak merely of translating the great message from Sanskrit into folk language. He declares: We will present you your native language as it makes the world of literature come alive and as its sweetness makes one find fault with even the elixir of the immortals. JN 13: 1151

and even more: Thus the youthful beauty of this native tongue will infatuate and make the muses young again. It will then communicate the otherwise incomprehensible meaning of Gita.

In these lines the inference that Sanskrit, as a dead, fossilized language had lost its ability to generate live, new meanings is unmistakable. As monopolized by legitimizers of the ruling classes, it held no meaning for Jnanesvar's community of the oppressed. Marathi, on the other hand, was the language of the living tradition of that community. For this reason alone, J nanesvar is confident that Marathi can bring to life that universal and contemporary meaning of Gita which remains encrusted in its original Sanskrit shell. The necessity of resorting to the Marathi language and to the poetic medium is grasped by J nanesvar in his dialectical view of tradition and of the principles embodied in Gita. Said Shiva, not unlike your own unfathomable beautiful disposition, my beloved, the meaning of Gita is eternally new. JN 1: 71

Discovery of these eternal, and yet eternally new, meanings of tradition is a communal enterprise, an enterprise of discourse. For J nanesvar, therefore, the notion of discourse is of fundamental significance. Through discourse you enjoy that which is beyond expression. It is like seeing yourself in a mirror. JN 18:80

However, this mirror is a mirror with eyes. It is capable of producing not mere reflections but meanings. It is capable of producing an intersubjective unity of subjects. Thus J nanadeo and Chakrapani are like mirrors with eyes. When they thus witness each other their dualism evaporates. CH:62

J nanesvar presents this thought as an epilogue to his entreaty to Changdeo to abandon his arrogance so as to enter into a dialogue. However, unity which is produced by a dialogue is a differentiated unity, a state of intersubjectivity and not of pure subjectivity or objectivity. It is a unity of equals. J nanesvar does not want us to ignore the material basis, the "body apriori" of our subjective identity and intersubjective unity: If dialogue, pleasure of which is possible only through bodily existence ceases, then pleasure of (human) existence ceases too. Can anyone who has gained this treasure of dialogue ever rest happily in isolation? JN 18:81

The unity of equals, of human subjects in cooperative productive activity producing sustenance and meanings, makes for the reality of a speech community even in its negation. It creates the possibility of a discourse without words, and of knowledge without senses. One can grapple with a theorem even before it is shaped in words QN 1:58). This is possible saysjnanesvar because in a discourse:

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A spring of cohesiveness precedes the march of letters. Words follow once compassion has made its appearance. JN 13:262

J nanesvar was not unaware of the dangers of mystical appropriation of this unity into an idealist monism of Pure Consciousness. J nanesvar reminds us of the dialectic of identity and non-identity of subjects through Lord Krishna: That Arjun, who was about to dissolve his consciousness into Lord Krishna was returned to his self by a series of questions. JN 15:427

or: In his state of blissful freedom Partha (Arjun) was about to lose his consciousness of self hence he was brought back to that state by means of questions. JN 18: 1534

and finally, Lord Krishna and Partha became an identity without dissolving self identity. Their discourse was like a lamp igniting another lamp. JN 14: 1412

I have tried to demonstrate how the notions of community and discourse in Jnanesvar's writing express the unity of opposites. For him, actual community of the oppressed is also a negation of the potential community of subjects free of domination. The unity of this community rests on the productive social activity of human beings. On this question, J nanesvar is explicit. Sensuous social activity loses its sting when it ceases to rest on rage and rancor. JN 2: 332

or: One who discards ego-focality and ceases to covet, acts in unity with his universal community. JN 2:366

He asks us not to indulge in rituals and pilgrimages or worship of idols and deities ON 3:89-91). He urges us to follow our life practice according to meanings which are impregnated with the principles of potential community. For those who live in duplicity, for those who use tradition and social order for deception, Jnanesvar has harsh words: One who verbalizes knowledge but practices deception on his society is a mine of ignorance. JN 13:659

J nanesvar pleads with them to return to a truly traditional practice which carries in it, in principle, the true meanings of existence, consciousness and freedom. If unity of theory and practice has not been established in daily, productive existence, then anyone who believes that he has resolved the enigma of existence through inference is doing no more than attempting to irrigate the soil with a mirage ON 9: 136). Jnanesvar's exhortations for life according to the social order (dharma) have been interpreted usually as a split in his thinking on spiritual and social life. A comprehensive critique of these interpretations and of their impact on the life of the Warkaris will take us into an analysis of contemporary society. Here, I shall try to counter these interpretations by pointing to that thrust of J nanesvar' s thought which rejects reliance on any external authority. The authority for providing guidance, for interpreting and directing social action, rests with those subjects who remain active within social life.

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What is called authority rests on accomplishment through activity. How do you expect it to arise at the outset of one's journey? JN 6:340

and In the equanimity of consciousness, m the unity of mind and intellect, rests the essence of authority. JN 2:273

and finally, Only those who embody the universal meaning of Sruti and Smruti in their activity and become examples of those principles in practice, have authority. JN 17 :85

Jnanesvar is even more explicit in rejecting the transcendental authority of the

Vedas. In a telling verse, he brings them on to the level of subjectivity which must remain moot in the absence of a community of subjects. If Vedas despite their descriptive power, fail to grasp the totality, the transcendent, then they are just as dumbfounded as we are in this task. JN 14: 11

Naturally, therefore, he concludes: Even though Vedas have said a great deal and suggested many paths one must choose only that which ensures one's well-being. JN 2:260

So far, I have attempted to bring together those core elements of thought which, in their original form, constitute the basis for a critical appropriation of Warkari tradition. These, as well as Warkari practice, show that what is commonly interpreted as a community of devotees is at the same time a community of producers. It stands juxtaposed to the community of appropriators whose instrumental, ego-focal domination of society negates the liberating intentions of tradition. To the appropriators, as well as to the oppressed, Jnanesvar makes a plea for a discursive and conscious return to tradition. In rejecting the authority of the Vedas and of those who stand in an appropriative opposition to the community, Jnanesvar is seeking a discourse on tradition which must by its own rules, if successful, result in a revolutionary transformation of society. Jnanesvar' s thought moves from the life practice of the oppressed ( samvasarshrant) into its critical negation as a negation of illusions, falsehood and pain. To the latter are juxtaposed Being, Consciousness and Freedom, as the fundamental principles of the transcendent community of active subjects. This community, in its actuality, rests on the production of sustenance and meanings through activity and speech. By insisting that the meaning of Gita is both eternal and new, and by demonstrating it through a poetic dialogue, Jnanesvar challenged the very foundations of Brahmin- Maratha hegemony without advocating self-destructive deviance. He placed oppression in a dialectic of freedom. He rejected all authority which did not rest in the community, without rejecting authority as such. In this way, Jnanesvar' s thought returns to practical life, after a discursive journey into the meaning of tradition. He advocates a revolutionary and critical productive activity within social practice.

Jnanesvar' s

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The limited discursive attempt in this article is open to the criticism of being a mere academic exercise. Such a misunderstanding can be averted only by integrating this exploration with a comprehensive critique of hegemonic interpretations and of associated domination in social life. In the end, such a comprehensive, practical critique is a privilege experienced by those who experience contradictions between ideology and everyday life. This article can claim, at best, to have the intention of joining into a critical dialogue of the community of the oppressed. In the absence of such an intention and the effort which is guided by such an intention, all activity, academic as well as practical, will continue to have no roots in that community. At first, it is addressed to those who find in J nanesvar only the intention of legitimising the authority of dharma. They include urban intellectuals and Warkaris who routinely listen to the official interpretations of Jnanesvar's writings. Serious students of Indian society and tradition will, I hope, treat this effort as a statement whose universality can be tested only in an authentic discourse.

REFERENCES HABERMAs, JURGEN, Legitimation Crisis, Boston: Beacon Press, 1975. HABERMAS, JURGEN, Communication and the Evolution of Society, Boston: Beacon Press, 1979. KRISHNAMACHARI, V. T., Community Development in India, Delhi: Publications Division, Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Government of India, 1968. LELE, JAYANT, "The Two Faces of Nationalism", in Akiwowo, A. andJ. Dofny, eds., National and Ethnic Movements, London: Sage Publications, 1980. RAo, V. M. and M. C. SAYED, "Crop Production and Productivity 1955-56 to 1968-69", in Deshpande, S. H., ed., Economy of Maharashtra, Poona: Samaj Prabodhan Sanstha, 1973. VrNoBA, Jnanadevanci Bhajane, Pawnar: Parandham Vidyapith Prakashan, 1958.

NOTE All excerpts fromjnanesvari CTN) are from Sarthjnanesvari, edited and translated by M. S. Godbole (Poona 30: Shri Vidya Prakashan, 1977). All excerpts from Amrutanubhav (AM) are from Amritanubhav Bhavartha Manjiri by Anant Damodar Athavle, Dasganu. (Nanded: Vitthal Yashwant Marathe, Sak, 1851). Excerpts from Changdeopasasti (CH) are from L. R. Pangarkar's Shri jnanadev Maharaj: Caritra ani Granth Vivecan (Poona: L. R. Pangarkar, 1912).

The Revolt of the Underprivileged Style in the Expression of the Warkari Movement in Maharashtra

BHALCHANDRA NEMADE Marathwada University, Aurangabad, India

IF

I

WE MAY ASSUME that the bhakti movement is the most significant creative upsurge of the Indian mind during the present millennium, no student of literary culture can ignore the unique techniques of expression developed within the Warkari Movement in Maharashtra. The creative influence of this movement has been felt in a variety of forms by several social and political revolts in the Indian subcontinent from Shivaji's rebellion in the seventeenth century to Gandhi's in the twentieth. In Maharashtra, to which the present study is confined, the movement has an unbroken tradition which can be traced back to the thirteenth century on the eve of the Muslim invasion of the kingdom of Deogiri. Throughout these centuries there has hardly been a period of any considerable length when the Marathi-speaking people of India can be said to have enjoyed peace and prosperity. Until the rise of the Maratha kingdom in the middle of the seventeenth century, society passed through "trying times" under often fanatical Muslim governments. That the Warkari movement, mostly led and sustained by the underprivileged classes, should arise in this time of national catastrophe and, despite hostile conditions, develop quietly into the most influential mass movement of rural Maharashtra, is the triumphant result of the broad-based, autonomous and unique style that it generated within itself. Perhaps a brief comparison with another major movement, that of the Mahanubhavas, which was influential predominantly in thirteenth-century Maharashtra, would make the unique stylistic contribution of the Warkaris more clear. The Mahanubhava movement 1 was a Hindu monastic cult founded by Chakradhar (1194-1276) and it too was supported by the underprivileged classes, although their leaders were mainly learned Brahmans. The cult preached radical values laid down by Chakradhar principally equality and brotherhood. It disregarded the Vedas, attacked Brahmanism, worshipped only one God Krishna and prohibited worship of any other god, and offered equal status to women and shudras. After Chakradhar was killed in 1276 as a result of the hatred he had aroused in the arrogant supporters of Brahman orthodoxy,

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the Mahanubhavas, unlike the Warkaris, failed to improve upon their techniques of expression in order to cope with the changing political situation. For example, their tendency to favour written as against oral culture increased their dependence on bookish philosophy and textual criticism. Their wearing of conspicuous black dress and their secretive monastic activities alienated them from the common people. Their leadership, unlike that of the Warkaris, came from the top instead of from the grass-roots. Their monastic establishments, free association with women and shudras, their anti-Brahman philosophy and adoption out of fear of several esoteric scripts-all these characteristics made them ineffective in the successive waves of fanaticism and orthodoxy. Soon, therefore, this cult which once was so influential, so revolutionary and so creative in its literature, turned into a pale reflection of itself and by the end of the sixteenth century it had become an object of ridicule within Maharashtra at large. The Mahanubhava prose works which were created in the thirteenth century have great stylistic merit, but being written they soon became obsolete until in the twentieth century the cult began to show signs of revival.

II In contrast to the Mahanubhavas, the Warkari movement did not have a prophetic autocracy. Its origins are not accurately traceable to any single source and we can only say that it had strong roots among the common people of the thirteenth century. It has often gone underground over long periods of time when little overt activity was possible in the adverse conditions prevailing, and yet it survived all such vicissitudes. At times the movement appears to have been compromised and diluted, yet at all times during the course of its history it has been capable of generating protest. In order to be effective the Warkari movement has chosen to be governed by laws generated from the mass of its own underprivileged supporters and has refrained from bursting out in short-lived manifestos which none of its essentially poor followers could afford to carry out. It maintained its distance from active politics and avoided direct comment on any political activity, whether of the Muslim or the Hindu rulers. It has been liberal and inclusive. In spite of being a movement of the shudras, it has respected all Brahmans, Muslims and Untouchables who came into its fold. Spread over Maharashtra, Karnataka and Andhra, it never had a fixed and regular establishment, so that it could not suffer economic loss or the destruction of its cult-objects at the hands of Muslim iconoclasts. Small village temples and individual domestic idols of Vitthal distributed the centres of its faith into every home. The origin of the God Vitthal is dubious. 2 He seems to have been set up as an alternative in order to diminish the importance of the existing pantheon of multitudinous Hindu gods. The idol of Vitthal at Pandharpur is a beautiful piece of sculpture, its arms akimbo and a confident expression on its face seeming to signify a kind of potent non-violence. This is in marked contrast to the

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fierce Hindu gods with several hands, each bearing some terrible weapon. A non-Warkari saint, Ramdas (1605-1677), revived the god Hanuman as an expression of rising Marathi nationalism, but the Warkaris were content with a silent god like Vitthal, and through him even propagated tolerant monotheism as a new principle within Hinduism. Their code also suggests that both Buddhist and Jain philosophies were once again revived by the Warkari leaders in a concealed form. The Warkari code was flexible and was modified by succeeding generations, since Warkari philosophy emphasises spirit rather than form. A Warkari should observe such prohibitions as the avoidance of wine and nonvegetarian food. He should fast on certain days; he should condemn certain sins and believe in doing good to others. Each of these ethical values can be related to the impoverished and exploited classes and to the backward economy of the region. At its root, the code reflects the logic of what can be ''afforded''. Again, the revolutionary principles of monotheism, equality and brotherhood were perhaps the result of contact with Islam and early Christianity, an acculturation phenomenon as described by Ralph Linton. 3 In any case, as these principles had already become a part of the Warkari tradition, the impact of the roving Christian missionaries could not be very great on the Western coast of India. The Islamic mission too was blunted. Tolerance replaced brute force. Even the zealous character of Islam was diminished under the moderating influence of the Warkaris, and perhaps nowhere else in the world can Muslims have been so ineffective against an alien faith. Shivaji himself, whose reputation for religious tolerance may well have arisen from the association with this movement, never resorted to violence for its own sake. It is certain that the democratizing influence of the Warkari saints had blunted the effect of Brahmanism by its large-hearted sympathy, its simplicity in all religious matters and its powerful philosophy which was acceptable to the common people. A more detailed study of the Warkari code would also reveal how cultural elements are selected for symbolic use, and how new things are borrowed on the strength of their utility. For example, meditation or singing God's praise, or just observing the Warkari code was enough for a man to belong to the cult. Sannyasa or Dnyanamarga and similar Hindu paths for the attainment of moksha were discouraged by the Warkari leaders, as these ways were beyond the economic capacity of the underprivileged. They did not resort to strange outlandish dress, but made only simple modifications in the day-to-day dress of the common people. Clean clothes, a daily bath, a tilak on the forehead and a necklace of tulsi beads were more suited to the underprivileged economy. Pilgrimage to Pandharpur and not to the expensive North Indian Gangetic shrines was essential, and this had to be undertaken on foot, in the company of fellow Warkaris, so that the devotees were also in touch with the larger world of the sect every year. For breaking the Warkari code, only self-punishment was suggested. In a house of non- Warkaris just one individual could be a Warkari. Perhaps the most important feature of their code was their adherence to oral culture, which suited them most.

