The Power of the Nath Yogis: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority 9789048552450

Table of contents :
Table of Contents
Foreword
Note on Transliterations
Introduction
1 Current Research on Nāth Yogīs . Further Directions
2 Powerful Yogīs . The Successful Quest for Siddhis and Power
3 Kingly Corruption and Ascetic Sovereignty in the Telugu Account of the Nine Nāths
4 In Siddhis and State . Transformations of Power in Twentieth-Century Gorakhpur Temple Publications
5 The Search for the Jugi Caste in Pre-Colonial Bengal
6 Back When We Were Brahmins . Historical and Caste Critique Among Bengali Householder Nāths
7 Shades of Power . The Nāth Yogīs in Nepal
8 Yogī, Paṇḍit, and Rāṣṭra-Bhakta . Some Reconstructions of Yogī Naraharināth’s Religious Career
9 The Evocative Partnerships of a Monastic Nāth Temple in Contemporary Rajasthan
10 Towards a Nāth Re-Appropriation of Haṭha-Yoga
Index

Citation preview

The Power of the Nāth Yogīs

Religion and Society in Asia This series contributes cutting-edge and cross-disciplinary academic research on various forms and levels of engagement between religion and society that have developed in the regions of South Asia, East Asia, and South East Asia, in the modern period, that is, from the early 19th century until the present. The publications in this series should reflect studies of both religion in society and society in religion. This opens up a discursive horizon for a wide range of themes and phenomena: the politics of local, national and transnational religion; tension between private conviction and the institutional structures of religion; economical dimensions of religion as well as religious motives in business endeavours; issues of religion, law and legality; gender relations in religious thought and practice; representation of religion in popular culture, including the mediatisation of religion; the spatialisation and temporalisation of religion; religion, secularity, and secularism; colonial and post-colonial construction of religious identities; the politics of ritual; the sociological study of religion and the arts. Engaging these themes will involve explorations of the concepts of modernity and modernisation as well as analyses of how local traditions have been reshaped on the basis of both rejecting and accepting Western religious, philosophical, and political ideas. Series editor Martin Ramstedt, Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, Halle

The Power of the Nāth Yogīs Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority

Edited by Daniela Bevilacqua and Eloisa Stuparich

Amsterdam University Press

Cover illustration: A Nāth dhūnī in Dhinodhar Photo: Daniela Bevilacqua Cover design: Coördesign, Leiden Typesetting: Crius Group, Hulshout isbn 978 94 6372 254 4 e-isbn 978 90 4855 245 0 (pdf) doi 10.5117/9789463722544 nur 718 © The authors / Amsterdam University Press B.V., Amsterdam 2022 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the author of the book.



Table of Contents

Foreword

7

Note on Transliterations

8

Introduction9 Daniela Bevilacqua and Eloisa Stuparich

1 Current Research on Nāth Yogīs

31

2 Powerful Yogīs

55

3 Kingly Corruption and Ascetic Sovereigntyin the Telugu Account of the Nine Nāths

81

Further Directions Véronique Bouillier

The Successful Quest for Siddhis and Power Adrián Muñoz

Jamal Jones

4 In Siddhis and State

103

5 The Search for the Jugi Caste in Pre-Colonial Bengal

131

6 Back When We Were Brahmins

163

7 Shades of Power

197

Transformations of Power in Twentieth-Century Gorakhpur Temple Publications Christine Marrewa-Karwoski

Lubomír Ondračka

Historical and Caste Critique Among Bengali Householder Nāths Joel Bordeaux

The Nāth Yogīs in Nepal Christof Zotter

8 Yogī, Paṇḍit, and Rāṣṭra-Bhakta227 Some Reconstructions of Yogī Naraharināth’s Religious Career Eloisa Stuparich

9 The Evocative Partnerships of a Monastic Nāth Templein Contemporary Rajasthan Carter Hawthorne Higgins

249

10 Towards a Nāth Re-Appropriation of Haṭha-Yoga281 Daniela Bevilacqua

Index

307

Foreword The publication of this volume has faced various hardships. Initially, our intention was to publish it in India but, to our great surprise, the local publishing houses were not so willing to deal with the topic of Nāth and power, fearing possible political consequences. After the initial shock at the feeling of being censored even before presenting the manuscript, we eventually realized the seriousness of the problems faced today by some brave Indian publishing houses when they encourage projects that do not suit certain political wings. They have our full support. When we luckily obtained the support of Amsterdam University Press, we had to face the coronavirus pandemic, which brought with it great stress and uncertainty. It was a long journey, and we would like to thank all of our authors for their patience and for having made this journey with us. Daniela Bevilacqua and Eloisa Stuparich



Note on Transliterations

To translate the Devanagari syllabary into the Roman alphabet, we chose two different systems: for the transliteration of titles of literary works and technical terms (saṃnyāsa) we chose the standard system of Sanskrit transliteration. For words of Sanskrit origin present in standard Hindi, we use the ISO 15919 system, with some modifications to make it coherent with current pronunciation. One of these changes concerns the absence of the short vowel -a at the end of word (e.g., Nāth, mahant, maṭh). The short final -a is maintained in those words that end with a consonant cluster (mokṣa), words ending with a consonantal group ending in -y (ācārya), and for words ending -ṇ and -y (sampradāya) to maintain the sound created by the retroflex nasal and by the semivowel in the spoken language. Terms which are commonly used in the English language, such as yoga, dharma, and guru, will be written without diacritics, an exception being the word yogī/Yogī. Other words common in English but with a technical meaning will include diacritics: āsana, haṭha, rāj, prāṇāyāma, and so on.

Introduction Daniela Bevilacqua and Eloisa Stuparich Contemporary Nāth Yogīs are heirs to a long history that, gradually, consolidated different ascetic branches into an institutionalized religious order (sampradāya), and different groups into castes of householders. The Nāth sampradāya traces its origins to the founding f igure of Gorakhnāth, a twelfth century Yogī around which much hagiographical material accrued over the centuries, creating therefore, an exceptional stratification of stories and legends that enriches, but also confuses, our understanding of its historical development. What seems clear, nonetheless, is that for centuries Nāth Yogīs (or those ascetics who would go on to be labeled as such) have been associated with practices especially connected to the obtainment of powers (siddhis) and of immortality. They were also known as the “perfected” ones (siddhas), alchemists and practitioners of a yoga (haṭha yoga) said to transform the body into a “diamond body” (vajra deha), eternal and immortal. This reputation for supernatural feats made them optimal gurus for those who wished to channel their magical skills to worldly ends. Nāth Yogīs, in fact, often played a prominent role in political vicissitudes, typically with a ministerial role as preceptors and advisors of sympathetic kings, acquiring political influence over state and regional politics. It is against this backdrop that the relationship between Nāth gurus and political powers, and householder Yogīs and social hierarchy, was established but also reinterpreted over the centuries. Looking at the past and the present of the Nāth Yogīs, in this volume we decided to focus on the dimension of power, both in its spiritual and its worldly aspects, and explore the ways in which ascetic notions of power were and are used to promote political, religious, or social changes. In order to do that, we place the transformations of the sampradāya in the larger context of ideological shifts, new forms of participation in the public/political sphere, new articulations of religious belonging, new conceptions of caste mobility and, looking at the present day, the emergence of Hindu nationalism.

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_intro

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The contributions of this volume, therefore, highlight moments of selfreinterpretation that are produced by the sampradāya’s interaction with different social milieus, and that are expedient for enabling the order to adjust to new requirements. In fact, it is not unusual for religious leaders to adapt their traditions under the influence of the historical period and the social and religious contexts in which they live.1 While in some circumstances they have to compromise, in others they directly support interpretations that allow their centers or teachings to survive, even though this leads to important changes.2 That a past religious tradition is passed on and interpreted through adaptations and changes shows the capacity of religious orders to actualize their teachings in a creative way and therefore to evolve and survive over time. In what follows, we will provide a brief historical overview of the Nāth sampradāya, discussing the status of the scholarship about it before introducing the volume’s focus. Far from being an exhaustive or conclusive work, this volume aims to highlight different angles of the order’s entanglement in the sociopolitical sphere, to encourage interdisciplinary dialogue and further research.

1 The Nāth sampradāya – A brief framework Historical evidence on the Nāth sampradāya and its development is scanty. Traditionally said to be founded by guru Gorakhnāth, there is nonetheless no evidence of a unified, organized pan-Indian Nāth order prior to the beginning of the seventeenth century (see Mallinson 2011). Rather, we can speak of disparate Yogīs’ lineages following different local traditions, descendants of Śaiva exoteric and tantric orders, such as the Paṣupatas, the Kāpālikas and the Kaula traditions (see Lorenzen 1972, and Sanderson 2009). Some lineages encountered and mingled with other traditions. One such case is the Nāth encounter with South Indian Siddha (see White 1996), drawing from esoteric practices connected with the use of physical techniques, especially breath control, and alchemical manipulation (see Bouillier 2008, 6). Although the word Nāth (lord, master) is today commonly used to denote members of the Nāth sampradāya, as several authors will discuss in this 1 See Bevilacqua (2018, 68-98). 2 Bouillier (2008, 280), for example, has described how Nāth monasteries and gurus adapt to contemporary religious trends as a strategy to counteract the negative impact caused by the lack of royal patronage and land reforms.

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volume, the term is not found in pre-modern literature to describe a unified group, and the followers of those lineages that will later be collected under the name “Nāth sampradāya” were simply referred to as “Yogīs” or “Jogīs”. The legendary figures of the nine Nāths and of the eighty-four Siddhas are fundamental in the history and in the worship of the sampradāya, which is linked to Ādināth, the Original Nāth, who may be identified as Śiva, or one of his manifestations. The word siddha (perfected one) typically refers to semi-divine human beings renowned for their powers (siddhis), often associated with antinomian behaviors resulting from the esoteric practice of yoga and alchemy. The legends about the Siddhas blur sectarian boundaries: their names are present in lists belonging to the Kaula as well as to the Buddhist traditions, to such an extent that some scholars have hypothesized a Buddhist origin or strong Buddhist influences over the Nāths.3 Although these lists vary, there is a shared belief that the sampradāya originated from Ādināth, who passed his teaching to Matsyendranāth. Matsyendranāth would have then transmitted it to Gorakhnāth, 4 though it is likely that Gorakhnāth lived in the twelfth century and Matsyendranāth in the ninth.5 Horstmann (2014) argues that Nāth Yogīs, “in the sense of ascetics paying allegiance to a genealogical line of Nāths with Śiva as the supreme Nāth”, emerge in written sources from the thirteenth century, but their identity remained for a long time fluid, overlapping with that of various other groups of ascetics. These lineages came into contact with Sufīs and other Hindu ascetics and, in fact, according to Lorenzon and Muñoz, “Naths have constructed their own identity with concepts taken from Hindus (both orthodox and heterodox), Buddhists, Muslims, and Sikhs alike” (2011, x). However, by the sixteenth century Gorakhnāth became the tutelary “deity” of Yogī orders in the Gangetic plain as well (Mallinson 2011, 17). From vernacular sources of this period, it appears that there was a Nāth community at some advanced

3 For a summary of the scholars who have debated this issue, see footnote 2 in Mallinson (2019), who also presents an engaging discussion about the connection between Vajrayāna Buddhism and Nāths in South India. 4 The figure of Gorakhnāth is still very mysterious and scholars disagree about both the date and the place of his birth. As summarized by Bouillier (2012), scholars such as Mallik (1954), Dasgupta (1946), and White (1996) suggest a Punjabi origin; Briggs (1938) suggests he was from eastern Bengal, while Mallinson (2011) locates him in Deccan. 5 Mallinson suggests that probably Matsyendranāth lived in the Deccan (central India) in the ninth to tenth centuries and was probably a follower of the Kaula Mārg, specifically the Pūrvāmnāya (eastern) and Paścimāmnāya (western) lineages and its southern variant known as Śāmbhava, since several texts associated with these traditions are attributed to him (2011, 5). These traditions would involve sexual and other unorthodox practices.

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stage of consolidation, formed of often-itinerant ascetic groups, vying for status and patronage with saṃnyāsīs, bairāgīs, and Sants (Horstmann 2014). The oldest form of organization of the order divides it into twelve panths, hence the name Bārahpanthī. Mallinson (2020b) reports that a list of twelve Yogī panths is present in the Nujūm al-‘ulūm, an illustrated encyclopedia completed around 1570 and commissioned by the rulers of Bijapur. Even the Dabistān-e-Māzaheb, a work in Persian that compares religious sects and orders in seventeenth-century South Asia, refers to the presence of yogeśvaras forming a religious group divided into twelve sects. It is likely that the twelve-panths schema was much older, as the groupings of sculptures of twelve Nāths found at both Dabhoi and Panhale Kaji would suggest.6 Today, the official list of the twelve panths, whereby each panth is connected to a disciple of Gorakhnāth, has been finalized by the Yogī Mahāsabhā, an organization founded in 1906 and reorganized in 1932 by Digvijaynāth, mahant of the Gorakhpur temple.7 However, as Briggs explains, the situation is complex: considering different lists, we find different names and different groups, so that, overall, the number of subsects exceeds twelve. Therefore, rather than actual groups, these lists may be taken to represent the name of schools (paramparā) of individual gurus with their followers (Briggs 1938, 62). Briggs also shows that not all the subsects trace their origins to Gorakhnāth and mentions a tradition in which there were initially eighteen panths of Śiva and twelve of Gorakhnāth: these two groups fought each other and as a result many panths were destroyed, only six on each side surviving (i.e., twelve in total) which were to constitute the order of the Gorakhnāthīs (ibid., 63).8 6 The Mahudi Gate (completed in 1286 CE), located in Dabhoi, a village in Gujarat, is embellished with sculptures depicting thirteen Siddhas (including Ādināth), together with deities of the Śaiva-Śākta pantheon. In the upper part of the gate, smaller sculptures depict yogīs in thirty-six unique postures, among which are some complex ones not present in textual sources of the period (see Sarde 2017). The twenty-nine caves of Panhale Kaji are situated in the Ratnagiri district of Maharashtra, on the Konkan coast between Mumbai and Goa. Originally Buddhist (sixth century CE onwards), some of these caves were later on occupied by Nāth Yogīs as various Nāth statues and representations would demonstrate (see Mallinson 2019). 7 They are: Satyanāthī, Dharmanāthī, Rāmnāthī, Bairāg, Kapilāni, Āīpanthī, Natẹśvarī, Ganġanāthī, Rāval, Pāvpanthī, Mannāthī, and Pāgalpanthī (see Bouillier 2008, 32-35). It is interesting to notice that a few names on this list do not correspond to those given by Briggs (1938, 63-68). On the Yogī Mahāsabhā, see Bouillier (2008, 25-32; 2017, 58). 8 This dichotomy between aṭhārah (eighteen) and bārah (twelve) is also present in the organization of the jamāt (Arabic word for group/community), an institutional grouping of a hundred Yogīs who continuously travel together following an itinerary based on Nāth places and festivities, representing the ramtā (itinerant) component of the Nāth world (as opposed to its sthāndhārī, sedentary, dimension). The jamāt is run by two mahants: one is said to represent

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Nāth Yogīs are recognized today by the large round earrings (called kuṇḍal, darśan, or mudrā) worn into the thick cartilage of the ear – which also give them the name of Kānphāṭa (split-eared) Yogī9 – and by the śelī, a long black twisted thread to which is attached a rudrākṣa seed, a flat ring made of metal, wood, or bone, and a small whistle or horn called siṅgī, also worn by householder Nāths, which is the element that characterized Yogīs from at least the tenth century onwards.10

2 Studies on the Nāths Owing to the complexity and the “circulation” of the sampradāya, both historically and geographically, there have been various scholarly efforts to unravel the intricacies of the order. After the early groundbreaking monograph of George Weston Briggs (1938), different scholars with different approaches have tried to reconstruct the history of the Nāth sampradāya. One of the major lines of inquiry has focused on the relationship between the tradition of the Nāth Yogīs and neighboring religious formations, such as the world of the Buddhist Siddhas (Dasgupta 1976), the alchemical tradition (White, 1996), Vaiṣṇava bhakti in Maharashtra (Vaudeville 1987, Kiehnle 1997, 2000, 2004-2005), nirguṇa bhakti (Barthwal 1978, Vaudeville 1987, Offredi 2002, Lorenzen and Muñoz 2011, Horstman 2017), and the Sufī fraternities of North India (Bouillier 2015; Dahnhardt, 2002; Ernst, 2005); this body of literature reflects the extraordinary fluidity of the Nāth world in pre-modern South Asia. In terms of textual scholarship, some editions of vernacular examples of Nāth literature have been published since Pitambar Datta Barthwal’s work in the 1940s (such as the translation of the Gorakh Bānī by Gordan Djurjevic, 2019), and important research on the Sanskrit traditions associated with the Nāths has been carried out by Christian Bouy and by James Mallinson. The former focuses on the confluence between yoga treatises and the canon of the 108 Upaniṣads (Bouy 1994), while the the so called aṭhārah panth (the group of eighteen) and the other the bārah panth (the group of twelve), perhaps the legacy of the more ancient subdivision discussed by Briggs. On the organization and activities of the jamāt, see Bouillier (2008, 35-40). 9 These earrings and the ceremony of the cut (cīrā kar cheḍnā samskār, the samskār of the incision) are part of the second initiation undertaken by a Nāth ascetic after which the title of Yogī is conferred on him/her. After the first initiation, the ascetic is called Aughar (misshapen) and is supposed to continue his ascetic training to verify if he is apt or not to the ascetic life. 10 A statue of Matsyendranāth in which the siṅgī was evident and dated to the tenth century is kept in the museum of Mangalore (Bouillier 2008, 103).

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latter analyzes the role of the Nāth Yogīs in the development of haṭha yoga (Mallinson 2011a, 2011b, 2020). Anthropological studies such as those of Daniel Gold and Ann Grodzins Gold (Gold and Grodzins 1984, Gold 1995, 1999, 2005, Grodzins 1989, 1991, 1992) have looked at the oral traditions and lived experiences of the Nāth Yogīs, particularly householders, in the contemporary world, while the work of Véronique Bouillier (1997, 2008, 2017) constitutes the most thorough discussion to date of the Nāth sampradāya as a monastic lineage in contemporary South Asia. A new approach based on a comparison between vernacular texts and visual, archaeological evidence of Nāths’ presence in temple sculptures and wall graffiti (see Sarde 2014, 2016, 2017, Bankar 2013, 2018, 2019, Mallinson 2019, 2020b) has also proved to be very useful in reconstructing the Nāths’ history and development. However, the unanswered questions regarding the order are still numerous and much work remains to be done.

3 On the powers of the Yogīs and the present volume The quest for powers and for the results that may be obtained through such powers has been a well-known topos of Indian literature since Vedic times.11 Defined as vibhūti, guṇa, or, more often, as siddhi, yogic powers were considered proof of an accomplished religious practice, transforming the practitioner into a siddha, a perfected master. As demonstrated by the collective volume edited by Jacobsen (2012), a strong association between powers and yoga was recognized in different religious contexts (Buddhist, Jaina, Śaiva, Vaiṣṇava, Sufī) and was described in several textual sources (such as the Pāli Canon, the Mahābhārata, the Yogasūtra of Patañjali or the Yogavāsiṣṭha, etc.). Originally associated with strict forms of celibate asceticism, the domain of yogic powers became accessible to the nonascetic – and particularly to monarchs – with the rise in prominence of the tantric movements. In early medieval India, tantric gurus succeeded in occupying positions, functions, and services that had hitherto been in the hands of orthodox Brahmins, presenting themselves as new bestowers of legitimacy and empowerment, i.e. as rāj-guru. Through their initiation and consecration rites, they “endowed kings with a power beyond that of their rivals, intensifying their brilliance, ensuring their victory against enemies, and allowing them to have long and distinguished reigns” (Burchett 2019, 43). 11 See for example the stories presented by Bhagat in his accounts on tapas and powers in several early textual traditions (1976).

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White suggests that the ability of the Nāths “to flex their political and economic muscle was a logical extension of the supernaturally powerful bodies they reputedly cultivated through the practice of the ‘yoga’” (forthcoming). They were able to maintain their roles and prestige even in a different political and religious context. In fact, during the Sultanate, while the institutional public forms of tantric religion died out, and other forms were relegated to private cults, the Nāth Yogīs “emerged as leading providers of a path offering real, pragmatic, and accessible power in the world” (Burchett 2019, 133), becoming “supernatural power brokers” (White 1996, 7) and reaching the height of their “prestige and influence during the 13th and 14th centuries” (Chandra 1996, 124). Nāth Yogīs were not even marginalized by the emergence of Vaiṣṇava bhakti ascetic communities (from the sixteenth century onwards), characterized by a devotional approach centered on a soteriology of divine grace.12 Although several Hindu rulers officially shifted their main attention and request of legitimacy to “devotional” sampradāyas,13 such as that of the Rāmānandīs, “this shift was not a universal fact, but was incomplete and uneven, occurring at different times in different locations and in a few places not occurring at all” (Burchett 2012, 38). In this context, criticism of Nāth Yogīs was motivated precisely by their different religious approach, based on a tradition of siddhi-oriented yoga practice. The attribution of yogic powers was not a prerogative of the Nāth Yogīs (although the title Yogī was) but manifested among different practitioners, to such an extent that various oral traditions report about “clashes” between ascetics, solved by magic/yogic feats.14 What differed were the sectarian attitudes towards these supernatural capacities: sādhus belonging to Vaiṣṇava lineages, as well as Sufīs, considered the powers obtained through their sādhanā to be by the grace of God, while Nāths considered their powers a result of their tantric ritual and their mantra repetition, alchemy, and visualization-based yoga (see Mallinson 2014, 167-68).15 12 A discussion on bhakti would lead us too far away from our main topic of investigation. For a general outline, see Lorenzen (1995, 1996). For a latest publication on power and bhakti see Hawley and Novetzke (2019). 13 See for example the “conversions” described by Burchett (2019, 131-37) in Galta, Kullu Valley and Punjab. In general, Burchett’s work represents an outstanding source of information about the religious dynamics that, from the seventeenth century onwards, were of interest to various orders active in building up a sectarian identity. 14 As demonstrated by Burchett (2019), sādhus belonging to Vaiṣṇava lineages as well as Sufīs were known mostly for their devotional attitude, and the powers obtained through their sādhanā were seen as being by the grace of God, and therefore more powerful than the powers of the Yogīs. 15 Although this siddhi-oriented attitude was generally spread among Nāth lineages, other religious attitudes, including a more devotional one, were also in evidence. See Horstmann (2017).

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It was probably the relevance accorded by Nāths in their sādhanā to the self-attainment and control of powers that determined the spread of a rich narrative in which Yogīs were presented as dangerous but also as powerful figures who, thanks to their magical prowess, were able to gain control over other bodies, manipulating methods of perception, often interfering in events related to royal figures (see White 2009). This “interference” was probably also the outcome of a form of routinized charisma produced by the same stories about these powers. These narratives may have played a role in attracting the attention of sovereigns towards Nāth Yogīs, encouraging them to build relationships with Nāth gurus and to grant them lands in an attempt at securing supernatural support, thus intertwining the spiritual with the political power. Kings granted lands to their gurus, patronizing the constructions of temples and maṭhs (monasteries).16 Nāths, therefore, were able to carve out for themselves an important niche of patronage: they received long-standing royal sponsorship in the petty states of the Himalayan arch, some Mughal donations in Punjab, and political prominence in Nepal and Marwar.17 These religious leaders managed centers whose function was not only religious, but also administrative and social. Nāth Yogīs became owners of religious as well as secular powers, acting in the lands donated to them, or related to the monastery they were managing, as lords or kings. For example, in Kadri (today Karnataka) they received not only patronage and lands by the ruling māhārājā of Barakuru in 1475 (see Bouillier 2017, 114), but they also acquired the title of rāj. In epigraphic sources in Kadri we find, indeed, the figure of the rāj-yogī, the “King of the Yogīs” who lived in great style until the demise of the Vijayanagara kingdom (Mallinson 2019). In the sixteenth century, the Italian traveler Ludovico di Varthema reports that the king “ruled over 30,000 people and travelled about India with an impressive entourage including a troop of warrior yogis” (ibid.).18 Mallinson has suggested that the figure of the rāj-yogī has to be associated with that 16 The word maṭh “refers in part to an architectural space that typically housed Hindu ascetics … but it also constituted a network of interrelated institutions with shared practices and ideals … Like the monasteries of medieval Europe, they performed many intellectual, religious, social, and political functions and, as such, were engaged both with the state and the local population” (Stoker 2016, 9). 17 See Bouillier (1997) for the Himalayas and Nepal, Goswami and Grewal (1967) for the Punjab, Grodzins Gold (1992) and Gold (1995) for Marwar. 18 Pietro della Valle in 1622, however, found the king of the time in a dilapidated state following local conflicts (Bouillier 2017, 118). The head of the Kadri monastery retains the title of Rāj Yogī, “Kind of Yogī”, to this day. His enthronement occurs in a quite ritualized manner every twelve years. See Bouillier (2017, 125-163).

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of the head of monasteries (maṭhādipati) and the practice of rāja yoga19 propounded in order to justify their less ascetic lifestyles (2018, 31). Therefore, rāja yoga would be not only an ultimate method to reach samādhi (deep meditation or liberation), but also “an easy method of yoga suited to those unwilling or unable to lead rigorously ascetic lives and a goal of practice” (idid., 32). As mentioned in this volume by Jones, in the Navanāthacaritramu, the ascetic rule of Matsyendra offers a better alternative to that of bad kings: Matsyendra practices a “royal” (rāculī) yoga, maintaining a yogic sovereignty (yogasāmrājya) which is superior to that of kings because it is not self-oriented. The idea of the rāj-yogī (maṭhādipati), therefore, should be seen as a development of the rāj-guru, who “through patronage and political changes became powerful rulers in their own right, losing their dependence on royal patrons and shedding their rôles as rājagurus” (Mallinson 2018, 32). But clearly, as the history of Kadri demonstrates, the rise and fall of these unusual, local kings did not lie outside the vicissitudes of those whose power they were supposed to secure. Colonialism and modernity spread ill will towards yogīs and especially towards practitioners of haṭha yoga: under the British Raj, wandering ascetics begging or performing disreputable practices were labeled as charlatans, heirs of superstitious religious practices.20 This Western concern played a particularly prominent role in the disenchantment with Nāth siddhis and in the subsequent deterioration of their political influence in the nineteenth century. The sampradāya, however, did not remain out of the political games for long. As this volume will discuss, some centers adapted and adopted new strategies in order to get involved with political powers. In recent years, the sampradāya’s visibility in the public sphere is mostly mediated by Yogī Ādityanāth, the mahant of the Gorakhnāth temple of Gorakhpur, elected as Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh in 2017. This election was the culmination of a political trajectory centered on the promotion of Hindu nationalist ideas, often with communal overtones, already started by the previous mahants of the Gorakhnāth temple in Gorakhpur. A contemporary, interesting shift that is apparent in the self-representation of Yogīs is their adoption of a rhetoric of karmayoga to provide a spiritual framework for their political involvement. Appeals to the Bhagavadgītā’s 19 Haṭha yoga texts introduce and teach also rāja yoga (literally “king-yoga”), which is presented as the culmination of haṭha yoga practices – and its name would imply, indeed, a certain superiority to other forms of yoga – as well as a method of yoga easier to practice compared to haṭha yoga. On the history of rāja yoga with information also on its modern interpretation see Birch (2013). 20 See Mark Singleton (2010, 35-53).

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“yoga of action” to buttress political activity has become a well-established part of the Indian political discourse since the days of the anticolonial struggle, particularly after being embraced by Tilak and Gandhi as a way of providing a theological basis for, respectively, military organization and non-violent resistance. With Savarkar’s co-optation of the concept in the 1930s and 1940s, the idea that karmayoga may translate into violent action has become an ideological cornerstone of the Hindutva rhetoric (see Chaturvedi 2010). In the present volume, the self-representation of a Nāth-Yogī as karma-yogī emerges in the essays by Muñoz (in reference to Ādityanāth) and Stuparich (Naraharināth), where the term is embraced to provide a spiritual framework to the political agency of an ascetic. Muñoz’s material, which includes a recent interview to Ādityanāth, also exemplifies how the notion of karma-yogī can be embraced to implement a rhetorical shift away from the notion of rāj-yogī. The language of karma yoga emphasizes, indeed, agency over status. It is easy to see how an idiom of service (to society, to the nation, and ultimately to the divine) provides a blueprint for re-interpreting the ascetics’ political agency in the context of contemporary electoral democracy. It would be tempting to read this rhetorical shift as an index of a clear-cut divide between a pre-modern and a modern conception of power, but we must remain alert to the ways in which precolonial elements continue to survive, thrive, and infuse with meaning, different ways of being Nāth Yogī in the modern world. This interplay between different conceptions of yoga-hood is, after all, nothing new: the sampradāya has long embraced a complex identity in which sectarian elements from the tantric past (sometimes bordering on the antinomian) coexist with more “brahmanically” palatable forms of public self-representations. Nowadays’ political milieu, with its demands for democracy and political accountability, constitutes one more public domain in which the powers of the Nāth Yogīs can be rephrased for public consumption, without necessarily displacing other forms of sectarian self-understanding. This is also true for non-ascetic contexts. Nāth Yogīs (or Jogīs in the vernacular) were not only associated with ascetic life: householder Nāths are found all over India. The origin of these various communities is still a matter of debate,21 but as a general rule, though “happily integrated into Hindu society”, in several regions they are “somehow identified with a 21 See Bouillier and Ondračka in this volume for references to the different theories and bibliographic advice.

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tradition of renunciate yogis outside it” (Gold and Gold 1984, 116). In fact, the cultural legacy embedded in activities that point to an ascetic or esoteric background (such as warding off hail and pestilence, being the protector of village, or a bard) enabled them to acquire, despite their low caste ranking, a certain authority, playing a role analogous to the Brahmins. This analogy, as we will see in this volume, is fundamental for those Jogī castes that are now removed from ascetic practices and that fight for the recognition of a higher caste status. The leitmotif tying together the different chapters of the present volume is, as we have already mentioned, the exploration of the ways in which ascetic notions of power were and are used to promote political, religious, or social changes. To unravel this important and overlooked topic, the contributors attempt to answer the following questions: In which ways do the Nāths’ claim of possessing yogic powers (often construed as supernatural powers, siddhis) translate into mundane expressions of sociopolitical power? How does this morph into the authority to reinterpret and recreate particular traditions? How, then, did their acculturation to the political idioms of contemporary times affect their sectarian self-understanding? And how did the social status of householder Nāth vary according to location? The volume opens with a chapter by Véronique Bouillier, which has two main goals: it presents an overview of the Nāth Yogīs and it highlights some areas that call for further studies, better clarif ication, and more fieldwork. The chapter presents a hypothetical triangular schema whose three corners are the Nāths Yogīs, haṭha yoga, and Gorakhnāth, pointing out how the relationships between these three elements is far from simple or straightforward. Focusing on how the theme of powers (siddhis) fits into this complex framework, the chapter stresses a sectarian continuity despite the adaptation to changing circumstances. It points out the centrality of the siddhis for the identity of the Nāths as yogīs, both for establishing relationships with kings and, in modern times, for participating in electoral politics. The chapter also introduces the often-overlooked topic of the householder Yogīs, an essential theme for understanding the identity and history of the Nāths. This first chapter, therefore, introduces the different topics developed in the volume, offering a theoretical scaffolding that only someone with a profound knowledge of the order, such as Véronique Bouillier, could write.22 22 We would also like to thank Véronique Bouillier for her kind and invaluable support in the realization of this volume.