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The Warkari organization which developed independently over generations could be reduced to the twin principles of perfect autonomy and total decentralization-something which would keep the movement alive as long as there was faith. Both in form and in spirit the Warkari movement helped to preserve basic cultural elements in the face of alien rulers, fanatical Muslims and orthodox Brahmans who were their permanent enemies. Apart from the spiritual and literary achievements of the Warkari movement, the social change which they envisaged was the very basis of this organization. The makers of this tradition were persons who were alienated from the rigid four-fold Varna system, which had scriptural sanction, was impervious to any change whatsoever, and which fostered discrimination and inequality in the society. The Brahmans perpetuated this system, as it protected their economic and social privileges. Even the Muslim rulers respected the religious authority of the caste panchayats ruled by Vedic pundits. Even men of revolutionary thought and great ability like Shivaji had to conform to the severe Brahmanical standards. In such an atmosphere the poor classes had been suppressed for generations. In these dumb and destitute classes the Warkari movement found its roots. Some Warkari leaders like Dnyanadev and his brothers were Brahman outcasts, humiliated by the orthodox Brahmans. Some others like Ekanath and Bahinabai were liberal Brahmans persecuted for being so. N amadev, the first known leader of the movement, had to apologise to the arrogant Brahmans for preaching his new ideas. 4 Tukaram (1608-1650), the greatest exponent of the Warkari philosophy, was persecuted and tried because though a shudra he assumed the religious leadership of his time. 5 He had to undergo an ordeal for his revolutionary ideas and his works were thrown into the river. There are many more examples in the history of the Warkari movement which would show the struggles of the underprivileged saint-poets who were committed to a cause of social change.

III N amadev ( 1270-1350) seems to be the first revolutionary saint-poet about whose life some information is available. A closer look at his life is necessary, as he was certainly the first to strengthen the expression techniques of the movement. Son of a shudra tailor, he was the most respected leader of his time because he organized a whole group of active men from all communities under the banner of the Warkari cult. A widely travelled man, he is believed to have received the new ideas of bhakti from the South, and there is evidence that he spread them in the North in the early fourteenth century. 6 As the bhakti cult expounded by him was broad in structure, it spread rapidly in the North in the late fourteenth century, absorbing spontaneously various regional varieties of worship without any conflict. He was a close associate of the pioneers of the bhakti movement in the North. His ideas even obliterated the borders between Hinduism and Islam by pointing out the bigoted character of both these religions, in effect developing a strategy to criticise the two major

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enemies-Muslims and Brahmans. He became, therefore, the most popular literary-religious leader of the downtrodden of his times, cutting across both the rigid faiths. He says in one of his Hindi songs: The Hindu is blind and the Muslim is cross-eyed, A saint is certainly better than both of them. The Hindu worships his temple, the Muslim worships his mosque, Namadev will worship neither the temple nor the mosque. 7

His interpretation of Muslim atrocities was unusual: Such Hindu Gods! When broken and sunk in water by the Muslims, They would not even cry! 8

With this broad foundation, Namadev spread his cult, which did not even have any particular name. His verses were incorporated in the Holy Granth Sahib by the later Sikh leaders. His method of challenging Muslim fanaticism and Brahman domineering was subtle and full of humility, disarming and apologetic; but at all stages of his activity he was very sure of his means and ends. Most effective in his quiet revolt, he was the first to accept the untouchable communities in his liberal sect. A contemporary poetess J anabai, a slave-girl, describes him as "the Head of a Joint family of saint-poets". 9 She describes him in another lyric as ''a half-naked figure, dancing wildly on the sands of the Chandrabhaga at Pandharpur, singing his lyrics, preaching his radical principles to the crowd''. 10 This is the first reference in Warkari lore to the popularity of the revolutionary style of "preaching while singing" or Kirtan. Namadev himself says: We will dance in the Kirtan, And light the lamps of knowledge in this world. 11

In one of his lyrics he sings: I shall commit the whole world to happiness, I shall worship one God, Vitthal, with all my heart, I shall relieve men of their pains and fatigue, And break the bonds of Maya, ... And destroy this mirage of life. 12

N amadev was an activist, an intellectual encouraging all kinds of people to join his cult, while he let his wife and children starve. His mother says in a lyric: 0 son, give up this mad spell of God, Do you want to ruin the family? 13

His wife says: There are no clothes, no pots, nothing to eat in the house, Yet this husband of mine dances day and night, shamelessly, Fourteen members of our family-all beg food from door to door, God! teach him some sense, now I have little patience. 14

All the members of his family composed verses, good or bad, which appears to be the result of his persuasion. Namadev's advice that "we should express openly in order to forget our sorrow, temptation and suffering" is well-

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known. After him, many of his followers' families became composers. This itself was a revolt against the literary conventions of the age. Those were the days when men suffered not only from foreign agression, war, famine and ruin, but from inner problems which were probably more terrible. In such a society, the poor Warkaris gained confidence on the strength of their expression. Without political support or social status, the poor dumb communities of shudras suddenly learned that they had a voice. Now they could protest and question. For example, Janabai could say, "Nothing wrong to be a woman, the Saints taught me this''. Again one of N amadev' s fellow- Warkaris and followers, Chokha Mela (d. 1338), an Untouchable, would bitterly address to Vitthal in his lyric: I am an untouchable, how can I worship you? They drive me out, how can I meet you? At my slightest touch, they have to purify themselves, My God Vitthal! I pray for your mercy. 15

His wife, son and brother also speak of the inhuman conditions forced on the Untouchables. Despite starvation, humiliation and helplessness, their struggle to breathe in the free air of equality is characteristic of the liberating influence of bhakti on the outcastes. Chokha's son Karma Mela, a young man, describes the wretched condition of his community: We never have good food to eat, We live disgracefully in this world, God! You have a good time, Only misery has come to our lot. 16

Elsewhere he says, with more confidence: God! You have your limitations, I'll have to find the way myself. 17

And about three centuries later, Tukaram (1608-1650), whose daily kirtans at his small village Dehu, gathered crowds from distant places, became the most vocal enemy of the Brahman orthodoxy. "To censure this world has come to my lot", was his full conviction, so he could fearlessly say: A Brahman who believes in contamination is not a Brahman, Suicide is the only expiation for such a Brahman. 18

Thus the Warkari tradition developed in the natural course certain effective means of self-expression and mass education which were initiated by Namadev. By any measure, Namadev's revolt was stupendous. He could dissolve the Infernal divisions of humanity within Hindu society by the winning strategies of expression. IV Most Warkari leaders, popularly known as saint-poets, were given to composing verses. It is extremely difficult to draw a line between the saintly and poetic qualities in the works of these saint-poets. Most of them created oral

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literature as a substitute for action, as action in any other form would have provoked the fury of their enemies. Most of them were persecuted during their life-times and received undisputed reverence posthumously, mainly on account of the undying popularity of their songs which became a part of Warkari lore. They live therefore as literary heroes, composers of lyrics, and in some cases interpreters of sacred texts in verse. Apart from the natural functions of literature, such as entertainment and the preservation and dissemination of knowledge within society, the Warkari literature is also found to be acting as an agent of social change. Thus, the creative use of language as action became a stylistic device with which the saint-poets influenced the larger plane of society. The predominance of oral expression in the Warkari movement has other sociolinguistic dimensions as well, namely, that this verbal expression saved the Warkari leaders from depersonalization, as it was the only available means for the oppressed people to employ safely. The oral techniques of expression needed to be strengthened. For example, Tukaram glorifies the use of "words" thus: We possess the wealth of words, With weapons of words we will fight, Words are the breath of our life, We will distribute this wealth of words among the people, Tuka says, look! the meaning of Word is God, With Word we will extol and worship. 19

Creative experience made Tukaram feel even superior to the learned Brahmans: We alone know the real meaning of the Vedas, Others only bear the burden of it, Food eaten is not to be compared with food seen, ... Tuka says, we have found the root, Of its own the fruit will be in our hands. 20

In the Indian literary tradition a clear division can be made between the written and the oral culture. Writing was by no means new to the Marathi society in the thirteenth century, and both the oral and written cultures are seen to be equally active in the following centuries. In Maharashtra, the written culture is more or less prosaic, discontinuous, elitist, courtly, fluctuating and influenced by Sanskrit or Persian, while the oral culture is more or less poetic, continuous, proletarian, rural, standardized and associated with the reformation movements of the underprivileged. In the Warkari literary tradition, both the written and the oral cultures, along with several intermediate forms like purana, harikatha, parayana, pravachana and pothi, were popular at one and the same time. These forms of expression needed group co-operation of various communities from Brahmans to the Untouchables, and they reflect several aspects of literature as a social institution. On the whole, they are pointers to the social synthesis of the upper and the lower classes in the making, however slow it may have been.

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There is enough evidence to assert that the Warkari saint-poets were consciously developing the oral style rather than the written one as the standard form of expression. Prose was therefore completely ruled out. Most Warkari classics have been collected by later devotees from oral sources. Each verse of these poets, without exception, bears the copyright mark of the composer's name such as: Tuka says ... 21 The Warkari leaders constantly ridiculed "bookish" learning and "Vedic parrotry" and glorified "saying God's name orally'' and ''singing God's praise loudly''. Most of the Warkari leaders came from the underprivileged classes and, what is more, millions of their followers were illiterate, deprived of the right to acquire the benefits of written culture. Economically, too, the poor followers could not afford to possess written texts which used to cost fantastic amounts. 22 However, poverty does not seem to be an influential reason for their preference for the oral style. Some of the poets were well-to-do, and with numerous followers it was not impossible for even poor poets to get their verses and songs written down in their lifetime. The more important reasons for their preference for the oral culture, therefore, seem to be such genuine difficulties as fear of theft and destruction, and most important of all, the possibility of persecution on the concrete evidence of a written document. Tukaram, the most revered poet of his time, was tried on the charge of blasphemy, was excommunicated and tortured and had to undergo the water ordeal for his Catha, the written verses. Again a prose classic of the thirteenth century, Leela Charitra (Life of Chakradhar), was a collection of oral memoirs edited and recorded by Mahimbhatta with great labour in about 1278. The authentic copy was soon lost in the Mahanubhava leaders' flight from Muslim ravage in 1308. The content of the work was again collected and recorded by later editors from the devotees who had fortunately memorised Mahimbhatta' s text. 25 In such circnmstances, the oral culture evolved its own techniques of preserving the expression of society. It was certainly a more effective and safer way, both for the creator and for the creation. It is also important to note that this oral tradition ceased to produce great figures after some political security was established in Maharashtra in the seventeenth century, when written culture began to receive protection and encouragement. The oral culture, with all its limitations emphasized by li,nguists and anthropologists, has certain intrinsic advantages over the written one: it is dialogic and demands more direct contact between the speaker and listeners, thereby implying the physical presence of the speaker, and consequently a personality influence of a kind which is missing in the written culture. It also implies a fundamental use of language, with an externalized function of symbols, and thus strengthens group solidarity. 24 It seems for these reasons, therefore, that the Warkari cult has evolved several oral styles of expression over all these centuries, utilising the traditional as well as folk forms. There are the traditional forms like purana, pravachana, parayana and patha. The creative literary forms like ovi, abhang, pada, bhupali, gana, gavalan, virant~ shloka, Krishnaleela and verse biography have been immensely popular. Numerous

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musical-dramatic forms like gondhal, rupak, bhedik, lalit, kakad arati and shej arati, goph, garud and bharud are performed on certain occasions. Mantra, namasmaran and haripath are for individual worship, while katha, pothz~ saptah, kala, palakhi, dindi, vari, bhaJan and kirtan demand large social gatherings. In all these forms, the villagers have a full role to play and their creative talents are expressed fully. However, the most characteristically institutional of the Warkari forms is kirtan. A kirtan is a gathering of devotees in which a theme is initiated with one of the lyrics of the great saint-poets like Tukaram; and each line of the lyric is expounded with supporting verses and illustrations from the Hindu epics, scriptures, lives of great men, and mythology, and from numerous other cultural lore of Hinduism to educate the audience. The main narrative is interspersed with entertaining anecdotes, witticisms and humour. The leader or kirtankar is accompanied by other devotees who play veena, cymbals and drums and sing some of the verses in classical ragas. Often the audience is asked to join the chorus in loud collective singing. Eye-witnesses in the past and present describe the spell of the kirtans with their rhythmic accompaniment making singers and audience together forget their physical existence in a kind of trance which makes the whole body airy. Thus, the kirtan inspires the creative faculties of devotees from the local village audiences and provides enough opportunity for the leaders to educate the illiterate masses. The kirtankar, depending on his ability and courage, exposes the social miscreants and criticises social evils bitterly, thereby creating confidence in the local audience about the values in the Warkari cultural heritage. The kirtan, indeed, has been for all these centuries a free pulpit, an open university of the village folks. It is usually held on the sands of a river or on the open ground at the centre of a village during night, and requires a few properties like lamps and musical instruments. The peasants regard it as an occasion both social and religious. At the end of the kirtan, the devotees touch each other's feet as a mark of their belief in equality and brotherhood. A detailed history of the Warkari cult would show that the kirtan has been the most effective instrument of religious and social awakening throughout its history. Generations of anonymous Warkari leaders from various low communities have contributed to its democratic fibre, the greatest figure in the line in current times being Sant Gadage Maharaj ( d. 1956). There are several schools in the kirtan form, each maintaining its particular style coming down from the original guru, 25 and every year during the great festival days, series of kirtans are held at Pandharpur, where over three hundred thousand pilgrims have an opportunity to listen to the distinguished kirtankars of all the schools. Dindi is another equally vigorous device which is very characteristic of the Warkari movement. A dindi is a procession of pilgrims, a part of the fulfilment of the Warkari code. Hundreds of dindis start from villages all over Maharashtra and walking all the distance on foot, meet at Pandharpur. Here again, we find the Warkari principle of decentralization at work: originally the dindis met at the

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central shrine of Pandharpur, but over a period of time the Warkaris have developed several regional centres where the dindis meet twice every year. These birth-places of great Warkari saint-poets are located all over Maharashtra and Karnataka, such as Tukaram's Dehu, Dhnyanadev's Alandi, Ekanath's Paithan, Chokha Mela's Mangalvedha and Muktabai's Edalabad. It is interesting to note that these shrines include all the regions and communities in which the cult is influential. The dindis have a perfect time schedule as to their departure, halts and arrival at the shrines. The pilgrims halt at villages on the way, eat what is offered to them or else cook simple meals, and hold kirtans, bhajans or garuds at night, and then proceed further. More devotees join them on the way, and fellow-pilgrims revive their old associations. Dindis encourage the feeling of unity and brotherhood among the Warkaris. More than that, they provide some opportunity to travel for the labouring peasants, particularly for the women for whom a few days' leisure and freedom from what Simone de Beauvoir calls "the torture of Sisyphus" at home and in the field is most welcome. The Warkari cult has evolved styles which are best suited to the resources of the underprivileged classes and, therefore, it never attempted to go beyond the moderate range of social change and preferred to work within the broad Hindu tradition. With these limitations, how far the cult could go towards satisfying the spiritual needs of society as a whole, is itself an independent subject of study. NOTES All verses quoted in the article are translated from the Marathi by the author.

2

3 4

The sect has a rigorous code of conduct and produced a rich prose literature in the thirteenth and early fourteenth century. For a complete perspective of the sect, see V. B. Kolte's works in Marathi, especially, Shri Chakradhar Charitra (Malakapur: Arun Prakashan, 1952); Leela Charitra (Bombay: Maharashtra Rajya Sahitya Sanskriti Manda!, 1978); and Mahanubhava Tattvadnyan (Malakapur: Arun Prakashan, 1945). For the philosophy and literature of the Warkari cult, see M. G. Ranade, Rise of the Maratha Power (1900; rpt. [Delhi: Publications Division, Ministry ofinformation and Broadcasting, Govt. of India, 1961]); J. N. Fraser andj. F. Edwards, The Life and Teaching of Tukaram (Madras: Christian Literature Society, 1922); The Gazetteer of the Bombay Presidency, XX (Bombay, 1884); G. A. Deleury S. J., The Cult of Vithoba (Poona: Deccan College, 1960). Ralph Linton, "Nativistic Movements" and "Culture Transfer and Acculturation", in Ralph Linton, Adelin Linton and Charles Wagley, eds., (New York: Columbia University Press, 1971 ). Shri Sant Namadev Maharaj Yanchi Abhanganchi Catha (Pune: Chitrashala, 1957), p. 824: [The orthodox brahman J Parasa Bhagavat said, "You Namadev 1 Your parents used to fall at my feet, and now you dare to call yourself a devotee of God! What do you know of anything? Do you know the Vedas?" Thereupon Namadev replied, "Blessed be my soul today that you uttered the names of my parents. Pray let me have the holy water at your feet, as it washes away all the sins. My place is truly at your feet". This verse is indicative of some of the first encounters between the Vedic brahmans and the Warkaris. Obviously Namadev, unlike Chakradhar, avoided the conflict.

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See Bhalchandra Nemade, Tukaram (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1980), pp. 29-33. Scanty details about Namadev's life and mission are available. Several later poets from Gujarat and the North, notably Narsi Mehta, Meera, Rohidas, Kabir and Nanak quote his name with great reverence. See Relekar et al., eds., Shri Namadeu Darshan (Kolhapur: Namadev Samajonnati Parishad, 1970); L. G. Jog, Sant Namadev (New Delhi: Publications Division, Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Govt. oflndia, 1970); G. V. Kavitkar et al., eds., Shri Namadev (Bombay, Shasakiya Mudran va Lekhansamagri, 1970). Namadev Catha, op. cit. (Note 4), p. 609. Ibid., p. 468. About 24 poets were associated with his circle which included Brahmans, several low castes, Untouchables and women. Namadev Catha, p. 772. Ibid., p. 409. Ibid., p. 502. Ibid., p. 365. Ibid., p. 384. Sakal Sant Catha K. A. Joshi, ed., 2nd ed., (Pune: R. S. Avate, 1967), I, p. 138. Chokha was distinguished for his moral uprightness and saintly qualities, yet he was not allowed to enter the temple ofVitthal and was harassed. He died a premature death, buried under the debris of the fallen bastion-wall of Mangalvedha (ibid., p. 720). Untouchables were bonded labourers, expected to work whenever summoned. His dead body was identified and Namadev managed to raise his shrine at the main gate outside the temple of Vitthal at Pandharpur. The whole story, whether fact or legend, is very symbolic. Ibid., p. 155. Ibid., p. 156. Shri Tukarambavanchya Abhanganchi Catha, 2nd ed. (1955; rpt. 2 Vols. m 1, [Bombay: Shasakiya Mudran ani Lekhansamagri, 1973]), p. 8. Ibid., p. 563. Ibid., p. 386. This form of oral copyright was originally termed as an abhang at the beginning of the oral literary verse tradition in Marathi. In later centuries the term widened its connotation to mean "song". See Smrutisthala, ca. 1312 (Pune: Venus, 1960), p. 37. See Baba Padamanji, Arunodaya, 3rd ed. (Bombay: Bombay Tract and Book society, 1963), p. 32; V. K. Bhave, Peshvekalin Maharashtra (Pune: V. K. Bhave, 1935), p. 105. See V. B. Kolte, ed., Leela Charitra, op. cit. (Note 1), Introduction, pp. 59-74. Cf. L. S. Vygotsky, Thought and Language, Eugenia Hanfmann and Gertrude Vakar, eds. and trans., (New York: The MIT Press and John Wiley and Sons, 1962), p. 142; also Roland Barthes, ''Political Modes of Writing'', in Writing Degree Zero, Annette Lave rs and Colin Smith, trans., (London: Jonathan Cape, 1967), p. 26. For detailed account of the various schools of Kirtankars and dindis, see B. P. Bahirat and P. D. Bhalerav, Warkari Sampradaya (Pune: Venus, 1972).

Gaudiya V aisnava Symbolism of Deliverance ( uddhara) nistara, ... ) from Evil JOSEPH T. O'CONNELL University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada

I. Introductory Remarks

THIS ESSAY explores the symbolism by which Gaudiya Vaisnavas (i.e., Bengali devotees of Krishna-Caitanya) speak of deliverance or rescue of an individual person from the pervasive evil of a life not dedicated to Lord Krishna. The event or process of deliverance from evil may be conceived of as the initial, indeed the initiatory, phase of a life-long process of religious transformation, the culmination of which would be realization of eternal devout service to Krishna. To provide concrete reference for discussion, three "entreaty" ( vij.naptz) prayers of the late sixteenth century Bengali saint and poet Narottama-dasa are presented at the outset. These could be supplemented by other prayers, by hagiographic episodes, and by ethnographic reports. The biographies of Caitanya and portions of Rupa Gosvamin's Bhakti-rasamrtasindhuh and Jiva Gosvamin's Bhakti-sandarbha supply much of the background upon which this essay is constructed. Paul Ricoeur's The Symbolism of Evil has provided a certain impetus to looking seriously at how pre-conceptual "equivocal" symbolism enriches and grounds in human experience the "univocal" symbolism of systematic conceptual thought. Needless to say, I look upon this essay as in keeping with and inspired by the admonition of Wilfred Cantwell Smith that "our concern is not primarily the doctrines and scriptures and prayers and rites and institutions; but rather, what these do to a man''. 1 The present essay is not a survey of how the concept (or words for it) of deliverance or rescue has been understood throughout Vaisnava history, or the even wider history of Hindu devotional movements generally, informative as such a study might be. Rather, it is a probing in some detail of the Gaudiya Vaisnava way of speaking of deliverance. Even here, it is less upon the concept of deliverance than upon the much more ample pre-conceptual symbolism of natural language, prayer, story and gesture that the emphasis is placed. For

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reasons that are not altogether clear to me, the Gaudiya Vaisnavas devote relatively scant attention to conceptual elaboration of the idea of deliverance or rescue in their more systematic theological works, though they have to assume that the initial turning toward devotion has taken place for any of their more advanced theological analyses to be relevant. On the other hand, in their hagiographic texts and personal prayers and their communal activities the Gaudiya Vaisnavas are profuse and eloquent in speaking about and dramatically expressing their own and one another's experiences of deliverance. 2 The presentation which follows adheres to the Gaudiya Vaisnava (hereafter indicated simply as V aisnava) precedent of stressing preconceptual symbolism, though it does indicate where pan-Hindu or specifically Vaisnava concepts are woven into their understanding of deliverance from evil. It presents these symbolic elements, however, not as arbitrarily scattered, but as tending to coalesce into larger symbolic structures which are meaningfully coherent and psychologically persuasive. This convergence of meaning and persuasion in V aisnava symbolism of deliverance invites further inquiry by those competent in the psychological study of religious transformation. II. "Entreaty" (vijnapti) poems from the "Prayers of Petition" (Prarthana) of N arottama-dasa Thakkura A 1. 2. 3. 4.

0 godly Vaisnavas, I make this confession (nivedana): I am very low (adhama), an evil-doer (dura£ara); into the cruel sea of transmigration (samsara) fate (vidhz) has plunged me; grab by the hair and rescue (kara para) me. Fate (vidhz) is very powerful; it pays no heed to order (dharma) and knowledge (jnana), but ever binds in the snares of action (karma). I see no sign ofrescue (tarana); all I see is suffering (klesa). In pain and without a master (anatha) I weep. Lust and anger, greed and confusion, intoxication and pretense (abhimana)-each pulls in its own way, so my mind wanders like a blind man not knowing the right path (supatha) from the wrong one (vipatha). I have not held fast to true ideas (satmata); my mind has sunk into falsity (asate); I have not placed my hope at your feet. Narottama-dasa says, "I fear what I see and hear. Have mercy (krpa) and make me your own servant (ny·a dasa)". B

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

This time be compassionate (karuna kara) o Vaisnava master (gosam); there is none to purify the fallen (patita-pavana) save you, At whose gaze all sin (papa) departs-where does one find such a merciful (dayala) lord (prabhu)? If the Ganges is touched it purifies later; you purify on sight, such is your excellence. The name of Hari (Krishna) delivers (tare) from an offense (aparadhe) against Hari; there is no deliverance (paritrana) from an offense (aparadhe) against you. In your heart Govinda (Krishna) rests always. Govinda says, "a Vaisnava is my life's breath". In every birth I hope for the dust of(your) feet. Be kind (kara daya) to Narottama, your own offering (apanara balz).

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c 1. 2.

3.

4.

Hari! Hari! I have spent my life in vain' Attaining birth as a human and not worshipping Radha and Krishna, knowing and hearing I have drunk poison. The treasure of love (prema-dhana) of Goloka (Krishna's idyllic paradise), the changing of Hari's names-why did not love (ratz) for these develop? In the poison-fire of transmigration (samsara) (my) heart burns day and night. I have no means of soothing it. The son of the village chief (i.e., Krishna, son of Nanda) has become the son of Saci (i.e., Caitanya); Balarama (Krishna's brother) has become Nitai (Nityananda, elder associate of Caitanya). As many as were miserable and defective (dinahina) they delivered (uddharila) through the names of Hari; Jagai and Madhai (two penitent rascals) are testimonies to this. Alas! alas! lord son of Nanda (i.e., Krishna) together with Vrisabhanu's daughter (i.e., Radha), have compassion (karuna) this time. Narottama-dasa says, "Do not withdraw your colored feet. Whom do I have but you?" 3

III. Discussion of the symbolism of deliverance A. Corifession of personal fault and helplessness and appeal for help Each of the three prayers given above is an example of'' entreaty'' ( vy·naptz), a form of expression which simultaneously conveys information and presents an appeal. The typical Vaisnava entreaty-addressed to Krishna or to a Vaisnava saint-announces the wretched condition of the speaker and begs for help, for deliverance from the evil state in which he is caught. An equivalent term for entreaty, which in this context carries also the sense of confession is nivedana, found in the first line of the prayer: "O godly Vaisnavas, I confess to you that I am very low, an evil doer''. 4 It appears also in biographies of Caitanya in reports of public confession of fault, begging for help, and surrendering oneself to Caitanya or some other Vaisnava. In such reports, the scene may be quite dramatic, with the penitent approaching with grass in his mouth and skirt pulled over his head (signs of humiliation), falling to the ground, rolling in the dust, weeping and blurting out how wicked and worthless he is, all of this being done in full view of the curious public. In the typical case, Caitanya allows the miserable wretch to touch his feet, speaks kindly to him, helps him to his feet (literally and figuratively lifts-uddhara-him up) and embraces him. Due to the overwhelming mercy (kripa) of Caitanya the person undergoes a radical change of heart and becomes poised for a life of devotion ( bhaktz) to Krishna. The biographies mention less exuberant cases as well of confession and appeal (nivedana). 5 A striking aspect of the entreaty or confession, and a suitable place to begin a close examination of the topic, is the self-depreciation (kakuvada) whereby one admits to himself, and exposes for others to see, ones faults and weaknesses. There is a strong lesson in humility in this and with it an element of flattery of the person being appealed to. There is also an act ofrejection. The penitent not only admits his faults, but condemns them and rejects them, spews them out verbally so as to rid himself of them physically as it were. The kakuvada aspect of the confession cum appeal may be so thorough as to suggest that the penitent is condemning and rejecting his old self altogether. What con-

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stitutes the typical indictment? Taking Narottama-dasa as the example, we see that he is low, an evil-doer; he is subject to lust and greed, anger, drunkenness, confusion and pretense; his mind lets go of the true and sinks into falsity; he is fallen and in need of purification; he is burdened with ordinary sin (papa) and with offenses ( aparadha) against Krishna and V aisnavas as well; he has wasted his years of human life by failing to appreciate tales of Radha and Krishna and by failing to touch the feet of holy persons; he is in sum miserable and defective (dina-hina). The indictment is somber enough as it stands, especially for a man acclaimed as a devout Vaisnava, but had the speaker been a rascal likejagai or Madhai, it would have included such specifics as murder, theft and adultery. It is instructive to observe the range and dimensions of what the Vaisnavas perceive as ill or evil. Lowness and fallenness are lamented and these seem to imply ritual pollution since it is to the "Purifier of the Fallen" (patita-pavana) that he appeals. Highness and purity are presumably good. Appropriately, one of the most common terms for the act of deliverance is ''lifting up'' ( uddhara). Sensual indulgence is condemned quite clearly (lust, anger, greed, intoxication), but so are more interior mental and spiritual failures (confusion, pretense, sinking of the mind into falsity, ignoring Radha and Krishna etc.). Then there is sin, (papa) which seems to mean in this context not the sinful actions done in the past, but the accumulated burden of impending punishment and perhaps defilement and guilt accruing from past sins. Atop all this is the special fault of offense (aparadha) against Krishna and his Vaisnavas, which is the most serious of all. The self-indictment of Narottama runs the gamut from ritual pollution through sensual disorder, anti-social behavior, mental weakness and unspecified burdens of past lifetimes to spiritual obtuseness and direct offenses against the very ones who are his last hope. The overall impression is that the penitent, defective and at fault on so many accounts, is indeed helpless and hopeless. 6 It is hardly surprising that in the midst of such a symbolic shattering of one's self-esteem and self-conception, a person should appeal for help. Each of the cited entreaty prayers of N arottama-dasa constitutes just such an appeal, in two cases to Vaisnavas, in the third to Krishna. There are various terms that the Vaisnavas use for what is here rendered as deliverance or rescue, salvation, lifting up. Several derive from the Sanskrit root tr meaning to get across, as a river, but they mean to save, rescue, deliver: nistara, tarana, paritrana. The river crossing suggestion is present in the Bengali expression para kara also. The term which more than the others seems to be favored by V aisnava writers is uddhara, lifting up, which again suggests the water rescue motif among several interesting connotations. These terms all suggest the positive effort of the rescuer in delivering from evil, the lifting up or helping one across. Several other terms are crucial to the Vaisnava appeal for help and these express the inward motivation or inclination of the one who, it is hoped, will choose to save the desperate soul. The most fundamental term seems to be mercy (kripa), an unmerited inexplicable willingness of Krishna or a Vaisnava to care about and effectively help someone. Allied terms include compassion

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(karuna); kindness (daya); helpfulness (anugraha); graciousness (prasada). These are often used interchangeably. Although it is crucial for Vaisnava experience of deliverance that mercy be begged for, be granted and be accepted with utter humility and gratitude, it is said to be causeless (ahaitukz). There is very little evidence of Gaudiya Vaisnava attempts to explain or define what mercy is or why it is displayed in some cases but not others, apart from providing story after story of how Krishna or his Vaisnavas have, in fact, exhibited mercy. 7 Reinforcing the penitent's desperate appeal for merciful help, there may be in addition a forceful gesture: the surrender of oneself, body and soul, to the one who, it is hoped, will rescue one. This aspect of the scenario of deliverance is sometimes called atmasat kara or samarpana kara, both Bengali expressions meaning to hand over or donate oneself. There is a mitigated version of this called sarana kara, meaning to take refuge in. Falling to the ground in this context, then, means more than a gesture of humility and respect; it is a gesture of self-gift (like the verbal offering of oneself as a sacrificial gift-bali-in the second of the three prayers of Narottama-dasa). The penitent becomes a dasa, servant (with suggestions of subordination and belonging which border on slavery) and the merciful rescuer becomes his or her lord (prabhu), master (gosvamz) or deity (thakkura). This self-surrender signifies that the penitent, the donated servant, is giving over ultimate responsibility for disposing of himself to the lord, who becomes not only a savior in a moment of crisis but a permanent master, in the religious sense a teacher, a spiritual master. This commitment forged in the crisis of deliverance will give the master powerful leverage for training the neophyte devotee in the ways of Vaisnava piety thereafter. This development of the master-servant relationship need not mean total abnegation by the servant of responsible decision-making. On the contrary, the servant-devotee may experience a novel sense of at long last getting control of himself, placing his physical senses under his volitional control, bringing a sense of direction to his life as a result ofrejecting the pretenses he had tried vainly to maintain. But any such increased effectiveness in self-mastery is gained within the area of freedom delimited by the spiritual master's definition of more ultimate responsibilities. Presumably, as the neophyte grows in maturity on the way pointed out by the master, he will gradually resume responsibility even at these ultimate levels. A second aspect of the new servant-master relationship suggests some such scope for the maturing autonomy of the servant; that is the very affectionate and personally close quality of the relationship. One title by which the masterdeliverer is addressed suggests this poignantly: protector of the protectorless (anatha-natha, i.e. of the orphan or abandoned woman). Servanthood here suggests security, relief and even affection along with the notion of subordination. In Narottama-dasa's prayers we find expressions like nija dasa, your own servant, and apnara bali, your own sacrificial offering, and we hear the master being addressed in the familiar form of the second person. Unchecked weeping, touching and embracing are further indicators that the master-servant

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bond is a very close and affectionate one. The neophyte devotee gains not only a master, but a senior friend or surrogate father, and a family of god-brothers and -sisters, fellow "servants" of the same master.

B.