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In Chapter 2, the confluence of supernatural and political power is discussed by Adrián Muñoz through a detailed analysis of hagiographical sources. Muñoz draws attention to the interplay between the siddhis attributed to the Yogīs and the sociopolitical authority they often enjoyed. The chapter explores ways in which power is understood in the context of haṭha yoga, linking these ideal conceptions to historical and hagiographical examples of Nāth Yogīs displaying various sorts of powers in different contexts and times. The main corpus for this construal is Nāth hagiography, a rich source for the study of different articulations of power, success, and siddhi, through the stories of Yogīs guiding princes or kings turned Yogīs (such as Cauraṅgī, Bhartharī, and Gopīcand). Muñoz also suggests that the display of supernatural capacities in hagiographical sources is not merely a literary device but is mirrored by historical facts, as examples from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries demonstrate. Nāth identity, therefore, is here represented as being socioculturally produced at the intersection of worldly and religious powers: construed to represent the dominion over the macro- and the microcosm, it becomes a source of authority in the spiritual realm and a source of power in the secular world. A different textual approach is presented in Chapter 3 by Jamal A. Jones, who works on a Telegu source, the Gaurana’s Navanāthacaritramu, a long fourteenth- or fifteenth-century poem written at the temple complex of Srisailam. Although, as noted above, Yogī Siddhas often appear as suspicious characters in Indian literature, often pursuing siddhis with nefarious intent and at great cost to others, enlisting and sometimes imperiling virtuous kings in occult activities, Gaurana’s work reverses this paradigm and describes instead the sinister sovereign. While his Yogīs do seek occult power, they do so only as disinterested ascetics, whereas kings repeatedly seek Yogīs and yogic powers for personal gain. In so doing, they reveal an inherent selfishness and corruption that undermines their imperative to rule and protect. This chapter, then, dramatizes a longstanding conflict between pursuing yogic power for personal profit and pleasure, and gaining power on the way to liberation from the world. Moreover, it demonstrates how Gaurana’s poem echoes the rising political fortunes of his patron, the leading ascetic of Srisailam’s Bhikṣāvṛtti maṭh. Since there are very few scholars contributing to the research on the Nāth sampradāya on the basis of textual materials in South Indian vernacular languages, Jones’s contribution offers a remarkable perspective to reflect upon the importance of South Indian sources in properly understanding the development and reception of a tradition in different geographical contexts.

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This textual background paves the way for Christine Marrewa-Karwoski, who in Chapter 4 uses textual sources in Hindi to discuss an important shift in the ideological construction of power in twentieth-century Gorakhpur. Although the Nāth temple at Gorakhpur had never been a particularly renowned or powerful center in the past, its Yogīs, instead, had been well regarded for their social inclusivity and supernatural abilities. In this engaging chapter, Marrewa-Karwoski demonstrates how the Yogīs’ siddhis were systematically reinterpreted in Gorakhpur under Mahant Digvijaynāth in favor of a new model of political participation in the life of the state. After presenting the ascent of Mahant Digvijaynāth as the head of the temple in Gorakhpur, the chapter examines Digvijaynāth’s words in the various publications put out by the Gorakhnāth Mandir, an archive not previously examined in scholarly literature. It illustrates how the mahant, although taking pride in his predecessors’ siddhis, also took pains to distance himself from these same powers. Juxtaposed with this distance there was also a need to represent a Hindu-Nāth identity based on political activism and the protection of the Hindu dharma. Marrewa-Karwoski argues that it was this renegotiation of the role of the siddhis (fundamental for the construal of Nāth history, in which Digvijaynāth’s mahantship is rooted, but unsuitable for the political idiom of the modern world) that cemented the role of the Gorakhpur monastery as one of the main political epicenters of the northern Nāth community in the twentieth century. Nāth identity, nevertheless, was not only renegotiated in its “ascetic” environment. As we have already mentioned, householder Nāths have always been a ubiquitous presence in South Asia and it is not surprising that their identity and status also underwent important transformations. Lubomír Ondračka (Chapter 5) and Joel Bordeaux (Chapter 6) focus their attention on Bengal, a region in which householder Nāths have a strong presence but ascetics are almost absent. While Ondračka enquires the origin of the presence of householder Nāths in the region, Bordeaux investigates the search for social power exerted by Bengali Nāths in their struggle for upward mobility in a society that has relegated them to a low status. Ondračka investigates the origin of the “Jugī” caste in the eastern parts of undivided Bengal. Colonial records reveal that the Jugīs formed a numerous endogamous caste in that part of the Subcontinent, and even today this Bengali-speaking community, now known as the Nāths, is visibly present in southern Assam, Tripura and northern Bangladesh. These numbers have led scholars to believe that the Jugī caste has been present in Bengal for many centuries, probably since the Pāla dynasty (750-1174). However,

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textual sources (both in Sanskrit and Bengali) produced in medieval Bengal do not refer to this caste anywhere. This chapter scrutinizes the evidence of the Nāth presence in the area and problematizes the connection between ascetic Nāths and householders. Ondračka hypothesizes that the Jugīs came to Bengal from somewhere in the west of India (probably Gujarat) only during the seventeenth century, when economic development began in the easternmost part of the Mughal Empire, stimulated by the East Indian Company. This development required a large number of weavers – and weaving did indeed remain the main occupation of the Jugīs in Bengal until the nineteenth century. This caste had no connection with the ascetic Nāths in Bengal (whose presence was in any case minimal) nor with yoga theories and practices, which compels the author to wonder about their being labeled Jugī tout court. What seems clear from Ondračka’s work is that, because of this lack of historical connection with ascetic Nāths and the consequent lack of yogic charisma (usually inherent to Jogīs as castes), these migrant Jugīs were relegated to the lower part of the local caste hierarchy, deprived of any spiritual authority. In Risley’s report (1891) the precise caste status of the Jogīs was ambiguous and apparently different in various parts of Lower Bengal, but it started to be questioned by the Jogīs themselves from 1872. Subsequently, some decided to proclaim themselves to be Brahmins and began to wear the sacred thread. To pinpoint this situation, Joel Bordeaux analyzes in his chapter a Sanskritizing movement that has developed among householder Nāths in West Bengal since the early twentieth century. In particular, he considers how authors and organizers affiliated with the All-India Rudraja Nath Brahmin Association (Nikhil Bhārat Rudraja Nāth Brāhmaṇ Sammilanī, hereafter NBRNBS) use historical arguments to support their claim of being in fact “Rudraja” Brahmins. Implicit in their claim is a critique of how caste has been practiced in Bengal since the twelfth century. The NBRNBS, drawing on a fifteenth-century Sanskrit edition of the Ballāla Carita, promotes the idea that Brahmin Nāths were unjustly declared avarṇa by the Sena monarch Ballāla Sena, who definitively reorganized Bengali Hindu society just before Western Bengal came under Turkic control. It is here interesting to notice that the request of the NBRNBS lays on a “simple” syllogism: since householder Nāths traditionally used to practice yoga, to accept royal gifts of land, and to perform pūjās on behalf of others – activities which are also performed by Brahmins – it followed that Nāths are Brahmins too. This chapter, therefore, while showing the somewhat paradoxical approach to caste and Hindu identity inherent in the NBRNBS’s advocacy, also demonstrates its reliance on the specific imaginary of social authority

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recalled by a “traditional” Nāth identity, despite the fact that householder Nāths part of the NBRNBS are today primarily Vaiṣṇavas.23 Questions of identity and about the relationship between householder and ascetic Nāths also find space in the section of the volume related to Nepal. This area is discussed in Chapter 7 by Christof Zotter, who focuses on the historical rise and development of monastic lineages of Yogīs and their relationship with royal power, and in Chapter 8 by Eloisa Stuparich, via the religious career of Yogī Naraharināth, an influential advocate of Hindu nationalism in the twentieth century. From the late fourteenth century Nepal attested the presence of different groups of Nāths whose origins are, nevertheless, still unclear. Therefore, in the first part of his chapter, Zotter questions the source of these Nāths’ support, and through an attentive epigraphic search submits evidence which contradicts the idea of an early patronage under the Hindu Malla kings (1200-1768/69), while supporting the presence of private donors, probably Yogīs themselves. In the second part of the chapter, Zotter presents new document findings, some just published, that demonstrate how a close linkage between Yogīs and kings developed slowly. He analyzes the special relation of the Śāh kings from Gorkha with their tutelary deity Gorakṣanāth, as well as the career of Siddha Bhagavantanāth. For his miraculous support for the king’s war campaigns, his diplomatic services, and political advice, Bhagavantanāth received land grants, was appointed as central overseer (maṇḍalāi) of all Yogīs in the newly founded and still expanding kingdom of Nepal, and was able to establish new monasteries. Zotter’s chapter, scrutinizing the further developments of these monastic settlements, demonstrates that the kings’ support of Yogīs was not always consistent, as we also find other forces, both internal and external, hindering and jeopardizing the temporal powers of the Yogīs. Chapter 8 presents another example of charismatic, politically involved Yogī, Yogī Naraharināth (1915-2003), who was not only the mahant of the main Nāth maṭh in Nepal (at Mrigasthali, Kathmandu valley), but also an important cultural icon in twentieth-century Nepal, acclaimed as an avatār of Gorakhnāth by his disciples. Controversial among political activists who fought for multiparty political representation in Nepal, throughout his life 23 It is interesting to notice that there are also ascetic Nāths, like Yogī Śivanāth, a mahant from Orissa, who attempt to reconvert Vaiṣṇava householder Yogīs to “Nāth-ism” through satsangs (meetings) during which the peculiar identity of Nāths in comparison to other sampradāyas is stressed. For this reason, Yogī Śivanāth criticizes this Brahminization of Bengali Nāths, emphasizing the fact that Nāths are beyond the caste system.

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Naraharināth pursued the project of preserving Nepal as a uniquely Hindu monarchy, modeled on a notion of Vedic dharma that he regarded as the primordial religion of the Himalayan region. Articulated on the model of the karma-yogī, his religious persona was located at the intersection between Nāth asceticism, Sanskrit scholarship, and Hindu nationalism, and appealed to a variety of followers, emphasizing different aspects of his charisma. Stuparich’s chapter examines some accounts of Yogī Naraharināth’s life as a contemporary embodiment of the Nāth hagiographical tradition, whose importance has already been stressed in Muñoz’s and Marrewa-Karkowski’s chapters. As in the case of Digvijaynāth’s hagiography, the texts do not aim to present Naraharināth as a powerful ascetic according to the Yogīs’ spiritual paradigms, but focus instead on his public role as a paṇḍit and as a rāṣṭra-bhakta, underscoring the centrality of his commitment to Hinduness in Nepal. Discourses on Yogī Naraharināth’s public life in Nepal reveal, therefore, an important change in the understanding of ascetic agency, with religious charisma rephrased “around notions of social involvement, instead of renunciation” with a “nationalistic re-elaboration of karma yoga in political fashion”. In the light of these examples, it is not surprising to find similar strategies for acquiring social and religious powers in contemporary times. Ethnographic insights are given by Carter Higgins in Chapter 9, which focuses on the monastic temple of Gogameri in Rajasthan, and by Daniela Bevilacqua in Chapter 10, who deals with the Nāth reappropriation of haṭha yoga. Higgins’s attention to the village of Gogameri is prompted by the fact that it houses both the tomb of Gogajī, a warrior-saint with Hindu and Muslim hagiographies, and Gorakhtila, the politically influential temple of Gogajī’s guru, Yogī Gorakhnāth. The chapter describes the role of Gorakhtila in the leadership of Mahant Yogī Rupnāth and the public religious and charitable trust that he directs, the Gorakhtila Dhuna Trust. Since the early 2000s, they have worked to mobilize pilgrims, government agencies, ritual spaces, and hagiographical knowledge in order to develop a new pilgrimage infrastructure, purifying the pilgrimage’s genealogical and ritual elements from their hybrid, Hindu-Muslim religious imaginary. Higgins clearly demonstrates that to pursue these objectives, Rupnāth and the Dhuna Trust not only cultivated relations with state actors, such as the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), and the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), but also mobilized strategies borrowed from Hindu nationalism in general, while importing rituals and narrative forms derived from the contemporary rhetoric associated with the Sanātan Dharma, infused with Vaiṣṇavism and “sevā-development”. Therefore, the chapter examines how older modes of yogic charisma and

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ascetic-sovereign are used and adapted, especially in their hagiographic aspect, in the new scenario of public, religious, and charitable trusts, so as to become more suitable for contemporary projects and more attractive to a new, heterogeneous community of followers and pilgrims. The Nāths’ attention towards lay devotees and followers is also at the core of Chapter 10, wherein the topic of contemporary haṭha yoga practice and the Nāth sampradāya is analyzed. As we have already seen, the link between Nāths and haṭha yoga is a traditional one, because Gorakhnāth is considered as the “organizer” of this form of yoga. Though some ethnographic works about Nāths have stressed that today probably very few Yogīs master this form of yoga, by contrast, this chapter shows that in recent years several mahants have been involved in the teaching of a more commercialized form of yoga aimed at attracting especially lay people and foreigners. After briefly considering the developments concerned the modern history of yoga, and lay patronage, the chapter introduces the activities of the publishing house of the Gorakhnāth temple in Gorakhpur, and the yoga training camps (yoga śivir) there held on occasion of the International Yoga Day. Bevilacqua shows how members of the sampradāya are reclaiming, although presenting different strategies, their right to occupy the Indian/international yoga landscape, stressing their traditional association to the practice of yoga and haṭha yoga. The practice and yoga they propose aims to attract an audience of lay people and foreigners, sometimes investing in esoteric practices, but predominantly in social and physical wellbeing, demonstrating, again, the ability of the order to adapt itself and its teaching to new changing contexts. As a whole, the volume strives to provide a variety of approaches and methodologies, presenting to the reader different voices and different scholarly styles. By looking at different geographic contexts and historical periods, by considering both the ascetics and householder Nāth communities, and by favoring a multidisciplinary approach in which textual, historical, and ethnographic evidence are in dialogue, it is possible to illustrate moments of innovation and change within the Nāth tradition, to fill gaps in our knowledge of the order, or, at least, to highlight which gaps still need to be filled. Through the pages of this volume, we will see how the hagiographic narration, and especially its reinterpretation, has always played a fundamental role: new and old hagiographies contributed and still contribute to a reinterpretation of the past, adapting it to new social and political environments. Consequently, we will also see how history and social hierarchy can also be manipulated to enable mahants to acquire temporal power and householder Nāths to better their social position based on a “traditional” ascetic image.

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Examples from the past also allow us to understand how rituals, practices, and conceptions of religious charisma may change: from the all-powerful tantric siddhas to the Nāth rāj-gurus endowed with supernatural abilities, from the loss of prestige under the British Raj, to the nationalistic reinterpretations of contemporary times in which the successful attempts to be involved in politics may push the rāj-yogī to present himself as a karma-yogī who sacrifices himself for the dharma, the power of the Nāth Yogīs has undergone important transformations while remaining, at the same time, a central feature of their religious persona. Similarly, the householder Nāth, as bard or weaver, also had to reinterpret his status to find a place in a society that replicates traditional models of legitimacy and authority even in lay contexts. We can, therefore, read today’s Nāth world as the result of a long process of negotiating complex relationships between ascetics and householders, kings and Yogīs, each trying to manufacture their own legitimacy within the constraints of their place and times. Constraints, the hagiographies tell us, occasionally shuttered by some magical feat.

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Bouillier, Véronique. 2011. “Kanphata Yogis.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Vol. III: Society, Religious Specialists, Religious Traditions, and Philosophy, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, Helene Basu, Angelika Malinar, and Vasudha Narayanan, 347-54. Leiden: Brill. Bouillier, Véronique. 2017. Monastic Wanderers: Nath Yogi Ascetics in Modern South Asia. Delhi: Manohar. Bouillier, Véronique. 2015. “Nāth Yogīs’ Encounters with Islam.” South Asia Mulitdisciplinary Academic Journal. https://journals.openedition.org/samaj/3878. (accessed February 2021). Buoy, Christian. 1994. Les Nātha-yogin et les Upanisads: Étude d’histoire de la literature hindoue. Paris: Editions de Boccard. Burchett, Patton. 2012. “Bhakti Religion and Tantric Magic in Mughal India: Kacchvāhās, Rāmānandīs, and Nāths, circa 1500-1750.” PhD dissertation, Columbia University. Burchett, Patton. 2019. A Genealogy of Devotion: Bhakti, Tantra, Yoga, and Sufism in North India. Columbia University Press. Chandra, Satish. 1993. Mughal Religious Policies: The Rajputs and the Deccan. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. Chaturvedi, Vinayak. 2010. “Rethinking Knowledge with Action: V.D. Savarkar, the Bhagavad Gita, and Histoires of Warfare.” Modern Intellectual History 7(2): 417-435. Dahnhardt, Thomas. 2002. Change and Continuity in Indian Sūfism. Delhi: D. K. Printworld. Dasgupta, Shashibhusan. 1946. Obscure Religious Cults as a Background of Bengali Literature. Calcutta: University of Calcutta. Digby, Simon. 2000. Wonder-Tales of South Asia. Orient Monographs. Djurdjevic, Gordan. 2019. Sayings of Gorakhnāth: Annotated Translation of the Gorakh Bani. New York: Oxford University Press. Ernst, W. Carl. 2005. “Situating Sufism and Yoga.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Third Series 15(1): 15-43. Gold, Daniel. 1995. “The Instability of the King: Magical Insanity and the Yogi’s Power in the Politics of Jodhpur, 1803-1843.” In Bhakti Religion in North India: Community Identity and Political Action, edited by David N. Lorenzen, 120-32. Albany: State University of New York Press. Gold, Daniel. 1999a. “Yogis’ Earrings, Householder’s Birth: Split Ears and Religious Identity among Householder Naths in Rajasthan.” In Religion, Ritual and Royalty, edited by N. K. Singhi and Rajendra Joshi, 35-53. Jaipur: Rawat. Gold, Daniel. 1999b. “Nath Yogis as Established Alternatives: Householders and Ascetics Today.” Journal of African and Asian Studies 34 (1): 68-88.

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Lorenzen, David. 1996. Praises to a Formless God: Nirguni Texts from North India. Albany: State University of New York Press. Lorenzen, David and Adrián Muñoz. 2011. Yogi Heroes and Poets: Histories and Legends of the Naths. New York: State University of New York Press. Mallik, Kalyani. 1954. Siddha-Siddhānta-Paddhati and Other Works of the Nātha Yogīs. Poona: Poona Oriental Book House. Mallinson, James. 2011a. “Hatha Yoga.” In Brill Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Vol. III: Society, Religious Specialists, Religious Traditions, and Philosophy, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, Helene Basu, Angelika Malinar, and Vasudha Narayanan, 770-81. Leiden: Brill. Mallinson, James. 2011b. “Nāth Sampradāya.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Vol. III: Society, Religious Specialists, Religious Traditions, and Philosophy, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, Helene Basu, Angelika Malinar, and Vasudha Narayanan, 409-28. Leiden: Brill. Mallinson, James. March 2012a. “Yoga and Yogīs.” Nāmarupa 15 (3): 2-27. Mallinson, James. 2012b. “The Original Gorakṣaśataka.” In Yoga in Practice, edited by David Gordon White, 257-72. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Mallinson, James. 2014. “The Yogīs’ Latest Trick.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 24 (1): 165-80. Mallinson, James. 2018. “Early Haṭhayoga”. Paper draft. Mallinson, James. 2019. “Kālavañcana in the Konkan: How a Vajrayāna Haṭhayoga Tradition Cheated Buddhism’s Death in India.” Religions 10 (4): 273. Mallinson, James. 2020a. “Haṭhayoga’s Early History: From Vajrayāna Sexual Restraint to Universal Somatic Soteriology.” In Hindu Practice, edited by Gavin Flood, 1-21. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mallinson, James. Forthcoming 2020b. “Yogi Insignia in Mughal Painting and Avadhi Romances.” In Objects, Images, Stories: Simon Digby’s Historical Method, edited by Francesca Orsini and David Lunn. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Offredi, Mariola. 2002. “Kabīr and the Nāthpanth.” In Images of Kabīr, edited by Monika Horstmann, 127-41. New Delhi: Manohar. Sarde, Vijay. 2014. “Nath Siddhas Scultures on the Someshwara Temple at PimpriDumala in Pune District, Maharashstra.” Bulletin of the Deccan College PostGraduate and Research Institute 74: 117-26. Sarde, Vijay. 2016. “Art and Architecture of Someshwar Temple at Pimpri-Dumala, Pune District, Maharashtra.” Historicity Research Journal 2: 1-22. Sarde, Vijay. 2017. “Paścimī Dakkhan se prāpt Matsyendranāth aur Gorakṣanāth ke nav anvesit Mūrti-Śilp.” Arnava 6: 94-113. Singleton, Mark. 2020. The Yoga Body. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stroker, Valerie. 2016. Polemics and Patronage in the City of Victory. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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Vaudeville, Charlotte. 1987. “The Shaivite Background of Santism in Maharastra.” In Religion and Society in Maharasthra, edited by M. Israel and N. K. Wagle, 32-50. Toronto: University of Toronto. White, David Gordon. 1996. The Alchemical Body. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. White, David Gordon. 2009. Sinister Yogis. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. White, David Gordon. Forthcoming. “Yogic and Political Power Among the Nāth Siddhas of North India.” In Asceticism and Power in South and Southeast Asia, edited by Peter Flugel and Gustaaf Houtmann. London: Routledge.

About the authors Daniela Bevilacqua is a Research Associate at SOAS. She received her PhD in Civilizations of Africa and Asia from Sapienza University of Rome, and in Anthropology from the University of Paris Nanterre. She is a former Postdoctoral Research Fellow for the Hatha Yoga Project (ERC) and author of Modern Hindu Traditionalism in Contemporary India. [email protected] Eloisa Stuparich is a Research Fellow at the Giorgio Cini Foundation (Venice, Italy), where she is currently working on the digitization of the Sanskrit manuscripts of the Danielou Fund. [email protected]

1

Current Research on Nāth Yogīs Further Directions Véronique Bouillier Abstracts This chapter fulfils two purposes: on the one hand it presents a comprehensive overview of the Nāth Yogīs, and on the other it pinpoints the various topics where further studies are still required, situations need to be clarified, and field data should be collected. Therefore, the chapter aims to synthetize these uncertainties in a hypothetic triangular schema with three corners, whose relation to one another is far from simple or straightforward: the Nāths Yogīs, haṭha yoga, and Gorakhnāth. Focusing on their link to powers (siddhis), the chapter stresses the sectarian continuity established through the adaptation to changing circumstances. Keywords: Nāth, Gorakhnāth, haṭha yoga, siddhi, householder Yogī, politics

Research on sectarian movements in India can be characterized as following three approaches: a textualist approach, focusing on the religious texts attributed to the sect or dealing with historical documents that concern the beginning and development of the sect, such as genealogies or inscriptions; a “spiritualist” approach, focused on individual narratives of mystical journeys, spiritual quests, and accomplishments; and a third, more anthropological approach that studies the functioning of the sect, its organizational specificities, and its identity, both collective and individual. These approaches are obviously not mutually exclusive, and the present book attests to the collaboration between historians, textual specialists, and anthropologists, and the skillful use of their respective methods. It is difficult to apprehend the present situation of the Nāth sampradāya without referring to its past. The situation has evolved over several centuries

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_ch01

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and, nowadays, new developments contradict the pessimistic assessments I once had for the future of Nāth monastic institutions and the Nāth religious tradition more generally (Bouillier 1997, 229). However, the problem for the sampradāya remains how to maintain a balance between, on the one hand, the demands of the modern world, with the changes that implies, and on the other hand, fidelity to perennial values, the preservation of age-old traditions, and the transmission of specific religious identity. The present authors’ focus gives due recognition to this double requirement: exploring the “powers of the Nāth Yogīs” refers both to the traditional image of the thaumaturgic Yogī, so widespread since the premodern period, and to the very contemporary form of the powerful guru. Recently, the Nāth Yogīs have been brought to public attention thanks to two changes in their circumstances: first, the sudden rise to power as chief minister of Uttar Pradesh of Yogī Ādityanāth, who happens to be a Nāth Yogī and the chief of one of the main monasteries of the sect in Gorakhpur; and second, the visibility of yoga as a political tool, since the promotion of the International Day of Yoga by Prime Minister Narendra Modi. Even though the link between these two events and the Nāth Yogīs could be seen as worth challenging, it has given a new public recognition to the Nāths. It needs to be challenged because Yogī Ādityanāth’s political views, especially regarding Muslims, have nothing in common with the traditionally open, inclusive attitude of the Nāths’ spirituality regarding Islam; it would be hard to attribute such violent activism to the Nāths.1 Questionable also but worth exploring is the connection between the Nāth Yogīs and yoga, even though today Nāths attempt to appropriate yoga.2 A sort of misunderstanding thus presides over the new general interest in the Nāths, but this could at the same time lead to a renewed reflection on two topics that are essential for understanding the Nāth sampradāya’s history and importance. First, Yogī Ādityanāth embodies the crudest version of the Nāth Yogīs’ relationship to political power, but – and this book is built around this problematic – the relationship between the Nāths and power, in its widest sense, has been constitutive of their existence and of their image. The relationship between Yogīs and kings as a mythological topos has evolved into a subtler link and taken new forms in the contemporary world, as this book’s chapters make clear. Why is there such a close relationship, 1 Cf. Bouillier (2020). 2 See Bevilacqua’s chapter and her remarks on “the vernacular and visual sources depict[ing] often Nāth Yogīs as the practitioners of physical forms of haṭha yoga”, before describing recent attempts at promoting yoga.

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why such mutual support between Nāth Yogīs and the political rulers of their time, such an alliance between spiritual and temporal power? The answer can be found in the widespread belief in siddhis, in the superhuman powers the Yogīs were said to possess. What are these siddhis, how did the Yogīs acquire them? The siddhis are well known to appear during yogic processes. But this is not their only source. This is the second topic that needs further inquiry: the relationship of Nāth Yogīs with yoga. Why are the Nāths called “Yogīs”? What does “yoga” stand for? Legends, stories telling the many spectacular deeds of the Nāth Yogīs tend to attribute these feats to their “yogbal”, their “yogic strength”, but they do not detail its characteristics. My purpose in this paper is to pinpoint the various areas where I think more studies are still required, situations remain to be clarified, field data to be collected. For instance, many historical questions are still pending. We could synthetize our uncertainties in a hypothetical triangular schema with three corners, the relationships between which are far from simple or straightforward: the Nāth Yogīs, the haṭha yoga, Gorakhnāth.

1 The “powers”: definition, origin, links to yoga Let us first explore the question of the extraordinary powers that the ascetics are supposed to develop. They are designated by various terms: jñāna (“knowledge” and “extraordinary knowledge”), aiśvarya (“mastery”), siddhi (“accomplishment”, “attainment”), vibhūti (in the Yogasūtra), guṇa (most frequently in haṭha yoga works). But the term siddhi is most prevalent in the Śaiva tradition and enters haṭha yoga with the Śaiva influence. It is most commonly rendered as supernatural, superhuman, but this is not an exact translation since such powers, “from the Yoga point of view … are not disruptions of the law of nature, but show mastery over nature, in that they are part of how nature works” (Jacobsen 2012, 4). It is perhaps better to talk about extraordinary or super/supra normal powers. To try to summarize a long and complex history, it is useful to adopt the distinction made by David G. White between “yogi practice” which “concerns the supernatural powers” and “‘yoga practice’ which essentially denotes a program of mind-training and meditation issuing in the realization of enlightenment, liberation, or isolation from the world of suffering existence” (White 2012, 11). This world view appeared around 400 BCE, and sees human beings as attached, bounded, and subject to the sufferings of life, from which they have to be freed. Practices focused on the human

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body, together with withdrawal from the world and control over body and mind processes, appeared in many different schools of thought. Even though “these practices were not always nor everywhere labelled ‘yoga’” (Fitzgerald 2012, 46), the harnessing metaphor which underlies the word yoga (meaning “hitch up”, “harness”, “yoke draught animals”) is particularly apt “for the project of bringing the higher strata of a person into control over his or her lower strata” (ibid.). The Mahābhārata makes explicit the two possibilities. Chapter 12.289, “prescription for yoga”, is a teaching on liberation but it also states that “the yogin breaks the bonds [of karma] with the strength (bala) he accumulates through yoga praxis. Through yoga he becomes as powerful as a God” (Fitzgerald 2012, 47). This strength, bala, is presented in detail (stanzas 11-56) as “the power to break free from all types of bondage”, the bondages that limit the ordinary human being: “Certainly the powerful yogin, who has complete control over the bonds that hold him, has at his disposal the absolute power to escape them at will” (289.28). Even though liberation is the highest goal of yoga practices, the theme of power is never neglected or avoided. Even the philosophical system of yoga which later schools would claim to adhere to – the Pātañjalayogaśāstra, the learned tradition exposed in the Yogasūtra attributed to one Pātañjali (350-450 CE?) – devotes its third chapter to the “extraordinary cognitive capacities” here called vibhūtis, “that arise from pursuing the higher levels of yogic concentration” (Larson 2012, 78). Lists of these powers are numerous. Let us select the synthetic commentary (bhāṣya) of the Yogasūtra 3.45, concerning the eight major powers (or aiśvaryas). These are identified as: atomicity (aṇimā): one becomes an atom. Lightness (laghimā): on becomes light. Greatness (mahimā): one becomes great. Reach (prāpti): one can touch the moon with even one’s finger. Freedom of will (prākāmya): unobstructed in one’s desires one rises up from or enters into the earth as if it were water. Mastery (vaśitva): one controls the elements and things derived from them, and one cannot be controlled by others. Lordship (īśitṛtva): one has power over the coming into being, the disappearing and the arrangements of [the elements]. The ability to achieve one’s wishes (yatrakāmāvasāyitva): one’s desire becomes true, such as the desire to arrange the elements and [other forms of] matter. (Mallinson and Singleton 2017, 373-74)

These yogic powers, as presented in the Yogaśāstra, are explained by the Sāṃkhya cosmology on which the Yogaśāstra is grounded, and the Sāṃkhya notion of prakṛti, as “the single cosmic cause of all creation” (Malinar 2012, 34).