Patterns of evil in the environment

The second line of Narottama-dasa's prayer, "into the cruel sea of transmigration (samsara) fate has plunged me", points to the wider environment within which the human finds himself, the evils of which are pervasive. This widening of the scope of discussion from individual fault to environing, even cosmic, patterns of evil would seem to both instruct the person in the scope and complexity of that from which he seeks deliverance, and relieve somewhat the pressure of personal guilt. No longer singled out as the worst of sinners, the penitent finds himself implicated in processes affecting all mortals; he is more an object of pity in this situation, like all embodied souls, than a special object of derision and disgust. The Vaisnava discussion of environmental evil makes use of several major symbols, two of which are mentioned in the line quoted above, transmigration (samsara) and fate ( vidhz). A third, illusion (maya), is only indirectly alluded to in the prayers selected as examples. Transmigration (samsara). Of the three symbols of environmental evil mentioned above, transmigration (samsara) is the one most vividly and concretely imaged, often as the sea, sometimes as fire. As the sea, samsara is manifested as unstable, limitless, the abode of unseen monsters, the scene of storms, and above all a place of drowning. Sometimes the image is made more homely to Bengalis by substituting for the sea mighty rivers made treacherous by reptiles, night crossings, sudden storms and disastrous floods; or even a deep pool or well into which one may fall unsuspecting. The corresponding images of the savior include the ferryman, the helmsman, the strong arm reaching from the bank. On the other hand, samsara may be spoken of as heat: the heat of drought and famine, the heat of illness and of burning, the heat of forest and grass fires running out of control. Here the corresponding images of deliverance are what are cooling, soothing, such as the words of scripture or pious souls or recollections of Krishna sporting in the cool moonlight. This natural imagery is very real to Bengal is and other Indians and speaks of known and feared experiences which one cannot expect altogether to escape. So though the suffering person may experience some relief in knowing that samsara is not his private problem, but something shared and endured by everyone, he may well encounter yet another level of anxiety when he realizes the magnitude and intractability of that common human predicament. Fate ( vidhz). Evidently the Vaisnavas judge that embodied life, death and rebirth are on the whole painful and frustrating enough to warrant the use of such pessimistic symbolism as we have seen. In addition, they reinforce their negative judgment of life in the ongoing process of transmigration by the imagery and conceptualization of fate ( vidhz). Vidhi basically means rule or method, but it came to signify in Vaisnava discourse the inscrutable dictates of that beginningless process whereby actions (karma) done in one lifetime may

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have their due results in later lifetimes. Vidhi then means destiny or fate, not in the sense that an individual has no responsibility at all for what befalls him, but in that he cannot fathom what his total good and bad karma results are or why the results of past actions are meted out in the order that they are: a good life now is no guarantee that tomorrow will not bring a disaster which has been due for ages. Fate in Vaisnava discourse is equivalent to time (kala), is equivalent to death, and as such often personified as Yama, a somber god of death. Above all, fate is the unseen (adrista). If samsara imagery suggests imminent danger, fate imagery suggests the inevitability of death and suffering in the long run. There is a type of Hindu ritual called prayascitta which is supposed to neutralize the negative burden of sin (papa) due to wrong actions. Vaisnavas, however, contend that prayascitta is of no fundamental value because it is unable to counteract the burden of that sin which has not yet begun to germinate (aprarabdha); it can affect only sin already germinating (prarabdha), i.e., already showing its effects, or those offenses committed in this lifetime. But this limitation leaves the great mass of sin untouched in what is called adrista, the unseen. On the other hand the mercy of Krishna and the genuine devotion of a Vaisnava are capable of destroying all sin, that which is recent, that which is now germinating, and that which has not yet germinated. This destruction of all burden of sin is rather like wiping out a debt, the principal of which a poor man could never manage to reduce, however much he might struggle by prayascitta to meet the interest. It is worth noting in passing that in Bengali language one of the profane meanings of uddhara (lifting up, deliverance) is paying off a debt. Since most of the financial and commercial castes in Bengal were Vaisnava, it is quite likely that his sense of payment of the debt of sin was for.them, as for anyone caught up in economic debt, part of the connotations of the word uddhara even when used in a religious sense. 8 The prayers of Narottama-dasa mention another kind of sin, more stubborn than papa, that being any offense (aparadha) to Krishna, his holy names or his beloved Vaisnavas. These offenses can be removed only by the mercy of Krishna or the offended V aisnava, not by any prayascitta ritual. It is said that Krishna himself will not forgive an aparadha committed against a Vaisnava; only the offended one can release the offender. Since an aparadha can be committed without the person's knowing it, a backlog of offense and punishment analogous to that of papa and karma can build up unnoticed. That being the case, one is advised to go on pleading and praying and doing other good Vaisnava practices both to purify the mind and to indicate to Krishna that one truly does desire the mercy he may in his good time manifest. The V aisnava understanding of papa and aparadha and their general sense of samsara, karma and fate ( vidhz) do not eventuate in a passive attitude of fatalism. On the contrary, Vaisnavas are energetic in evangelistic work and in preparing themselves for possible divine initiatives of mercy in spite of the causeless character of the latter. Two principles of Vaisnava "philosophy of history" come into play here. One is their conviction that while there are all sorts of embodied species below and above the human into which a soul may be

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born, it is only while in human birth that a soul may by divine grace be turned radically toward devotion to Krishna and the chain of karma be definitively cut. Furthermore, Vaisnavas believe that the so-called degenerate age or Kali Yuga is in fact the best of times in which to be born as a human, since in the Kali Yuga Krishna makes himself much more accessible to human souls, especially through his chanted names. One's present human lifetime in the Kali Yuga is thus a rare opportunity not to be wasted by heedlessness of the potential and the demands of a devotional life. 9 Illusion (maya). A third main symbol of environmental evil is illusion (maya), which is suggested though not explicitly mentioned by such expressions as "not having worshipped Radha and Krishna, though hearing and knowing, I have drunk poison''. Maya has meant many things in the history of Indian religious thought, a fairly general meaning being a mysterious power able to project illusions upon the minds of others. The Vaisnavas speak of several mayas, all real powers emanating from the one divine source, which is Krishna. For instance the entire material or physical world is understood by Gaudiya Vaisnavas as the product of an illusive power ( maya-saktz) or external power ( vahiranga-saktz) of the divine. Of most interest in the soteriological context is "providential illusion" (yoga-maya) conceived of as a goddess, Maya Devi, a devotee of Krishna. She is an unpredictable goddess doing her share to distract, surprise and, at the right moment, give insight to human souls. V aisnavas lament their ignorance and confusion and they often speak of maya as the factor blocking true understanding. But they see maya as an instrument of Krishna subordinate to his inexplicable will, a blockage which may be withdrawn out of mercy, but not an impediment which can be overcome by the sheer force of study and personal insight. It is when the illusions of maya are withdrawn (or at least substantially lessened) in the process of deliverance that one begins to realize who one really is and what one ought to do. 10

C. Disclosure of one's true identity: a devout servant of Krishna The negative or emptying out aspects (self-depreciation, appeal for help, surrender) of the symbolism of deliverance are complemented by positive restorative aspects: merciful rescue, personal acceptance, and disclosure of who one really is. The latter aspect of deliverance is of crucial importance if the person is to be fundamentally changed, to be launched on a new and revitalized way of life, and not just relieved of tension, depression or guilt. The basic disclosure in Vaisnava deliverance is that the rescued person is fundamentally a devout servant of Krishna, who is God. More specifically, as the neophyte Vaisnava will learn subsequently, if not in the dramatic event of deliverance proper, every human soul is a minute part of the divine source Krishna, a part which is projected outward from the source but is never severed from that source. The eternal and essential duty of each soul is to turn in devout service towards the divine source. Vaisnava theology further elaborates this understanding of the soul's relation to Krishna by saying that Krishna is the sole male, i.e., the sole initiator and ruler, in the universe, with all other con-

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scious beings being responsive and passive relative to him. This disclosure of one's true identity and one's fundamental role of devout service includes instruction in appropriate attitudes and virtues: e.g. humility, accommodation, helpfulness, non-violence, moderation of sensual enjoyments, relativizing all earthbound social demands in favor of the transcendent communal life of Krishna surrounded by his lovingly devout servants. The newly realized role of devout service to Krishna stands in direct contrast with the false roles, the pretenses or abhimanas which, as the Vaisnavas view the situation, deludingly absorb the energies and distort the selfconception of a person prior to deliverance. The abhimanas usually have a high degree of self-interest, vanity and aggressiveness in them, which contrast sharply with the attitudes and virtues of devout service. Also these abhimanas tend to be multiple, to be mutually unharmonious, and to seduce the person into meeting social expectations which may be destructive of his own peace of mind and welfare. When the hold of these competing and distorting abhimanas is broken most V aisna vas do not become recluses, do not in fact give up all social responsibilities, but they may be expected to view their social relationships with a new detachment, resolving and relativizing competing social demands from the overriding standpoint of how these relate to the service of Krishna. II To bring this discussion of the disclosure of one's true identity to a close, I would like to return from this more doctrinal and conceptual symbolism to preconceptual symbolism, in particular to physical gesture. One of the symbolic elements in the dramatic expression of deliverance which would seem to fuse and to intensify cognitive and emotional and even physical levels of one's experience is the gesture of throwing oneself abjectly at the foot of the hopedfor deliverer. We have noted above how this gesture of the whole body expresses humility, desperation, self-surrender and even physical intimacy with one's rescuer and master. We now can see that the same gesture carries not only these crucial but transient (i.e., specific to the event of deliverance) meanings, but a meaning which is, in Vaisnava eyes, more profound and timeless. For, in lying at the feet of Krishna or a Vaisnava master, a person expresses in a most basic and vivid fashion the essential identity and role of a human, to be and to act as a servant of Krishna, be this aimed at Krishna directly or indirectly through his devout Vaisnava. The very act of prostration proves to be not only an expression of one's urgent need for deliverance but-upon the merciful removal of illusion's (maya) veil-a disclosure of one's timeless relationship to the divine. I 2

NOTES

2

Wilfred Cantwell Smith, "Religion as Symbolism", Encyclopaedia Britannica, 15th ed., Propaedia volume, p. 498; Paul Ricoeur, The Symbolism of Evil (Boston: Beacon, 1969).

The primary sources upon which I have relied most heavily are the following: Kavikarnapura, Caitanya-candrodayam natakam, Rajendralal Mittra, ed. (Calcutta: Asiatic Society

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5

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of Bengal, 1845); idem, Caitanya-caritamrtam mahakavyam (CCM) (Berhampur: Radharamana Press, B.A. 1332 (1925); Murari Gupta, Krishna-caitanya-caritamrta (KCC) edited and published by Mrinal Kanti Ghosh (Calcutta: G. A. 459 (1945)); Vrndavana-dasa, Caitanyabhagavata (CB) Bhakti Kevala Audulomi, ed., 3rd ed. (Calcutta: Gaudiya Mission, 1961 ); Krishna-dasa Kaviraja, Caitanya-caritamrta (CC) Bhakti Vilas Tirtha, ed., 5th ed. (Mayapur: Caitanya Math, G. A. 470 (1956)) (citations are to this edition); Jayananda, Caitanya-mangala (CMJ) Bimanbehari Majumdar and Sukhamay Mukhopadhyay, eds. (Calcutta: Asiatic Society, 1971); Locana-dasa, Caitanya-mangala (CML) edited and published by Mrinal Kanti Ghosh, 3rd ed. (Calcutta: B.A. 1354 (1947)); Cudamani-dasa, Gauranga-vijaya (GV) Sukumar Sen, ed. (Calcutta: Asiatic Society, 1957); Rupa Gosvamin, Bhakti-rasamrta-sindhuh (BRS) Haridas Das, ed., 2nd ed. (Navadvipa, Haribol Kuti: G .A. 475 (1961)); Jiva Gosvamin, Bhakti-sandarbhah (BS) Bhakti Vilas Tirtha, ed. (Calcutta: Sri Cai tan ya Research Institute, G .A. 4 77 ( 1963); Narottama-dasa, Prema-bhakti-candrika o prarthana (P) Sundarananda Das, ed. (Calcutta and Navadvipa: 1963). Secondary accounts of Gaudiya Vaisnava piety in European languages include: Sushi! Kumar De, Early History of the Vaisnava Faith and Movement (Calcutta: Firma K. L. Mukhopadhyay, 1962); Edward C. Dimock, Jr., "Doctrine and Practice among the Vaisnavas of Bengal", History of Religions, 3:1:106-127; idem, The Place of the Hidden Moon (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966); Melville T. Kennedy, The Chaitanya Movement, a Study of the Vaisnavism of Bengal (Calcutta: Association Press, 1925); Sukumar Sen, History of Brajabuli Literature (Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1935 ); Rasik Vihari Joshi, Le Rituel de la devotion K rishnaite (Pondicherry: 1935); Walter Eidlitz, K rishna-Caitanya, Sein Leben und Seine Lehre (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell; 1968). Narottama-dasa, Prema-bhatki-candrika o prarthana, Sundarananda Das, ed. (Calcutta and Navadvipa: 1963), prayers nos. 7, 8 and 9 in the prarthana. Nivedana is commonly used to mean simply a polite request, usually including a presenting of the problem, a suggested response and a humble entreaty that the response be forthcoming. At the risk of over-interpretation, I am translating nivedana as confession in those contexts where the supplicant's problem is his or her fundamentally evil or sinful condition, and the suggested response is deliverance therefrom. For examples ofKrishna-dasa's use of nivedana in a variety of more and less serious religious situations, see: CC 2. 9. 84ff.; 2 .10. 32; 2.15.102ff.; 2.15.160; 2.18.146; 2.19.237; 2.21.64; 2.23.113; 3.2.122, 130; 3.3.130; 3.3.216; 3.5.4, 28. For examples of deliverance of sinners from evils of various sorts as depicted in the biographies of Caitanya, see: (for Jagai and Madhai) CB 2.13.31-327; 2.14.5-27; 2.15.3-98; CC 1.5.205; 1.8.20; 1.10.120; 2.1.191-96; 2.11.45; KCC 2.13.17; CML pp. 120-24; CCN p. 14; (for Sanatana and Rupa, Brahmans who had served the court of Husain Shah in high positions but had compromised their purity by so doing) KCC 3.18.1-12; CB 3.9 239-74; CC 2.1.184-219; (for Sarvabhauma, a sympathetic pandit slow to recognize Caitanya's divinity) CB 3.3.96-156; CC 2.6.5-284; (for Gopala Capala, a nasty fellow who scattered impurities on the house of a Vaisnava) KCC 2.13.6-17; CC 1.17.37-59; 2.1.153-54; (for a harlot) CC 3.3.98-142; (for a Muslim border official given to drinking alcohol) CCN pp. 129, 215; CC 2.16.161-200; (for a Muslim pir) CC 2.18.163-213. For discussion of papa and aparadha, see the numerous entries cited in the indices of the CC and the CB and R. G. Nath's statement on aparadha in the first volume of his edition of the Caitanya-caritamrta, (Calcutta: Pracyavani Mandir, n.d.), p. 189. For discussion of krpa, see CC 2.22 and 24 where Krishna-dasa Kaviraja gives a relatively compact and systematic account of the futility of living in the situation of samsara (transmigration) until such time as the krpa of Krishna elicits sraddha (trust of faith) in bhakti (devotion) for Krishna; the importance of sraddha (trust or faith) at the outset of a process of transformation into realization of oneself as a devotee is made clear in this and other more or less formal theological statements of the Gaudiya Vaisnavas, though the term is relatively less prominent in the more dramatic and lyrical expressions of the need for deliverance; for