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Through his practice the Yogī gains access to the tattvas, the components of prakṛti. Obtaining mastership, being united with the tattvas constituting his own body, he obtains control over the whole universe, since it is composed of the same tattvas. For instance, the control of his own breath also means control of the air element, of the wind, and thus the ability to provoke tempests. Such powers are attributed to the gods as Mahāyogins. The Śaiva Tantra represent an important development in the study of powers, with a distinction between what is called guṇa, the yoga powers, and siddhis, divided into minor, middling, and superior powers. The distinction can coincide with two sorts of powers: those that arise involuntarily, akalpitā, due to progress on the yogic path, and those that are looked for by the practitioner, the intentional siddhis, kalpitā, which are of lower value and could also emerge thanks to other techniques, as we shall see. The distinction can also be between the mumukṣu, the seeker of liberation, and the bubhukṣu who looks for enjoyment, pleasure. Haṭha yoga was heir to both a Brahminical yoga (centered on breath regulation) and a tantric yoga as it developed later in Kaula Śaivism, with its emphasis on a supernatural experience which “takes the form of both the attainment of siddhis and the enjoyment of otherworldly pleasures (bhoga)” (Mallinson 2012, 328, quoting A. Sanderson). Haṭha yoga developed as an attempt to combine two contradictory teachings: the first is bindu dhāraṇa, “a yoga that uses the breath to raise the bindu upwards … bindu-oriented yoga to keep bindu in the head”; the other is influenced by tantric yoga and kuṇḍalinī-based systems which “flood the body with amṛta, bindu’s analogue” (Mallinson 2012, 339). Older texts like the Amṛtasiddhi (eleventh century)3 and Śivasaṃhitā (fourteenth or fifteenth century) describe clearly “the physical signs of progress [which] start to appear as a result of the increasing mastery of the breath” (Mallinson 2012, 332). At each stage, different capacities, different wondrous powers arise, ending in jīvanmukti, liberation while living. “All-knowing and all-seeing, his hearing, sight, bliss and knowledge are unimpeded. He is endowed with all powers … He cannot be burnt, drowned or harmed. Happy, he can create worlds, angry he can destroy them. He frightens the gods. Such siddha yogis can remain thus for hundreds of thousands of years (viveka 31)” (ibid., 333). 3 A tantric Buddhist work which taught, for the first time, principles and practices of a method of yoga that the text nevertheless does not call haṭha yoga. The first text teaching haṭha yoga as a formalized system is the thirteenth-century Dattātreyayogaśāstra (cf. Mallinson and Singleton 2012, xx).

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However, “the heightened preoccupation with siddhis [in the earlier period] [is] absent in its subsequent classical reformation in texts such as the fifteenth century Haṭhapradīpikā” (Mallinson 2012, 328). Siddhis, then, in those texts, are considered mostly a hindrance on the path, an obstacle to the goal of yoga practice (as in Yogaśāstra), and they are not taught in mainstream haṭha yoga texts. This does not mean that they did not appear, but they did so incidentally, akalpitā, as signs of the practitioner’s progress. These developments may be useful to the practice, like diminished sleep, or strange or displeasing, like sweating or jumping about like a frog. In sum, the Haṭhapradīpikā, which “became haṭhayoga’s locus classicus [whose] teaching formed the basis of most subsequent texts on the subject” (Mallinson 2012, 339) “reflects the mumukṣu attitude towards siddhis … Supernatural siddhis are rare”. “The Haṭhapradīpikā’s attitude towards siddhi is in keeping with haṭhayoga’s rejection of the exclusivity, complexity and esotericism of tantra. Gone are tantra’s mantras, mandalas, initiations and visualizations …; gone too are the associated kalpitā siddhis” (ibid., 340-41).

2 The place of the Nāth Yogīs in this context? The medieval tantric tradition has given birth to diverse sectarian groups, among which the Nāth Siddhas were known for their quest of superhuman powers, the greatest of these being immortality. They produced lists of Siddhas (“perfected beings”), usually with eighty-four names, starting with Ādināth and almost always including Gorakhnāth. The relationship between the Nāth Siddhas and the Nāth Yogīs is a contested topic (cf. White 1996, Mallinson 2011) with many uncertainties, such as the time that elapsed before the first testimonies of the existence of a sectarian organization such as the Nāth Yogīs (these came at the beginning of the seventeenth century according to Mallinson 2011, 409, or the sixteenth century according to Horstmann 2014) or the historicity of Gorakhnāth and his role in relation to the Nāth Yogīs. There is a huge field of historical research waiting to be explored. What we know about Gorakhnāth is that haṭha yoga texts are attributed to him, among them one “which contains some of the earliest teachings on haṭhayoga to be found in Sanskrit texts” (Mallinson 2012, 257): the Gorakṣaśataka. Even though it is sometimes only the colophon that relates the text to Gorakhnāth, the link established between him and haṭha yoga has a long history. Well-known narratives about Gorakhnāth and his relationship with his guru Matsyendranāth can be interpreted as reflecting a change from the overtly sexual tantric practices of the Kaula tradition of Matsyendranāth

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to more internalized and more haṭha yogic bodily techniques, centered on breath (cf. White 1996, 234-37, Muñoz 2011). To Gorakhnāth are also attributed the collections of aphorisms in Old Hindi edited as Gorakh Bānī, whose language appears “typical of the sixteenth- to eighteenth-century style of Hindi” (Djurdjevic 2019). They present, in an often enigmatic way, a teaching on yoga focused on the body. “Here the mastery of the body does not exactly refer to an ability to assume a number of postures, but more importantly it implies an ability to redirect the flow of the bindu and thus to escape or ‘trick’ death” (Djurdjevic 2019). The connection between Gorakhnāth and the Nāth Yogīs is now presented as a fact. Present ascetics trace the genealogy of their sampradāya to him, lists of the nine Nāths and eighty-four Siddhas have him in a prominent position (after Ādināth and Matsyendra), all modern invocations, songs, and rituals invoke him as a deified foundational leader. And the name given to the ascetics – Gorakhnāthīs – clearly marks the affiliation. But we also know that the encompassing reference to Gorakhnāth is a modern development and that some lineages now included among the Nāth Yogīs refer to other tutelary Nāth as their founders. This is specially the case with Jālandhar and in Maharashtra. The link between the three poles previously mentioned is thus quite uncertain: Gorakhnāth is now claimed as the originator of the Nāth Yogīs, but no historical data allow us to reconstruct a solid history; Gorakhnāth is supposed to be the author of haṭha yogic treatises, with his name as the sole proof; Nāth Yogīs are not presently great adepts of haṭha yoga, and their legendary universe makes very few references to haṭha yoga.

3 Then why are Yogīs called Yogīs? What is “yoga” the name of? We have seen how supernatural powers appeared and developed during the progression on the road to liberation, thanks to yogic techniques. The Yogasūtra and the Tantras provide lists and details of these various siddhis. They add that there are different ways, other than the long and strenuous yogic process, to obtain the same powers. “Yogasūtra 4.1 states that the powers (in this sūtra called siddhis) can be attained not only by yogic concentration (samādhi), but can also be accomplished through the use of herbs (oṣadhi), sacred syllables (mantra), ascetic practices (tapas), and they can also be inborn abilities, that is, attained through birth ( janman) ( janmauṣadhi-mantra-tapaḥ-samādhi-jāḥ siddhayaḥ)” (Jacobsen 2012, 4). While yogic concentration is the ideal way to obtain powers, the narratives

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about Nāth Yogīs are certainly more elaborate regarding the various other possibilities than about yoga practices. Let us consider some examples. First, there is what may be called innate ability, or birthright. Hagiographies of famous Yogīs love to elaborate upon the exceptional qualities and precocious deeds of the would-be Yogī from his first breath (see for instance the account of the twentieth-century Amritnāth’s birth and youth in Bouillier 2017, 222-23). Such capacities may be said to be the fruit of a former life, or may reveal the newborn as the reincarnation of a saint. The repetition of sacred formulas, mantra japa, is one of the best methods for acquiring siddhis, according to tantric treatises such as the Matasāra (9, fol. 64) quoted by S. Vasudeva (2012, 286): “Ever higher powers are won by increasing numbers of mantra repetitions ( japa). After repeating the mantra twenty-thousand times he masters the lower powers, after thirty-thousand repetitions the middle powers, and after forty-thousand repetitions the higher powers … If the practitioner continues his japa for fifty-thousand repetitions, then he masters all three grades. He becomes ageless, deathless, freed from the influence of all pairs of opposites” (ibid., 287). Nāth Yogīs are often seen performing japa and counting the number of their invocations on a rosary, the hand hidden in a small cloth bag called gomukhī (“cow-faced”). In particular, mantras are dedicated to Śiva. However, most often obtainment and demonstration of siddhis are requested from powerful and less otherworldly deities such as the goddesses and Bhairava. They are worshipped for granting power to the Yogī, as for instance in Bhagavantanāth’s story: already well known for his powers, the Siddha went to the aid of the Nepalese Gorkha King Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa, who wanted to conquer the city of Kirtipur in the Kathmandu Valley. The city was protected by Bhairava but “Bhagavantanāth meditated all the night upon Bhairava” (Yogī vaṃśāvalī, in Bouillier 1992, 11), and apparently the god switched his patronage. Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa conquered Kirtipur (and rewarded the Yogī lavishly). Lesser deities who are summoned by Yogīs could also grant siddhis: the capacity to compel powerful beings to act in their favor is a well-known topos. Such power might easily be used in a malevolent way, which is also the case with the many dangerous rituals often ascribed to the Nāth Yogīs. Like the Aghorīs, they are represented as roaming around cremation grounds, looking for dead bodies to use as material for their antinomian rituals. The question of the relationship between Nāths and Aghorīs warrants further research. 4 Why, for instance, is there a recently built samādhi dedicated to one Rām Nāth Aghorī in the Nāth Yogī monastery of Pushkar? 4

Regarding the Aghorīs, see Parry (1985), and C. Zotter (2016).

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Various practices of asceticism (tapas), restrictions, and constraints placed on the body for definite period of time also offer access to siddhis, as they testify to the mastery the yogī has over his body. To spend long hours naked in the cold of Himalayan winter or in the summer heat surrounded by burning fires, or to vow to remain standing for years, to keep fasting for days or weeks, or conversely to be able to eat enormous quantities, all these amazing physical feats are both testimonies to and sources of siddhis. They are well attested in hagiographies and commented upon with admiration. Another source of siddhis is what the texts call oṣadhi: drugs, herbs, and minerals. The fourteenth-century Khecarīvidyā ascribed to one Ādināth, the first guru of the Nāth order, contains for instance a long passage about the “Elixirs that bring about perfection of the body” (4.1-4) which starts this way: “And now I shall teach you some very sacred herbal medicines. Without herbal medicines a yogi can never attain perfection”. There follow various recipes, which would ensure the yogi a perfect health: “[If the yogi] should eat powdered bulb of vārāhī with ghee and unrefined cane sugar, [there arise] health and growth … [If he should eat it] in cow’s milk, leprosy is got rid of” (4.4, in Mallinson and Singleton 2017, 388-89). The fabrication and consumption of various special preparations by the Nāth Yogīs is well attested (cf. the Jakhbar Nāth monastery and the preparation of long-life pills for Aurangzēb). The proximity to alchemy has been studied in detail by David G. White (1996). It is also fascinating to see the authors of Persian medical and alchemical texts looking to Nāth expertise in mercurial and metallic drugs. As Fabrizio Speziale explains: “Persian texts show that Muslims looked at the yogis and the Nāths in particular as a group closely involved in the transmission of alchemical knowledge” (forthcoming). Most often in the narratives or in the testimonies of common people, miraculous events happen by the mere presence of the Yogī. His words have the power to tell the truth, and thus to make the world adapt to what he has said: a Yogī thanks a devotee for his gift of milk, whereas this one had brought buttermilk – the next morning the pot is full of creamy milk! Many sick people are cured with just the words “You are healed”. Even the appearance of the Nāth guru in a dream suffices to resolve the problems of his devotee. There is no reflection or elaboration on the origins of such powers; the siddhis are taken for granted. People or hagiographies refer to these powers as yogbal. We find here, in common parlance, the words that we encountered in Mahābhārata. Yogbal means siddhis, the power to perform supernormal deeds, whatever the source of these powers. Therefore, in my opinion the main relationship of the Nāth Yogīs to yoga is through the motif of siddhis: those who are called

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Yogīs are those who have developed special powers, who can show that they master such powers, without any question about how they got their siddhis. Certainly, these Yogīs were regarded with a mix of wonder and fear.

4 What are the purposes of the demonstrations of siddhis, and how were they used? Perhaps the more acceptable or orthodox use of the siddhis is in order for the Yogīs, through the performance of supernormal feats, to demonstrate their high level of yogic or ascetic practices, which encourages others to follow their example, to join them as disciples, and eventually to be recruited into the sectarian community of such spiritual seekers in the hope of attaining liberation. Yogīs can also be said to act out of pure benevolence, devoting their talents to the service of suffering people, healing or helping them generously. However, the topos of the wonderworking Yogī who disappears suddenly after his miraculous intervention, refusing all gratitude, is counterbalanced by the many examples of excessive demands or forced exchanges. Nāth Yogīs are well known in popular stories for bringing children, making sterile couples conceive, but in return the first boy has to be given to them as a disciple. Regarded with hope by desperate people, they also risk of being accused of malevolent deeds. There are many popular sayings or legends in which Yogīs are frightening figures, quick to curse people, or thieves who kidnap children. And of course, such Yogīs were sought after by the powerful figures of their time. Kings had much use for people who were able to bend nature to their will, or make others believe that they had such power. Sovereigns were looking for wonder-workers and Yogīs for worldly patrons able to support their activities, to help them to build temples and monasteries, and to acquire followers. When Nāth Yogīs emerged as an organized sampradāya, in premodern times, competition was tough and included many ascetic movements, not all of them Hindu. Shows of wondrous deeds were a necessary device to attract attention and then support from local leaders. It has been well documented that Nāth Yogīs and Sufīs were in close relationships and competition with each other.5 Their competition often entailed public displays of power, and of course the victory would go to the narrator of 5

See bibliography of my 2015 article.

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the story! Nāth Yogīs or their followers would use the word karāmat (from Arabic: “miracle”), to describe the wonderful interventions they performed. And their Islamic rivals never denied that the Nāth Yogīs were able to perform exceptional actions. However, the Sufīs denied their adversaries the ability to perform karāmat. As Carl Ernst explains, “Following an old distinction, Sufi writers often classify the powers of these non-Muslim charismatic figures as false miracles (istidraj) of Satanic inspiration, as contrasted with the genuine miracles (karamat) that God permits saints to perform” (2016, 290).6 The idea that only the grace of God allows the saint to be able to perform spectacular actions, and that the deeds performed by human powers are ephemeral, less powerful, is thus a common motif of Sufī hagiographies in their rivalry with Yogīs. Interestingly, the same sort of argument developed in the bhakti milieu, and according to Burchett, under Islamic influence. “For Tulsī and devotees like him, tantric rites, mantras, and ascetic physical regimens were worthless in the authentic religious life of devotion to the Lord. As Kabīr states in a poem from his oldest dated manuscript (the Fatehpur manuscript of 1582), ‘Tantras, mantras, medicines – fakes, one and all; And only Kabir is left around to sing the name of Rām’” (Burchett 2012, 373-74). Sants and bhaktas, when they needed to demonstrate their powers, invoked God and most often Viṣṇu or Kṛṣṇa performed the expected miracle, not willing to shame his devotee or to undermine his own divine position. The Yogīs, on the other hand, were supposed to act by their own power. The connection between bhakti and yoga and the influence of the Nāth Yogīs on the Sants and their followers is a huge topic, which would require a long development and merits more research.7 Recent studies document the considerable influence of haṭha yoga terminology and bodily conceptions on many texts of the Sants, to which may be added the numerous mentions of confrontations with Gorakhnāth (with the Sants Nānak, Kabīr, and even the god Kṛṣṇa).8 However, the same Sants are often critics of the Nāth Yogīs, 6 Reprint of a seminal 2005 article “Situating Sufism and Yoga”. See also Patton Burchett’s article “‘My Miracle Trumps Your Magic’” (2012). 7 See the seminal work of Monika Horstmann (2020), where she studies how “the relationship between Sant bhakti and yoga was not only close, but bordered the mutually constitutive”, relying on codices belonging to the Dādūpanthī tradition. She thus demonstrated that the first Hindi texts related to the Nāth Yogīs were known and transmitted by the Dādūpanthīs who included them in their own corpus. “The engagement would take its course towards the fusion of haṭha-yoga with bhakti as it can be observed in the eighteenth century in texts”: what Daniel Gold (2018) would call “Sants’ Sweet Yoga in the Eighteenth Century”. See also Burchett (2019). 8 Cf. Heidi Pauwels (2012).

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who were seen as tantric magicians, oblivious to the fundamental point that only devotion to God matters.9 But bhakti is winning over Tantra among the Nāth Yogīs of today. Practices that fall within the field of the devotional, such as satsang, assemblies of devotees singing hymns, are becoming more and more common. They are suited to the lay followers who unite for daily worship, but they are also well attended by the sādhus who know, sing, and spread hymns, short maxims, and songs (which often bear the chāp, the signature of Kabīr or other Sants such as Mirābāī).

5 Distinctive marks: the question of the earrings As we have seen, the medieval and early modern Indian landscape knew numerous sectarian movements. Some were close to each other, sharing similar religious principles or practices, but following different lines of transmission. In such a context, some movements may have wished to assert their identity in a more visible way and felt the need to distinguish themselves in order to maintain long-term, solid relationships with their supporting powers. Is this the case of the Nāth Yogīs and their huge earrings? The story of these earrings is fascinating but remains somewhat obscure. Nāth Yogīs in a popular context were often called Kānphaṭā Yogīs, “Yogīs with split ears”. One early reference may be found in the story of the rivalry between the Yogī Taranāth and the Vaiṣṇava Kṛṣṇadās Payahārī in Galta. The victorious Kṛṣṇadās made “the distinctive ivory earrings worn by Taranath’s followers – from which they took their appellation, kanphat (ear-pierced) yogis – [clatter] to the ground” (Pinch 2006, 19, from Nābhādās’s Bhaktamāl, 1585). And a Persian traveler, Muhsin Fani, tells of a battle between ascetics in Hardwar in 1640 where the losing Bairāgīs “hung on their perforated ears the rings of the jogis … in order to be taken for these ascetics” (Lochtefeld 1994, 595). If recently the appellation of Kānphaṭā has been rejected by the Yogīs as derogatory, the reference to the earrings found a more acceptable context in another name also applied to the Yogīs – Darśanīs, the bearers of darśan, another name given to the kuṇḍals or mudrās, the rings. But there are two surprising elements about these earrings: to my knowledge, no text refers to the physical or metaphysical benefit of this ear-splitting, 9 “Bhakti reformers were adamant in their disdain for yogis who claimed special powers by virtue of their hathayogis and/or tantric prowess. The Bhakti literature is rife with examples of puffed up yogis who are deflated and sent packing by humble, God-loving sadhus” (Pinch 2006, 211).

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even though life stories frequently comment on the pain endured during the splitting or the courage of heroic Yogīs who prefer to perform the operation on themselves. According to oral information given to G. W. Briggs: “Some explain that in splitting the ear a nāḍī (mystic channel) in the cartilage is cut, thus assisting in the acquirement of yogic power” (1973, 6). The explanation given to Daniel Gold is rather different: “Most earringed Yogīs will say that cutting their cartilage makes them more peaceful. Some will add that this is because there is a nexus of veins for subtle energy in the cartilage that is altered through the cutting. It is a seat of passions that is thereby diminished” (1999, 37). But no textual reference seems to support any of these remarks. A second point deserves further inquiry: apparently the first Nāth Yogīs did not wear the earrings in the cartilage but in the lobes, as is the case in many representations of deities. As noted by Mallinson, all paintings and sculptures that depict Yogīs prior to the end of the eighteenth century show them with big earrings located in the earlobes, rather than in the thick part of the cartilage (2011, 418). And the motif of the earrings given by Śiva to his devotee who wants to imitate him is another proof: Śiva never wears earrings through the cartilage. Worn on the lobes or the cartilage, the earrings must have been very conspicuous, since they are always mentioned in references to the Nāths, be they from western travel narratives or descriptions in bhakti literature. However, earrings can be changed and the huge ones in horn, wood, or glass seen on ordinary Yogīs can become very discreet on leading Yogīs; see, for example, the small golden rings worn by Yogī Ādityanāth. Does the wearing of such earrings give the Yogīs a sort of vulnerability? To lose one’s earrings, to have them torn out, had dire consequences and could entail expulsion from the sect (cf. Briggs 1973, 8-9). Thus, it is possible that this fact barred the Yogīs from participating in the bellicose atmosphere of these times: there was no Nāgā fighting section among the Yogīs. This does not mean that they were always peaceful, but perhaps they had other means of fighting. Siddhis were also helpful in the context of rivalry.

6 Powers, Yogīs and kings Before looking at the new avenues to political power taken by today’s Nāth Yogīs, let us consider the complex links that connect Yogīs to royalty. The literary motif of the prince or king undertaking a dangerous or desperate quest to conquer a kingdom or a lover is very often associated

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with the motif of disguise. The hero takes the appearance of a Yogī, or sometimes truly becomes Yogī, in order to hide the real object of his quest. The premākhyāns, the medieval Indian Sufī romances (such as Cāndāyan or Madhumālatī), and also a number of North Indian heroic ballads tell the stories of such royal characters, drawing a parallel between amorous or martial quests and spiritual journeys. The condition of Yogī is then a sort of preliminary step or initiation towards a state of powerful accomplishment. In a parallel fashion, it is striking that in the legendary world of the Nāth Yogīs, all famous characters are from princely families or are even kings themselves. Often born thanks to the benediction of Gorakhnāth, they are later obliged to adopt the condition of Yogīs. And they may be quite reluctant to do so (as Gopīcand is). But sometimes their life conditions or misadventures result in them preferring the life of a Yogī (as Cauraṅgi does). Either way, being born into a princely family characterizes many of the legendary Yogīs (see Muñoz in this volume), and even transposed into modern times royal birth continues to be valorized, as in the case of the former mahant of Gorakhpur, Digvijaynāth, born into the princely family of Mewar. However, the most common and well documented association between Yogīs and kings is the magical help purveyed by the wonder-worker ascetics to warrior kings. So many foundation legends in the Himalaya and Rajasthan kingdoms testify to this fruitful collaboration. But here I want to insist on the ritual aspect of this link. Nāth Yogīs have officiated as priests for rulers, either on a permanent basis in sanctuaries close to the royal palace, or for special festive occasions. The part played by Yogīs during the royal Daśehrā/Navarātri ceremonies (Bouillier 2017, 35-37) warrants further study, as does the link between Yogīs and the sword. During Daśehrā (and most spectacularly in Udaipur), Yogīs officiated as keepers of the royal sword, which reminds us of the kaḍga siddhi, the “power of the sword”, this special siddhi that conquering rulers were keen to obtain from ascetics, together with a special sword that could subdue their enemies and function as the sign of their power. The relation between the Yogīs and the sword took the Goddess as its witness or agent. The worship of the royal sword by the rāj yogī in Udaipur during the nine days of the Navarātri was done in front of the temple of the kingdom Goddess.10 The Goddess as bestower of śakti (power) to the king by means of a sword in a ritual exchange is a well-known motif, but the place taken by the Yogīs in this exchange is 10 Another example: Jayaprakāś Malla, the last Newar king of Kathmandu, “is said to have received kaḍgasiddhi and a sword from a Yogī in the temple of the Goddess Guhyeśvarī, an important state temple of Kathmandu” (A. Zotter 2016, 240); cf. C. Zotter’s chapter in this volume.

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worth studying, as well as the relationship the Yogīs have with the Goddess more generally and their position vis-à-vis Tantrism and Śaktism. The Yogīs gather in many pilgrimage places linked to the Devī, like Kamakhya, Hing Laj, and Jwaladevi. They are also often priests in Devī temples, they keep Devī shrines in their monasteries and most importantly they put the Devī, under the name of Yogmāyā, at the center of all the rituals that mark their life cycle (Bouillier 2017, 31-35). Legendary and ritual connections between kings and Yogīs were followed up with worldly collaboration in actual governance of diverse polities. We have seen that the Nāth Yogīs having siddhis (or thought to be very powerful) were sought after by the political powers of their time. Their help, whatever form it took (military conquest in Nepal or Rajasthan, alchemical remedy, etc.), was generously rewarded: Yogīs were given money, land grants, and honors. They were able to constitute domains and to behave like feudal lords: entitled to a share of the peasants’ production, they were not subject to taxation, and they often had judicial responsibilities as they managed the property registered in the name of the sampradāya or of the deity. Ruling their own territory, they were not necessarily involved in the kingdom’s administration. Even though they might pray for the welfare of the king and the kingdom (indeed, they were required to do so), they were not often involved in the management of the country. However, we also find examples of kings rewarding a helpful and miracle-working ascetic with a financial grant, which involves administrative duty. When we consider the Nepalese king Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa giving land and villages to Bhagavantanāth so he could build monasteries (see Zotter’s chapter in this volume), we see a classic example of kings rewarding ascetics; yet when in 1760 he granted the same ascetic the right to levy a special tax on castes and ethnic groups of low status all over the kingdom, it became a means to make him an element of the administrative system. The king also considered the ascetic a political guru, an especially wise advisor in every field, even in the waging of war. The history of the relationships of the Jodhpur king Mānsingh (1783-1843) with the Nāth Yogīs demonstrates, on a much wider scale, a similar move from thaumaturgic intervention to administrative control. The young Mānsingh was on the verge of losing the battle of succession against his cousin, when he submitted to the guidance of the mahant of Jalore, the Yogī Devnāth who “offered both psychological and logistical support” (Gold 1995, 124). The victorious Mānsingh rewarded the miraculous intervention of Devnāth (thanks to prayer – or poison, as suggested by a skeptical Tod) with the right to intervene in the affairs of the kingdom at the highest level. The honors and privileges granted to Devnāth extended to his entire family

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line and to the sampradāya, leading to his 1815 assassination by jealous opponents. However, Nāths remained in power and in control of the mahārājā until his death and their expulsion by the British in 1843. This is a very short summary of a long and complicated story (see Muñoz’s chapter) in order to introduce what I feel to be a turning point in the relationships between kings and Nāth Yogīs: instead of wonder-workers, helpers of political powers, they themselves became the political powers! They used their talents, yogic or otherwise, in their own service.

7 Modern powers In modern times, the path to power can take more administrative forms. Instead of supernatural deeds, organizational skills! To gain power or become influential in a bureaucratic state requires different sort of actions than in a traditional princely state.11 To gain recognition and to enhance their reputation the Nāth Yogīs, like other religious bodies, decided to form an association, the Yogī Mahāsabhā (formally: Akhil Bhāratvarṣīya Avadhūt Bheṣ Bārah Panth Yogī Mahāsabhā), founded in 1906 by the two preeminent monastic chiefs of their era dwelling in Tilla and Asthal Bohar. The purpose was to unify the sampradāya, to codify and regulate the practices of its members, and to bring them in line with the requirements of good governance in a modern society. The Nāth sampradāya and its monasteries also found another way to acquire influence in society by becoming involved in welfare activities, essentially medical and educational. Asthal Bohar’s mahant, Sreyonāth, founded the first hospital of the monastic complex in 1952 and since then many others have been added. In Gorakhpur, too, building hospitals was an important activity begun by the new mahant, Digvijaynāth, after his accession to gaddī in 1934. Educational institutions are the main domain where the sampradāya chooses to invest: Sanskrit colleges as well as establishments for modern sciences or technology and hostels are founded using the name and the funding of the important monasteries, who remain in control of them. The duty to educate young disciples has been extended to the general care of the youth. The sampradāya gains fame and influence thanks to such investments. A more direct way to exercise influence is to get involved in politics. Digvijaynāth of Gorakhpur was probably the f irst Nāth to be actively 11 This is clearly demonstrated in Carter Higgins’s chapter on the development program of Mahant Rupnāth.

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involved in a political party, in the Hindū Mahāsabhā (cf. Christine MarrewaKarwoski’s chapter). His successors, Avedyanāth and Ādityanāth, entered the electoral arena (Avedyanāth was elected MLA for the first time in 1962). Śreyonāth of Asthal Bohar even founded a small party and was elected in 1967, then nominated the health minister of Haryana state. His successor, Candnāth, followed in his footsteps, standing as a candidate in several elections, mainly under the banner of the BJP. Up to now, the most visible political involvement of Nāth Yogīs has been with the Hindu right. The values of Hindutva govern the actions of the charismatic Nepalese Yogī, Naraharināth, a scholar and activist who involved himself in the support of the Nepalese kingship (see Eloisa Stuparich’s chapter). Close to King Mahendra, in line with the traditional schema of the king/Yogī relationship, Naraharināth was nevertheless implicated in modern political games, which sometimes provoked the king’s anger and eventually led to his being jailed. This Hindutva dimension of the involvement of the Nāths found a particular outlet in Ayodhya. The Ayodhya conflict over the supposed birthplace of the god Rām offered a platform to activist sādhus, especially the heads of Gorakhpur monastery. In 1984, Avedyanāth assumed the leadership of the Shri Ram Janmabhumi Mukti Yajna Samiti, the Committee for the Sacrifice for the Liberation of the Birthplace of Rām, whose activities led to the destruction of the Babri Masjid in December 1992. This evolution, from Yogīs as wonder-working helpers for kings to Yogīs themselves holding the reins of power, has reached a new peak with Yogī Ādityanāth, founder of a youth militia, the Hindu Yuva Vahini, and nominated chief minister of Uttar Pradesh in 2017. His residence is no longer a monastery or a temple, but the more palatial Chief Minister’s House in Lucknow. But we may ask what part the status of Yogī plays in this political success. Is the yogic identity of Ādityanāth a mobilizing factor? Is his membership of a sect known for its powers part of his charisma, and is this a card the Hindutva leaders who support him may deliberately play? However we answer these questions, this political shift is not a general tendency among all the Nāth Yogīs. Many are still regarded as traditional healers, wonder-workers, and spiritually superior beings to whom people address their requests. Itinerant sādhus, for instance, are asked by village people for advice and help, which often consists in providing herbal medicines and blowing mantras on the medicine or the body of the person concerned. The resident Yogīs in temples and monasteries are also often consulted for their powers. At a Nāth monastery in Shekhavati I have studied the relationships between the devotees and the successive mahants: the devotees credit the mahant with special powers and assume that he will

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employ these powers in their favor and in their day-to-day life. They trust him to cure all their troubles, to protect them in any circumstance (Bouillier 2017, 270-72). Even the fact that no devotee was killed during the Gujarat earthquake was credited to the mahant’s powers. A recent phenomenon is, I think, the development of intimate relationships with the devotees, between the Nāth Yogīs and the lay people who visit them to ask for spiritual guidance and worldly benefit, and who support their institutions (cf. Higgins, Bevilacqua in this volume). These lay devotees are not initiated in the sampradāya, even though they may be given a mantra to help them in their spiritual progress, but they regularly frequent the monastery, visiting their guru at festival times or whenever they can.