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the uncaused (ahaitukz) quality of krpa of Krishna, see BS 3-4, of a Vaisnava see BS 182-83 and CC 2.24.161. For the removal of aprarabdha papa, see BS 124-26 and BRS 1.1 19-25; for Vaisnava disregard of prayascitta, see CC 2.22.139 and R. G. Nath's discussion in the fifth volume (Antya-Khanda) of his edition of the Caitanya-caritamrta, pp. 135-4 7. Bhagavata P. 11.5.33 (kalim sabhajayantyarya ... ); cf. CC 2.20.345. Maya is discussed in some detail in CC 2.20 and 22; in CC 3.3.227-258 maya in the form ofa harlot seeks religious instruction from Hari-dasa after having failed to seduce the saint. Abhimana is used by the Vaisnavas in both positive and negative senses, so the term role would cover both the authentic and the inauthentic abhimanas; the editors of the Mayapur edition of the CC distinguish these as aprakrta (not ordinary, not material) and prakrta (ordinary, material) abhimanas respectively; I have translated abhimana in the negative cases as pretense. This final note is a postscript reflecting upon the appropriateness, or lack of it, of using "deliverance from evil", a formula suggestive of the English version of the "Lord's Prayer'', as an academic expression intended to have cross-cultural validity in conceptualizing soteriological processes as understood by devout participants. "Deliverance", to begin with, is a close English approximation to the common meaning of the cluster of terms ( uddhara, nistara, etc.) used by the Vaisnavas, not an arbitrary imposition of a term from Christian usage, though the importance of the idea of deliverance in both Christian and Vaisnava contexts is well worth noting. "Salvation" might be justified on the same ground, but this term seems to me to have gained theological specification in the Christian tradition that deliverance has not gained, thus leaving "deliverance" more open to academic definitions based on cross-cultural testimony (the major reason, by the way, why I would have preferred to see "trust" used as the cross-cultural term for what W. C. Smith has chosen to call "faith"). As compared with "freedom", "release", and even "emancipation", "deliverance" clearly points to the other, the one who delivers, and thus seems to be an appropriate term in those (usually theistic and devotional) contexts where dependence upon the help of another is believed to be fundamental to the process of religious transformation. The Gaudiya Vaisnavas generally avoid using the terms mukti and moksa because these are thought to suggest, if not necessarily imply, the self-help via self-illumination propounded in Advaita Vedanta and connoted in English by "freedom", "release", and "emancipation". "Rescue" is close to the Vaisnava cluster of terms, especially those of the nistara sort, but it does not so clearly indicate that the helping one not only rescues one from an undesirable state, but carries one across to or delivers one to a better state; hence, for yet another consideration, by preference for ''deliverance''. I am less confident that "evil" is just the term needed to complement "deliverance", but the following may be noted in explanation and justification of this choice. First, I am using "evil" in a very broad sense, as a term indicating whatever is considered to be fundamentally or profoundly wrong with the human predicament. "Evil" may include with greater or lesser emphasis from one case to another: moral evil, pain, mortality, sin, pollution, unreality etc. The Vaisnava laments and entreaties indicate how wide is their own perception of the ills of the human predicament prior to deliverance. As with the positive (deliverance) side of the human predicament, so with the negative side the Vaisnavas seem not to have chosen one generic term unless, as K. L. S. Rao has proposed, samsara was so construed by them. I am not altogether confident that samsara did not have the function of being the Vaisnavas' generic term for what is wrong with things (as presumably duhkha functioned among Buddhists), even less so that it could not become such a term if the Vaisnavas should feel impelled to adopt one, but my reading of their texts thus far leaves me in the opinion that samsara, while one of the most fundamental terms, was still but one of several terms used by the Vaisnavas each of which disclosed a different aspect of what was wrong or evil with the human situation. One can even find cases where Vaisnavas volunteered to be reborn indefinitely so long as they may be devotees in such embodied lifetimes, so repeated birth as such is not fundamentally evil. If, however, samsara is defined

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in such a way as to designate confusion over one's true identity and role, subjection to material and egoistic needs, or involvement in processes which can keep one indefinitely from one's true religious state, then samsara is surely a word pointing to what is wrong with the human predicament as understood by Hindus generally and by Vaisnavas in particular. So understood samsara would stand in the Hindu tradition in a position analogous to "sin" in the Christian tradition. For a cross-cultural term general enough to embrace-when the evidence calls for it-the particular perspectives conveyed by "sin" and by samsara (and by their analogues in other religious ways of salvation), "evil" seems to be an appropriate term. This paper was prepared for the "Smithfest Conference" held in June, 1979 at the Center for the Study of World Religions in Harvard University by a number of former students of Professor Wilfred Cantwell Smith as a gesture of appreciation to him. I wish to express my gratitude to those who labored in the organization of this conference and to Professor Rao whose objections and suggestions at the conference gave rise to this concluding note.

Chokhamela and Eknath: Two Bhakti Modes of Legitimacy for Modern Change ELEANOR ZELLIOT Carleton College, Nortlifi,eld, U.S.A.

C HOKHAMELA, a thirteenth to fourteenth century Maharashtrian

sant 1 in the bhakti tradition, and Eknath, a sixteenth century sant, are both revered figures in the Warkari sampradaya, 2 the tradition of pilgrimage to Pandharpur which marks the important bhakti movement in the Marathi-speaking

area. The lives of both are known by legend; their songs are sung by devotees on the pilgrimage and in bhajan sessions. Chokhamela was a Mahar, the only important bhakti figure in Maharashtra from an Untouchable caste. Eknath was a Brahman from the holy city of Paithan who wrote about Chokhamela, ate with Mahars, allowed Untouchables into his bhajans, and wrote poems in the persona of a Mahar who was wiser in spiritual matters than the Brahmans. Both, then, offer models for contemporary change in regard to Untouchability: even though an Untouchable, Chokhamela achieved sanctity and a place among the bhakti pantheon of sants; Eknath, even though a Brahman from a distinguished scholarly family, showed by his actions that there was equality among the true bhaktas. This paper will explore the thought and the actions of each bhakti figure in an attempt to determine their basic social and religious ideas, and then note the contemporary attempts to legitimize change through reference to these earlier religious figures.

Chokhamela was born in the second half of the thirteenth century, probably about the time that Dnyaneshwar, who is considered the founder of the bhakti sect in Maharashtra, was born. He died in 1338 in Mangalvedhe, a town in Sholapur district not far from Pandharpur. Chokhamela and his family seem to have followed the traditional village duties of the Mahar. The legend of his birth involves his parents' carrying mangoes to Pandharpur on the orders of the village headman, a duty expected of the Mahar village servant who was at the beck and call of the patil. On their journey, the God Viththal, worshipped as the central figure by the Warkari sampradaya, disguised as a Brahman, begged a fruit from the wife. He tasted it, found it sour and returned it to her.

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She tucked it into the folds of her sari and delivered the other mangoes to the priests at Pandharpur. The fruit was counted and when she pulled the bitten mango from her sari to show why the full quota was not delivered, it had taken the form of a lovely child-Chokhamela. 3 Chokhamela's death legend also involves traditional Mahar work and God's grace. He and other Mahars were called to build a wall at Mangalvedhe-another traditional Mahar duty. As they worked on it, it collapsed, burying them. Namdev, a bhakti sant from the shimpi, or tailor, community who was Chokhamela's most devoted friend, went to the village to claim Chokhamela's body. He found the bones that murmured "Viththal, Viththal" and took them to Pandharpur, where they were buried near the steps of the temple. 4 The legends, of course, can do no more than suggest that Chokhamela and his family were thoroughly and uncomplainingly involved in the traditional work of the Mahar caste, with divine intervention only to allow that work to proceed more smoothly. In even the lowliest of duties, that of dragging dead cattle out of the village, the God Viththal appeared to help Chokhamela. 5 There is no evidence to suggest that Chokhamela ever stepped beyond the traditional limits of Mahar village work. The internal evidence of Chokhamela' s abhangas ( bhakti songs) suggests some protest, however, of the concept of untouchability, even though the greater part reveal only the traditional devotion and piety of the bhakta. The printed collection ofChokhamela's abhangas with which I have worked contains 211 songs, 6 some of them obviously spurious since the names of later sants appear in them. The collection was prepared for popular use, and no substantive scholarly work has been done on the manuscripts held at Pandharpur. It seems to me, however, that an authentic voice does come through these songs, however corrupt the text may be. All but thirty-two of Chokhamela's over two hundred songs could have been written by any of the lower class saints. They are simple, direct, without reference to his caste, such as this one: Why do you need a mirror to see the bangles on your wrist? Have faith in the Name of Viththal. You don't need to think about ritual; Chant the Name of Viththal. The path of the Yogi is not filled with clutter; the chant is free; do it first. Chokha says: there is bliss in the company of the saints; chant the Name every night, every day./Abhang 14

The abhangas which do refer to untouchability, however, reveal that Chokhamela was profoundly troubled by his despised place in society. At times he was accepting; at times rebellious. 7

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If You had to give me this birth, why give me birth at all? You cast me away to be born; you were cruel. Where were You at the time of my birth? Who did You help then? Chokha says: 0 Lord, 0 Keshava, don't let me go./Abhang 6

0 God, my caste is low; how can I serve You? Everyone tells me to go away; how can I see You? When I touch anyone, they take offense. 0 my Govinda, my Gopala, Chokhamela wants Your mercy./Abhang 76 The only impurity is in the five elements. There is only one substance in the world. Then who is pure and who is impure? The cause of pollution is the creation of the body. In the beginning, at the end, there is nothing but pollution. No one knows anyone who was born pure. Chokha says, in wonder, who is pure?/Abhang 11

One abhang seems to relate to one of the legends about Chokhamela, a legend of rejection in the temple and acceptance by God which is commonly told about other Untouchable bhakti sants in other traditions. In the Marathi version, Chokhamela sits on the banks of the Bhima river behind the temple after having been driven away by the temple priests. Viththal himself comes to comfort him, and Chokhamela offers him curds. A priest following Chokhamela overhears him address his companion as ''Vithoba'', an affectionate name for the God Viththal, and slaps his face. When he returns to the temple, the priest finds the image of Viththal with a swollen cheek and curds spilt on his garment. 8 The abhang leaves out the miraculous, but indicates the Badve's (temple priests at Pandharpur) interference with Chokhamela's attempts to worship Vithoba. Run, run, Vitha, don't come slowly. I am beaten by the Badve for some transgression: "How has the garland of Vithoba come to be around your neck"? They abuse me and curse me: "Why have you polluted God"? I am Your dog by Your door; don't let me go without favor. 0 Lord of the wheel, You are the creator of our lives. I, Chokha, hands clasped, beg You, 0 God, Don't be angry with my importuning./Abhang 5

However, Chokhamela more often uses the symbols of his Mahar-ness to reinforce the idea of his devotion to Viththal as well as to weave his own tradition, his own work, into the life of the devotee. In the following abhang, the word cry in the last line is a translation of daundi, which means the proclamation the village Mahar servant makes in the center of the village to call people together for an announcement:

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Clap hands, raise flags, take the road to Pandhari. 9 The marketplace of Pandhari, the marketplace of joy! There meet pilgrims in ecstacy, So many flags they cannot be counted! The banks of the Bhima resound with joyous shouts. Let unbelievers come; let them go back pure. Chokhamela gives this cry from his heart./Abhang 54

Chokhamela even uses the customary right of the Mahar to receive any discarded food as a way to worship Viththal. In this abhang, he also uses the customary address of a Mahar, to a superior,Jahar, as a salutation to Viththal, here adressed as May-Bap (Mother and Father). Johar, May-Bap, Johar. I am the Mahar of Your Mahars. I am so hungry; I have come for Your leavings. I am full of hope; I am the slave of Your slaves. Chokha says: I have brought a bowl for Your left-over-food./Abhang 71

In contradiction to his abhang on impurity, Chokhamela even accepts his low status as a result of bad action in a previous life. The reference to Nila in the following abhang may be to Krishna himself, or to some obscure Puranic figure, but the import is clear. Pure Chokhamela, always chanting the Name. I am a Mahar without a caste, Nila in a previous birth. He showed disrespect to Krishna; so my birth as a Mahar. Chokha says: this impurity is the fruit of our past./Abhang 4

The ultimate reconciliation Chokhamela seems to have made was to consider himself fully an Untouchable in the eyes of men, without hope of acceptance as anything but impure, but just as fully a beloved of the God. The most popular of all his abhangas raises his own defect of body (or caste) into a universalized concept: even the ugly, the deformed, the outwardly unacceptable, can be holy. Iravati Karve, in her narration of a pilgrimage to Pandharpur, 10 tells that the Brahman group in which she was travelling sang this song by the Untouchable Bhakta Chokhamela: Cane is crooked, but its juice isn't crooked, Why be fooled by outward appearance? The bow is crooked, but the arrow isn't crooked, Why be fooled by outward appearance? The river is twisting, but its water isn't twisted, Why be fooled by outward appearance? Chokha is ugly, but his feelings aren't ugly, Why be fooled by outward appearance?/Abhang 52

Protest and question though he did, it would seem that Chokhamela lived in his traditional role as a Mahar and with its traditional limitations. The spirit of most of the abhangas is delight in the Lord, delivery from life's suffering

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through devotion. Even though agony is there, the central message is that Chokha, even though a Mahar, could experience the grace of God. With the nationalist awakening of interest in Maharashtra's past, the bhakti movement, still very much alive, came to serve a new purpose. Mahadeo Govind Ranade, a Brahman, a judge and a member of the reformist religious group, the Prarthana Samaj, as well as a leading nationalist, wrote in 1900 of the historic importance of the bhakti movement: ... like the Protestant Reformation in Europe in the sixteenth century, there was a religious, social and literary revival and reformation in India, but notably in the Deccan in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. This religious revival was not brahmanical in its orthodoxy; it was heterodox in its spirit of protest against forms and ceremonies and class distinctions based on birth, and ethical in its preference of a pure heart, and of the law of love, to all other acquired merits and good works. This religious revival was the work also of the people, of the masses, and not of the classes. At its head were saints and prophets, poets and philosophers, who sprang chiefly from the lower orders of society-tailors, carpenters, potters, gardeners, shop-keepers, barbers, and even mahars-more often than Brahmans. 11

Ranade's interpretation of the bhakti movement served as legitimization for modern ideas of social justice, but his interpretation has been disputed. The recent reprint of Ranade's Rise of Maratha Power includes a disclaimer in the introduction by R. V. Oturkar: It must further be emphasised, as Professor G. B. Sardar has done, that while the saints in Maharashtra released the people from the thraldom of rituals they did not raise a revolt against Chaturvarnya [the four Classes] and the Caste system. Their revolt was more or less of a conceptual character, severely confined to the field of religious thinking. 12

The supposed equality of the bhakti movement continues to be a much used concept, however, chiefly by those not directly involved in the political or religious aspects of the contemporary attempt of ex-Untouchables to gain equality. W. B. Patwardhan, as quoted by R. D. Ranade in Pathway to God in Marathi Literature, states what still is probably the general popular impression: The gates of the bhakti school were ever open. Whoever entered was hailed as a brother-nay more-was honoured as a saint. ... All separatism tendencies vanished ... all were equal. ... For five successive centuries, Maharashtra was the abode of that noblest and truest of all Democracies, the Democracy of the bhakti school. 13

This conception was echoed as recently as 1964 by then Supreme Court Judge P. B. Gajendragadkar as he inaugurated the canopy he had presented for the main temple at Pandharpur. He called for a spirit of equality and brotherhood in Maharashtra today of the same sort that the Warkari tradition had taught. And he claimed that he called for equality and brotherhood with the same intensity that Chokhamela had cried out his grievances at the feet of Vithoba. 14 In the 1930's, when the Mahar movement for religious rights was at its height, the message of Pandharpur was invoked to call for a lessening of the practice of untouchability by C. B. Agarwal:

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One of the greatest reformers in Maharashtra was Dyaneshwar. According to the Shastras the Harijans were debarred from hearing or reading the sacred Vedas .... Dyaneshwar opened the gates of Vedic spiritualism to the Hindu masses including the Harijans .... We have only to read the writing of Chokha Mela, the untouchable Saint and follower of Dyaneshwar, to get an idea of the tremendous joy he felt .... Certainly those persons whom Dyaneshwar thought good enough to share our spiritual heritage cannot be unworthy of our touch. 15

In the first third of this century, Mahars themselves seem not to have called for social justice in the name of the bhakti saints, as did the higher caste reformers, but to invoke the name of Chokhamela as their claim to a place in past religious life and past greatness. Aside from Chokhamela 16 and some legends of a hero in the days of the Muslim Sultanates, there was little in the Mahar past which could serve the necessary purpose of legitimizing their worth. 17 And so many new efforts to improve their position in society carried the name of the Chokhamela. A night school run by Mahars in Poona intermittantly from about 1912 to 1933 was called the Chokhamela Vidhyawardah Manda!. A hostel begun in 1914 in Nagpur by an educated Mahar, G. A. Gawai, was called the Chokhamela Hostel, and the Government hostel now in Nagpur continues that name. There was a Chokhamela Reform Society in Vidarbha in the early 1920's which asked for a new temple which would be open to all. According to a ballad written about the Mahar-led satyagraha in Poona in 1929, Untouchables attempted to climb the holy hill to the Parvati temple singing the names of Lord Shankar, Shivaji Maharaj (the seventeenth century Maratha King), Dr. Ambedkar (at that time the undisputed leader of the Untouchables' movement) and Chokhamela. The best known early leader of the Mahars in the Vidarbha area, where the bhakti movement had not had a strong history, was Kisan Fagu Bansode, whose work in the 1920' s and early 1930' s stressed attempts to claim religious rights. He made pilgrimages to Pandharpur, collected Chokhamela's abhangas, wrote a play on Chokhamela's life, and wrote at least one poem invoking the image of Chokhamela to encourage bravery: Why do you endure curses? Cokha went into the temple resolutely, Why do you, ashamed, stay far off? You are the descendants of Cokha. Why do you fear to enter the temple? Brace yourself like a wrestler, come, Together let us conquer pollution. 18