8 Gṛhastha Yogīs The initiation to the sampradāya is supposed to be forbidden to lay disciples, since initiated Nāth Yogīs take a vow of celibacy (brahmacarya), and nowadays any breaking of this vow is severely condemned by the current Nāth authorities. The present statutes of the sampradāya are very strict on this point. How then is it possible to find, all over the subcontinent, communities of Yogīs by caste – householder Yogīs, gṛhastha – who most often retain some characteristics that we can relate to the ascetic Nāth Yogī tradition? Historical testimonies are ambiguous. If we look at the various nineteenth- and early twentieth-century British reports, gazetteers, and censuses listing castes and religious groups, we see how complex the situation was. Under the encompassing denomination of Jogī, we have a wide range of communities, which include a small percentage of Gorakhnāthīs, Gorakhpanthīs, Kānphaṭās, or Nāths, depending on the name given in these texts to the ascetic celibate Yogīs belonging to the sampradāya; we also find a vast mass of Jogīs qualified with various local epithets, who are married householders, who may retain tenuous links with the sampradāya and who are considered to have formed castes, jātis (see Bouillier 2017, 302-6). These castes of Yogīs/Jogīs can be found all over South Asia, from Afghanistan 12 to Nepal to South India,13 but except in Rajasthan, with the 12 Cf. Xavier Hermand’s report of a Hindu temple in the Eastern Afghanistan town of Jalalabad belonging to a Nāth Yogī community (2019, 232). 13 To my knowledge there is no mention of Nāth Yogīs in Tamilnadu: no community of gṛhastha and only one samādhi shrine (Yogī Vilaśnāth 2015, 469), which is rather surprising considering the many representations of Gorakhnāth being included among the Tamil Siddhas (see the photos in R. Ezhilraman, 2015). However, in Kerala, though there is no monastery or Nāth temple,

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work of Ann and Daniel Gold, they have not yet been thoroughly studied; this is why the two articles in this volume dedicated to the Bengali Yogīs (see Lubomír Ondračka and Joel Bordeaux) are particularly fascinating. The number of gṛhastha Yogīs, Yogīs by birth and caste, is much higher than the number of ascetics, to the point that often the caste is the only testimony to the presence of a Nāth tradition. This is the case, for instance, in Kerala (see note 13), or in Bengal, and more or less in Karnataka, where the ascetic Yogīs of Kadri monastery come generally from North India. How are we to explain this situation, and what is behind the wide diffusion of the gṛhastha Yogīs? There is no clear answer. One theory developed by James Mallinson, along the lines of Alexis Sanderson’s distinction between the Ātimārga and Mantramārga branches in Tantric Śivaism (1988, 664), proposes the joint emergence of the two branches of ascetic and householder Nāth Yogīs. Mallinson even claims, “It is quite possible that the householder Nāths are in fact heirs of the oldest Nāth traditions” (2011, 426). Even though one can find a few mentions of famous Nāths having married, they are quite scattered and scarce compared to the recurrent mention of gṛhasthas as descendants of fallen ascetics14 and the testimonies of genealogies, which make clear the shift, often seen as reprehensible, between the two sorts of transmission – by initiation (by the sound, nād) and by blood (bindu, the semen). Moreover, many cases could imply a blurred distinction between ascetics and gṛhasthas.15 There is a mixing of traditions belonging to the Nāth ascetic universe and those associated with the requisites of a caste society. The initiation ritual is reinterpreted as an initiation into the caste; the community constituted by the common initiation becomes the group within which one should marry; the name of the sect founder, Gorakhnāth, may be seen as the name of the lineage deity; and the funerary rituals are performed to ensure the liberation even of non-ascetics. The attention given to ritual, and especially to the rituals as performed by the gṛhastha Yogīs, is both necessary and rewarding. The study made by Daniel Gold (2002) of the dasnāmī pūjā as performed among Rajasthani Yogīs gives us many clues: the nirguṇa flavor of the hymns sung at this there is “a little known Malabar caste called Coyi, a group originally composed of mendicant yogis … married householders … [who] bury their dead in the fashion of renunciants … [and] perform kelippatram [ritual] in commemoration of their Bhairava sectarian ancestry” (Freeman 2006, 168). 14 An explanation given to Daniela Bevilacqua offers another insight: Nāth Yogīs with an ear, or any part of the body, that has been fragmented or torn (khandit) should either take a living samādhi or go back home, i.e., to their ordinary life (pers. com.). 15 Cf. for instance the Gwalior Ḍholībuva tradition, in Bouillier (2017, 311-12).

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occasion links them to the bhakti tradition, to the devotion to a formless, universal God, which the Nāth Yogīs share; and the secrecy of the ritual and sexual metaphors of the songs refer to the tantric background of the Nāth tradition, which in this case the gṛhasthas express more bluntly than the ascetics. Also worth studying are the different practices in the burial and death rituals that can offer important information about the proximity between the two groups of Nāth Yogīs, or about their respective evolutions. In the same way that the gṛhastha Yogīs can wear, or not, the symbols of the Nāth condition (such as the earrings, the small whistle nād), they can also engage in different activities and be credited with various powers. The Rajasthani gṛhastha Nāths were often supposed to repel locusts and every village was keen to have at least one family of Yogīs settled permanently; the same was said of hail and bad spirits. Worshipping Bhairava, Yogīs could be part time priests of village temples or exorcists. In many parts of India, they were also known as singers or storytellers with a repertoire belonging to the Nāth tradition. But often their main occupation does not seem to relate to any Nāth context and does not suppose siddhis: many Yogī families are peasants, many in Bengal are weavers (cf. Ondracka’s chapter). Of course, nowadays gṛhastha Yogīs can choose any kind of profession, which raises the question of their status. Gṛhastha Yogīs are off icially recognized as a caste and organize themselves in caste associations to substitute with – various Yogīs’ associations fighting to be considered OBC (Other Backward Classes), and thus beneficiaries of the advantages linked to this status.16 But this trend towards favoring OBC status may not be shared by all; some Yogīs prefer to be recognized with a higher status, refusing the social stigma that goes with the socioeconomic advantages conferred by OBC status.

Conclusion By way of conclusion, we can only attest to the richness and the breadth of possibilities offered by the field of Nāth studies. Initiated by the groundbreaking work of George Weston Briggs, it has opened up many new developments. However, as I have tried to show here by focusing on the theme of power, many questions remain pending. 16 The lists of the National Commission for Backward Classes give the official entries in the OBC category for each Indian state: we f ind the category variously labeled Jogī, Yogī, Nāth, Nāthjogī, and/or Jogināth, generally recognized as OBC since 1993.

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The subject of the present book deals with a prominent aspect of the Nāth Yogīs since they first appeared as an identifiable group: their relationship to “power”, understood both in a plural form, qualifying the diverse siddhis, and the singular, the proximity to worldly rulers. This configuration persists throughout history, as the past history of the sect and anthropological studies of modern Nāth institutions both testify. However, the sectarian continuity is established through the adaptation to changing circumstances. The translation of former charisma into modern forms is, for the Nāth Yogīs, the key to their renewed importance.

Bibliography Bouillier, Véronique. 1992. “The King and His Yogi: Prithvi Narayan Shah, Bhagavantanath and the Unification of Nepal in the 18th Century.” In Gender, Caste and Power in South Asia: Social Status and Mobility in Transitional Society, edited by J. P. Neelsen, 3-21. Delhi: Manohar. Bouillier, Véronique. 1997. Ascètes et Rois. Un monastère de Kanphata Yogis au Népal. Paris: CNRS Editions. Bouillier, Véronique. 2011. “Kānphaṭās.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Vol. III. Society, Religious Specialists, Religious Traditions, and Philosophy, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, Helene Basu, Angelika Malinar, and Vasudha Narayanan, 347-54. Leiden: Brill. Bouillier, Véronique. 2017. Monastic Wanderers. Nath Yogi Ascetics in Modern South Asia. Delhi: Manohar. Bouillier, Véronique. 2020. “Adityanath: Background and Rise to Power.” SAMAJ (South Asia Multidisciplinary Academic Journal) 24. Briggs, George Weston. 1973. Gorakhnath and the Kanphata Yogis. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. First published 1938. Burchett, Patton. 2012. “My Miracle Trumps Your Magic: Encounters with Yogis in Sufi and Bhakti Hagiographical Literature.” In Yoga Powers, edited by K.A. Jacobsen, 345-80. Leiden: Brill. Burchett, Patton. 2019. A Genealogy of Devotion: Bhakti, Tantra, Yoga and Sufism in North India. New York: University of Columbia Press. Djurdjevic, Gordan. 2016. Sayings of Gorakhnāth: Annotated Translation of the Gorakh Bani. New York: Oxford University Press. Ernst, Carl W. 2016. Refractions of Islam in India. Situating Sufism and Yoga. New Delhi: Sage/Yoda Press. Ezhilraman, R. 2015. Siddha Cult in Tamilnadu. Its History and Historical Continuity. Unpublished manuscript. Pondicherry University.

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Fitzgerald, James L. 2012. “A Prescription for Yoga and Power in the Mahabharata.” In Yoga in Practice, edited by D. G. White, 43-57. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Freeman, John Richard. 2006. “Shifting Forms of the Wandering Yogi.” In Masked Ritual and Performance in South India, edited by David Schulman and Deborah Thiagarajan, 147-183. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Gold, Daniel. 1995. “The Instability of the King: Magical Insanity and the Yogi’s Power in the Politics of Jodhpur, 1803-1843.” In Bhakti Religion in North India: Community Identity and Political Action, edited by David N. Lorenzen, 120-32. Albany: State University of New York Press. Gold, Daniel. 1999. “Yogis’ Earrings, Householder’s Birth: Split Ears and Religious Identity among Householder Naths in Rajasthan.” In Religion, Ritual and Royalty, edited by N. K. Singhi and Rajendra Joshi, 35-53. Jaipur: Rawat. Gold, Daniel. 2018. “Sant’s Sweet Yoga in the Eighteenth Century. Working paper.” 13th International Conference on Early Modern Literature. Hermand, Xavier. 2019. Transformer la matière et négocier les cultes: Les groupes de l’artisanat du Nangarhâr (Afghanistan). PhD dissertation, Paris: EHESS. Horstmann, Monika. 2014. “The Emergence of the Nathyogi Order in the Light of Vernacular Sources.” International Journal of Tantra Studies 10 (1). Horstmann, Monika. 2020. Bhakti and Yoga: A Discourse in Seventeenth-Century Codices. New Delhi: Primus. Jacobsen, Knut A. (ed.). 2012. Yoga Powers: Extraordinary Capacities Attained Through Meditation and Concentration. Leiden: Brill. Larson, Gerald James. 2012. “Patanjala Yoga in Practice.” In Yoga in Practice, edited by D.G. White, 73-96. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Lochtefeld, James G. 1994. “The Vishva Hindu Parishad and the Roots of Hindu Militancy.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 62 (2): 587-602. Malinar, Angelika. 2012. “Yoga powers in the Mahabharata.” In Yoga Powers, edited by K. A. Jacobsen, 33-60. Leiden: Brill. Mallinson, James. 2011. “Nāth Sampradāya.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Vol. III: Society, Religious Specialists, Religious Traditions, and Philosophy, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, Helene Basu, Angelika Malinar, and Vasudha Narayanan, 409-28. Leiden: Brill. Mallinson, James. 2012. “Siddhi and Mahāsiddhi in Early Hathayoga.” In Yoga Powers, edited by K. A. Jacobsen, 327-44. Leiden: Brill. Mallinson, James and Mark Singleton. 2017. Roots of Yoga. London: Penguin Classics. Muñoz, Adrian. 2011. “Matsyendra’s ‘Golden Legend’: Yogi Tales and Nath Ideology.” In Yogi Heroes and Poets: Histories and Legends of the Nāths, edited by D. N. Lorenzen and A. Muñoz, 109-28. New York: State University of New York Press.

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Parry, Jonathan. 1985. “Aghori Ascetics of Benares.” In Indian Religion, edited by R. Burghart and A. Cantlie, 51-78. London: Curzon Press. Pauwels, Heidi. 2012. “Whose Satire? Gorakhnāth Confronts Krishna in Kanhāvat.” In Indian Satire in the Period of the First Modernity, edited by M. Horstmann and H. R. M. Pauwels, 35-64. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Pinch, William R. 2006. Warrior Ascetics and Indian Empires. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sanderson, Alexis. 1988. “Śaivism and the Tantric Tradition.” In The World’s Religions/ Religions of Asia, edited by Friedhelm Hardy, 660-704. London: Routledge. Sanderson, Alexis. 2006. Meaning in Tantric Ritual. Delhi: Tantra Foundation. Speziale, Fabrizio. Forthcoming. “Beyond the ‘Wonders of India’ (‘ajā’ib al-Hind): Yogis in Persian Medico-Alchemical Writings in South Asia.” Vasudeva, Somadeva. 2012. “Powers and Identities: Yoga Powers and the Tantric Saiva Traditions.” In Yoga Powers, edited by K. A. Jacobsen, 265-302. Leiden: Brill 2012. Vilaśnāth, Yogī. 2015. Shri Nath Sampradaya ke Tirth Sthal. Haridwar: Guru Gorakhnath Mandir Akhada. White, David Gordon. 1996. The Alchemical Body: Siddha Tradition in Medieval India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. White, David Gordon, (ed.). 2012. Yoga in Practice. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Zotter, Astrid. 2016. “The Making and Unmaking of Rulers. On Denial of Ritual in Nepal.” In The Ambivalence of Denial: Danger and Appeal of Rituals, edited by Hüsken Utte and Udo Simon, 221-56. Wiesbaden: Harrassovitz Verlag. Zotter, Christof. 2016. “The Cremation Ground and the Denial of Ritual. The Case of the Aghorīs and Their Forerunner.” In The Ambivalence of Denial: Danger and Appeal of Rituals, edited by Hüsken Utte and Udo Simon, 43-80. Wiesbaden: Harrassovitz Verlag.

About the author Véronique Bouillier is a social anthropologist and senior researcher at the CNRS (Paris). She is the author of several books and articles on Śaiva ascetic communities in Nepal and India, including Ascètes et Rois: Un Monastère de Kānphaṭā Yogīs au Népal (1997), and Monastic Wanderers: Nāth Yogīs Ascetics in Modern South Asia (2017). [email protected]

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Powerful Yogīs The Successful Quest for Siddhis and Power 1 Adrián Muñoz Abstracts This chapter comprehensively addresses the question of power in a yogī milieu, particularly within the Nāth panth, unraveling and exploring the meanings of power in haṭha yoga and linking these ideal conceptions with historical and hagiographical examples from different contexts and times. Drawing chiefly on Nāth hagiography, a rich source for yogī paradigms and symbolic treatments of power and success or, in other words, siddhi, I argue that the display of supernatural capacities in hagiography mirrors the attainment of power in political and social spheres. The chapter suggests that these hagiographic themes foreshadow the successful trajectory of the Nāth Yogīs’ history and the undeniable influence that Nāth leaders have exercised in South Asian politics. Keywords: Nāth panth, Nāth folklore, Yoga and hagiography, South Asian yoga, religion and politics

If one were to scrutinize yogic literature, especially that associated with haṭha yoga, it would quickly become apparent that the acquisition and development of powers is an important motif, if not utterly requisite for the yogic quest. Haṭha yoga often implies some sort of ascetic practice that can produce various results. The main objective in several haṭha texts is to master the vital breath so as to gain immunity and immortality, which implies absolute perfection. Thus, a driving, underlying motif in yogic idiom relies on the material and symbolical imaginings of power, perfection, and success, all of which can be rendered 1 Véronique Bouillier, Eloisa Stuparich, Daniela Bevilacqua, and Christof Zotter offered valuable critiques and suggestions that helped improve this essay. I thank them sincerely.

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_ch02

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by the Sanskrit word siddhi. Even though Carl Olson (2015, 4) identifies three big D’s in asceticism (detachment, denial, discipline), it seems that in various contexts and examples yogic power does not necessarily have to imply all three, although discipline is allegedly one big D that conditions yogic success. This chapter aims to comprehensively address the question of power in the yogī milieu of the Nāth sampradāya, with the intention of probing into the material consequences of the symbolical imaginings of power, perfection, and success. Its starting point is to see siddhi not as an ascetic goal that only takes place in ontological and/or spiritual contexts, but one that transcends and incorporates other realms of human activity. In other words: the chapter seeks to revisit, unravel, and explore the wide meanings of power in haṭha yoga, a form of asceticism commonly associated with the Nāth tradition; it also links these ideal conceptions to historical and hagiographical examples of how the Nāth Yogīs have displayed different sorts of powers in South Asia in different contexts and times. Stories of Yogīs guiding princes or kings turned Yogīs (Cauraṅgī, Bhartharī, or Gopīcand, for example) are paramount in Nāth hagiography and reinforce the ministerial role that Yogīs have played in the political careers of monarchs and leaders such as Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh in Kathmandu or rājā Mānsingh of Marwar in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Nāth legends can be construed as allegories of the political dimension in the panth’s history. Thus, I argue that the display of supernatural capacities in hagiography goes hand in hand with the search for power in the political and social spheres and is not just a product of symbolical idealizations of the figure of the Yogī. This may attest to the successful trajectory of the Nāth Yogīs’ history and the undeniable influence that prominent Nāth leaders have exercised in South Asian modern politics. My aim is not to pursue the archaeology of either the term siddhi or its miscellaneous manifestations, but rather to peruse the repercussions of “power” and “success” in actual and symbolic sociocultural scenarios, from pre-modern to modern India. Therefore, the chapter does not concentrate on a specific case or text, but rather seeks to read the enactments of power and success holistically in Nāth historiographic imagery. To put it in other words, mine is not a philological enterprise, but a hermeneutic attempt to construe key motifs in Nāth history and hagiography. The history of the Nāth Yogīs (as a matter of fact, even their label) is complex and their relation to yoga has also been a contested issue in the recent scholarship.2 A seeming 2 For more detail concerning the history, lineage, and identity of the Nāth Yogīs as an order, and their relationship to yoga practices, see Mallinson (2011), Bouillier (2018), and Muñoz (2021). For

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continuity within “Nāth Yoga” is probably the notion of siddhi, taken in a very broad sense that encompasses the two key categories highlighted at the beginning of this paragraph. Evidently, the acquisition of extraordinary powers implies the faculty of controlling the forces of nature and the display of impossible feats. Yet there is also another side to the exercise of power, namely: politics. Political power has been a very concrete and recurrent feature in the trajectory of Yogīs. Throughout the medieval and pre-modern periods, there were a number of alliances between princes and Yogīs in South Asia, notably in Rajasthan, Garhwal, and Kathmandu, but in other places as well and, more recently, in the state of Uttar Pradesh. At the same time, tales about Yogīs and monarchs overflow the Indian subcontinent. The political success of Yogīs partly accounts for the permanence of these legends and is not just a fantastic trait in the tales. In a general sense, the legends of Bhartharī, Gopīcand, and (to a lesser degree) Cauraṅgī strengthen the military-spiritual ethos of the Yogī, as well as the tensions between chastity and renunciation (saṃnyāsa/brahmacarya), on the one hand, and pleasure and material prosperity (kāma/artha), on the other. In all of these cases, a member of the royalty becomes a Yogī’s disciple. Unlike Cauraṅgī, though, Bhartharī and Gopīcand are actual sovereigns. According to Ann Gold, the Gopī legend in particular “sustains a tension between the priority of inner and outer selves and between the virtues of a renouncer and king” (1989, 784). In the version of the tale that she uses, Gopī’s “eventual success as a yogi, along with the presumed disintegration of his kingdom without a ruler, are of no great interest” (A. Gold 1989, 785). However, I do think that it is worth paying attention to the actual success of the Yogīs in real kingdoms and contemporary scenarios. The fact that yogic power inherently implicates the political sphere is very probably attested by Nāth hagiography, where some proverbial Nāths are said to have been born or raised in royal or aristocratic families before taking initiation. As amply noted by scholars like Ann Gold and others, a common motif in Nāth hagiography is a constant, strained interplay between asceticism and royal power. In other words: many Yogī legends do not only bear witness to the Yogī’s supernatural powers, but also symbolically narrate the extent to which the Yogīs can have an impact on political worlds. Key gurus in the Nāth tradition are thus leaders both in spiritual and political jurisdictions. an interesting discussion of haṭha yoga practices and lexicon in contemporary Indian ascetics, see Bevilacqua (2017).

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In the latter part of this essay, I survey a few random tales in order to discuss how they work individually, and how do they contribute collectively to the edifying of a powerful yogic imagery that most Nāth panthīs and Nāth sympathizers share. I then discuss examples of historical events in which skillful Yogīs became highly influential in political contexts in different parts of South Asia. It will not be necessary to go into too much detail in each example; it would suffice to glean the key relevant motifs. This is intended to unravel an underlying dialogue between fiction and fact, legend and history, spheres that are not wholly estranged from one another, but that rather depend on each other. Let us first ponder briefly the semantic scope of the word siddhi.

1 A quick look at powerful words Carl Olson begins his book on power by contextualizing it, within a South Asian setting, as first dependent on the Vedic concept of ṛta (order, rightness), on the one hand, and tapas (heat), on the other. In some Vedic sources, ṛta and devas (divine beings) were born from a natural heat or tapas, which also provided officiants with proficiency in poetry and inspiration, as well as physical strength and the capacity to fight sickness and death. Later, in the Upaniṣads, tapas became an unnatural heat (that is: it was produced by someone; it was not inherent in nature) associated with asceticism. Along with the previously mentioned benefits, tapas could also bring about gnosis and enlightenment (Olson 2015, 2-3). Thus, ṛta can be understood as a social power of sorts (inasmuch as it entails sociopolitical order), whereas tapas, although initially a natural heat, can ignite supernatural forces or powers not at work in ordinary life. Once yoga became a recognized school and a means of practice, power and yoga also became topics often commented upon usually under the categories of siddhi or vibhūti.3 For the purposes of this chapter, it is necessary to reflect, albeit briefly, on the semantic scope of the Sanskrit word siddhi. It will not be necessary, though, to review the full development of the word, nor its history within the 3 There is a widely circulated list of eight “traditional” siddhis, namely: aṇimā (minuteness of one’s body), laghimā (lightness of one’s body), garimā or mahimā (largeness, heaviness of one’s body), prāpti (attainment or liberty of transportation), prakāmya (freedom of will), īśitvā (lordship over nature), vāśitvā (mastery over elements), and kāmāvasāyitvā (manipulation of elements at will). Yogasūtra 3.45 makes an allusion to these, but all previous aphorisms in the said treatise discuss various sorts of powers or perfections attained through the intense practice of the saṃyama method (dhāraṇā, dhyāna, samādhi).

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field of yoga and the Nāth tradition. 4 What matters most is to consider the possibilities that the word provides. Although there are various words than can be used to designate (yogic) powers – vibhūti, iddhi, guṇa, labdhi, bala, and so on; see Jacobsen (2018) –, I am concerned with siddhi specifically. The word siddhi derives from the Sanskrit root √sādh, meaning “to accomplish, to be successful, to excel, to conquer”. The noun form siddha would mean a “perfected”, “accomplished” or “successful” being; someone endowed with siddhi. Siddha is a recurrent word to designate Yogīs and tāntrikās, although they are not always unequivocal synonyms. In common parlance, Nāth Yogīs have also been loosely and sometimes ambivalently called “Siddha Yogīs” (as in Banerjea, 1954) or “Nāth Siddhas” (as in White 1996; 2001). “Nāth” (Sanskrit nātha), in turn, means “a lord, a master, a protector”, the root √nāth connoting the idea of “soliciting, prevailing, having power”. A nātha is someone who reigns, who is a master, and who masters things. And what a nātha masters is fundamentally yogic power. Broadly speaking, this yogic power entails religious or spiritual sovereignty as well as siddhi. The Nāth Yogī overrules people, objects, and energies through his success in yogic sādhanā, a practice traditionally linked to haṭha yoga. It is worth remembering that, notably in Śaiva and tantric literature, authors have provided ample classifications of siddhis.5 This sustained attention actually reflects an acute concern with powers and success in a given set of practices. Śaivism and Tantra are part of Nāth background, so that some notions took roots in Nāth imagery and idiom. Much earlier, authors like Patañjali would prevent against the temptation of acquiring supernatural powers, or vibhūti, since they could obstruct the attainment of samādhi (Yogasūtra 3.37). Yet an underlying theme was that “[t]he acquisition of powers is a measure of the yogi’s success, and is dependent on unchangeable consciousness, which represents a person’s innate power (cit-śakti)” (Olson 2015, 3-4). This belief is notorious in some treatises related to haṭha yoga and is also exemplified in hagiography. More than in the Pātañjalayogaśāstra, Buddhism, or Jainism, it is probably in the Purāṇas and the Tantras that siddhis as extraordinary faculties of subduing others – a key form of power in this chapter – gain more attention. The role of siddhi in haṭha literature is also a matter of debate. Members of the Daśnāmī and Rāmānandī orders and their forerunners “have practiced a liberation-oriented haṭha yoga, in contrast to the siddhi-oriented yoga of 4 For a comprehensive account of the history of siddhi in early haṭha yogic and tantric traditions, with special attention to the Amṛtasiddhi and the Śivasaṃhitā, see Mallinson (2012). 5 A very good and in-depth paper on various typologies of siddhis in Śaiva tantric texts is Vasudeva (2012).

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the Gorakhnāthīs, since at least the time of composition of the first haṭha yoga texts and probably for much longer” (Mallinson 2014, 174). As can be seen in legend and historical accounts, the Nāths exemplify the acquisition and exercise of mundane yogic powers. The political power and success that I trace in these sources may very well emulate siddhis for attaining wealth (pauṣṭika), for acquiring authority (aiśvarya), or for controlling people and objects (vasīkaraṇa), as described in some Śaiva sources (cf. Vasudeva 2012, 271-72). According to some specialists, however, there are only two haṭha yogic Sanskrit texts in which siddhi is given considerable space, namely the twelfth- or thirteenth-century Dattātreyayogaśāstra and the thirteenth- or fourteenth-century Yogabīja (Mallinson 2012, 328-29); and even there, siddhis are thought of as possible obstacles in sādhanā, somehow in accord with the view of Patañjali. The debate stems from conceiving two types of siddhis: kalpitā (intentional) and akalpitā (unintentional), which brings to mind the contrast between “natural” ṛta versus “unnatural” tapas, as discussed previously. This is notably explained in the Yogabīja. Siddhis of the kalpitā variety are obtained through “artificial” methods such as alchemy or magic, unlike the “natural” siddhis that arise as an inevitable outcome of yogic practice (Yogabīja, vv. 171 ff.). According to said treatise, these are signs that a practitioner has become a real master or nātha, a full yogasiddha (yogasiddhasya lakṣaṇam; Yogabīja, v. 178). As a matter of fact, the acquisition of siddhis provides the siddhayogī with svātantrya, or autonomy and dominion (Yogabīja, v. 176). The gist here is that siddhi understood as “supernatural power” is not considered of utmost importance, but siddhi understood as “success” is. Indeed, it seems that, more often than not, many haṭha yogic texts use the word siddhi to designate “success” rather than “supernatural powers” (Mallinson 2012, 330). Now, even if we accept the somewhat debatable preeminence of siddhi in haṭha literature, the frequency of siddhi that we find in the hagiographic genre is somewhat different. In the legends and tales of the Nāth Yogīs, the enactments of magic and success – that is, power – are the main narrative motifs. In turn, these stories bear comparison with histories of Yogīs, and probably not by sheer coincidence, as we will see in the next sections. In modern pamphlet literature, the complex yet relevant idiomatic usage of siddhi is also present. In the biography of Gambhirnāth – a guru in the lineage of the Gorakhnāth maṭh, and a “siddha-yogī” or “siddha-puruṣa” (Banerjea 1954, 40, 85, 96, passim) – we are told about the now almost legendary Yogī’s quest and meditative practices, whence all sort of yogic perfections arose. We read that: “Siddhi or success in each stage gives a glimpse of and creates a deeper yearning for the experience of the

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next higher stage” (Banerjea 1954, 38). The semantic import of siddhi, nātha, and yogī really permeate, delineate, and inform almost all of the stories, and thus condition the aura of what a successful Nāth would be like.

2 The power of legend Nāth identity heavily relies on the power of narratives. More often than not, the Yogī appears as an all-powerful character who can bring havoc or perform wonderful deeds in the world. Yogic power can open the door to “sinister” episodes, as presented in a famous book by David White and about which James Mallinson comments: “The yogis described have achieved magical powers as a result of their practice of yoga and other techniques, which they then put to evil ends” (Mallinson 2014, 167). But this practice can also yield beneficial results in both spiritual and secular dimensions. Also, even though “powers are not the practice” (ibid.), they do seem to go hand in hand at least in hagiography and historiography, so that: “the acquisition of powers is to be expected by the yogi as he/she advances on the path, which implies that the powers are not mythological narratives, fanciful or imaginative tales intended to entertain others with strange happenings” (Olson 2015, 54). Readers or listeners are expected to believe in the power of Yogīs, but maybe also the Yogīs themselves who either sing of listen to these stories reinforce their faith in the power of yoga: Much more than in theoretical treatises about Haṭha Yoga, the world-view and values of the Nāth Yogīs have been popularized through the medium of their numerous legends which have fascinated audiences for centuries. These narratives tell of a magical world full of heroic characters, changing appearances, wonderful deeds and excessive passions or disasters. The hero is not so much a dispassionate and otherworldly yogi as he is a wonder-worker. (Bouillier 2017, 26)

As a matter of fact, many contemporary ascetics retell these stories and believe in the power of words as well as the magical feats of the characters. For them, siddhi is connected to both the practice and the accomplishment derived from it.6 This is precisely the sort of stories I wish to discuss. Let’s turn to our first example. 6 I am grateful to Daniela Bevilacqua for sharing ideas and confirmation on this, drawing on her numerous interviews with different contemporary ascetics.