With the rise of Dr. B. R. Ambedkar to a supreme place of leadership among the Mahars, however, the use of the name Chokhamela dwindled in importance. Western educated, Dr. Ambedkar was from the beginning more confident of political means to raise status and effect improvements than of religiously oriented methods. His first newspaper, Mukniiyak (the voice of the dumb) published first in 1920, carried under its title an abhang by Sant

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Tukaram in which the poet reminded men that the shy, the dumb, the bashful, were never noticed. While Ambedkar occasionally quoted Tukaram or Dnyaneshwar, he did not-even in the days of his efforts to enter temples, encourage Untouchables to put on the sacred thread, to hold Vedic ritual weddings, and to join in the public Ganpati festival-speak of the piety of Chokhamela as an example to Mahars. In 1929, Ambedkar presided over a meeting at Trymbak, a pilgrimage point at the source of the Godavari river, which discussed the building of a temple there in the name of Chokhamela. The meeting decided, after discussion, that a "real memorial consisted in devoting themselves with unflagging energy to the removal of the blot of untouchability" . 19 In 1932, Ambedkar elaborated on the ineffectiveness of religious piety: The appearance of Tulsi leaves around your neck will not relieve you from the clutches of the money-lenders. Because you sing songs of Rama, you will not get a concession in rent from the landlords. You will not get salaries at the end of the month because you make pilgrimages every year to Pandharpur. 20

Although Ambedkar's family background included Kabir and Ramananda bhakti sects, his wife's led her to a devotion to Pandharpur. She wanted to make a pilgrimage there, but Ambedkar would not allow her to go because she would have been allowed no farther into the temple than the samadhi of Chokhamela at the foot of the temple steps. Ambedkar's biographer reports that he consoled his wife with these words: What of that Pandharpur which prevents its devotees from seeing the image of God? By our own virtuous life, selfless service and spotless sacrifice in the cause of downtrodden humanity we would create another Pandharpur. 21

In the 1936 speech to the Mahar Conference which called for Untouchables to leave Hinduism and convert to another religion, Ambedkar told his audience: If some one asks you what your caste is, you say that you are a Chokhamela or Harijan; but you do not say you are a Mahar. Nobody changes his name unless there is need for it. But there is no meaning in adopting a name like Chokhamela or Harijan. The stench of the old name will stick to the new and you will be forced to change your name continually. Then why not change it permanently? 22

The permanent change was not to come until 1956, when Ambedkar converted to Buddhism, followed in the next months by over three million people, most of them former Untouchables. The reasons for a group as united, as educationally eager, and as politicized as the Mahars were then for opting for Buddhism instead of Chokhamela and the bhakti panth, are clear. The bhakti movement itself in the 20th century was without any social protest or social reform content, with a few exceptions such as the singular saint Gadge Maharaj, 23 whose work was among unsophisticated villagers. Even more to the point, Chokhamela had accepted his place in the village, his village duties, and modern Mahars saw no option but to leave what they then saw as servility, a

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role which was part and parcel of untouchability. Chokhamela had accepted the concept of sins in past lives which resulted in low birth, and not only Mahars but also other Untouchables seem to reject this rationale. 24 Chokhamela had found joy in equality with other bhaktas and in God's sight; the new generation wanted it in social and political matters. Buddhism offered scriptural justification for worth achieved by mind and action, not by birth. And since Ambedkar's interpretation of the past of the Untouchables was one in which they had been Buddhists, isolated and denigrated when Hinduism regained its authority, there was now a glorious past of great accomplishments to reinforce current ideas of their potential as a worthy and creative people. The change seemed swift, but the ground had been well prepared. In 1955, Dr. Ambedkar had been invited to come to Dehu Road, a small town near Poona, where Untouchables who had gained enough money through their employment at an ammunition depot wanted him to dedicate a local temple to Chokhamela. Ambedkar agreed to come only if he could dedicate the temple to Buddha, and since Ambedkar's ideology, not Chokhamela's, had become important, the group accepted his offer. On Christmas Day, 1955, he arrived with a Buddha image and a Buddhist monk to make the Dehu Road temple the first Buddhist structure of the coming conversion movement. Less than a year later, when crowds of people gathered in Nagpur for the actual Buddhist conversion day, local newspapers reported that the scene seemed like ''another Pandharpur''. Although there is still pride in Chokhamela, interest in the bhakti sect now among educated Buddhists is chiefly in scholarship, efforts to find Chokhamela's authentic abhangas and to trace the influence of Buddhism on the development of the bhakti ideology. On the other hand, the Chambhars of Maharashtra, a smaller ex-Untouchable caste which works with leather, did not join Ambedkar's movement en masse and continue to celebrate the Chamar sant of the Hindi-speaking area, Rai-das or Ravidas, as their patron saint. The doors of the temple at Pandharpur are now open to all, forced open after Independence by a Brahman socialist, Sane Guruji, who sat fasting in the temple doorway. A silver head of Chokhamela marks his burial place at the foot of the temple stairs. The Mahars who traditionally tend it have not converted to Buddhism, and there are still a few Mahar Warkaris who find great meaning in their bhakti faith. But for the caste as a whole, Chokhamela's life and message cannot serve as a model for the kind of change they have come to feel is theirs by right. The background of Shri Eknath Maharaj (ca. 1533-1599) was completely different from that of Chokhamela. He was not only a Brahman, but one from a Brahman family of considerable fame, living in the "Benares" of the Marathi-speaking area, Paithan. His great grandfather, Bhanudas, was a Bhakta and a poet, credited with bringing back the image of Viththal from the state of Vijayanagara, when it had been taken there to reinforce the

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Vijayanagara's King's piety-or dominance. The scholarly learning which surrounded Eknath by virtue of his family and his birthplace was reinforced by worldly knowledge. Paithan had been an ancient capital and even in the sixteenth century was a trading center of great importance. The political world around Eknath was also dissimilar to the world in which Chokhamela lived. Chokhamela was probably a young man when Allaud-din Khilji stormed Devagiri (modern Daulatabad), bringing the creative energy of the Yadava period to an end. His period also witnessed the destruction of the Hoysala kingdom and the raids of Muhammad Tughlaq, who shifted his capital to Daulatabad, but Chokhamela died before the stable Bahmani kingdom was created in 134 7. One senses little of the political life around Chokhamela from either his abhangas or the legends about him. Mangalvedhe seems to have been a backwater, unaffected by the to-ing and fro-ing of armies. Eknath's life, however, was lived in the time of the Ahmadnagar Sultanate, which dominated the area in which he lived. Its influence can be seen in the number of Persian words which Eknath used in his writing, in the Muslim terms for administration which he wove into the poetry which used obligations to government as an analogy for debts to God. He was in contact with many Muslims, a fact verified by his use of Muslim holy men as figures in his drama poems and by his inclusion of Hindustani in those poems, as well as by legends. An even more telling fact is that Eknath' s own guru, J anardan Swami, held the curious dual position of acknowledged holy man and keeper of the Daulatabad fort! At one time, according to legend, Eknath even took Janardan's place at the head of the Muslim army when the fort was attacked and J anardan was deep in meditation. Eknath's massive volume of work shows all these influences: his Brahmanical training, his interest in scholarship, his tradition of devotion to the Pandharpur bhakti sect, his knowledge of a very heterogeneous world in a religious center and market city crossed by several trade routes. He was in the unusual position of living in a highly orthodox and closed Brahmanical world and yet being in contact with the foreign, the non-Sanskritic, indeed, all manner of men. His devotion to the lowly, his insistence on using Marathi instead of Sanskrit, his unorthodox behavior in performing charitable acts for all, meant that he often lived under persecution and the threat of excommunication. In part because of the grace of the God of Pandharpur, in part because he never eschewed the right of Brahman privileges for other Brahmans, he lived his life peacefully in Paithan, died there, and was buried in a temple which still serves as a pilgrimage center today. Eknath's scholarly work does not concern us here, except for its basic purpose: to bring the highest of philosophical thought and moral teaching to the people of his area through the vernacular language of Marathi. One of the basic texts of the bhakti devotees is the '' Eknathi Bhagavata'', a translation of the eleventh book of the Bhagavata Purana from Sanskrit to Marathi. 25 This work, in contrast to those parts of the Bhagavata Purana which tell of the love

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between Krishna and the Gopis and are popular in Northern bhakti, is one of stern morality. Eknath also began a Marathi version of the Ramayana, commented on the Vedantic philosophy of the ninth chapter of the second book of the Bhagavata Purana, corrected the 250-year-old text of the Dnyaneshwari (the foundation stone of the bhakti movement), and produced a number of philosophical works. He is also credited with some four thousand abhangas, but these never achieved the poetic intensity of the more popular abhangas of Namdeo and Tukaram. But Eknath is not only the most scholarly and prolific of all the sants in the Marathi bhakti tradition, he is the most conscious of the presence of Untouchables and of their spiritual capabilities. His most unusual contribution to the "performance genre" 26 of bhakti literature are some three hundred bharudes, drama poems meant to be acted out, and of these almost fifty are written as if an Untouchable were the author. Forty-seven bharudes seem to come from the mouths of Mahar men or women, one is written in the name of a Mang, one of the three main Maharashtrian Untouchable castes. The bharud form has been used by a number of poets, both in Karnataka and Maharashtra. It requires only that some symbol, some metaphor, be used to carry the message of the poem. This can be not only a particular caste, but a dog, a Muslim fakir, a wandering acrobat, an unhappy wife, a demi-God, a prostitute, a game, a bird, a notification of debt collection-a symbol drawn from almost any aspect of ordinary life. Eknath's bharudes do contain references to Vedantic philosophy and stories from the Epics and the Puranas, but their importance here is as a reflection of Eknath's all-seeing eye and his allencompassing compassion. No orthodox Brahman, no solid Maratha peasant appears in his bharudes; instead they reflect the non-Sanskritic street life he must have seen in the crossroads town of Paithan. The poems in the mouths of Mahars are ''Johar'' poems, beginning with the greeting used by Mahars to their superiors. Most are very different from the poems of Chokhamela; in these, the Mahar not only preaches to others about morality, the necessity for a guru and the company of the sants, but also of the calamity of re-birth that is necessary for those who do not take the bhakti path, and of the false lives of the pseudo-pious. There are many ways to interpret these Johar poems. Eknath can be seen as the Mahar of the Lord, one who does His work faithfully and with devotion. Some poems suggest that the life of the Mahar is so difficult that it stands for the hardship of constant rebirth. The fact that the Johar poems are often harsh and vulgar indicates that Eknath may have taken on this voice in order to preach the more fundamentalist kind of bhakti-the certainty of re-birth for non-devotees being a sort of hell-fire and damnation threat. What is clear, however, is that Eknath has closely observed the work of the Mahar, and seems to try to put himself into the Mahar's skin. These poems also indicate a deep belief that the faith of the true bhakta is true wisdom, and that the devout Mahar can speak with clarity and truth about the evils of the world and its inhabitants.

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The following bharud shows the Mahar in his typical role: doing anything that is necessary, begging food, sweeping, announcing officials-but the official in this case is the God Rama: Johar, May-Bap, Johar. My Johar to all the Saints. I am the Mahar of Ayodhya City, Of Ramji Baba's court, ki ji May-Bap. Ramji Baba's work is the rule of Ayodhya City; There this lowly servant's work is to do all the good, all the bad. I wake early in the morning and ask Sita for food. I sweep out the court and throw the dirt outside. When Ramji Baba comes to Council I go ahead to announce him. In truth, Eka J anardan Offers Johar, ki ji May-Bap. 27 /3864

The Mahar in the next bharud also belongs to Rama, but his name is Atmanak, a combination of the word for soul and the name ending used by Mahars until the beginning of this century, nak. 28 The poem is addressed to the Patil, the headman of a village which is a metaphor for the human body. Each being must live through eighty-four hundred thousand lives, each time dying painfully and being beaten by the Lord of Death before the next re-birth. Only the true bhakta is not reborn. The "ji May-Bap" at the end of each stanza is literally, "O mother and father", or "O master", but has been retained in its Marathi rhythmic form. Johar, May-Bap, Johar. I am sun-born Rama's Mahar. My name-Atmanak Mahar. I do all the work of the Lord, ki ji May-Bap. What will remain in the broken hut? Your feet will fall into the trap of bones. If you hide your face, you'll lose your honor. Then what's the use of living, ki ji May-Bap. Ruin is drawing near. Eighty-four hundred thousand creditorswatchmen of the Lord of Death [are coming]and they will beat you and beat you, ki ji May-Bap. Johar, Honorable Patil. Are you pleased with the Darbar? Today they have come to tell you The balance of your debt is due, ki ji May-Bap.

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The due date comes near. A warning must be given. So many have been beaten and taken away. I'm speaking the truth, am I not, ki ji May-Bap. Leave Shave Leave Better

your body-village? your head, change your name? the house and stay in the temple? keep the staff in your hand! ki ji May-Bap.

Eka-Janardan Mahar [says] Johar to the Company of Saints. They have left the endless treadmill of Births and Deaths, ki ji May-Bap. 29 /3877

In the following abhang, which is full of puns and of the typical shouts or calls of certain religious performances which the audience undoubtedly shouted in unison, Eknath' s Mahar criticizes all religious fakery. The exclamations have been left in Marathi, since, like "Bravo" or "Whoo-pee", they carry a tenor and a sense of occasion which cannot be translated. Johar, May-Bap, Johar. Good guru J anardan's Mahar says Listen attentively to a thought about the Age of Kali, ki ji May-Bap. Among the four chief Ages the Age of Kali is the best. Good deeds should be done, praise to God sung, the Name should be remembered. 30 Perform the nine kinds of Bhakti; Then you will miss the cycle of 84 hundred thousand lives. Believe in what I say or you will be trapped! There should be an altar of basil by the door. You should worship the uninvited guest. Take shelter with the saints. This is the sign of Bhakti. Wear the tulsi beads around your neck, put the mark of sandal on your forehead. Chanting the Names should be the garland of the mouth. Observe the fast of the eleventh day, keep vigil all night. On the twelfth day eat sweets, drink milk with respect and love. These are the signs of Vaishnava Bhakti. I have told you all the marks. He who does not know the secret follows the non-religious way.

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There are eighteen kinds of castes. 31 I will tell you what they think. Listen carefully, without doubt; don't be angry. We are Brahmans, they say, But they don't bathe, pray to the sun, read the Vedas. They perform impure deeds by chanting to kill and bind, fascinate and hold. They say, in this world we have attained the end, but they are far from even the means. They are involved in other women, kulululu, ki ji May-Bap. I have become a Sannyasi, they say, but the six enemies are in their hearts. 32 Their minds, night and day, are on Other people's money, other people's food ... He became a Fakir for the sake of his stomach. His life was spent saying Allah, Allah. He wore "faultlessness" like a garment, calling Haydosh, Haydosh .... 33 They say, "We have become Lingayats". Yet they do not worship Shiva. They beg for the sake of their stomachs. They blow the conch: bham, bham, bham .... They say, "we have become saints" They put on garlands, sandal paste. Taking a lamp in their hands, they cry udo udo .... 3 4 They They They They

do kirtan for the sake of their stomachs. 35 teach the "meaning of all" to the people. cheat their ignorant devotees. do not know the secret of kirtan ..