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Jālandhar (also known as Jalindar) is a very recurrent name in the constellation of legendary Yogīs. It is also a name that transcends Nāth circles as it is the name of a pilgrimage place in the Punjab. In Nāth hagiography, Jālandharnāth has many encounters with other prominent characters. According to tradition, Jālandhar, Gorakh, Matsyendra, and Kānhapā (also known as Kṛṣṇapāda) were contemporaries. Some accounts state that Jālandhar was Matsyendra’s co-disciple to the same guru and therefore his “spiritual brother” (guru bhāī) sometime in the ninth century, a fact that cannot be verified. Some stories relate that Jālandhar reigned over the kingdom of Hastinapura under the name of Jvālendra in northwest India before renouncing and becoming a Yogī, which is a key leitmotif in Nāth hagiography. Some lineages imply that Jālandhar may have lived between the seventh and eleventh centuries in Gauṛ, Bengal, during the reign of King Mānikacandra, husband of Queen Maynāvatī and father of Gopīcand. Jālandhar was the guru of Kānhapā and Gopīcand, and Matsyendra was the guru of Gorakh. According to one of these versions (Muñoz 2010, 187-92), King Mānikacandra and Queen Maynāvatī ruled prosperously, but were saddened due to the fact that they had not yet produced an heir to the throne. This prompted the queen to make special vows7 and, as a consequence, she became pregnant with Gopīcand. The palace was overfilled with joy and delight – astrologers from faraway regions came and prepared the child’s horoscope, but were worried by it. Concerned, the king asked why, and they replied that the birth was indeed auspicious and that the child was to enjoy a long, long life. Nevertheless, on becoming a young boy he would abandon residence in court and take on the path of yoga. Now, if he were to remain in the palace, he was sure to die at a young age. The king would not listen to any of this. In a similar fashion in which Siddhartha Gotama’s father denied entrance of sick and old people into his court, King Mānikacandra prevented Yogīs from entering the palace. Nevertheless, Yogī Jālandharnāth was passing nearby; on hearing this, he became enraged and issued a prediction (a curse, really): the king would die in six months. Mānikacandra died as predicted and Maynāvatī took charge of the throne and the upbringing of the child. 7 Ratnākar vrat, lit. “jewel-shaped vow” (Nāthsiddha carit, 204); ratnākar can also mean “a mine of precious stones” or “sea” (Oxford Hindi-English Dictionary). The implications of this vow are confusing to me. Does it mean that the queen fasts and meditates by the sea? In another version of the tale, in order to gain merit and boons, the queen lavishly feeds a hundred sādhus and a hundred Brahmins (Gold 1992, 165-66). Does the vow demand that she generously gives away jewels to the sādhus as alms?

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He grew to become a prosperous prince and promising king, soon to be married to many wives from neighboring kingdoms. However, Gopīcand’s mother grieved to think about the astrological predictions of his son and wanted that he would receive initiation from Jālandhar. She pleaded with Gopīcand and convinced him. Now, Jālandhar had to test his would-be disciple. He requested him to beg for alms from all of his wives, to fill a renouncer’s vessel with water, take leave from his mother, and fill his mendicant sack with flour. However, Gopīcand asked the servants to carry the vessel, accepted help from villagers and ministers, and refused to receive alms from his queens. After his guru’s rebuke, he had no other choice but to yield. Although grieved to see his son leave the throne and take on the ocher robe, Queen Maynāvatī finally gave her blessing. There are more episodes in the different retellings of this story. The kernel of it is that the prince complies to the Yogī’s instructions and undertakes the path of yoga. It somewhat converses with another paradigmatic story, that of Bhartharī. I will not go into detail here,8 but in most versions of this other tale, the king willingly becomes an ascetic, which wreaks havoc in the country. After his wife Piṅgalā dies in dreadful conditions, Bhartharī falls prey to impending dejection and sits to bewail at the deceased queen’s funeral pyre. An Indian homologue of King Arthur’s kingdom, Bhartharī’s domain weakens due to the weakening of the king’s own morale and will to live. Notice that Bhartharī induces the death of the people and kingdom by not effectively taking hold of the government. This is illustrated by Gorakhnāth’s recrimination: “Why are you killing all these people? What will you rule then?” (A. Gold 1992, 127). Blinded by sorrow, the doleful king is unable to sleep or react. Hence, Gorakh “‘takes away the king’s stubbornness’ by mocking his mourning and then demonstrating the superior power of yogis and the illusory nature of life and love” (A. Gold 1992, 107). The aid of the Yogī is needed to restore the king’s assurance and therefore ensure the welfare of the realm. Political and social welfare depend here on the Yogī’s power. Eventually, Bhartharī comes to his senses, leaves the cremation ground, and resumes his political authority. But not for long. In most versions, it is Gorakh who later asks Bhartharī to become a Yogī. It is important to note, though, that despite the Yogī’s stirring the king to abandon mundane life, a sovereignty of sorts is to be retained or, more 8 A more detailed discussion of different versions and critical readings of the tale can be found in Muñoz (2010, 164-86).

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properly, perfected and fulfilled. This seems to twist the plot: Bhartharī is a king, he involuntarily but fatefully causes the death of his beloved queen, then begins acting like a sādhu, then Gorakh compels him to re-assume his regal position, only to then tell him to become again an ascetic – a real one, this time. Gorakh’s logic goes like this: “Oh King, why are you holding on to these things when you should hold on to yoga? Previously … you earned yoga and so you became a king. But by ruling you fall into hell” (Gold 1992, 139). Gorakh says that ruling is like hell, but yoga means true dominion (Gold 1992, 139; Muñoz 2010, 176, 186). According to Gorakh, rule “eats dharma” and accumulates sin. Bhartharī, then, is compelled to don the garb of the Yogī – now a true renouncer and not the mock ascetic mourning by the pyre. Bhartharī can then purify himself through yoga. But it was important that he should first get back to the throne and set things right as a ruler. He would not have been able to do any of this (reassuming his role as an apt monarch and becoming a religious disciple) without the guiding figure of the Yogī: yogic power, then, overpowers secular authority.

3 The (legendary) power of history Away from the realm of legend, we stride onto the stage of history, but historical narratives can often still appear enveloped in the aura of fable. Some of these stories pertain to oral traditions and can underscore regional and folk identities. Let’s take a brief look at some examples. In the ninth century, Deorāj, prince of the Rāwal royal house in Jaisalmer, witnessed the massacre of his family at the hands of the Baraha (White 1996, 122, 309-10). Deorāj was able to survive by hiding in a forsaken house where a Yogī by the name of Rita was also hiding. Rita was a master of alchemical arts. The narrative relates how Rita chooses to take sides with the prince, who then decides to build an appealing small castle that his enemies, bitten by envy, are intent on demolishing. Deorāj invites them in ten by ten, in a mock gesture of courtesy; evidently this is an enticement so as to get rid of the main enemy leaders one by one. After his success, Rita reckons that Deorāj is a siddha and goes on pilgrimage. The Yogī entrusts Deorāj with a magical jar (rasa kumbha) filled with powerful potions. One day, a drop of the potion falls by accident on Deorāj’s dagger, whose blade becomes golden. On seeing this, Deorāj decides to pack and leave, taking the dagger and magical jar. He is then able to build a magnificent fortress. When Rita returns, knowing all

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about the theft, he tells Deorāj that he is willing to forgive him, provided he will become the Yogī’s disciple. Deorāj thus undertakes full Nāth initiation and the Rāwal dynasty is established.9 The whole foundation of the dynasty is explained by the support of a Yogī. In the background of political power, then, there is Yogī sustenance. Moreover, in these and other examples, the ruler does not always comply with all of the Yogī’s requests, and this may produce either a curse or partial loss of the benefits of a boon. In all of the examples, the ruler becomes a subject of the ascetic, even if the prince or king continues to rule for some years after becoming a disciple (which is exactly what Bhartharī did in the Rajasthani tale discussed above). In one story from eastern Rajasthan, the sixteenth-century ruler mahārājā Pṛthvirāj of Amber was a follower of the Nāths and a disciple of one Yogī Tāranāth (Burchett 2012, 350-52). Now, Balan Bāī, one of the Pṛthvirāj’s queens, was herself a disciple to Kṛṣṇadās Payohārī, in turn a follower of the famed bhakta Rāmānanda. The difference in sectarian ties generated constant stress between husband and wife, and this stress itself translated into a clash between the two gurus. Eventually, Kṛṣṇadās defeated Tāranāth, who urged the king to become a disciple of the Rāmānandī ascetic instead of keeping a Nāth affiliation: “This Kṛṣṇadās Payohārī is far more powerful than me. From now on, he is your guru. And I too will be his disciple” (Burchett 2012, 351; my emphasis). One important thing to note here is that Kṛṣṇadās’s superiority is proved through a display of power. Apart from dominating the forces of nature and the art of transformation, this power implies the subjugation of both the Yogī and his disciple. Whether the victory came from devotion (bhakti) or from asceticism (tapas), the key motif is the successful exercise of power. We should note that Kṛṣṇadās does not overcome Tāranāth because he prays to God. It is only after he has won the battle that he goes into a cave and meditates. Here it is also important to take into account that Kṛṣnadās’s power is depicted as a “miracle” emanating from God, whereas Tāranāths’s 9 A similar story is that of Bāppā Rāwal, an eighth-century legendary ruler of Rajasthan. In some folk traditions such as the Ekaliṅgamahātmyā (from around the fifteenth century), Bāppā Rāwal founded the Mewar dynasty. But even more important are his connections with a certain sage and ascetic by the name of Harita Rāśī. With the help and benedictions of the sage, Bāppā Rāwal was able to defeat his enemies and build the Mewar dynasty. At some point, he abdicated the throne, ceding it to his son, and became a renouncer under the guidance of Harita (White 1996, 120-21). As with other stories, here a ruler becomes subject to an ascetic. Although not properly a Nāth, Harita is a Śaivite and holds miraculous powers that impinge directly on the prince’s victory.

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is conceived of as “magic”, that is, “a mode of power issuing forth from one’s self” (Burchett 2012, 351). As a bhakti-related figure, Kṛṣṇadās Payohārī is dependent on God; as a siddha, the Yogī is autonomous, regardless of the fact that he is defeated in this tale (it belongs to a bhakta tradition, after all; not a Nāth one). Similar to the discussion of siddhi in the Yogabīja, Kṛṣṇadās’s power is natural, or akalpitā (it comes from God’s grace), whereas Tāranāth’s power is kalpitā, or produced by artificial means. The real victory in the story of Kṛṣṇadās Payohārī is not so much the defeat of the Yogī in a contest of sorts, but that both Yogī and ruler have to bow down to the bhakta ascetic. In a less hagiographical reading of the tale, it is possible to find evidence of a historical change that took place in sixteenth-century Rajasthan. The Kacchwāhas in Galta clearly shifted their allegiance from the Nāths/Siddhas to the Rāmānandīs. This meant increased patronage to Vaiṣṇava devotion, and the gradual neglect of Śaiva and Tantra-driven yoga. We should not forget that patronage means support from the regime. What is at stake in the tale outlined above is the competition for royal sponsorship. Commenting on the pre-modern Sufī dialogues in which Islamic ascetics and Yogīs commonly met and competed, Véronique Bouillier points out that “We see then how important the siddhis were in fuelling the confrontation between Yogīs and Sufīs as they competed for territorial domination” (Bouillier 2017, 29). Rajasthan has been a common locale for such Nāth tales, but other places such as Punjab are also the setting for yogic interactions with politics. There is strong evidence, for example, that the Jakhbar Yogīs in the Punjab received ample donation and patronage from different Muslim aristocrats and rulers, including high-prof ile Mughal regal f igures such as Akbar, Jahāngīr, Śāh Jahān, and Awrangzēb (cf. Goswamy and Grewal 1967). In like manner, there is an inscription in the Narainī temple in Kalinjar, Uttar Pradesh (c. 1590) that includes the following names: Prāṇanāth, Paṃganāth, Gopīnāth, Mānsiṃgh, and Nandanasiṃgh (Prasad 1990, 213). Apparently, the inscription bears witness to some donation that the two –siṃgh benefactors gave to a group of jogīs, who may belong to an alleged Nāth order given their appellations, although this is not conclusive evidence (“nāth” can also be a somewhat common caste name, but it makes sense that donations were made to religious figures, not to common folk). It was not uncommon that rulers would donate to and support Yogīs and Nāths, in a very similar manner in which the royal characters in the tales respond to their Yogī gurus. Apart from yoga, the Nāths have historically taken part in trade, martial activities and, of course, political action. David White notes that “Perhaps by virtue of their multifaceted interface with the outside world, the Nāth Siddhas also have by far the richest hagiography of any Śaiva or tantric

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group of the precolonial period” (2001, 2). They have been praised, celebrated, resorted to, and feared. There is no question that “It is these same qualities that have made them attractive to both the peasant masses and a certain number of Indian princes and potentates throughout the medieval and modern periods” (ibid.).

4 The powerful import of legend in history The previous stories narrate imaginary portrayals of princes and kings yielding to the powers and authority of a Yogī. They are ingenious and symbolic depictions of an underlying theme, namely that political power is dependent on yogic power. The following narrations report historical instances of this. We will take a look at two very interesting chronicles, both of them amply known. The first one occurs in the second half of the eighteenth century, in what is now Nepal, a land where Buddhism and Hinduism have merged and shaped the identities of people and sites (Michaels 2021). In this chronicle, the Gorkha chief Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh makes Yogī Bhagavantanāth his ally. It is a fact that both Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa and Bhagavantanāth were real people; there is evidence in inscription and other sources. We know for sure that Bhagavantanāth became a key strategist and advisor to the Gorkha ruler around 1763. What is a matter of debate is to what extent Bhagavantanāth helped Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa. Gorkha was one of the western kingdoms in the Kathmandu Valley. The gist of the story is that Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa sought to extend his sovereignty over other small kingdoms.10 Sometimes, military power would not be enough, so he had to resort to efficient diplomatic devices, such as strategic marriage arrangements, but some tantric spells were also counted as part of the stratagem. This diplomacy implied very “Machiavellian tactics” (Bouillier 1991, 154). The monarch-Yogī alliance is partly reflected in Gorakhnāth’s function as one of the three tutelary deities of the royal Śāh lineage.11 The chronicle experimented a “Gorakhnātization” sort of process in later retellings, such as the nineteenth century chronicle, the Gorkhāvaṃśāvalī among others. In one of these retellings (White 1996, 310-12), while still 10 For a fuller account and discussion of this event, see Zotter’s chapter in this volume. Stuparich’s contribution also expands on Nāth trajectories in Nepal, especially around the figure of Naraharināth. 11 See also Zotter for a detailed description of the importance of Gorakhnāth with regard to various shrines and rituals in the Kathmandu Valley.

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preparing for his military enterprise, Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa crossed a mountainous range and found a Yogī in a cave, absorbed in deep meditation. It was Gorakh himself. As was customary, the warrior begged for the blessings of the Yogī, an elegant manner to ask for a boon. Gorakh told Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa to go find some curd and give it to him as prasād. When the prince came back with the curd in a vessel, he was asked to stay close while the Yogī drank. Gorakh swallowed the curd and then tried to spit it on the hands of the king, who quickly withdrew them, out of irrepressible repugnance. Gorakh then explained the prince that had he swallowed the regurgitated curd, he would have become a universal and invincible ruler. The spit having landed on his feet, he would now rule for only ten generations, one for each toe.12 Later on, both Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa and Gorakh marched toward Kathmandu and conquered the Malla kingdoms, making Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa the ensuing monarch of Nepāla (i.e., the Kathmandu Valley). The Yogī became talismanic, a symbol of power. This semi-historical victory has been celebrated in recent times. The one-rupee coin was minted with the motto Śrī Śrī Śrī Gorakṣa Nātha (“Thrice venerable Gorakhnāth”). Additionally, in the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap, in Kathmandu’s Darbar Square, there was formerly an image of Gorakh highly frequented by devotees, before the terrible earthquake of 2015 that devastated the valley and much of the historical mūrtis. It is a sad coincidence that the catastrophe is also known as the Gorkha Earthquake (Gorkha, or Gurkha, is sometimes construed as a derivative of the name of Gorakh). The other prototypical chronicle takes place in the next century, in Rajasthan. Mānsingh, king of Marwar was a charismatic and rather controversial figure in nineteenth-century Jodhpur. An exemplary monarch, Mānsingh was a patron of arts and literature, and had a penchant for mysticism. It is also well attested that the Nāth Yogīs were highly influential and favored during Mānsingh’s forty-year reign; as a matter of fact, their authority came to replace the magical and spiritual power of the Brahmins under Mānsingh’s regime (D. Gold 1992, 10). The reason for this was that Mānsingh was a devotee of Jālandharnāth and, as a matter of fact, he authored many strotras in homage to Nāth figures; these compositions are collected in the Mehrangarh Fort Museum archive (White 2001, 8). 12 This is an interesting motif that is also present in the aforementioned story of Bāppā Rāwal. When still on the verge of battling his enemies, Bāppā Rāwal goes to meet Harita Rāśī, who consents to bestow on Bāppā immortality and extraordinary powers. The blessing descends in the form of spit from the sage’s mouth; in utter disgust, Bāppā withdraws his hands and the spit lands on his foot. This angers Harita, and the grant becomes flawed: it is not immortality that the ruler will gain, but only immunity to weapons. This is enough to ensure Bāppā’s triumph, but he fails to attain complete perfection and everlasting life – and therefore universal rule.

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It is important to stress that rājā Mānsingh was the last independent ruler of the Marwar kingdom in Jodhpur; he ruled from 1803 to 1843. According to legend, once in a crucial battle Mānsingh was besieged in Jalore fortress, south of Jodhpur, by his cousin and rival, Bhīmsingh. Reminiscent of the stories of Deorāj mentioned before, a wonderful Yogī by the name of Mastnāth appeared and guided Mānsingh to a secret cave, where he was able to acquire provisions. The Yogī predicted that the enemy would not last long, and that same night Bhīmsingh gave up the ghost. Historiographical accounts seem to corroborate some facts. British chronicler James Tod writes that he visited Mānsingh. After interviewing the rājā and members of the court, he learned that Mānsingh attributed his success and victory to Yogī Āyas Devnāth, affiliated to the Nāth lineage of Jālandharnāth. The Yogī’s name changes, but they both presage Bhīmsingh’s demise. Āyas Devnāth was a historical figure and was instrumental in Mānsingh’s ascending to the throne in 1803. Tod’s account is also attested in the Tawarikh Mansingh, a historical account of Mānsingh’s reign (see D. Gold 1992). Devnāth secured Mānsingh’s career, gave constant advice, and help administer and f inance the kingdom’s army. In consequence, the Yogī received ample privilege and benefits. Furthermore, the king officially declared himself a disciple of Āyas Devnāth, emulating both Gopīcand and Bhartharī, who are in fact celebrated figures in Rajasthan. In turn, Devnāth would be an embodiment of the legendary figure of Jālandhar, from whom – the Yogī claimed – derived all spiritual guidance, premonitions, and power. Some historians hypothesize that Devnāth’s success did not depend on powerful magic spells but on cunning: he might have slyly arranged for Bhīmsingh’s poisoning without being discovered (D. Gold 1992, 18). Unsurprisingly, on ascending to the throne, rājā Mānsingh offered lands to Devnāth and his guild, who were then able to collect revenue and flourish both economically and politically in the Marwar region. Devnāth remained a royal and spiritual counsellor until his assassination in 1815, holding an even higher status than Indarraj, Marwar’s administrator in chief; other Nāths were able to appoint administrators themselves and, indeed, Devnāth ruled along with his own family (D. Gold 1992, 18, 20). The king was so dismayed at the Yogī’s demise that he almost became insane and began to neglect his royal duties (ibid., 24-25) – interestingly, in a way quite reminiscent of Bhartharī’s sorrowful state upon seeing Queen Piṅgalā’s funeral pyre, except that in this case it was not an ascetic, but a colonial power who tried to deal with the issue. The king’s inability and the Nāths’ unchecked

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authority created a governmental catastrophe that bitterly frustrated the British administration’s projects in Jodhpur. Since the king was virtually ineffective, the kingdom was actually under the control of the Nāths. Thus, between 1839 and 1841, the British urged Mānsingh to disarm the Yogīs and eventually succeed in taking control of the territory. An interesting epilogue to this is that, despite the Nāth Yogīs’s evident excesses during Mānsingh’s reign, due to the confrontation with the British, they came to be read retrospectively as an example of nationalist Indian resistance to imperial power.

5 Successful Yogīs in modern India: a hermeneutic examination It could be objected that an ascetic’s main goal is to attain mukti, liberation, rather than achieving siddhi, powers. Of course, in an ideal world this is true, but reality is often more complex. Although in principle the Nāth Yogīs in tales and legends are ascetics and often wander free, they do display a wide range of powers. The historical Nāths who have had influence in the political arena may be renunciates, but they are not wandering ascetics: having the opportunity to manipulate, exercise, or administer both advice and authority requires them to remain in the same place, at least for a considerable period of time. At the same time, as we know, many Nāths were allotted lands as a gesture of patronage and as a reward for their services. Indeed, this in part explains why Nāth centers like the Gorakhnāth Temple in Gorakhpur have remained prominent and prosperous over time.13 By revising and probing different episodes from both history and hagiography, it becomes clear that Yogīs were successful in earning royal favors, becoming sources of wisdom and guidance, spiritual and physical support, and even governmental counsel. They became key advisers for monarchs, and were sometimes even more influential than royal courtiers. The scrutiny of these chronicles and tales, indicates the highly active role played by the Nāth Siddhas in pre-colonial and colonial Indian power politics, a role that bears an elective affinity with the cultivation of bodily power that is the hallmark of their yogic 13 See the chapter by Christine Marrewa-Karwoski in this volume for a critical account of the emergence and growth of the Gorakhnāth Mandir, especially under the charismatic figure of Digvijaynāth. See also Kasturi (2018). A similar case, this time in Rajasthan, is examined by Carter Higgins in his chapter.

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practice. It is, moreover, by virtue of such activities that the Nāths became a landed order, and that they continue to support themselves materially through landholdings granted to them hundreds of years ago. A significant number of archival documents bear witness to support of the Nāth Siddhas by every Mogul emperor from Akbar to Śāh Alam II, including the infamous Aurangzeb, and Véronique Bouillier has given us the history of parallel developments in Nepal. (White 2001, 14)

It was mainly due to this powerful dynamic that Yogīs gained land and revenue through the madad-i-ma‘āsh system in various regions of the Indian subcontinent; in Jakhbar, these privileges lasted until the eighteenth century. Historically, the Nāth Yogī does not necessarily appear as a renouncer, in spite of the fact that he is an ascetic; this is to say that he does not give up his capacity to meddle in the secular realm, especially in the political sphere. In a sense, Nāth legends can be construed as an allegory of the expansive influence of Yogīs on the political scene. The privileges and the power of Yogīs were strong in medieval and early modern India, and apparently came to an end with the arrival of the British administration. From at least the nineteenth century and early twentieth century, the Nāth influence in politics became incompatible with the colonial project, as noted by Daniel Gold (1992). Yet this was not the end of the power of the Yogī by any means. The Gorakhpur Temple in Uttar Pradesh has been led by two powerful figures in recent times, namely Avedyanāth, who was the mahant for over three decades, and Yogī Ādityanāth, the current head of the temple. It cannot be understated that Ādityanāth has been not only a Member of Parliament but Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh since 2017. Nor is he an exception. He comes from a line of Nāth succession that, at least in this district, has played an active role in politics for some time now. It is no surprise that the Nāth lineage is associated with this symbolic past. The birth and import of Digvijaynāth (Avedyanāth’s guru and predecessor), for example, is said to have been foretold by the famous history of Bāppā Rāwal and is also connected to Rāṇā Sāṅgā and Māhārāṇā Pratāpsingh, sixteenth-century kings of Mewar who opposed the Afghan Lodis and the Mughal forces.14 Indeed, the wealth, size and power of the Gorakhnāth Temple, with Digvijaynāth as head mahant, made it possible that “the sacred mediated and negotiated spatial, proprietary and power regimes in the city”, 14 Thus is he introduced in his bio in the Gorakhnāth Mandir’s official website: http://www. gorakhnathmandir.in/m_digvijaynathji.aspx (accessed February 3, 2021).

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allowing the temple to become “a powerful socio-religious institution, whose mahants wielded enormous power within and without the math second to none” (Kasturi 2018, 228-29). While Avedyanāth (also “Avaidyanāth”) adopted more the role of the spiritual head of the temple, as well as being an authorial figure for the Nāth panthīs, young Ādityanāth was already under intense training for taking hold of the administrative offices in due course, as I witnessed during a visit to Gorakhpur back in 2005. Like his predecessors, he also became an MP, affiliated to the Bharatiya Janata Party. His efforts have consolidated the temple’s hegemony in the Gorakhpur district. A villager told me at that time about a common idiom declaring that, in order to be a true Gorakhpuri, one should praise the Yogī.15 This is in accord with the response of monarchs and characters from both legend and history. Indeed, Yogī Ādityanāth was successful in expanding Nāth power in the region partly by resorting to communalist propaganda against Muslim communities. Nowadays, the Gorakhpur Temple, a major Nāth bastion, has strengthened its political foothold, adapting to the current circumstances of India to the point that it has been called a “saffron citadel” (Gatade 2004). Despite their former “heterodox” Śaivite roots, this current Nāth dispensation is growing closer and closer to a sort of Hindu orthodoxy, bordering on obdurate nationalism. It seems that Ādityanāth fittingly emulates the influence that earlier historic and legendary Nāths have had. The strategy itself is noteworthy: whereas on the one hand he seems to invoke nirguṇī-like sentiments by addressing Dalits, for example, he also raises the banner of uncompromising Hindutva ideology against Muslims in particular (Gatade 2004; Engineer 2006; Apoorvanand 2007), even to the point of distorting a rich history of fruitful interactions between Nāth Yogīs, Mughal rulers, Jains, and Buddhists (Marrewa-Karwoski 2020). This happens in spite of the multiple contacts between Yogīs and Sufīs in early modern India, as well as the number of Muslim-born members of some Nāth orders. As Marrewa-Karwoski describes in this volume, Gorakhpur and Ādityanāth represent a modern understanding of yogic power. To some contemporaries who sympathize with the Nāths, Ādityanāth’s success could be considered greater than that of the Yogīs in the reported stories because he is not counseling a ruler but ruling himself. It appears that his political siddhi will not be wearing out soon. 15 It was very likely an adaptation of a slogan commonly used by Yogī Ādityanāth’s followers: “Pūrvacāl mein rehnā hai to yogī-yogī kehnā hogā” (You have to chant Yogī’s name if you want to live in Poorvanchal). See Apoorvanand (2007).

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Modern yoga, or – to be more precise – yoga trends in modernity have had many avatārs and are not necessarily dependent on one another. Nāth Yogīs are very different from modern yoga designers like Krishnamacharya or more contemporary expounders, such as the successful Bābā Rāmdev, or controversial instructors like Bikram Choudhury. However, there seems to be a lingering idiom: the Yogī is powerful and has been updated; as a specialist has noted, “these latter-day Indian yogis combined in themselves the mythos of the medieval siddha with the modern-day strong men” (Singleton 2010, 106). This idiom is not new but was already present in pre-modern hagiographies, and has been adapted to the times. Another way to benefit from the alleged yogic past of the Nāths has been the recent attempts to capitalize on the activities á propos of the International Day of Yoga, as discussed by Bevilacqua in the last chapter of this volume. If one were to judge from a devout biography such as that of Gambhīrnāth, it would be understandable that the Gorakhnāth maṭh would be such a powerful place for most sympathizers: When those spiritual vibrations are created by the sādhanā and siddhi of a long line of spiritually great men from time immemorial, they become perpetual and inexhaustible and indestructible, and the soil and water and air of the locality become saturated with their influence. (Banerjea 1954, 24)

Nothing more natural than successful, powerful Yogīs would be attached to such a site full of siddhi. Of course, siddhi can be interpreted in very different ways in modern times. In some cases, social success means upward mobility, as shown by Ondračka and Bordeaux in their respective chapters. After commenting on classifications of siddhis outlined by David White and Knut Jacobsen, Carl Olson (2015, 73-74) posits a threefold taxonomy: somatic, mental, and cosmic types of powers. To my mind, these types fail to account for the power of subduing people. As I suggest in my reading of the legends, controlling people (notably kings and princes) is a leitmotif that, I believe, is more than a mere anecdote or narrative device. Power usually entails some form of violence: in the narratives, for example, Gorakhnāth can take the life of offspring (Muñoz 2010, 134-42); in real life, Yogī power can promote communalist conflict toward non-Hindu groups (Apoorvanand 2007; Gatade 2004, 2007). Although Olson refers to narrative examples other than those I have discussed, he pertinently writes that “violence is culturally specific and historically developed, implying necessarily that it is a historically evolving socio-cultural category” (2015, 94). Indeed, some key actors

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would probably resort to “violence associated with ascetism” inasmuch as it responds to a “formalized pattern of theatrical action that communicates meaning about possibly dysfunctional situations in a society, and makes a contribution toward social organization” (ibid.). Hence, if Gorakhnāth takes the life of the kid, this is intended as a means to re-assure Matsyendra in his ascetic path (he then brings the boy back to life). Political Nāth power nowadays could also claim that its activities are meant to correct what it deems a social danger. This can surely be interrogated, but it does seem to emulate archetypal, “successful” Nāth exploits. An illuminating, recent interview for the Indian news program “Panchayat Aaj Tak” in mid 2021 functions as a fitting corollary to the examination of the intricate relationship between power, siddhi and Nāth authority. Yogī Ādityanāth was asked by anchor Anjana Om Kashyap whether he was a yogī or a rāj-yogī (āp yogī jī hain, yā rāj yogī?). She explained that, formerly, holy men (sant), renunciates (sādhu) and yogīs used to confer blessings on monarchs (rājā) on their crowning ceremonies so as to secure their power, but maybe it seems that the situation has changed. Ādityanāth replied that he was both a yogī and a karma-yogī.16 He avoided asserting the title of rāj-yogī, instead redirecting the question toward his involvement in what presumably implies rightful action, one of the meanings of “karma” (perhaps vaguely invoking precepts such as those from the Bhagavadgītā).17 A few days earlier, in another interview, Ādityanāth had claimed that he wanted to achieve (presumably spiritual) reward “through my karma” (Rashid et al 2021), guided as he is by notions of dharma. However, it is a karma involved in politics that is implied here. Naturally, neither interview delved into Ādityanāth’s religious beliefs (as a Yogī), but rather focused on his political opinions (as UP Chief Minister) about the COVID-19 pandemic, security, the 2022 Uttar Pradesh Legislative Assembly elections, and so forth. There is no space left to further inquire into this, but it would be worth examining the convoluted correlation between actions (karma), religious 16 The program was aired in August 6, 2021. An extract is available here: https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=Sx_Nni_HsIo (accessed January 2, 2022). Interestingly, there is also a recently published book in Hindi under the title Karmayogī Saṃnyāsī Yogī Ādityanāth; it was authored by Rahees Singh and published by Prabhāt Prakāśan in 2019. Unfortunately, I have not consulted this material. 17 It is worth remembering that since the beginning of the twentieth century, the BhG has been re-interpreted in the lights of different nationalist agendas, from Swami Shraddhananda to Lajpat Rai to Mahatma Gandhi, and from K. S. Hegdewar to Swami Vivekananda to Sri Aurobindo. Regardless of how literal or metaphorical the reading of each interpreter, the urge to fight was a leitmotif in these discourses (see Davis 2015, 115-153).

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duties (dharma) and rule (rāj) in more detail. What does Ādityanāth’s unwillingness to accept the label of rāj-yogī mean? Does the term karma-yogī somehow conceal the political action by shoring up ethical duties? Is it a strategy to claim that dharma and karma always prevail over secular power? Would being a karma-yogī imply that Ādityanāth is an involved, committed Yogī, and not just a detached one? After all, Kṛṣṇa’s teachings on karma yoga in the Bhagavadgītā do not entail detachment from the world, but engaging in the unavoidable law of cosmic motion. Success (siddhi) – says Kṛṣṇa – does not arise merely from renunciation nor is it possible to escape from the chain of causation by giving up performing deeds: na karmaṇām anārambhān naiṣkarmyaṃ puruṣo ‘śnute / na ca saṃnyasanād eva siddhiṃ samadhigacchati // BhG 3.4

Karma yoga demands assuming an active role, according to and depending on one’s dharma. And Yogī Ādityanāth certainly engages actively in the stage of Indian politics.

Conclusion Hagiographic motifs do not remain mere literary devices; they become actual facts. Yogic power – and Nāth power in particular – simultaneously holds both symbolic and real sway. It is symbolic because the Yogī is traditionally deemed the possessor of multiple siddhis and extraordinary capacities, which enable him to fly, (dis)appear at will, give life to inanimate objects, bring the rain, and so forth. It is also a sociopolitical reality, one that usually involves a member of the royalty or the government. The extensive power of the Yogīs is palpable and undeniable – especially Gorakhpur-related Yogīs. Symbiosis between spiritual regency and political influence is an enduring theme in Nāth trajectory, as discussed in the previous pages; seemingly, the Nāths have been able to readapt to the changing dynamic of contemporary Indian politics. As it stands, the power of the Yogī seems resilient. The influence or interference of the Yogī with political power matches a constant interaction between a Nāth Yogī and some noteworthy monarchs or dynasties in both hagiography and historiography: Matsyendra with Colarāja; Gorakh with Gogā, Bhartharī and the Gurkhas; Jālandhar with Gopīcand; Devnāth with Mānsingh of Marwar; Avedyanāth and Ādityanāth with the BJP; and so forth. As Daniel Gold points out (1992, 16), in a symbolical world where ascetics act as Rājputs and magical power is used on behalf of

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sociopolitical dominance, a constant alliance between ascetics and princes seems perfectly conceivable. It is very interesting to note that Mānsingh exemplifies the inner tensions in Bhartharī’s and Gopī’s tales, but transposes them to an actual historical context. Whereas Bhartharī chooses to become a Yogī of his own accord, Gopī suffers from anxiety and restlessness due to his attachment to court life. Mānsingh, on the other hand, is tempted more than once to become a Nāth Yogī, but stays on the throne. However, he stays – and this is crucial – not because the spiritual path belittles in front of royal life, but because the true Yogī power must conquer both the material and the ethereal dominions, the mind and the body, the spirit and the kingdom. Rājā Mānsingh remains in charge under the auspices of Āyas Devnāth who (unlike Jālandhar and Gorakh in the legends) does not ask the king to give up the crown, his secular power, on behalf of regency of the spirit. In the end, both Mānsingh and Āyas Devnāth would benefit from Mānsingh’s retaining the crown and Devnāth’s exercising his ministerial abilities. The rājā of Marwar only abandons the throne when his guru has passed away (or entered samādhi, as the story goes). And here also the Yogī’s powerful influence was still felt through his absence (D. Gold 1992). We should not lose sight of the fact that the rājā did not only mourn his guru’s passing, but also the loss of the source of true and effective power, as he had considered the Yogī to be during his reign. By taking a cursory view of hagiographic tales and historical accounts, we can see that Nāth identity oscillates between earthly power and religious power, on the one hand, and the search for long, everlasting life and renunciation and celibacy, on the other, as best exemplified with the confrontation between Matsyendra and Gorakhnāth (see Muñoz 2010, 113-34). Indeed, a recurrent motif in Nāth idiom is the preoccupation with securing control of the kingdom – noting that this kingdom (in the narratives, poetry, and discourse) can imply the senses, the royal territory, religious prestige, and so forth. Hence, there is a vast array of examples in which Yogīs “figure in numerous foundation myths as allies of conquering kings, giving help both in mastering natural obstacles and subjugating enemies” (Bouillier 2017, 164). It is also worth noting that often “nothing moral or dharmic was involved in these conquests, rather it was a simple confrontation of powers” (ibid.; my emphasis). Examples stem from different parts of South Asia, most notably in India and Nepal (Bouillier 2017, 165 ff.). What for some people has been decadence in the history and development of the Nāth sampradāya is in fact an adaption process, and a very successful one, if controversial. At the end of the day, to be a nāth implies possessing dominion of both the macro- and the microcosm, and this translates into

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authority in the spiritual realm and power in the secular world. In a figure such as Ādityanāth, the ideal of the Nāth somberly comes full circle and he projects himself as the ultimate accomplished Yogī. Nāth authority as religious leadership and Nāth political influence acclimatize constantly. As the Yogabīja (v. 181) puts it: “The [true] siddha is known by [his] siddhis” (siddhibhir lakṣayet siddhaṃ).

Bibliography Apoorvanand. 2007. “Riot, Manufactured in Gorakhpur.” Tehelka: The People’s Paper. Available online: https://communalism.blogspot.com/2007/02/riotmanufactured-in-gorakhpur.html. Accessed: May 20, 2020. Banerjea, Akshay Kumar. 1954. Yogiraj Gambhirnath. Gorakhpur: Gorakhnath Temple. Bevilacqua, Daniela. 2017. “Let the Sādhus Talk: Ascetic Understanding of Haṭha Yoga and Yogāsanas.” Religions of South Asia 11 (2-3): 182-206. Bouillier, Véronique. 1991. “Growth and Decay of a Kanphata Yogi Monastery in South-West Nepal.” The Indian Economic and Social History Review 28 (2): 151-70. Bouillier, Véronique. 2017. Monastic Wanderers. Nāth Yogī Ascetics in Modern South Asia. New Delhi: Manohar. Bouillier, Véronique. 2018. “Kānphaṭās.” Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism Online, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, Helene Basu, Angelika Malinar, and Vasudha Narayanan. Leiden: Brill. Available online: http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2212-5019_ BEH_COM_9000000047 Burchett, Patton. 2012. “‘My Miracle Trumps Your Magic’: Encounters with Yogīs in Sufi and Bhakti Hagiographical Literature.” In Yoga Powers: Extraordinary Capacities Attained through Meditation and Concentration, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, 345-80. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Davis, Richard H. 2015. The Bhagavad Gita. A Biography. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Engineer, Asghar Ali. 2006. “Communal Riots 2005 (Part II).” Centre for Study of Society and Secularism. Available online: www.csss-isla.com/archive7archive. php?article=2006/feb1_15.htm. Accessed: June 25, 2020. Gatade, Subhash. 2004. “Hindutvaization of a Gorakhnath Mutt. The Yogi and the Fanatic.” South Asia Citizen’s Web. Available online: http://www.sacw.net/DC/ CommunalismCollection/ArticlesArchive/gatade07102004.html. Accessed: May 20, 2020. Gatade, Subhash. 2007. “The Yogi and the Fanatic: Would Gorakhpur Be the Next Gujarat?” The Milli Gazette, January 21, 2007. Available online:

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http://www.milligazette.com/dailyupdate/2007/200701212_Yogi_Fanatic_Gorakhpur%20_Gujarat.htm. Accessed: May 22, 2020. Gold, Ann G. 1989. “The Once and Future King: Sentiments and Signs in the Tale of a Renouncer-King.” Journal of Asian Studies 48 (4): 770-86. Gold, Ann G. 1992. A Carnival of Parting: The Tales of King Bharthari and King Gopi Chand as Sung and Told by Madhu Natisar Nath of Ghatiyali, Rajasthan. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Gold, Daniel. 1992. “Ascenso y caída del poder de los yoguis: Jodhpur 1803-1842.” Estudios de Asia y África 27 (1): 9-27. Goswamy, B.N., and J.S. Grewal. 1967. The Mughals and the Jogis of Jakhbar. Simla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study. India Today Web Desk. 2021. “I’m both Yogi and Karma Yogi: UP C; on polls, Covid, minority and law & order at Panchayat Aaj Tak.” India Today (August 6). Available online: https://www.indiatoday.in/india/story/panchayat-aajtak-up-cm-yogiadityanath-session-polls-covid-minority-law-order-1837893-2021-08-06 Accessed: January 2, 2022. Jacobsen, Knut, ed. 2012. Yoga Powers: Extraordinary Capacities Attained through Meditation and Concentration. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Kasturi, Malavika. 2018. “Negotiating the Sacred in Twentieth Century Gorakhpur: The Nath Yogis, the Gorakhnath Math and Uncontested Urban Space.” In Urban Spaces in Modern India, edited by Narayani Gupta and Partho Datta, 215-40. Simla: Indian Institute for Advanced Study. Khan, Ati. 2007. “Yogi’s Revolt May Hit BJP.” The Hindu: Online Edition of India’s National Newspaper (Wednesday, Mar 28). Available online: www.hindu. com/2007/03/28/stories/20070328051111200.htm. Accessed: May 25, 2020. Mallinson, James. 2011. “Nāth Saṃpradāya.” In Brill Encyclopedia of Hinduism Vol. III, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, Helene Basu, Angelika Malinar, and Vasudha Narayanan, 407-28. Leiden: Brill. Mallinson, James. 2012. “Siddhi and Mahāsiddhi in early Haṭhayoga.” In Yoga Powers: Extraordinary Capacities Attained through Meditation and Concentration, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, 327-44. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Mallinson, James. 2014. “The Yogī’s Latest Trick.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Third Series 24 (1): 165-80. Marrewa-Karwoski, Christine. 2020. “By attacking the Mughals, Adityanath is erasing the history of his own Nath Sampraday”. Global Times (October 10). https:// globaltimes.pk/by-attacking-the-mughals-adityanath-is-erasing-the-history-of-hisown-nath-sampraday-by-christine-marrewa-karwoski/ Accessed January 3, 2022. Michaels, Axel. 2021. “The Place of Historical Nepal in the History of South Asian Religions.” In Routledge Handbook of South Asian Religions, edited by Knut Jacobsen, 139-50. London and New York: Routledge/Taylor and Francis.

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Muñoz, Adrián. 2010. La piel de tigre y la serpiente: La identidad de los Nāth-yoguis a través de sus leyendas. Mexico City: El Colegio de México. Muñoz, Adrián. 2021. “Nātha Sampradāya and the Formation of Haṭhayoga Practices in India.” In Routledge Handbook of South Asian Religions, edited by Knut Jacobsen, 172-89. London and New York: Routledge/Taylor and Francis. Olson, Carl. 2015. Indian Asceticism: Power, Violence, and Play. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Prasad, Pushpa. 1990. Sanskrit Inscriptions of Delhi Sultanate, 1191-1526. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Rashid, Omar et al. 2021. “We haven’t invoked the National Security Act in wrong cases, says Yogi Adityanath”. The Hindu (August 3rd). available inline: https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/other-states/we-havent-invoked-thenational-security-act-in-wrong-cases-says-yogi-adityanath/article35696059. ece Accessed: January 2, 2022. Singleton, Mark. 2010. Yoga Body: The Origins of Modern Posture Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Subrahmaniam, Vidya. 2017. “Advani to Modi to Yogi, a Hindutva Story Foretold.” The Hindu Centre for Politics and Public Policy. Available online: http://www. thehinducentre.com/multimedia/archive/03159/145__Advani_to_Mod_3159189a. pdf. Accessed: June 10, 2020. Vasudeva, Somadeva. 2012. “Powers and Identities: Yoga Powers and the Tantric Śaiva Tradition.” In Yoga Powers: Extraordinary Capacities Attained through Meditation and Concentration, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, 265-302. Leiden and Boston: Brill. White, David Gordon.1996. The Alchemical Body: Siddha Traditions in Medieval India. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. White, David Gordon. 2001. “Yogic and Political Power among the Nāth Siddhas of North India.” Paper presented at the “Asceticism and Power in the Asian Context” conference (February 22-24), School of Oriental and African Studies, London. Yogabīja. 1982. Edited by Rāmlal Śrīvāstav. Gorakhpur: Śrī Gorakhnāth Mandir.

About the author Adrián Muñoz is a Lecturer in South Asian religions at El Colegio de México, specializing in the history and hagiography of yoga. His most recent books are Radiografía del hathayoga (2016), and Historia minima del yoga (2019). He is currently researching the history and practice of yoga in Latin America. [email protected]

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Kingly Corruption and Ascetic Sovereigntyin the Telugu Account of the Nine Nāths Jamal Jones Abstracts In Indian literature, Yogī Siddhas appear as suspicious characters, enlisting and sometimes imperiling virtuous kings in occult activities, and seeking siddhis (powers) with nefarious intent. Yet this is not so in Gaurana’s Navanāthacaritramu, a Telugu poem written at the temple complex of Srisailam. Gaurana depicts another archetype: the sinister sovereign. While Yogīs seek occult power as disinterested ascetics, kings repeatedly seek Yogīs and yogic power for personal gain, their selfishness and corruption undermining their imperative to rule and protect. This chapter shows how such encounters dramatize a longstanding conflict between the pursuit of profit and the pursuit of liberation from the world, and demonstrates how Gaurana’s poem echoes the rising political fortunes of his patron, the leading ascetic of Srisailam’s Bhikṣāvṛtti maṭh. Keywords: ascetics, kṣatriyas, magic, South India, sovereignty, Srisailam, yoga

Liaisons between kings and supernaturally accomplished siddhas are a commonplace in Indian story literature. They are also quite commonly fraught. A familiar scene finds the siddha enacting an occult ritual to achieve supernormal powers and transcendental sovereignty. Kings, for their part, may appear in one of two roles. Either they guard said siddha from the fiendish beings that are invariably roused in the course of esoteric activities, and wield as recompense magic swords or other gifts that amplify their royal fortunes; or else, in more disturbing scenarios, kings arrive on the scene to foil (that is, decapitate) evil siddhas who require maiden sacrifices for their transgressive rites. In either case, the princely figure stands as protector,

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_ch03

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intervening to secure some moral order. Siddhas, though, seem always to stand in shadow. David White has recently argued that in the popular pan-Indic imagination the yogī siddha is fundamentally a “sinister yogī” – an adept who employs occult procedures to gain power and possession of others, especially royalty (White 2009). But even when the siddha is not so depraved, he is arguably still a “dubious” and “self-absorbed” character (Davidson 2002, 176-7).1 This is seldom the case in Gaurana’s fifteenth-century Navanāthacaritramu (“Account of the Nine Nāths”, hereafter NNC). A long poem in the Telugu dvipada (“couplet”) genre, Gaurana’s work inverts the model of siddhasovereign relationships at every step as it details the exploits of the first and master Siddha Yogī Matsyendranāth and his disciples. Even as it agrees that relations between siddhas and worldly sovereigns are problematic, Gaurana’s NNC identifies a different source for the problem. Siddhas in this work seek power to be sure: They practice rigorous forms of yoga, seek out and concoct magical substances, and employ techniques that make their bodies marvelously powerful. But to what end? Inclined toward ascetic renunciation, if they deploy their powers they seemingly only do so in the service to others, never really for their own gain. Kings, on the other hand, proceed along a more selfish path, and it is their pursuit of power and pleasure that has deadly consequences, often threatening the siddhas’ ascetic ways and any other soteriological goal. At best, kingly tendencies are simply disruptive or disappointing. But more than this, royal desire combines with courtly deception and intrigue with deadly consequences. Thus, Gaurana offers a portrait not of the sinister Yogī but a different class: the sinister sovereign.

1 Intent, oathbreaking, and renunciation What is the problem with kings? Why are they so troublesome to the community of the Yogī Siddhas in the Navanāthacaritramu? Gaurana f irst 1 This image has been complicated by Véronique Bouillier. Studying the Nāth Yogī traditions of northern India and the Himalayan reaches, she has shown that alliances between siddhas and kings could actually be congenial. Siddhas here mediate between kings and their kingdoms’ more ferocious occult forces, granting rulers divine legitimacy through methods incompatible with Brahminical orthodoxy (Bouillier 1989). Here siddha and king are true collaborators working toward artha (“power” or “prosperity”) rather than preserving dharma (“order”) as such (Bouillier 1991, 16). Yet even while siddhas in this case may no longer be dubious, they are nevertheless geared toward the self-interested acquisition of power rather than the maintenance of some greater good.

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elaborates the issue in the story of the prince Sāraṅgadhara, who becomes the Siddha Cauraṅgī. In the prince’s tale, Gaurana represents the tribulations of courtly life and how these hinge on qualities of arrogance, deceit, and, overall, subjection to one’s passions. The prince-turned-siddha’s story is well-known in the Deccan and circulates in northern India as the story of Puran Bhagat.2 Gaurana’s version, in brief, goes like this: The prince Sāraṅgadhara is born to the king Rājamahendra and his chief queen Ratnāṅgi as a result of their steadfast ritual devotion to Śiva. The prince, who grows into a beautiful specimen of young manhood, is pledged to wed an ally princess. One day, while his father is out hunting, the prince and his compatriots play at racing their pet pigeons. The prince’s bird (of course) excels all the others; but, upon winning the race, it sights a beautiful parrot whose allure draws it into the quarters of its owner, another wife of the king named Citrāṅgi. The prince discerns this and decides to go fetch his bird. His best friend – the chief minister’s son – advises him against going into Citrāṅgi’s quarters while the king is away, making a misogynistic case that women are wily and inherently corrupt. The prince does not heed his friend’s advice and sets off to retrieve his prized pet. Citrāṅgi, aroused by the prince’s beauty, welcomes and propositions him. The prince rebuffs her. Citrāṅgi, now angered and humiliated, vows revenge on the prince and resolves to accuse him of rape. The king, for his part, returns from his hunt. Thrilled and invigorated by the experience, he immediately seeks out Citrāṅgi for sexual pleasure. But he finds the lady despondent. After he questions her and plies her with gifts, Citrāṅgi finally levels her accusation against the prince. The king is enraged and decides that the prince must be punished. And so, he sends the prince to the forest with two soldiers, who cut off the prince’s limbs. After some time, the prince’s agonizing moans are heard by Matsyendranāth, Śiva’s son and master of all the siddhas. He rescues Sāraṅgadhara and brings him back to his cave dwelling. With the help of a cowherd who had become his milkman and devotee, Matsyendra nourishes the mutilated prince and instructs him in rāculiyoga (rājayoga or “royal yoga”), helping Sāraṅgadhara to grow back his limbs and gain a perfected, invincible body (siddhadeha). Regenerated, Sāraṅgadhara is given the name Cauraṅgī (“Four-limbs”). Matsyendra, planning a mountain trip in search of magical herbs, leaves Cauraṅgī at the cave, ordering him to wait for, initiate, and instruct the 2

Amol Bankar offers an overview of the Cauraṅgī legends (2019, 915-19).

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cowherd who had been assisting his recovery. However, newly formed Cauraṅgī becomes curious about his new powers and abandons his post to follow after his traveling master Matsyendra. After Cauraṅgī’s departure, the cowherd does indeed return and sits at the cavern patiently awaiting the siddhas. Eventually Cauraṅgī finds Matsyendra. But, upon learning that Cauraṅgī disobeyed his command and abandoned the ever-devoted cowherd, Matsyendra becomes angry. After disparaging the disloyal character of kṣatriyas, he curses Cauraṅgī to be without his own lineage of disciples and goes on to initiate the cowherd as Gorakṣa. What do we make of this first long tale? For one thing, Gaurana throws royal desire into relief from the very beginning. He first does this subtly in his extended description of the king’s hunt, a trope that has long been a potent site for invoking the contentious constellation formed by the royal passions, violence, vice, and the destruction they breed (Singh 2010, 49-52). Other echoes ring as the story continues: the princely pigeon being led astray by an attractive avian vision; the headstrong prince disregarding the counsel of his aptly named friend Subuddhi (“Very Wise”); and most dramatically, the prince’s father the king’s jealous rage and hasty decision to dismember his own son. After all of this, the prince is left for dead precisely by the royal world, only to be rescued by Matsyendra’s compassion. We might read here an implicit criticism of the courtly sphere, though it is at this stage mostly a criticism leveled against the excesses of sexual passion. Yet the problem with kingly characters is articulated most explicitly only after Sāraṅgadhara is reborn as the Siddha Cauraṅgī and fails to fulfill his master Matsyendra’s first orders. Ironically, disobedience comes about precisely as Cauraṅgī discovers his power of true speech, or vāksiddhi. It is precisely in this moment that Cauraṅgī’s princely identity – seemingly shed not so long ago – makes itself felt anew. Gaurana narrates: “Cauraṅgī realized that he possessed supernormal powers of speech; wondering what other powers he had possessed and being a kṣatriya, he arrogantly broke the promise he’d made”.3 Between his transformation and this dereliction of duty, the prince had received his initiation name, Cauraṅgī, and been referred to as “foremost of the siddhas” (siddhamukhyuṁḍu). But at this moment, the poet reminds of us the siddha’s royal past. The moment suggests that, even if the prince is cast out of the kingdom, the kingdom – or better, kingliness – cannot be cast out of the prince. 3 “[V]āksiddhi cauraṃgi tanakuṁ / galguṭa yĕriṁgi takkaṭi siddhulĕllaṁ / galigĕn aṭaṃcuṁ dā kṣatriyuṃḍ agucuṁ / jesina paṃtamuṁ jĕṟaci garvamuna”.

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Crucially, as a kṣatriya – that is to say, born into the kingly class – the prince is driven by garva (“pride” or “arrogance”). This quality – clustered with impetuousness and susceptibility to the passions – is already linked to the kingly class in the Navanāthacaritramu. Indeed, it is these same qualities that drove Cauraṅgī’s father, the king, to inflict such a terrible punishment on his own son. That the problem results from Cauraṅgī’s being a kṣatriya is confirmed when Mīnanāth (i.e., Matsyendranāth) and Cauraṅgī meet at the end of the latter’s self-involved supernormal adventure. Upon learning that his first disciple had disregarded his command, the siddha guru dresses down the erstwhile prince: To think that, ignoring my command, you imagined him as just a cowherd: It was man of good works, of ever pure deeds, unfailing in his loyalty, adorned by virtue, devoted to vows of service, and of utmost goodness that you left out. Did your legs come back for that? Your heart hasn’t even a little moral sense [nīti]. … would such a destructive offense not seem right to your mind? Wanting to blame and maim – and at a woman’s word in the middle of the night, calling you son without cause, had your hands and feet cut to pieces – that’s the king you’re the son of: How could compassion be in your heart? Plant a neem seed in the ground, and can it bring the joy, wondrously growing into a tree of mangoes so sweet and lovely? Make a camphor-scented watering-trench, fill a golden vessel with good water and pour it in: Will an onion grow, lose its old odor, and gift the scent of a flowering tree? Kshatriyas: To meet their own goals they’ ll act like friends, build trust, give, and when the time comes, turn like enemies and hurt you just like that. Oh you mean one, each morning milk did he bring and provide with true faith so your hands and feet could grow back.

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In that transfiguration where is the cowherd? You conceal it, but still I see. Get your face out of here. I cared for you, and the result is just this. Be near me no more … (Gaurana 1937, 106-7)

Here Matsyendranāth argues that what has happened is simply inevitable: it is natural for this type – a kṣatriya, son of a king – to be prideful, hasty, and therefore undependable. No matter the guise they adopt – even, that is, if you remake one as an ascetic siddha – they will always be this way. The problem emerges as question of motivation and intent. Sāraṅgadhara, we must remember, did not intentionally give up his royal identity. Rather, he was cast out of his courtly world. He did not seek out the ascetic siddha lifestyle. He is instead found and simply led into it as the beneficiary of Mīnanāth’s compassion. Had he not crossed Citrāṅgi and met with such a cruel fate, it is not clear that he would have had either the motivation or opportunity to come under Mīnanāth’s tutelage. In fact, Gaurana reveals nothing of Sāraṅgadhara’s motivations until the new siddha becomes fascinated by his powers. If anything, he only desired succor from his mutilated condition, and, once a siddha, self-satisfaction in his powers. As the narrative progresses and the cohort of disciples grows, it also becomes increasingly clear that Sāraṅgadhara’s story is to be an exception and an accident not to be repeated. This much is apparent when we consider the other princes that come to walk the siddha path and leave the courtly life behind. Among them, Sāraṅgadhara is the only one who does not expressly renounce his royal heritage. Two other princes – Virūpākṣa and Nāgārjuna – become siddha disciples of Matsyendra. But they are only able to do so by overcoming their guru’s steadfast resistance. Unlike Sāraṅgadhara, they come to Mīnanāth willingly and, indeed, seek him out. And their ultimately pure intentions become clear precisely as Matsyendra voices his suspicions about kings and they respond with open explanations. Nāgārjuna, for instance, is released from a curse upon meeting Mīnanāth and expresses his desire to join the siddha band. Mīnanāth hesitates, questioning Nāgārjuna’s commitment given that he holds the right to a throne. But after narrating life story (wherein he is in fact fated to be siddha) Nāgārjuna explains that being in the presence of the siddha master has driven his mind away from the pleasures of the royal life and toward a life of ascetic devotion to his guru. Mīnanāth is dubious still. Matsyendra is only convinced once Śiva himself appears and commands him to initiate Nāgārjuna (Gaurana 1937, 173). This exchange is duplicated later – though

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with a different outcome – when Nāgārjuna’s student Ātreya is approached by a dispossessed prince. The disenfranchised prince asks Ātreya to use his siddhis and restore his kingdom and his wealth. The siddha, uncomfortable making deals with kings, hesitates. The prince, seeing this door closed, goes on to declare that he will then give up his royal claims here and there and become Ātreya’s disciple. However, the siddha discerns that the prince’s decision derives from his being discouraged with his circumstances – and not real indifference to royal life (Gaurana 1937, 238). And for this reason, the siddha refuses to initiate the king but does come to another agreement with the prince (to be discussed below). But the key point here is that princes must prove their sincere indifference to courtly contentment if they can ever accept and be accepted into the siddha life.

2 A new work on an old theme In marking the conflict between ascetic practice and the consequent acquisition of powers, Gaurana does not unfold a novel theme. Manuals on yoga from Patañjali’s Yogasūtra onward acknowledge the tension between their soteriological ends and the very worldly powers granted by the siddhis (“accomplishments” or “powers”) gained in the course of rigorous practice. Yogīs and others who practice the arts associated with siddhas can be classified as mumukṣu or bubhukṣu. Mumukṣus practice to gain liberation or mokṣa from the entanglements of worldly existence; bubhukṣus practice not for that ultimate goal but instead seek temporal power and pleasure (bhoga) in the world itself. Within yogic traditions siddhis in the sense of supernatural capabilities are generally considered incidental and gained as a matter of course. More importantly, they are primarily an obstacle to the ultimate success – the mahāsiddhi – of liberation: The power and pleasures they grant distract the Yogī from that path. Manuals of the tantric traditions, on the other hand, generally promote the siddhis as ends in themselves. Thus, their practitioners tend to be bubhukṣu in their orientation. As exceptions, then, some yoga treatises inflected by tantric thought – such as the Khecarīvidyā and Śivasaṃhitā – display this more indulgent perspective on the siddhis (Mallinson 2012, 338). Though it highlights the siddhis and their acquisition, the Navanāthacaritramu does not quite take the bubhukṣu perspective. For one, as we have seen so far in the princes’ stories, the text’s siddha tradition is rooted in renunciation. It rejects the pursuit of power, luxury, and the indulgence of one’s own power associated with the royal life. Together the

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events dramatize the bubhukṣu-mumukṣu tension. Despite their pursuit of magical power, the siddha Yogīs aim to cultivate an understanding of the transitory character of life, devotion to their guru, and devotion to Śiva as supreme deity and ultimate salvific force. Kings enmeshed as they are in a much different lifestyle and, as Gaurana suggests, particularly afflicted by selfish qualities of arrogance or garva, are a fundamentally poor fit for siddhahood. They break oaths (we will see even more of this below). And they can misunderstand their own intentions. That is why, especially after his experience with Cauraṅgī, Mīnanāth interrogates Nāgārjuna and Virūpākṣa. That is why Ātreya refuses to accept Tyāganāgārjuna as disciple. A king’s intent to renounce must be rendered absolutely clear and inviolable (usually through an epiphany of Śiva), otherwise they may maintain a bond to desire and material enjoyment, however obscure. Cast in this light, pridefully indulging in siddhis is not just a problem for kings. It is a problem that is immanent in the siddha path itself. So much can be seen in the later story of Gorakṣa, Mīnanāth’s cowherd devotee and prized disciple. Gorakṣanāth is a seminal figure to the Nāth tradition. And in the NNC, he stands in stark contrast to the prince-turned-siddha Cauraṅgī. We need only recall Cauraṅgī’s arrogance and misapprehension of the devoted cowherd’s character and importance early in the narrative. Mīnanāth again praises the cowherd for the utter consistency of his devotion at the time of his initiation, where his constancy is described as a transferable skill. As Mīnanāth gives the cowherd the name by which he finds fame, he explains: “and since you, deliberating with wisdom, ward the cattle of the senses without letting them wander, I give you the fine name of Gorakṣa (‘the cowherd’)” (Gaurana 1937, 112).4 Being a cowherd, according to Mīnanāth, is precisely the Yogī’s employment. This sets Gorakṣa above the kṣatriya-turned-siddha Cauraṅgī from the start. Where a courtier may be wont to let his passions run wild, the pastoralist is precisely practiced in keeping the animal senses in check. It is this ability that makes the cowherd the chief disciple. But even Gorakṣa misses the mark. We see so much in the story of how he met, debated, and ultimately submitted to Allama Prabhu, a siddha adept and key figure in the Vīraśaiva tradition. This event appears to be the culmination and resolution of the mumukṣu-bubhukṣu tension. The climax of their encounter comes as they compare their bodily siddhis (Gaurana 1937, 223-28). Gorakṣa, for his part, boasts an adamantine body (vajradeha). He 4 “[B]uddhilopalaṁ dalaposi ĕppu / ḍedigĕdu govala niṃdriyaṃbulanu / vadalaka rakṣiṃcuvāṁḍu gāvunanu / accuga gorakṣuṁḍaniyĕḍi nāma / miccitin”.