Do the one kind of Bhakti. Don't wait for anything else. Good and bad come in their own way. They are the proof of past deeds. As in the mind of a faithful wife, the final measure is the husband's, so to understand the causes and the remedies, take the Lord as Measure .... 36 /3891

Many of the Johar bharudes are repetitious; many concern themselves with all the officials and aspects of life in the village; many use the complex numerology of the initiate: the five elements, the six great enemies, the nine doors to the body, etc. Throughout, however, the Mahar preaches, and

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Eknath deliberately uses him as both metaphor and actual Untouchable, indicating several times that the Mahar as Mahar should be listened to: A Mahar speaks-so you turn away in arrogance. But you should do what is good for you! 0 you men! Don't close your eyes!3 7

One of the most popular bharudes is a conversation between a Mahar and a Brahman, in which the Mahar teaches the arrogant Brahman about the Formless God and the grace of the Saints. This might seem to be bolder than it actually is, since another amusing dialogue takes place between a Brahman and a dog, with the same sort of authority given the dog. It is clear that Eknath's basic message is that even a dog, or a Mahar, can share God's grace. Or is it? The very daring of this sort of dialogue must have fascinated Eknath's audiences, and the device is still striking today, when the bhajan members, sometimes in costume, act out the bharud. Come here, doggie, come here. Don't pollute mejust take your food. Give it to me, give it. Dog: The pollution is in youpull your robe back. Now this dog has gotten arrogant! ... 38 Brahman: Look, I'll let you die without food. So what! Everything is nectar! Dog: You have only one homeBrahman: What will you eat in the morning? Where will you yourself be tomorrow? Dog: Where did you get this wisdom? Brahman: It is the great gift of my guru. Dog: What! You have a guru? Brahman: He is in every body. Dog: But we call you a dog! Brahman: You're fooled by ignorance. Dog: Call a Brahman ignorant? Brahman: Your body is Brahman, so what? Dog: The Vedas say it is the highest birth! Brahman: If you are so great, why do you die? Dog: The devotees of God are immortal. How do you know that? Brahman: I would like to become immortal! Then why don't you? Dog: Don't even look at caste or lineage. How did you come by this knowledge? Brahman: Eka J anardan: I learned it by the grace of the guru./3792 Brahman:

The whole Maharashtrian bhakti tradition, and probably the bhakti tradition everywhere, makes it clear that there is no caste distinction in the sight of God. Dnyaneshwar, the founder of the bhakti sect in the Marathi speaking area, put this very plainly in his commentary on the Bhagavad Gita, the Dnyaneshwari:

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There is a distinction between the Khaira and the Chandana trees only so long as they are not put into fire; but as soon as they are put inside it, they become one with it, and the distinction between them vanishes. Similarly, the Kshatriyas, the Vaisyas, the Sudras and Women are so called only as long as they have not reached Me. But having reached Me, they cease to be distinguished; as salt becomes one with the ocean, even so they become one with Me. 39

Eknath put it in simple, colorful terms, using the names of non- Brahman sants from both Maharashtra and the Northern Hindi-speaking area: God baked pots with Gora, drove cattle with Chokha, cut grass with Samvata, wove garments with Kabir, colored hide with Ravidas, sold meat with the butcher Sajana, melted gold with Narahari, carried cow-dung with Janabai and even became the Mahar messenger of Damaji. 40

Living according to caste in non-religious aspects, however, was not challenged. Each caste was expected to do its duty; even the corrupted Brahman, according to Eknath, was to be shown respect. Birth in a low caste was in accord with past deeds, and the only way out was a life of devotion and duty which would cancel all re-birth in the future. Eknath's message was by no means one of social protest; his basic views on caste and the place of the Brahmans were quite orthodox. But his vision of God's presence in all humanity and his compassion lifted his orthodoxy into the kind of creative approach shown in the above bharudes and from time to time, according to legend, into most unorthodox action. Mahipati, the eighteenth century biographer of all the sants, tells many of these legends of Eknath's compassion. Such as: on the day of the worship of ancestors, Eknath invited Brahmans to his house for the feast. An Untouchable sweeper and his wife working in the alley smelled the food, but told each other they could never have such a splendid feast, and on this holy occasion even the food left on the plates would be buried, not given to them. Eknath overheard them and went out to invite all the Untouchables in the town to the feast, serving them himself. The Paithan Brahmans were furious and excommunicated Eknath. But the Lord Krishna, who was working in Eknath's house as a menial Brahman known as Shri Khandya, said, "Serve a feast to the ancestors anyway''. And so the ancestors came, and the Brahmans saw the splendid heavenly Brahmans eating the feast at Eknath's house. Added to this, Eknath cured a leper even as he was performing the penance imposed on him for this deed by the Brahmans, and so they said to him, "You are indeed the avatar of Vishnu". 41 A long story in Mahipati's Bhaktalilamrta tells of Eknath's dining with a pious bhakta, Ranya Mahar, and his wife. As Mahipati tells it, Ranya had been a worshipper of Vishnu, but through some fault was reborn as a Mahar. He sat outside Eknath's kirtans, swept a path to his bath, etc. Ranya Mahar's pious

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wife wanted Eknath to come to their house to eat, and Eknath accepted, quoting this verse from the Bhagavata Purana (VII: 9-10). A dog-eating outcaste, who has made an offering to God of his mind, his words, his actions, his property and his very life, is to be considered far superior to a Brahman, who, although gifted with the twelve characteristics of a Brahman, has turned away from the feet of God. The former purifies his whole family, not so the latter puffed up with pride.

Hearing the Sanskrit, the Paithan Brahmans were enraged. "Why do you repeat a sloka to this unmentionable"? Eknath replied: "I am convinced that he has the right to philosophic knowledge. By his reverent devotion he has made the Supreme Brahma, existing in the form of Shri Hari, subject to him''. Eknath submitted himself to the penance imposed by the Brahmans, but even as he stood in the water, he again accepted Ran ya Mahar's invitation to dine at his home. He went to the Maharwada for dinner, but as the Brahmans went to look at this outrageous act, they also saw him eating at his own home. The God Viththal had taken Eknath's form and eaten at the house of Ranya Mahar. 42 Eknath and his wife also took in a starving Mahar thief after he was let out of the stock, and kept him in his house for many days, converting him from a life of crime to a life of piety by their kindness. 43 A legend which still has power because it involves the all-important matter of touch concerns Eknath' s pity for a small boy, left crying on the hot sands of the Godavari during the summer heat. He picked him up and carried him to the hovel the child pointed him to, realizing only when he saw the child's mother that he was a Mahar boy. He put the boy down, returned to the river and bathed with all his clothes on. None of the Brahmans saw him, but the deed became known according to God's plan. A learned Brahman with leprosy was told by God that Eknath had performed an act of special goodness. If Eknath would give that good deed to the Brahman, he would become whole. Hearing this, Eknath smiled, put a little water in the leper's hand, and the leper's body became beautiful. 44

It is Eknath's generosity, his liberality of spirit, his imagination, his kindness which are moving, not his piety. It is these qualities which make him an important figure in contemporary times, and it is the actions stemming from his all-encompassing compassion which offer a model for modern day elite reformers. Eknath's compassion does not have much appeal to the ex-Untouchables themselves. A couplet reading "I am the bastard Mahar, son of the Lord", 45 may be moving to a Brahman, not to a Mahar. I have found no reference to Eknath in any of the writings of the early Mahar movement, and none during the period since the Buddhist conversion, nor is there much interest in Eknath's vision of humanity. It seems to have some relationship to that of Gandhi's, whose views on caste were only somewhat less orthodox and whose humanitarianism was closely linked with charity, and Gandhi's methods have been rejected by most of those drawn into the more radical Ambedkar movement.

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Indeed, some dalit 46 poets reject the bhakti idea as totally useless. In a very avant garde poem, Namdeo Dhasal speaks of "Crumpled-paper Pandurangdindi goes on singing, winding, the sweet notes flute", and in the next line speaks of prostitutes onjuhu beach. The image ofa procession to Pandharpur is mocked as unreal, while the life of the city poor is a reality the Pandharpur pilgrims do not see. 47 Daya Pawar also picked up this theme of neglect of humans in pursuit of the divine in a poem called "Pay" (legs), in which the theme is that those born from the feet of the primordial being, the Shudras, are at the bottom of the pyramid, which crushes them. It ends with the pyramid being sanctified, and the reference is to a story of Eknath taking pity on a thirsty donkey and giving him water he had brought from the sacred river: The pitchers of Ganges water come and are poured into the mouth of a donkey. 48

But for the elite reformer, the wise and scholarly Brahman whose compassion allows him to rise above caste distinctions is a powerful image. One of the most interesting and effective ways in which the figure of Eknath was used in a modern context was in the film on his life produced by the Prabhat Film Company in Poona. Using traditional Maharashtrian themes as the basis for very popular movies, this young, highly intellectual and socially committed group of film makers produced a number of excellent films during a' 'Golden Age'' of Marathi film making in the late 1930's and early 1940's. The film on Eknath was called Dharmatma (the soul ofrighteousness). In it, the miraculous events of Eknath's legendary life were downplayed to allow a more realistic picture of a good and pious householder who loved and cared for everyone. Some of Eknath' s abhangas and bharudes were sung in the film in the context of anyone at all being able to give the message of bhakti. And one of the most dramatic high points of the movie was the scene in which Eknath goes to the Mahar quarters and eats in the house of Ranya Mahar! A more recent pamphlet for children, Don mahan sant (Two Great Saints) by Datta J. Kulkarni (Pune: Aragade Kulkarni Prakashan, 1968), illustrates another possible use of Eknath as a model for social consciousness. The two saints are Gadge Maharaj, a twentieth century wandering holy man whose social teachings on the evils of drinking, practicing untouchability, and putting ritual above social good were extremely strong and effective, and the sixteenth century sant, Eknath. The washerman Gadge Maharaj, rough, unlearned, homeless and completely unorthodox, and the pious Brahman Eknath are unlikely companions. Linking them is an effective device for legitimizing modern reformist social attitudes. Of all the sants, only Eknath could have served as the legitimacy for protesting orthodoxy in the incident of the 1977 Marathi Literary Conference in Poona. The Marathi Sahitya Sammellan is not only the literary event of the year, but one of the most prestigious gatherings in all Maharashtra. To be elected President is a recognition not only of literary worth but of real presence on the Maharashtrian scene. When a man known for his conservative views and his religious orthodoxy, P. B. Bhave, was elected President over liberal

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candidates, there was a charge that the election committee was fixed, and the radical student groups of Poona disrupted the last day of the Conference with a demonstration. The shout of the procession which prevented the Conference President from speaking was: Eknath carried a Mahar child on his shoulder, but all you Brahmans want is power. 49 The popular Sunday edition of the Poona newspaper Sakal picked up this theme in its edition of March 25, 1979, with an article entitled: "On the banks of the Godavari, Eknath showed the light of equality'', and a picture of the sant in full Brahman regalia with a dark child in his arms. It should be re-stated that the living bhakti sect in Maharashtra today is not a force for change. The Warkaris themselves, those who actually wear the tulsi beads, go on pilgrimage to Pandharpur and eschew liquor and meat in order to live pious lives, have not initiated any sort of social reform campaign. They continue to make the distinction between equality in the sight of God and equality in daily life that the sants made through the centuries. In her essay on the Pandharpur pilgrimage, Iravati Karve wonders that the songs sung so vigorously preach equality of all the bhaktas, and the pilgrims preserve caste groups in the procession as they are singing them. 50 However, it is equally clear that the bhakti movement and its literature is still a reservoir of living ideas. 51 The lives of the poets of Pandharpur are known to everyone, even the children, and there is material in this common pool of regional ethos which can serve many purposes. There is a possibility that Chokhamela will be revived, not as a "sanskritizing process" in the usual Srinivasian sense of upward mobility within the caste system, 52 but as '' sanskritization'' in the broader sense of participation in the recognized higher intellectual culture. The current interest in Chokhamela, his wife and son, may be academic, but the result may be new editions of his abhangas and those of his family, perhaps some theater, perhaps some use of the legends about him in poetry. After all, Chokhamela represents a clear and important participation of Untouchables in the past culture of the area, and although he no longer serves as model for emulation, he may well become once again a theme of inspiration, simply as a creative figure from the past. The figure of Eknath also has a real but limited appeal. What was unusual about him was his observant eye, his enormous ability to see things as they were and to act according to human need. The idea that one so scholarly and so wise could be so quick to understand the life about him, and so human, is a forceful idea. The message, however, seems limited to those who are scholarly and wise-to the intellectuals and the elite. But interpreted with imagination and skill, the figure of Eknath can become an enabling force; his synthesis of the worldly and the spiritual has the capacity to be understood today. The future importance of Eknath as a social force depends largely on the ability of the educated elite who emulate him to affect the social tenor of life today.

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NOTE ON TRANSLATION abhang - "unbroken, inviolate". The rhyme scheme used for the songs of the saint-poets. An English plural, as, has been added in this essay. bharud - a word of uncertain origin and meaning. A drama poem not in the abhang meter. An English plural, es, has been added in this essay. Over a period of years, the following friends have helped me with translations: Dr. S. G. Tulpule, Dr. P. N. Joshi, Mr. B. S. Shinde, Mr. Jayant Karve, Dr. Pramod Kale, Mrs. Rekha Damle, Mrs. Hemant Fanse, and the late Mrs. Lalita Khambadkone. The responsibility for the final version, except in the case of Abhang 52 translated by Maxine Berntsen, is my own.

NOTES

2

3 4 5 6

7

8 9

10

11 12 13 14 15

Sant can easily be translated "saint". I have kept the Marathi word, however, because it is used only for the saints in the Bhakti tradition, not for all holy men. Warkari sampradaya - "tradition of the pilgrims". The finest study in English of this tradition as a whole is G. A. Deleury, The Cult of Vithoba (Poona: Deccan College Postgraduate and Research Institute, 1961 ). I have tended to use the term "bhakti movement" in this paper rather than the usual Marathi designation or Deleury's term in order to stress the continuity of the line of sants, who wrote their poetry over a five hundred year period, and in order to link the movement with bhakti traditions in other language areas. Chokhamela abhang gatha (Collection of Chokhamela's Abhangas) (Bombay: Balkrishna Lakshman Pathak, 1950), pp. 1-2. See R. D. Ranade, Pathway to God in Marathi Literature (Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 1961, originally published in 1933), for a slightly different version of this legend. Nicol Macnicol, Psalms of the Maratha Saints (Calcutta: Association Press and Oxford University Press, 1919), p. 23. T,1e references to Chokhamela's abhangas in this paper are from Chokhamela abhang gatha (Bombay: Balkrishna Lakshman Pathak, 1950). A newer collection, Shrisant Chokhamela Maharajyanche charitra va abhang gatha, S. B. Kadam, ed. (Bombay: Mandakini S. Kadam, 1969), contains 349 abhangas. A. K. Ramanujan has informed me that Abhangas 6 and 11 need not refer to untouchability since similar songs appear in the work of caste Hindu sants in the South. However, since some of Chokhamela' s songs do refer to untouchability, a phenomenon which seems not to appear in the work of other Untouchable sants, I think Abhang 6 can be interpreted as protesting his low birth and Abhang 11 as protesting the concept of untouchability. See Justin E. Abbott and Narhar R. Godbole, trans., of Mahipati's Bhaktavijaya (Ch. XXIII: 6-60) in Stories of Indian Saints (Poona: Office of the Poet Saints of Maharashtra, 1933), for a slightly different version of this legend. Pandhari-Pandharpur. Iravati Karve, "On the Road", Journal of Asian Studies XXII: 1 (1962); pp. 13-29. The translation of Abhang 52 is by Maxine Berntsen. R. D. Ranade translates the "ugly" of the last line as "untouchable". (See Ranade, op. cit.; p. 161). The usual translation of "feelings" in the last line is "devotion" (bhav.). M. G. Ranade, Rise of the Maratha Power and Other Essays (Bombay: University of Bombay, 1960 (1900)), pp. 4-5. R. V. Oturkar, Introduction to M. G. Ranade, op. cit.; pp. vi-vii. The work of G. B. Sarkar to which Oturkar refers has been translated by Kumud Mehta as The Saint-Poets of Maharashtra (Their Impact On Society) (New Delhi: Orient Longmans, 1969). R. D. Ranade, op. cit.; p. 165. Kesari (Poona) December 27, 1964. C. B. Agarwal, The Harijans in Rebellion (Bombay: Chhotelal Bhugwandas, 1934), p. 64. "Harijan", i.e. people of God, is Mahatma Gandhi's term.