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goads Allama Prabhu into testing his invincibility with a live sword. Allama obliges and swings; the blade and body meet, producing a deafening clang. Allama offers the sword in turn to Gorakṣa, challenging him to probe his own corporeal powers. The siddha swings; the sword’s edge simply passes through Allama, meeting nothing at all. In this, Allama Prabhu reveals his śūnyadeha (“ethereal” or “empty body”). He displays here a pure ascetic achievement that the Nāth Gorakṣa could hardly imagine. Though Gorakṣa’s achievement is acknowledged – and even momentarily lauded by Allama and through Gaurana’s figurative largesse – the Nāth’s bodily perfection is shown to be wanting in a major way: it is still bound to the world of forms and desires. It is, Gorakṣa learns, only through knowledge of emptiness (śūnyatā) that one truly masters the metaphysical teachings of Śiva. In the end, Allama Prabhu sheds Gorakṣa of his “arrogance and envy” causing a final layer of the siddha’s delusion (māya) to fall away (Gaurana 1937, 228).5 Within the NNC then, the problem of intent and renunciation is linked to a deeper concern with self-awareness, arrogance, and attachment. Princes may prove particularly problematic in this regard. But even the best and least princely of siddhas can fall prey to this trap. The use of the siddhis – indeed, their very acquisition – can trap the practitioner in snare of delusion and pride. Beyond Gorakṣa, even the master Mīnanāth succumbs to this danger when he uses his yogic power to possess a king’s corpse. Even though he does this precisely to bolster his teachings on the supremacy of renunciation, he becomes ensnared in courtly life’s offerings of sexual pleasure and parental attachment.6 The practitioner can (and seemingly must) gain power. But it is not clear that they should ever use it.

3 Sinister sovereignty I would argue, however, that the NNC goes run farther than just representing the difficulties of turning kings into good Yogīs. Its narratives also detail problematic encounters between siddhas and kings who have no interest in becoming disciples. But just as kings prove to be difficult disciples, they also appear as poor – if not treacherous – allies. This largely stems from the 5 The NNC decidedly places the pursuit of an ethereal divine body outside of the basic goals of the Nāths. This accords with the view of Nāth doctrine that Lubomír Ondračka (2015) presents, based on analysis of the Sanskrit corpus. 6 The story of Matsyendra’s parakayapraveśa (“possession of another’s body”) has parallels in other works on the Nāth and is even cited in works on the deeds of Śaṅkarācārya, such as Mādhava Vidyāraṇya’s Śaṅkaradigvijaya. On this last point see Dalal (2012) and Llewellyn (2012).

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self-interested pursuit of power and pleasure that makes them poor ascetics. This pursuit is not in itself problematic, and other narratives from South Asia do show that siddhas and kings can work toward this common cause. But in Gaurana’s text kings often see the siddha as a competitor rather than a collaborator in the quest for fortune. These themes are foregrounded in stories of Gorakṣa’s and Nāgārjuna’s students. The siddhas express again and again their deep suspicion of and disappointment in the kingly class. Nevertheless, they still offer up themselves and their powers for the benefit of kings and their kingdoms. But save for king Tyāganāgārjuna who allies himself with Nāgārjuna’s student Ātreya, the sovereigns prove themselves to be not just greedy and disloyal but hostile and deceitful. On the whole kings simply desire that the siddhas work for their own pleasure and gain. The theme is first elaborated in the story of Vyāḷi, a siddha who possesses an herbal alchemical recipe for immortality. A king learns of the siddha’s alchemical expertise and tries to win his favor – and the recipe. Vyāḷi fundamentally distrusts the king, but ultimately agrees to share the method with the ruler indirectly (through the royal ministers). Even so, the king decides to betray the siddha’s confidence and leave him to die in a vat of boiling oil. No explanation is given of the king’s decision. The story here takes a very bleak view of kingly corruption. The subsequent story of Gorakṣa’s student Gorakkuḍu finds the siddha alive at the end. The king, however, is no better. In contrast to Vyāḷi’s tale, kingly corruption explicitly has its roots in royal greed. Seeing that the siddha possesses perfect powers of acquisition in his ākarṣaṇasiddhi (“the power of attraction and acquisition”), the king imagines that Gorakkuḍu must also have the desires to actually acquire things. And so, in a paranoid haze, he sends assassins out to eliminate the yogic threat. With this story, the king sees Gorakkuḍu precisely as the sinister Yogī competitor mentioned at the start of the talk, and not the disinterested ascetic that he is. Gorakkuḍu, after thwarting the king’s assassins, makes clear the king’s foolishness in baselessly creating enmity between siddhas and kings where there could be friendship (Gaurana 1937, 267). This terrifying representation of kingship comes to a subtle and arresting conclusion in the Gaurana’s final story of Goraṇṭakuḍu, another disciple of Gorakṣa. Here the siddha himself is used – in fact, sacrificed – for the sake of the kingdom of a ruler called Kṛṣṇakandāra. The siddha allows himself to be, in a sense, interred in a Śiva temple in order to plug a chasm to the underworld ripped into the earth at the king’s command. In this final tale emerges a dark image of royal power’s inherent contradictions.

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This awful eventuality descends from a cascading series of events precipitated by royal desire. The story of Kṛṣṇakandāra and Goraṇṭakuḍu opens with the king lusting after the wife of another. He does not pursue the woman, fully recognizes the desire as adharmic, and duly seeks a means of expiation. But this initial act is followed by the king’s horrible illness. Though not explicitly acknowledged as such, the illness’s narrative proximity to these events suggests that it may be a further consequence of his initial misstep. Seeking some diversion in spite of his disease, the king finds himself in the forest; there he bathes in a reservoir that cures his sickness. Recognizing it as powerful site, the king subsequently seeks to claim it and orders a public works project to expand the reservoir and channel its waters to his city. Thus, despite claiming to maintain dharmic order, the king nevertheless displays a more fundamental royal drive for acquisition. But this drive comes with a cost. In the course of the king’s project, the workers breach the underworld and provoke the reservoir’s deity, who demands human sacrifice to restore the waters. In the end, the king proves willing to sacrifice his own people to maintain and replenish the site. The king’s ambivalent – and at times impure – position as both an agent of social order and of violence has long been an object of attention and critique. And in this narrative the king Kṛṣṇakandāra quite begrudgingly sets his sovereign force on his own people to acquire enough souls to appease the deity. Understandably, his subjects fear for their lives, planning revolt or escape. They are saved only when the Siddha Goraṇṭakuḍu learns of the civil catastrophe and comes to intervene. In place of multitudes of regular folk, the deity is willing to accept the life of a single siddha as recompense. Goraṇṭakuḍu heeds the call with the little hesitation. But before offering himself as the sacrifice he plainly critiques the king’s: “O King, in killing many people as they wail/ so that waters might stand here again: what reward / comes to you through such a cruel act? / When you imagine the dharma of a world-protector, is this it?” (Gaurana 1937, 278). Here the royal prerogative to pleasure and expansion is not simply depicted as the root of greed and deceit. Worse, it is shown to be fundamentally at odds with the imperative to safeguard the realm. Where the king cannot stave off calamity, the siddha steps in. In this, the siddha’s self-sacrifice is for the others who would have suffered at the king’s hands. And, further, his act serves – quite literally – to restore the foundation and prosperity of Kṛṣṇakandāra’s realm. It is important to note that the king himself does not seek the siddha’s help, nor does he express hostility toward the siddha. He is not the kind of sinister sovereign seen in earlier episodes. And, moreover, the siddha and the king ultimately

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emerge here as collaborators, with Goraṇṭakuḍu enlisting the king for part of the restorative procedures (parading on horseback around the temple’s borders). But this does not eliminate the problem. Even when the king is renowned for his nobility, his endeavors may contradict his obligations to his people. In this way royal power is cast as inherently self-oriented. In the usual model of Indian kingship, this poses no problem: the king’s personal pleasure and prosperity ramify throughout his realm. But in its final tale, the NNC draws out the potential contradictions of this model and offers an alternative image of sovereignty. It is the sovereignty possessed by the ascetic siddha. This is not to be confused with the aims popularly ascribed to sinister siddhas seeking to be sword-wielding, vidyādhara masters of the world. That model is merely the familiar vision of royal power in overdrive. What Mīnanāth and his lineage privilege is something we might call yogasāmrājya (“yogic sovereignty”). The phrase itself appears only towards the end of Gaurana’s work. At the beginning of the final chapter of the NNC, we find Mīnanāth with his full complement of eight disciples. Preparing to send them to the various regions of India, he identifies himself as enjoying the “contentment of yogic sovereignty” (yogasāmrājyasukhamu) (Gaurana 1937, 209). The phrase is used almost in passing, and the mode is never articulated directly through any kind of doctrinal exposition. Surely it is meant to mark Mīnanāth’s status as supreme guru and possessor of yogic teachings and powers. But drawing it into the larger narrative argument of the NNC, I would argue that we can understand this yogic sovereignty more precisely. It is a sovereignty that seems to seek power but nonetheless shows no interest in directly enjoying it. It is suspicious of royal power and materialism. In this way, it is not self-oriented. On the contrary, it is purely generous and by implication truly benevolent. Indeed, it may even offer prosperity at a siddha master’s expense. When it comes to dealing with kings, only the episode of Nāgārjuna’s student Ātreya proposes a model of productive relations between siddhas and traditional kings. For one thing, as I mentioned above, if the king cannot authentically renounce his royal identity, he must be rejected as a disciple and practitioner of the siddha tradition. Even so, the king may benefit from the siddha’s powers. He may even gain his kingdom with the siddha’s help. However, the ruler must nonetheless reform his royal persona. This we see in Ātreya’s two conditions for restoring the king’s fortunes: First, the king must position himself as the siddha’s protector. Second, he must – as his renaming reveals – recast himself as the siddha’s devotee (Gaurana 1937, 238-39). Siddhas demand this devotional posturing from kings elsewhere,

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too, as in the case of both Vyāḷi and Gorakkuḍu, who only deal with a king once he has shown the proper deference. The narrative shows that a siddha-king alliance is difficult but not entirely impossible. Yet the shift is complicated insofar as this model seems to reimagine the whole social order. Beyond accepting the demand of protection and devotion, a further condition is that this new social order – made possible by the powers of siddhas – be acceptable. To be sure, Ātreya’s attempt to transmute the whole of Srisailam is motivated by a desire for “bhūrikīrti” or “great fame” (Gaurana 1937, 234). In this regard, the siddha’s intent does not exhibit the disinterest demanded by his tradition. And when Viṣṇu explains why he foiled the siddha’s project, he makes the point clear: “Racked with egotism, he [Ātreya] pursued an improper action” (Gaurana 1937, 246).7 More fundamentally, however, there is a question of order at stake. Viṣṇu goes on to explain that the surfeit of gold produced by Ātreya would disrupt the economic system and thus the hierarchical order of society: taking what they will, lowly folk will become kings and principal social bonds premised on the gift (pratigrahadānamukhyadharmaṃbulu) will be undone (ibid.). Neither the Siddha Ātreya nor the king Tyāganāgārjuna have a problem with this. Both have turned their minds toward generosity. This latter aspect is highlighted in the king’s new name, which references this quality explicitly through the prefix “tyāga” which signifies the very same. But this is to no avail. More than crushing Ātreya’s pride, Viṣṇu’s role in this story is the routine maintenance of the normative order of the world. In a familiar style, he uses a modicum of deception to achieve the goal. Disguising himself as a Brahmin traveler, Viṣṇu ingratiates himself to Ātreya and gets the siddha to explain his invincibility. Ātreya, we learn, is less interested in the ascetic rigors of yoga than he is in alchemical mastery: He makes himself invincible through a magic pill tucked into his mouth. As soon as he removes the pill to explain this secret, Viṣṇu delivers the killing blow.

4 Ascetic sovereignty at Srisailam So, even though the NNC celebrates sovereignty rooted in asceticism, its siddha models of sovereignty are rendered untenable at every step. For one thing, any engagement between siddhas and sovereigns is tainted by one or the other party’s arrogance. Typically, this is a kingly problem, and leads kings to act with disappointing disloyalty or violent betrayal. But 7

“[A]taṁḍahaṃkāra/ kalituṁḍai yanucitakarmaṃbu pūnĕ”.

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siddhas, as we’ve seen, can also be afflicted by self-orientation. Ātreya, for instance, despite his benevolence, also seeks alchemical celebrity. All the same, deception is doubly present in Viṣṇu, who comes incognito and then tricks Ātreya into vulnerability. But insofar as Viṣṇu expressly comes to maintain the normal social order, we can simply read this as a divine image of kṣatriya power preserving established hierarchies. This narrative argument resonates with the religious and political world of Srisailam in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Specifically, in ruminating on the political potential of ascetics, the text impels us to consider the place of Gaurana’s patron, an ascetic potentate named Muktiśānta, and the Bhikṣāvṛtti maṭh over which he held sway.8 Two points are most important in this regard. First, the interest in ascetic power points to what appear to have been the rising political fortunes of the Bhikṣāvṛtti monastic superintendents (adhipatis), who increasing took on the title of rāya (rājā or “king”) in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In this regard, the rāyas emerge in this period as not just patrons of literature and other arts, but potentates holding significant political, economic, and perhaps even military power in the greater Srisailam region. Second, in their role as patrons, the Bhikṣāvṛtti rāyas initiated major construction projects. Chief among these were the narrative reliefs carved into the massive prākāra or walls that surround the complex’s Mallikārjuna temple. Stories of ascetics and siddhas predominate on the walls and, I would suggest, speak to a larger project to highlight and promote Srisailam’s association with siddha culture. Thus, the Navanāthacaritramu participates in this larger celebration of siddha traditions – if not necessarily siddha practices – under the aegis of Bhikṣāvṛtti power. Beyond his broad Śaiva aff iliation, 9 the crucial element of the Muktiśānta’s profile as Bhikṣāvṛtti rāya is his position as a leading ascetic 8 The Bhikṣāvṛtti maṭhs, among many such monastic institutions that populated the complex of Srisailam, enter the epigraphical record in the middle of the fourteenth century, though they were likely present at the start of the century. Because the leaders left few textual traces beyond those available in epigraphical materials and poetic prologues, their doctrinal affiliations remain unclear. 9 Bhikṣāvṛtti has recently been labeled a Vīraśaiva maṭh (Reddy 2014, 132-35). Elaine Fisher has argued more precisely that the Bhikṣāvṛtti order was a less prolific “‘cousin’ to the better known Ārādhya lineages, the Brahminical wing of Vīraśaiva tradition” (forthcoming, 19). My reading of their affiliations, especially drawing on the evidence from Gaurana, is less conclusive. A bhakti movement that emerged out of Kannada-speaking regions in the twelfth century, the Vīraśaivas espoused a largely egalitarian and anti-court ethic. This perspective pervaded their poetic programs in the Kannada and Telugu languages, where they championed non-elite poetic genres. Gaurana does eulogize his patron Muktiśānta, a title associated with the Vīraśaivas (namely

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with kingly virtues. He does receive from Śrīnātha the title of “lord of ascetics” (yatīśvaruṁḍu) (Śrīnātha 1995, 19). Gaurana’s prologue paints a more detailed picture. Muktiśānta emerges as an ascetic and a potentate. While Gaurana does not go so far as to designate Muktiśānta yatīśvaruṁḍu, he nonetheless describes the ascetic as just such a leader. He is a guru who offers Śaiva initiation; he is another manifestation of Śiva himself; and he is the ultimate resource for yogins. As a political figure, he possesses first of all, according to Gaurana, skill in nīti (“right conduct”): this is a stereotypical but nonetheless necessary attribute. But Gaurana highlights his political prominence more forcefully by praising the Bhikṣāvṛtti ruler’s “virtuosic execution of the work of sovereignty” (samrājyabhāranirvāhakaprauḍhi); and, furthermore, he is a leader among leaders, his commands being honored by good kings (nṛpavarasvīkṛtanijaśāsanuṃḍu) (Śrīnātha 1995, 2). Finally, Muktiśānta’s ascetic and political faces are fused as Gaurana lauds the yatīśvara as “one who, through his own ascetic power, safeguards the delights of all ladies and kings of the Karṇāta country” (baṃdhuranijatapobalaviśeṣānu/ saṃdhānarakṣitasakalakarnāṭa/maṃḍalādhīśaramvilāsuṃḍu) (Śrīnātha 1995, 3). Thus, he figures as a potentate over and above the others in the region by virtue of a superiority that is simultaneously spiritual and political. This eulogistic image mirrors the little that can be gleaned from inscriptions featuring Bhikṣāvṛtti leaders like Muktiśānta. Indeed, the order of maṭhs emerges as one that achieved an increasingly eminent political profile in Srisailam and southern India. While the poets’ representations described above are among the earliest sources for Bhikṣāvṛtti, a Telugu inscription from Srisailam dated to 1448 CE finds Muktiśānta as the head of the Bhikṣāvṛtti maṭh and the general administrator for Srisailam. In particular here, he is said to have met with the leaders of the Vīrabalañja traders from fifty-six neighboring towns to determine the gifts and taxes they should offer during the Śivarātri festival (Parabrahma Sastry 1985, 141-45).10 The inscription introduces Muktiśānta as presiding over the proceedings, “crusher of the king Bijjala’s pride” – a reference to the enmity between the Śaiva bhaktas led by the prominent saint Basava and Bijjala, ruler of Kalyāṇa). But otherwise, he and the later rāyas do not bear the marks of the Vīraśaiva community. This lack is particularly amplified when we turn to Gaurana’s self-presentation, as he does not describe himself as a Vīraśaiva poet in any of his works. Others have suggested they were Śaiva Siddhāntin since the Bhiksāvṛtti leaders adopted, as Cynthia Talbot as shown, the titles of Goḷaki Maṭha Śaiva Siddhāntin, ascetics who served as gurus and preceptors to kings in Andhra (1987). Despite this nominal institutional heritage, there is no direct evidence that the Bhikṣāvṛtti ascetics were affiliated with the Śaiva Siddhāntin lineage. 10 Parabrahma Sastry cites the text he prints as inscription number 40 from the 1915 Annual Report for South Indian Epigraphy.

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precisely as a local ruler, sitting on Srisailam’s lion-throne in ascetic sovereignty (muktiśāntabhikṣāvṛttiayyaṃgāru śrīśailasamayasiṃhāsanamaṃḍu taporā-jyaṃ seyucuṃḍḍagānu). This political prominence appears to have grown – if with a changed character – with Muktiśānta’s successors. An inscription in Sanskrit and Telugu dated to 1512/13 CE features a figure named King Liṅga (Parabrahma Sastry 1985, 168-71). This Liṅga is repeatedly presented as “the son of the rāya Śānta” and in the lineage of Bhikṣāvṛtti. The Sanskrit inscription, in fact, amounts to a praśasti (praise) of Liṅga and it eulogizes him using the rhetorical arsenal of Sanskrit poetics. In this, his epigraphical portrait is richer than that of Muktiśānta, who gains his most luminous representation in the NNC. Beyond the distinct rhetorical shape of Liṅga’s praśasti, the image that emerges also lacks the celebration of ascetic power. To be sure, Liṅga is a king and patron in the richest senses that the tropes allow us to imagine. But this itself marks a departure. He is a consummate ruler certainly and adept in intellectual and theological disciplines, much like Muktiśānta. He is also explicitly a supporter of Vīraśaiva devotees ( jaṅgamas) and holds titles alluding to his ferocity in the face of Bijjala and Jains, signaling his possession of Vīramāheśvara zeal. But he is not cast as a Yogī or religious preceptor; he is a devotee and a supporter of other devotees. Further, he is said to exemplify values of martial valor where Muktiśānta does not. This aspect of Liṅga’s identity is seemingly corroborated by the Velugoṭivārivaṃśāvaḷī, which references a militia maintained by Liṅgayya and its being defeated by a Vijayanagara lieutenant (Veṅkaṭaramanayya 1939, 80). Thus, Muktiśānta’s Srisailam kingdom, seemingly maintained only through his ascetic eminence, appears to have transformed into – or at least been more explicitly recognized – as a realm that was also maintained through the usual military means. It may be that this shift in the character of rule was driven by a change in the rulers’ character. Was Liṅga, despite the panegyrical portrait summarized above, nevertheless an ascetic? And, if not, at what point did Bhikṣāvṛtti power shift into non-ascetic hands? One obstacle in answering this question lies in a genealogical ambiguity around Liṅgayya: there would have been by his day two Śāntas – two possible fathers for Liṅga – in the Bhikṣāvṛtti lineage. Based on what Śrīnātha tells us, there was Muktiśānta, the ascetic potentate, and one other – his eponymous chief disciple, Śānta who was the son of Mummaḍi Devayya and the patron behind Śrīnātha’s Śivarātrimāhātmyamu. Prabhavati Reddy claims on the basis of the Śivarātrimāhātmyamu that the Muktiśānta had actually passed the rule of Srisailam on to Mummaḍi Devayya and then his son Śānta (2014,

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133). In my reading, Śrīnātha’s text is not quite clear on this point and, as I have suggested already, still features Muktiśānta as the preeminent figure. However, the second Śānta does stand in a privileged position. And this shift away from emphasizing the ascetic identity of the Srisailam ruler may be coincide with the grafting of Mummaḍi Devayya Śānta’s non-ascetic persona into the lineage of Bhikṣāvṛtti. Ultimately, however, the question of genealogy must remain unsettled for now, even as the power and geographical reach of the Bhikṣāvṛtti becomes even clearer. Other inscriptions mention further Bhikṣāvṛtti maṭhs – namely Kadali Bhikṣāvṛtti and a Siddha Bhikṣāvṛtti maṭh. These texts corroborate the political importance of Bhikṣāvṛtti from the fourteenth into the sixteenth century, but they also introduce other figures; and the relationships – of kinship, initiation, or even identity – between these figures and those discussed above remain obscure (Reddy 2014, 132-33). The later sixteenth century also finds Bhikṣāvṛtti with an epigraphical presence beyond Srisailam and into what is now Karnataka.11 Further, as potentates – even overlords – at Srisailam, the Bhikṣāvṛtti rāyas did not just serve an administrative function. They also acted as patrons for infrastructural, architectural, and artistic projects at the complex. Their standing as patrons of literary production has been discussed above. They also backed irrigation projects in the region. And, most of all, they were patrons to projects for the ornamentation and beautification of Srisailam. Their commissioning the reliefs on the prākāra is among the most striking of these. Beyond simply representing the extent of their rule, it seems likely that the artistic character of the prākāra – much like that of the Navanāthacaritramu – corroborates some characteristics of Bhikṣāvṛtti rule. In particular, the range of narrative traditions present on the prākāra might signal a move to erect a more ecumenical domain over which the Bhikṣāvṛtti rāyas might rule. The reliefs on the Mallikārjuna temple’s prākāra depict a variety of Śaiva, ascetic, and siddha motifs. Some scholars have sought to uncover the political and religious motivations behind the prākāra’s wide-ranging representations. Richard Shaw has suggested that similarities between the depictions of Śaiva ascetics across the temples at Srisailam, Sringeri, and Hampi/Vijayanagara speak to ecumenical attitudes of the Vijayanagara imperial patrons. Focusing on sectarian dynamics within Srisailam itself, Reddy engages epigraphical and literary materials from the region. According to Sanskrit and Telugu inscription from 1512 discussed 11 For a survey of these inscriptions, all of which mention potentates affiliated with Siddha Bhikṣāvṛtti, see Kamalakar (1934, 63-64).

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above, these sculptures appear to have been commissioned in the early sixteenth century by the king Liṅgayya: Reddy claims that his sectarian affiliations are reflected in the art he commissioned: Specifically, she argues that the prākāra comprises a “visual Purāṇa” that presents a more inclusive vision of the site’s Śaiva history as compared to that presented in the textual purāṇa/māhātmya tradition, which favors the Brahminical traditions of the complex’s Bhramarāmba temple (2014, 135-42). I would follow Reddy in seeing the aesthetic projects commissioned by the Bhikṣāvṛtti rāyas as a deliberate celebration of the power and significance of the non-Brahminical if not esoteric traditions of Srisailam. But, based on the panegyric profile sketched above, I would also emphasize the apparent inclusiveness of the Bhikṣāvṛtti rāyas’ vision. Thus, I would take literally Śrīnātha’s declaration that Muktiśānta and Mummaḍi Devayya Śānta were simply interested in Śaiva stories. In this light, the work commissioned by Liṅgayya is not – contrary to what Reddy’s characterization of him as a zealous Vīraśaiva devotee might suggest – solely Vīraśaiva. Indeed, the prākāra may represent a much bigger and comprehensive enclosure imagined by the Bhikṣāvṛtti rulers for south Indian Śaiva traditions. Moreover, the visual tropes also express the ascetic power that we have seen Bhikṣāvṛtti claim elsewhere and which Shaw’s multi-site prākāra study finds other temple complexes claiming as well. This may have been especially significant in a religious and political landscape increasingly populated by networks of ascetic orders and their maṭhs. And epigraphical evidence and travelers’ accounts from throughout the Deccan and southern Indian speak to a variety of figures claiming to be Yogīs who lived like kings, possessed supernormal powers, and claimed direct connections to siddha and Nāth figures.12 Beyond offering claims in the face of competitor Yogī potentates, the prākāra also substantiates the standing and character of Srisailam itself. To be sure, the toponym Śrīśaila (and its synonyms, most common among them Śrīparvata) has long carried associations with ascetic and esoteric practices. Numerous literary references attest to its importance in this respect, though the precise geographical referent is difficult to identify.13 In Andhra alone there are multiple candidates. Most prominent and among them are an old Buddhist site, Nagarjunakonda in what is now the Guntur district, and a Śaiva site in Nallamalla hills of the Eastern Ghats. This latter site is the 12 See Mallinson (2011, 412-14) and White (2009, 198-217). 13 This ambiguity is present both in the first and second millennia. For an essay on the difficulty in identifying the site, see Roşu.

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Srisailam to which I have already referred; it has long been recognized as Śaiva site and, more specifically, as one of the twelve jyotirliṅgas and abode to Mallikārjunasvāmī.14 In this way, the work driven by the Bhikṣāvṛtti rāyas amplifies long-standing traditions pertaining to Srisailam such that its ascetic and esoteric dimensions are visible for all to see.

Conclusions It is not clear that the Bhikṣāvṛtti rāyas claimed any direct connection to Nāth or siddha lineages. Gaurana offers only a brief reference to any sort of contemporary siddha community in the prologue to his work, wherein we find siddhas present in the court of his patron Muktiśānta (1937, 2). Still, the poem echoes its patrons quite directly in two major ways. First, the concern with ascetic power maps on to the Bhikṣāvṛtti rāyas’ rising political fortunes in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Connected to this is the more specific reference to the naming practices that accompany ascetic sovereignty. The single productive collaboration between a siddha and a king is between Nāgārjuna’s student Ātreya and the king who becomes his semi-eponymous disciple Tyāganāgārjuna. We see that this practice of the political potentate becoming a disciple and taking on the name of the guru is echoed in the Bhikṣāvṛtti fold in the case of Mummaḍi Śānta discussed above. The direct parallels, for all intents and purposes, end there and I would not suggest that the NNC is simply a legitimating document for Bhikṣāvṛtti rule. Indeed, the character of Bhikṣāvṛtti sovereignty – especially insofar as it might have exercised military power – is not identical to the yogic sovereignty of Mīnanāth and his successors. If anything, Gaurana’s work seems quite pessimistic about any kind of political fortune for siddha Yogīs. Upon sending them to spread his teachings, Mīnanāth counsels his disciples to evade scrutiny by traveling undercover (Gaurana 193, 209). None of the Yogīs featured in the NNC do. Thus, in spinning out the problematic character of siddha-sovereign relations, Gaurana’s poem essentially stands as a warning to Yogīs: beware the stumbling blocks of desire and self-deception on the ascetic’s path. But more dangerous still is commerce with kings. Ultimately then, I would maintain that Gaurana’s Navanāthacaritramu participates in this larger project of building up Srisailam and its Bhikṣāvṛtti rulers. Neither a Nāth nor a Vīraśaiva text as such, Gaurana’s poem extends 14 For resumes of these references, see White (1997, 50-51, 110-15). For its importance as a specifically Śaiva site, see Lorenzen (1972, 51-52).

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the vision of Srisailam as a home to a range of Śaiva traditions but especially those of ascetic and esoteric adepts. Furthermore, it propagates the notion that the Bhikṣāvṛtti potentates are the rulers who can support such a wide range of Śaiva peoples and practices.

Bibliography Bankar, Amol. 2019. “The Legend of the Nāthasiddha Cauraṅgī as Reflected in Early Medieval Hagiography, Epigraphy and Art.” Heritage: Journal of Multidisciplinary Studies in Archaeology 7: 915-33. Bouillier, Véronique. 1989. Des Prêtres Du Pouvoir: Les Yogis et La Fonction Royale, edited by Véronique Bouillier and Gérard Toffin. Vol. 12. Collection Puruṣārtha. Paris: École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales. Bouillier, Véronique. 1991. The King and His Yogi: Prithvi Nārāyaṇ Śāh, Bhagavantanāth and the Unification of Nepal in the Eighteenth Century. New Delhi: Manohar. Dalal, Neil. 2012. “Clouding Self-Identity: Śankara, Saṃskāras, and the Possession of King Amaruka.” The Journal of Hindu Studies 5: 283-92. Davidson, Ronald M. 2002. Indian Esoteric Buddhism: A Social History of the Tantric Movement. New York: Columbia University Press. Fisher, Elaine M. Forthcoming. “Transregionalizing a Religion: Monastic Lineages and the Transformation of Tamil Śaivism.” In The Maṭha: Entangled Histories of a Religio-Political Institution in South India, edited by Sarah Pierce Taylor and Caleb Simmons. Gaurana. 1937. Navanāthacaritradvipadakāvyamu. Edited by Korada Ramakrishnaiya. Madras University Telugu Series 7. Madras: Anandamudranalaya. Kamalakar, G. 1984. Art and Architecture of Renāṇḍu, Cuddapah District, Andhra Pradesh: From the 7th Century A.D. to 16th Century A.D. Nagarjunanagar: Nagarjuna University. Llewellyn, J. E. 2012. “Knowing Kāmaśāstra in the Biblical Sense: The Possession of King Amaruka.” The Journal of Hindu Studies 5: 273-82. Lorenzen, David N. 1972. Kāpālikas and Kālāmukhas: Two Lost Śaivite Sects. Berkeley: University of California Press. Mallinson, James. 2011. “Nāth Sampradāya.” In Brill Encyclopedia of Hinduism Vol. d.I, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, Helene Basu, Angelika Malinar, and Vasudha Narayanan, 407-28. Leiden: Brill. Mallinson, James. 2012. “Siddhi and Mahāsiddhi in Early Haṭhayoga.” In Yoga Powers: Extraordinary Capacities Attained through Meditation and Concentration, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, 327-44. Leiden: Brill.