CHOKHAMELA AND EKNATH

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

24

25 26

27

28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35 36

155

Chokhamela's wife, Soyrabai, his sons, Karmamela and Banka, and his daughter, Nirmala, all are considered saints and poets. Their abhangas have been collected by S. B. Kadam, op. cit. For the legend of the hero Amrutnak, see my article "The Leadership of Babasaheb Ambedkar'', in B. N. Pandey, ed., Leadership in South Asia (New Delhi: Vikas, 1977), which also analyzes the cultural images of the Mahar past. Kisan Fagu Bansode, Pradip (Nagpur: Jagruti Prakashan, n.d.), p. 48. Dhananjay Keer, Dr. Ambedkar, Life and Mission, 2nd ed. (Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1962), p. 126. Ibid.; p. 218. Ibid.; p. 247. The Depressed Classes-a Chronological Documentation (Kuseong: St. Mary's College, 193), p. 103. The life of this contemporary sant should be studied, since he seems to be the only figure who revived both the idea of castessness among the bhakti devotees and the radical actions of the earlier saint-poets. There are a number of popular pamphlets in Marathi on his life, including Cadge Maharaj, by Amrendra (Bombay: Vora, 1959). For non-acceptance of re-birth as an explanation for untouchability see Bernard S. Cohn, ''Changing Traditions of a Low Caste'', in Milton Singer, ed. Traditional India: Structure and Change (Philadelphia: The American Folklore Society, 1959); and Pauline Mahar Kolenda, "Religious Anxiety and Hindu Fate'', journal of Asian Studies XXXIII (1964), pp. 71-81. The 23rd chapter of the Eknathi Bhagavata has been translated by Justin E. Abbott as Bhikshugita: The Mendicant's Song (Poet-Saints of Maharashtra series No. 3, Poona, 1928). The phrase is from Kunta Narayan Jagdale, "The Use of Symbols in Bharud Literature". Uournal of the Shrimati Nathibai Damodar Thackersey Women's University V, 1975). It is useful in distinguishing Bhakti literature meant to be sung or acted out in a group, such as abhangas and bharudes, from literature intended to be recited or read. "Ki ji May-Bap", 0 master, has been kept in the translation for rhythmic purposes. The "ki" is meaningless. There is no critical edition of Eknath's bharudes. The edition I have used is Shri Eknath Maharaj yanchya Abhangachi Catha, collected and edited by Brahmibhut Shrinanamaharaj Sakhre (Poona: Indira Prakashan, 1952). In other bharudes, the term Vithnak is used as the name of the Mahar, a combination of the name of the God Viththal and the Mahar ending. All Eknath's bharudes are signed with a shortened version of his name combined with that of his guru, Janardan. In the Johar bharudes, he makes it clear that Eka-Janardan speaks as a Mahar. The Kaliyug, or Age of Kali, is traditionally the worst of the four yugas. Here, Eknath calls it the best because it is the age in which bhakti can lead men to salvation from re-birth. The phrase karave haribhajan, literally "the bhajan to Hari should be done", is translated "praise to God sung". The bhajan is a sort of musical prayer meeting: Hari is a name for Vishnu. There are traditionally eighteen castes in Maharashtra. Eknath uses the words varna-yati here, but delineates types of religious figures, not castes, in the stanzas following. The six enemies are hypocrisy, passion, anger, greed, pride and envy. Eknath makes frequent use of this concept in the bharudes, either by name or number. '' Haydosh' '-0 friend-is an exclamation used in the processions of the Shi'ite observance of Mohurram. Dosh in Marathi means ''fault'', and Eknath has combined it with a variant pronunciation of the Persian dost here to make a pun. Udo, udo, meaning "arise" but used in the sense of an exclamation of "Praise" or ''Victory'', is a shout for the Goddess. Kirtan, like bhajan, is a group gathering in which abhangas are sung, but there is also usually a leader who recites from scripture or gives a sermon. Eknath's kirtans in Paithan were famous far and wide. A number of stanzas have been omitted from this translation. Other religious figures whose hypocrisy is criticized in the bharud are J ogis, members of the Mahanubhav sect, Dev Rishis

156

37 38 39 40

41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

ELEANOR ZELLIOT

who heal by magic, followers of Khandoba, worshippers of the demi-Gods Veta! and Mahishasur, and even Bhaktas. Stanza 5, 3880. There are indications in a number of the bharudes that a Mahar who preaches is an unusual phenomenon. The three lines following "Now this dog has gotten arrogant!" are not clear and have been omitted. Quoted in R. D. Ranade, op. cit.; p. 88. For a full translation of Dnyaneshwar's classic, see the Jnaneshvari (Bhavarthadipika), V. G. Pradhan, trans., H. M. Lambert, ed., 2 vols. (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1967 and 1969). Adapted from the translation in R. D. Ranade, op. cit., p. 177. A similar abhang is credited to the great seventeenth century sant, Tukaram. The story of Damaji concerns a bhakta who was a revenue official for the Muslim Sultan of Bedar. He gave away all the storehouses of grain in the Mangalvedhe during a great famine, and was arrested by the Sultan for looting his property. The God Viththal, disguised as a Mahar whose traditional duty is to carry taxes to the capital, brought gold to pay for the grain. See Stories of Indian Saints, vol. II, Justin E. Abbott and Narhar R. Godbole, trans., from Mahipati, Bhaktavijaya (Poona: Office of the Poet Saints of Maharashtra, 1934), chapter XL; pp. 85-99. See Mahipati, Bhaktavijaya, chapter XL VI: 45-128; English translation as in footnote 40, pp. 176-181. Mahipati, Bhaktalilamrita, chapter XIX: 138-240; see Justin E. Abbott, trans., in Eknath (Poet-Saints of Maharashtra No. 2, Poona: 1927), pp. 139-149. Ibid., chapter XX: 168-203; pp. 166-169 in Abbott's translation. Ibid., chapter XXII: 124-149; pp. 201-204 in Abbott's translation. Abhang 3867: 1. Dalit means "ground down, broken, depressed". It is the term by which many exUntouchables, chiefly those converted to Buddhism, refer to themselves when expressing their protest of social inequality. "Darulate glasat ambar" in Golpitha, by Namdeo Dhasal (Poona: Nilkant Prakashan, 2nd edition, 1975). "Pay" in Kondwada, by Daya Pawar (Poona: Magowa Prakashan, 1974). Communication from Gail Omvedt-Patankar. Iravati Karve, op. cit. For a comprehensive review of Bhakti literature in the context of all pre-modern Marathi literature, see Shankar Gopal Tulpule, Classical Marathi Literature (Vol. IX, Fasc. 4, in the History of Indian Literature series; [Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1979]). M. N. Srinivas's basic concept of "Sanskritization" is presented in a chapter with that title in Social Change in Modern India (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966).

CONTRIBUTORS BALKRISHNA GovIND GoKHALE is Professor of History and Director of the Asian Studies Program at Wake Forest University, Winston-Salem, N. C. (since 1960). He has specialized in Pali, Marathi, and Indian History. Dr. Gokhale is the author often books and over 70 papers on Indian History and Culture published in the United States, Canada, England, France, Italy, India, Ceylon, and Thailand. He was personally acquainted with the late Dr. B. R. Ambedkar and his many associates in the Mahar and Buddhist movements in India. Dr. Gokhale is a Fellow of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland. He is also on the Board of Editors of the Journal of Indian History and the Journal of the International Association of Buddhistic Studies. jAYASHREE B. GoKHALE-TURNER was born in Bombay, India, and is now living in the United States. She completed her Ph. D. at McGill University in 1979, with a dissertation entitled: From Concessions to Confrontation: The Politics of the Mahar Community in Maharashtra. She has published several articles on various aspects of Indian political life. joHN STRATTON HAWLEY received his Ph. D. in Comparative Religion from Harvard University in 1977 and is now Assistant Professor in the Department of Asian Languages and Literature at the University of Washington. His book, At Play with Krishna: Pilgrimage Dramas from Brindavan, will be published by Princeton University Press in 1981. The present study draws on materials which will appear in a subsequent work entitled The Butter Thief CLIFFORD G. HosPITAL studied arts and Theology at the University of Queensland in Australia and then took his doctoral work at the Center for the Study of World Religions at Harvard University. His doctoral thesis was entitled "The Marvellous Acts of God: A Study in the Bhagavata Purana, and his further research has been chiefly in the traditions and mythology of Puranic Hinduism. He was in Kerala in 1977-78 as a Senior Fellow of the Shashtri lndoCanadian Institute, and some of his reflections in this article arise out of that experience. He is at present Associate Professor of Religion at Queen's University, Kingston, Ontario. Professor K. ISHWARAN, one of the foremost experts in the field of family studies, is Professor of Sociology at York University. His many previous publications include studies of family life in the Netherlands, village society in India, and political and urban sociology. DAVID KINSLEY received his Ph. D. from the University of Chicago, with a dissertation on the subject of Krishna. His major area of research is the history of religion in the Bengal area, with particular emphasis on Krishna and Kali. He has published two books-The Sword and the Flute and The Divine Player: A Study of Krishna Life, as well as several articles. Dr. Kinsley now teaches in the Department of Religion at McMaster University. KLAUS KONRAD KLoSTERMAIER was born in Munich, Germany, and received his higher education in Germany, Austria, Italy (Ph. D. in Philosophy from the Gregorian University in Rome: "Modern Hinduism and Social Reconstruction in India") and India (Ph. D. in Ancient Indian History and Culture from the University of Bombay: "Moksa"). Since 1970, he has been a Professor of Comparative Religion at the University of Manitoba. He has published several books in German and in English, as well as numerous papers in European, Indian and American journals on several aspects of Indian traditions and on the interactions between Western and Indian traditions. jAYANT LELE is a Professor at Queen's University, Kingston, Ontario, where he has a joint appointment in the Departments of Political Studies and Sociology. His previous publications include studies of elite politics in India and in Canada. His current preoccupation with tradition and modernization has led to a series of articles and conference papers on the reinterpretation of Indian tradition and its contemporary significance.

158

CONTRIBUTORS

BHALCHANDRA NEMADE is a Marathi novelist, poet and critic who was educated in Pune and Bombay. Having taught English and Marathi literatures at several places, he now teaches English and Linguistics at Marathwada University, Aurangabad. His Marathi works include four novels, a collection of poems and critical articles. His English publications include Tukaram, as well as critical articles and translations of his works published in various collections. He is associated with the Little Magazines movement in Marathi and runs a small publishing house at Aurangabad exclusively for new poetry. JosEPH T. O'CONNELL received his Ph.D. from Harvard University where he did a study of Bengal. He now teaches in the Department of Religious Studies at St. Michael's College University of Toronto. Dr. O'Connell's main area of research is Bengal Vaisnavas and he is interested in the relations between the Hindus and the Muslims. He has spent time in Bangladesh, and recently was in Shanti Niketan doing further studies in Bengali. He is author of a series of articles on Bengali religious life. ELEANOR ZELLIOT did her Ph. D. at the University of Pennsylvania on Dr. B. R. Ambedkar and the Mahar movement. She is Professor of History at Carleton College, where she is also the Chairman of the Asian Studies Committee. She has published several articles on the religion and literature of Maharashtra and on the Mahar movement, and is currently wri1ing a biography of Dr. Ambedkar.

INDEX Abhanga, 29, 30-32, 311 120, 137-139, 141, 143-145, 152 Agrahara, 76 Asrama, 91 Atman, 108 Atonement, 31 Avatar, 8, 18, 150 Bali, 11, 12 Bharude, 145, 146, 148-150, 152 Bhagavatism, 22 Bodhisatva, 19, 22, 23 Bondage, 84 Brahmanism, 17, 115 Buddha, 16, 17, 19, 38, 143 Buddhism, 7, 8, 14, 16-28, 37, 142 Caste, 29, 32, 34, 75, 76, 77, 91, 100, 136, 137, 139 Civilization, 66, 101, 102 Court, 76 Counter structure, 69 Cult, 94, 113, 114, 116, 117, 120, 122 Culture, 20, 44, 64, 67, 99, 114, 115, 120, 153; Culture revitalization Culture shock, 66 Community, 104, 112, 117-119, 121, 137; Community development, 104

Hare Krishna movement, 14 Hindu, 35, 77, 48, 64, 78, 88, 91, 95, 113, 114, 117, 124, 130 Hindu institution, 29 Hindu women, 83-93 Hinduism, 2, 22, 36, 75, 80, 82, 91, 95, 99, 115, 116, 143 Hindu women, 83-93 Ideology, 76, 79, 94, 104, 106, 112, 143 Impure, 32; impurity, 31 Incarnation, 60 Institution, 76, 77, 80, 81, 95, 104, 119

105,

119, 66; 122,

Dalit, 6, 8, 29-42, 152 Darsan, 43, 44, 47, 50, 52, 54, 56 Dasa, 75 Dasoha, 80 Devata, 17 Dharma, 12, 16, 18, 20, 21, 36, 65, 67, 68, 83' 84' 86' 90, 91 , 99' 110, 112 Dindi, 121, 122 Elite, 98, 119, 153 Elitism, 97 Enterprise, 109 Ethnocentrism, 73 Existentialism, 96 Faith, 114, 116, 117 Family, 12, 48, 86, 105, 118, 136, 137, 144; Joint family, 117 Gaudinya vaisnav, 10, 12 Gita, 13, 149 Gopi, 9, 45-47, 50, 52, 53, 61, 62, 65, Wi Grace, 18, 128, 137, 140, 149 Great Tradition, 15

Jainism, 14, 115 Jati, 30 J nanesvara, 5 Karma, 78, 118, 129-131 Kayaka, 79 Kinship, 2, 12, 79 Kirtan, 75, 117, 121, 150 Krishna, 9, 12, 13, 23 Krishna karnamrita, 11 Lingayatism, 3, 4, 8, 72-82 Little Tradition, 15 Mahajan, 76 Mahapataka, 65 Mahavira, 19 Marriage, 83-85, 88, 91, 100 Miracle, 18, 19, 22 Modernization, 39, 72-82 Monastic, 21; monastic intellectual monastic order, 25 Monotheism, 115 Muslim, 113, 115-11 7, 120, 144

23;

Nation-state, 73 Nirvana, 61 Panchayat, 116 Pantheon, 114, 136 Pietistic movement, 100 Pilgrimage, 20, 121, 122, 136, 141, 144, 153 Pollution, 31, 66, 127 Polytheism, 78 Prarthana sam"oJ , 140 Purity, 66 Purohit, 4 Radicalism, 114

160

INDEX

Religious belief; religious system, 16, 23, 25, 76, 80, 95; religious tradition, 95, 96, 98 Re-birth, 76 Renunciation, 91, 92 Ritual, 23, 24, 89, 105, 110, 130, 142 Ritualism, 30, 76, 79 Role, 86, 89; Caste role, 89; Social role, 86, 80; Traditional role, 84, 86 Saints, Bhakti, 137-139, 141; Brahmanasaints, 29; Poet-saints, 14, 29, 32, 75, 88, 117, 118, 122; Vaisnavasaints, 126; Virasaiva saints, 84 Samadhi, 61, 142 Sampradaya, 6, 94, 95, 104, 106 Sanskritization, 75, 113, 153 Satsang, 95 Sin, 62, 65, 79, 127, 130 Social action, 32; social bond 25; social change, 59, 68, 116, 122; social duties, 89-90; social structure, 74; social transformation, 81, 105 Shudra, 114, 116, 118, 152 Stupa, 20, 22, 23 Symbols, 5, 8, 11, 15, 38, 59, 64, 65, 67, 69, 105 Symbolism, 7, 11, 12, 124, 135

Temple, 43, 76, 88, 95, 137, 140, 140, 142, 144 Tradition, 59, 64, 69, 72-82, 83, 95-97, 104, 106, 109, 111, 115, 116, 118-120, 136, 140, 149; Aesthetic tradition, 97; Hindu tradition, 94, 122; traditional roles, 84, 86, 98 U nderpriviledged, 113-123 Untouchable, 30-36, 118, 137, 138, 142, 145, 150, 153 Untouchability, 29-32, 36, 37, 105, 136, 142, 143 Upasaka, 8, 16 Vaisnava, 10-12 Values, 74, 76, 77, 80, 115 Varna, 29-33, 35, 116 Vedant, 64, 107, 145 Vishnu, 12 W arkari, 4, 6, 7, 14, 75, 110, 112, 115, 11 7, 118, 120, 122, 140, 143, 153; Warkari code, 115, 121, Warkari lore, 119; Warkari saints, 75, 115, 122; Warkari sampradaya, 14, 25, 104, 105, 136 Yajna, 4

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