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Ondračka, Lubomír. 2015. “Perfected Body, Divine Body, and Other Bodies in the Nātha-Siddha Sanskrit Texts.” The Journal of Hindu Studies 8: 210-32. Parabrahma Sastry, P. V. 1985. Srisailam: Its History and Cult. Hyderabad: Privately published. Reddy, Prabhavati C. 2014. Hindu Pilgrimage: Shifting Patterns of Worldview of Shrī Shailam in South India. New York: Routledge. Roşu, Arion. 1969. “A La Recherche d’un Tirtha Énigmatique Du Dekkan Médiéval.” Bulletin de l’Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient 55: 23-58. Singh, Upinder. 2010. “Politics, Violence, and War in Kāmandaka’s Nītisāra.” Indian Economic and Social History Review 47 (1): 29-62. Śrīnātha. 1995. Śivarātrimāhātmyamu. Edited by Jonnalagaḍḍa Mṛtyuñjayarāvu. Hyderabad: Telugu Viśvavidyālayam. Talbot, Cynthia. 1987. “Gōḷaki Matha Inscriptions from Andhra Pradesh: A Study of a Śaiva Monastic Lineage.” In Vajapeya: Essays on Evolution of Indian Art and Culture (Prof. K. D. Bajpai Felicitation Volume), edited by Ajay Mitra Shastri, R. K. Sharma, and Agam Prasad, vol. 1, 133-46. Delhi: Agam Kala Prakashan. Veṅkaṭaramanayya, N., ed. 1939. Vĕlugotivāri Vaṃśāvaḻi. Madras: University of Madras. White, David Gordon. 1997. The Alchemical Body: Siddha Traditions in Medieval India. University of Chicago Press. White, David Gordon. 2009. Sinister Yogis. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

About the author Jamal A. Jones studies the literary and religious history of southern India, with particular interests in Sanskrit and Telugu. He currently serves as an assistant professor of South Asian Studies in the Department of Asian Languages and Cultures at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. [email protected]

4 In Siddhis and State Transformations of Power in Twentieth-Century Gorakhpur Temple Publications Christine Marrewa-Karwoski Abstracts For centuries Nāth Yogīs have been known for their political influence. However, colonialism and modernity played prominent roles in the disenchantment of Nāth siddhis and in the subsequent deterioration of their political influence. In the twentieth century, when northern Nāth monasteries began to rise to political power again, they did so under completely different circumstances. This paper focuses on the ascent of Mahant Digvijaynāth to the head of the Nāth temple in Gorakhpur, Uttar Pradesh. Analyzing Digvijaynāth’s own writings, this essay illustrates how Digvijaynāth, although priding his predecessors for their siddhis, also took pains to distance himself from these powers. I argue that this ideological shift cemented the Gorakhpur monastery as the political epicenter for the northern Nāth community in the twentieth century. Keywords: power, Gorakhpur, Nāth sampradāya, temple print, modernity, religious politics

One can easily imagine that the modern political importance of the Nāth sampradāya (community) in Gorakhpur, in present-day Uttar Pradesh, India, would have astounded many people in early modern Hindustan. Settled in the Terai of the Himalayas, the Nāth Yogīs at Gorakhpur had little influence outside of their region prior to the twentieth century. Yet today Gorakhpur is home to the most significant theocratic center for the contemporary sampradāya and the nucleus of this current power is the Gorakhnāth maṭh (temple complex) and the mahants (monastics) who lead it. Gorakhpur, named in commemoratation of the preceptor of the Nāth

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_ch04

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Yogīs, Guru Gorakhnāth – an ascetic who taught transcendence over worldly concerns, sectarian divisions, and even nature itself – is today far more recognized for Hindu fundamentalism than for the yogic sādhana (bodily discipline) or siddhis (supernatural powers) traditionally associated with this order. While the immense political stature associated with the modern maṭh may appear unprecedented to some observers, the relationship between Nāth Yogīs and temporal power is not. Gorakhpur’s Gorakhnāth maṭh displays only a novel variation of the Nāth Yogīs longstanding pursuit of both divine and worldly powers. As twentieth- and twenty-first-century leaders of the maṭh have employed modified techniques to garner political power in modern India, they also continue to invoke the legendary siddhis that have long been associated with the sampradāya. Examining publications produced and distributed by Gorakhpur’s Gorakhnāth Mandir Press, and the manner in which leader of the temple, Mahant Digvijaynāth (1935-1969), articulated his own connection to the temple complex’s sacral lineage, this essay explores how this pivotal twentieth-century leader renegotiated his community’s history and identity in order to harness electoral power in the newly established Indian nation.1

1 Histories of the Nāth sampradāya Since as early as the fourteenth century 2 ascetics associated with the Nāth sampradāya were renowned in popular imagination for their siddhis, or otherworldly powers. Arising from a commingling of Buddhist, Jain, and Hindu traditions and shaped in a milieu that experienced deep and sustained engagements with various Muslim communities, by the sixteenth century the Nāth Yogīs had developed a diverse and heterodox community that centered many of its main ideologies around monism or a belief in nonduality. Early modern religious publics widely believed that through their yogic sādhana, these Yogīs, or Jogīs as they were often referred to in North Indian vernacular languages, were able to become veritable gods on earth. Through yogic discipline the Nāths were considered able to achieve control not only over their own bodies, but also over the different elements of the universe, earning them siddhis such as the ability to fly, divine the 1 The Gorakhnāth Mandir Press is also variously referred to as the Gorakhpur Temple Press and the Digvijaynāth Trust. 2 The earliest known extant tale of a Nāth Yogī describes an interaction between the Sufī śeikh, Gesūdarāz, and a Nāth ascetic named Bālgundai or Jālandharnāth (Digby 1970, 4).

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future, transmute metals, and read other minds, among other things. While the manner in which the Nāth Yogīs and other contemporaneous religious communities describe these powers varies in early modern literary and historical sources, it is undeniable that until the twentieth century supernatural power was largely considered the most prominent, even defining, feature of this sampradāya.3 The Nāths’ reputed possession of yogic siddhis was something that the community could, and often did, leverage for social and political power in a crowded spiritual marketplace. Despite the ambiguity surrounding the manner in which practitioners of the Nāth sampradāya publicly acknowledged their reputations as supernatural powerbrokers, historical records attest that the Nāth Yogīs and their monastic centers not only enjoyed popular success throughout Hindustan but were also known and patronized by a variety of kings and emperors in exchange for their blessings and, occasionally, alchemical elixirs. The universal message that many Nāth Yogīs propagated, 4 as well as a prevailing social belief in Nāth siddhis, appealed to political leaders across religious divides and helped the community to gain widespread influence. Most notable among these occurrences are examples of the political powers and patronage that were given to different Nāth Yogīs and their maṭhs by rulers such as Akbar, (Balnath Tilla and Jakhbar),5 Jahānngīr (Jakhbar),6 Jodhpur’s Mānsingh (Jalore), Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh (Nepal) and even Aurangzēb (Jakhbar).7 As British colonial rule solidified over the nineteenth century, Nāth temporal power began to wane in much of the subcontinent. European reactions to Indian asceticism – from the time of sixteenth-century Christian priest Father Antonio Monserrate onward8 – were often disparaging and the 3 The different texts narrated in the early modern Hindavi teachings compiled in the Gorakhbānī, or “Utterances of Gorakhnāth”, are remarkably quiet about these occult powers and describe them as more of a fringe benefit of yogic practice when they mention them at all. Some homilies in the Gorakhbānī, such as the Naravai Bodh or “Royal Wisdom” even instruct its followers to abandon the desire for such worldly powers and focus only on a yogic life. 4 See Marrewa-Karwoski (2018). 5 See Goswamy and Grewal (1967, 7); Pinch (2012, 276). 6 See Goswamy and Grewal (1967, 22). 7 See Bouillier (2018); Bouillier (1991, 151-170); Diamond (2000; 2008); Gold (1995); Goswamy and Grewal (1967); Parikh (2015, 215-36); Pinch (2012). 8 Father Antonio Monserrate was a Portuguese Jesuit who spent time with Emperor Akbar at his court in Fatehpur Sikri during the late sixteenth century. He also joined the emperor on an expedition to Kabul, describing his experiences of this time traveling with the emperor in his memoir, The Commentary of Father Monserrate, SJ, on his Journey to the Court of Akbar. In this chronicle, the priest gives a description of the Nāth Yogīs that paints the ascetics as simple and misguided followers of an evil deity. Monserrate writes, “Our Priests considered Balnāth

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British elite were regularly suspicious of saṃnyāsīs or religious mendicants. East Indian Company employees were skeptical of the occult powers that many people considered the Yogīs to possess and the British frequently considered these ascetics to be charlatans, at best.9 At worst, EIC employees saw these Yogīs as a concrete threat to European power, aware of the social and political power that different ascetics held (Bailey 2000, 20, 147, 316). While certain communities of Yogīs and specific Nāth ascetics continued to receive gifts and patronage from rulers into the late nineteenth century, this financial support was often purposefully omitted from royal records in an attempt to obscure courtly involvement with the community and appease the British Raj, with whom some rulers had reached political agreements (Ojha 2009). However, the history of the Nāth Yogīs at Gorakhpur differed notably from the other more famous Nāth monasteries across Hindustan. To begin with, although Gorakhpur is seen as an epicenter for the Nāth sampradāya today, the brick-and-mortar structure was constructed centuries after the other more popular early modern Nāth temple complexes, such as the Balnath Tilla and Jakhbar monasteries. In fact, the Gorakhpur maṭh appears to have lacked any significant patronage before the eighteenth century.10 Situated in the backwaters of the Mughal empire, in the marshy lowlands between what is today southern Nepal and northern India, for centuries the area attracted people less for its religious significance than for its agriculture and expansive wildlife.11 Much of what has been recorded about the region in imperial chronicles describes Gorakhpur as a sort of early modern safari destination for nobility interested in hunting big game in the dense forests of the region (Michael 2012, 21-20). Yet despite being far removed from the main centers of Mughal rule, according to oral tradition, as recorded by Chaturvedi, Gellner, and Pandey, the sampradāya at Gorakhpur benefitted, at least nominally, from Mughal patronage in the eighteenth century, when it is believed that the land on which the maṭh now stands was gifted to the Nāth Yogīs by a nawāb of Awadh. While various tellings identify different nawābs who may have endowed the temple’s jāgīr, or land grant – with some stating that it was Āsaf-ud-Daulā (Caturvedi, Gellner, and Pandey 2019, 42) and others attributing it to Sirāj-ud-Dīn (Vināyak 1935, 808) – in popular historical memory, including that recorded by the Gorakhnāth maṭh in himself to be a devil, since he deceived the ancestors of these people by false miracles, and still shows himself to them from time to time”. 9 See Tod (1920); Pinch (2006); Bayley (2000). 10 See Goswamy and Grewal (1967, 14); Banarjī (1964, 13). 11 See Amin (1984); Michael (2012); Bhargava (1999); Chaturvedi, Gellner, and Pandey (2019).

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Gorakhpur itself, the physical structure was constructed on a land grant given by a Muslim nawāb (Banarjī, 1964, 12). Interestingly, in some accounts of the maṭh, the nawāb of Awadh was not the sole Muslim responsible for the Nāths’ acquisition of this land; but a Shī‘ī Sufī ascetic by the name of Bābā Rośan Alī is also credited with directing the nawāb’s attention – and resources – to the Yogīs of Gorakhpur. The report states: Asaf-ud-Daula, the Nawab of Awadh (reigned 1775-1797), came to Gorakhpur to hunt. His followers told him, “Sir, since you are here, you should visit the [Muslim] holy man, Baba Roshan Ali Shah.” Roshan Ali Shah told the Nawab, “Since you are here, you should also visit my friend and colleague [the Hindu holy man] Baba Goraksanath.” Duly impressed by the two holy men, the Nawab granted half of the territory of Gorakhpur to each of them. (Chaturvedi, Gellner, and Pandey 2019, 42)

Although nineteenth-century British sources demonstrate that the Nāth temple at Gorakhpur was not nearly as well known or as politically influential as other maṭhs, Gorakhpur’s Yogīs were certainly respected and revered within the region. The Nāth mahants that led the temple were known for both their inclusivity and supernatural powers. In 1838, Montgomery Martin wrote that the Gorakhpur Nāth mahants were widely considered by all castes to have the ability to heal and were “particularly efficacious in restoring children to health” (Martin 1838, 484). As I will detail in the next section, such accounts of the Nāth Yogīs’ supernatural abilities proliferated in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries when the Yogī and acclaimed mahāsiddha (great adept), Bābā Gambhīrnāth, undertook initiation into the sampradāya and became an integral part of the Nāth community and the administration of the temple complex. It was due to Gambhīrnāth’s reputation as an accomplished yogic adept and possessor of otherworldly powers that the temple began to amass a large following not only within the region of Gorakhpur, but from neighboring areas of Bengal and Bihar as well (Banerjea 1954).

2 Composing the past In 1949, Mahant Digvijaynāth wrote his cācā-guru (guru-uncle), Akṣayakumār Banarjī,12 and invited him to come stay at the maṭh and write 12 Banarjī’s work is published in three languages (Bangla, Hindi, and English), and his name on these works is respectively presented as Akṣayakumār Vandyopādhyāya, Akṣayakumār

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a series of books about the sampradāya that could be published and sold at the temple complex (Avaidyanāth n.d., Prakāśakīya). The mahant was not only the head of the Gorakhnāth maṭh but was also an influential Hindu nationalist politician, holding the position of President of the United Provinces branch of the All India Hindū Mahāsabhā (All India Hindū Mahāsabhā Papers File No. P-108 (I), 11). For years, in his capacity as both temple and political leader, Digvijaynāth had been in the process of constructing both a national anti-Muslim agenda for the newly burgeoning country, and enhanced Hindu religious structures and educational institutions on the grounds of the previously modest Gorakhnāth temple. To this list of accomplishments, Digvijaynāth also sought to construct a library of printed literature containing the history, philosophies, and ideologies of the Nāth community as he deemed fit. Establishing the Gorakhnāth Temple Press, a publication trust for the creation, printing, and dissemination of literature concerning the community, Digvijaynāth lacked the time and, quite possibly, the knowledge to compose philosophical tracts and historical works concerning the community. Akṣayakumār Banarjī, on the other hand, did possess the combination of skills and experience that the mahant considered necessary to successfully execute this project. Banarjī, at the time, was a well-regarded academic within the field of Indian spiritual culture and Hindu religions and was employed as a professor of Sanskrit and philosophy at Ananda Mohan College in Mymensingh, East Bengal (Santinath 1989, 5; Sri Krishna 1967, iii). Crucially, he had also been a lay devotee and student of Gorakhpur’s renowned holy man and mahāsiddha Bābā Gambhīrnāth. During the early twentieth century, when Gambhīrnāth had reluctantly agreed to manage the administration of the temple, Banarjī traveled to Gorakhpur and took lay initiation with the famous yogic mystic. Even today, he is said to have been, if not Gambhīrnāth’s first student, the Yogī’s most trusted (Avaidyanāth 1978, Nivedan).13 While Banarjī’s education, skills, and close affiliation with the maṭh all likely played a role in Digvijaynāth’s decision to invite him to participate in the temple’s first literary endeavor, undoubtedly the scholar’s previous writings about Gambhīrnāth were seen as further evidence that Banarjī was indeed the ideal man for this job. In 1925, nearly a decade before Digvijaynāth became head of Gorakhpur’s Gorakhnāth temple – or for that Banarjī, and Akshaya Kumar Banerjea. I have chosen to use the spelling Banarjī throughout the body of my essay but employ Banerjea and Vandyopādhyāya in citations, according to the name under which he published. 13 It is believed the Nāthyogī Śāntināth was Gambhīrnāth’s first disciple, although he never took the third part of initiation and had his ears pierced in the kānphaṭā fashion. See Santinath (1989, 321).

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matter was even initiated into the sampradāya – Banarjī had compiled and printed his first publication about the Nāth Yogīs at Gorakhpur.14 The work, entitled Gambhīrnāth-Prasang (Vandyopādhyāy, 1925), specifically highlights the leadership, spirituality, teachings, and supernatural feats of the early twentieth-century Nāth ascetic, Bābā Gambhīrnāth, and received praise from officials, scholars, and religious men.15 Banarjī accepted Mahant Digvijaynāth’s proposal and began work as both the principal of Digvijaynāth’s newly created Mahārāṇā Pratāp Degree College16 and as the primary author and editor of the Gorakhnāth Temple Press’ official literature (Sri Krishna 1967, iii).17 During this period, Banarjī wrote and edited eight books for the Gorakhnāth maṭh, many of which were based on his earlier publication.18 Several of these publications continue to be sold today at the temple’s bookstand, and much of the information regarding the life of Gambhīrnāth and the earlier history of the Gorakhnāth mandir is found in these books printed by the temple itself. While Banarjī himself did not compose his works in Hindi, as he was more comfortable writing in English, all of his works were translated by the maṭh into Hindi for its readership. Today, with the exception of Banarjī’s English work Philosophy of Gorakhnath which was eventually published by Motilal Banarsidas for a pan-Indian audience, few of his original English works remain in circulation. In a manner similar to how the Gorakhbānī, the early modern Hindavī teachings attributed to Gorakhnāth, articulated both the ideologies and practices of the pre-modern Nāth community, the publications that 14 The date given for the printing of Banerjī’s Gambhīrnāth-Prasang, although sometimes also given as 1926, still puts it years before Digvijaynāth’s initiation into the Nāth sampradāya. Digvijaynāth did not undertake initiation into the sampradāya as a young man, or even for spiritual reasons, but rather took saṃnyāsa as a political maneuver to gain control over the long-disputed Gorakhpur maṭh. As George Weston Briggs has reported, Reverend E. C. Dewick, M.A. wrote him a letter stating that “[a]n interesting point in the dispute [over the control of the maṭh] at Gorakhpur was that one Nanhoo Singh, who was involved in the suit, and who had hoped to win the gaddi, was not a Yogī at all. He stated that if he had won his case at law, he had intended to undergo initiation, become a Yogī and have his ears split” (1938, 36). 15 See Śhukla, “Anulekhan Kā Nivedan” in Ādarś-Yogī (1954). 16 According to Chaturvedi, Gellner, and Pandey, the Mahārāṇā Pratāp Degree College was established 1949, the same year as the Gorakhnāth mandir began to disseminate literature (2018, 46). 17 A notable exception to this is Nathyogi Santinath’s Experiences of a Truth-Seeker, which Banarjī translated from Bangla to English at the author’s request and edited for temple publication. 18 These publications were (in their Hindi and English titles): Experiences of a Truth Seeker, Yogīrāj Gambhīrnāth (in both English and Hindi), Ādarś-Yogī or An Exemplary Yogi, Philosophy of Gorakhnāth, Nath-Yogi Sampradaya and the Gorakhnath Temple, Nāth Yog, Yog Rahasya or Mysteries of Yoga, and Discourses of Hindu Spirituality.

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Digvijaynāth commissioned reflected the mahant’s beliefs about the history of the sampradāya, and interconnectedly, his place in this paramparā and his aspirations about its future. As Digvijaynāth’s successor, Mahant Avaidyanāth (1969-2014), noted, the previous mahant had wished to create a [Hindu] storehouse of knowledge that could be used in his work to awaken (utthān) of nation’s youth, reestablish India’s (Bhārat) indestructible authority, and promote the well-being of the entire world (Avaidyanāth n.d., Prakāśakīya). Accomplishing this, Digvijaynāth propagated a history for the Nāth Yogīs at Gorakhpur which glorified the sanctity of his gurus and established himself as the beneficiary of their blessings and heir of their power. Specifically, Digvijaynāth succeeded in solidifying his own political power through associating himself with the spiritual authority and thaumaturgical powers of his predecessor, Bābā Gambhīrnāth. Since Akṣayakumār Banarjī was a devout disciple of Bābā Gambhīrnāth, many of the books he authored for the Gorakhnāth Temple Trust center on the life and philosophies of this revered ascetic, knowledge of which he gained either firsthand during his time staying with Gambhīrnāth or from extensive interviews with other followers of the Yogī. While Banarjī emphasizes that Gambhīrnāth rarely spoke about his life previous to taking saṃnyāsa, elder Yogīs who were present at the time of Gambhīrnāth’s arrival offered information on the holy man’s past. They recounted to Banarjī that Gambhīrnāth, named for his “grave” nature, originally came from Kashmir sometime in the mid-nineteenth century and that his appearance and clothing suggested that he was from a wealthy and cultured background.19 These holy men also stated that Gambhīrnāth came to the maṭh with hardly any knowledge of Sanskrit or English and had little interest in book learning; rather, it was the sampradāya’s yogic sādhana and transcendental teachings that had attracted the young mystic’s attention. The young Kashmiri heard about the temple through a chance encounter with a Nāth Yogī who was from the maṭh. One day, the young man passed a cremation ground near his local village and came upon the Nāth ascetic. After passing time with the Yogī and beginning to learn about the sect and the temple complex, the youth traveled to Gorakhpur where he could learn from the Yogī’s own teachers. There, he dedicated himself to becoming the celā or student of Mahant Gopalnāth (1855-1880) (Banerjea 1954, 3-4). 19 Banarjī states that according to the attestations of other sādhus, when Gambhīrnāth first arrived in Gorakhpur he was “dressed like a ‘Babu’ (cultured Indian gentleman). He put on silken clothes. He used to shave his beard, but preserve [sic] his moustache. He had a fair and bright complexion and a tall and robust physique. His grave, gentle, dignified and well-balanced manner were worthy of a man of high position” (Banerjea 1954, 4).

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In Gorakhpur, Gambhīrnāth began his official life as a Nāth Yogī and took the first of his three initiations with Gopalnāth. He passed most of his days in contemplation and education, learning about the management and administration of the maṭh, a requirement for all new initiates. Gambhīrnāth, however, repeatedly explained that living with others in the maṭh and handling administrative affairs were not part of the ascetic life that he desired. Although different Yogīs at the temple continually attempted to change Gambhīrnāth’s mind and convince him to stay at the maṭh, the Yogī remained adamant that he should not live the socially involved life of a monastic; and wished instead to renounce society completely and focus on his yogic practice (Banerjea 1954, 39). After a several years of residence and training at the temple complex, Gopalnāth finally granted Gambhīrnāth permission to leave and wander to different holy places, so that the Yogī might meditate in isolation. Banarjī writes extensively about Gambhīrnāth’s travels and time in Varanasi, Allahabad, and Gaya practicing yogic sādhana. Crucially, the most prominent feature in many of these narratives is the presence of Gambhīrnāth’s siddhis or vibhūtis (another word for otherworldly powers) and the manner in which Gambhīrnāth chose to employ them in his interactions with the public. In a traditional hagiographical fashion, Banarjī asserts that, at first, Gambhīrnāth resisted the urge to use his siddhis to help others, fearing that he had not yet fully mastered his esoteric practice and control over his worldly compassion (Banerjea 1954, 27). The Yogī was concerned that were he to help others before he could completely restrain his own worldly desires, he would endanger his detachment from the world and risk being overcome by compassion for others. By the time he had reached Gaya, however, Bābā Gambhīrnāth came to feel that he had obtained perfect control of all his senses, including his immense compassion for others. Banarjī writes that, during this period of Gambhīnāth’s life, stories regarding the efficacy of the mahāsiddha’s supernatural powers and blessings began to spread across the region. The number of stories in Banarjī’s account dedicated to describing the mahāsiddha’s thaumaturgical abilities reveal the extent to which people considered the Bābā Gambhīrnāth to be endowed with marvelous abilities. Although some within the sampradāya, such as Nāthyogī Śāntināth, doubted the authenticity of these accounts and attributed them to the overactive imaginations of Gambhīrnāth’s followers, (1989, 476)20 popular opinion held 20 While most books published by Gorakhnāth Temple convey a belief in the authenticity of Gambhīrnāth’s supernatural powers, Nāthyogī Śāntināth, a disciple of Gambhīrnāth, expresses

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that Gambhīrnāth’s spiritual achievements enabled him to bestow supernatural blessings on others. Banarjī was often regaled by other’s accounts of how the Yogī had saved his devotees from death, returned people to life, teleported himself to different areas of the world, and had the ability to tame and build bonds of friendship with even the most fearsome of creatures.21 One follower even claimed that the Yogī gave him supernatural aid in his court case, leading him to win the suit.22 Again, in a customary hagiographic a contrary opinion. Śāntināth states that when other disciples of Gambhīrnāth would talk about their own experiences with the Yogī’s supernatural powers he “knew that many such so-called facts were the products of a reconstruction by the imagination of credulous emotional people. But without questioning the facts I would assert that they had nothing to do with the real life of Babaji, that they did not in the last prove Babaji’s occult powers or his interference with our affairs or his presence amongs [sic] us after his death. Our vision of Him did not necessarily mean his appearance before us … Our inability to find out the natural cause of a natural event proved only the imperfection of our power of observation and inference, and not in the intervention of a supernatural cause. Our experiences in dreams or reveries or in states of swoons or half-swoons or trances or half-trances could be psychically explained, and they di [sic] not prove any interference from any extraneous agency” (1989, 476). 21 One story relates that one day, Gambhīrnāth’s faithful sevak or servant, Akkū, had become very ill and was beginning to fade from this world. His brother Munnī, also a devoted servant of the Yogī, entreated the great mahāsiddha to restore his brother to full health. Gambhīrnāth agreed to visit the home of his two sevaks and upon arrival found that Akkū had passed away. However, when Gambhīrnāth touched Akkū’s body, the man somehow began to show signs of life again. After the Yogī served Akkū water from his hand, the sevak was said to have regained full consciousness. Another story recalls an instance in which Gambhīrnāth is said to have brought a man’s wife back to life, so that he would be comforted that she, too, would receive the blessing of the mahāsiddha with formal initiation into the Nāth sampradāya. A third, narrated by a devotee of the Yogī, describes an incident in which Gambhīrnāth is able to observe a young student living abroad for his studies. The student’s mother had not heard from her son in many days and had grown anxious as to his health and well-being. It is said that Gambhīrnāth went into a meditative state and when he awoke assured the mother that her son was currently crossing the ocean on a ship to return to India. Later, when the student arrived, he told others and Gambhīrnāth himself that he had seen the “mahātmā” aboard the ship and, curious about why the sādhu was on a first-class steamer, spoke with the holy man for several minutes, implying that the holy man was able to teleport. Further, it is also written that Gambhīrnāth was renowned for feeding serpents milk and taming any tigers which came near him. It is said that the Yogī had a loving nature toward all creatures, regardless of how terrible or ferocious they were, and this attracted the attention of other people who found the Yogī’s interactions with these animals exceptional (Banerjea 1954, 79-80, 95); (Banerjea, n.d, 159). 22 A follower named Mādholāl, who lived near Gaya, and knew of Gambhīrnāth’s powers was involved in an important lawsuit. He went to Gambhīrnāth to ask for his blessing and the Yogī told his follower that the lawsuit would turn out fine. When Mādholāl won the case, despite Gambhīrnāth stating that he had had no involvement in the outcome, the man was convinced of Yogī’s powers and constructed living quarters for Gambhīrnāth inside the cave near where the mahāsiddha had been residing. Mādholāl instructed his servants to make sure that the Yogī was taken care of and well-fed. (Banerjea 1954, 48-50); (Banerjea, n.d, 88-89).

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manner, Banarjī writes that Gambhīrnāth showed abject humility for his powers and himself, insisting that he had done nothing more than prayed for or given blessings to different devotees. It is frequently mentioned that the Yogī himself never claimed to possess supernatural powers. Still, it is telling that these chronicles are granted such an extensive role in the printed literature produced by the temple over thirty years after the Yogī’s samādhi. Gambhīrnāth is depicted in temple publications as having a highly significant role in the Nāth sampradāya’s history and his popularity is due not only to his spirituality but also to the otherworldly powers that different communities believed the Yogī to possess. It is these supernatural abilities, and the stories that circulate about them in marketplaces, temples, and homes that captured public attention in the early twentieth century and persisted throughout Digvijaynāth’s leadership. To put it plainly, news of Gambhīrnāth’s powers magnif ied reverence for the maṭh and brought the Nāth temple in Gorakhpur transregional fame. Mahant Digvijaynāth highlighted his predecessor’s spiritual and supernatural reputation in his mid-twentieth-century publications, aware that this symbolic capital could be employed to legitimize and bolster his own authority as both a religious and temporal leader.23 While Banarjī relates the stories surrounding Gambhīrnāth’s siddhis, this does not mean that he had completely reconciled himself with a belief in his guru’s otherworldly powers. As a well-educated devotee of the Yogī, he also voices his own difficulty in understanding how the siddhis highlighted in these personal accounts could be true. However, unlike more adamant sceptics, Banarjī maintains the possibility that the more preternatural parts of Gambhīrnāth’s public personae were genuine. He writes that while he cannot fully understand Gambhīrnāth’s siddhis or attest to them, he also cannot judge these mystical dimensions. Banarjī attempts to accommodate both his tendency toward rational observation and belief in Gambhīrnāth’s siddhis: We who could observe his life only from outside and from empirical point of view have no competency either to confirm or to deny the evidences of those great persons with deep spiritual insight. Outwardly Bábá 23 Even today in contemporary India, Yogī Ādityanāth, the current Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, has ensured that Bābā Gambhīrnāth is remembered for his powers. Recently, he required that a brief biography about the Yogī and his siddhis be included in the Uttar Pradesh class seven course books. See UPBoardSolutions.com: https://www.upboardguide. com/class-7-hindi-chapter-26-mahaan-vyaktitv/.

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Gambhirnath was, at least in his later days when we had the opportunity of seeing him, a man of such profound silence and blissful calmness that hardly any expression of his supernatural power and supersensuous visions could be noticed from outside. His siddhis or vibhutis were perhaps wholly digested and merged in the blissful tranquility of his spiritual self-realization and the serene enjoyment of Divinity within himself. (Banerjea 1954, 68-69)

Whereas Banarjī and other Nāth Yogīs may at times have had difficulty accepting the otherworldly powers that Bābā Gambhīrnāth was purported to possess, Mahant Digvijaynāth voices his unequivocal belief in Bābā Gambhīrnāth’s supernatural powers, declaring not only that he had seen them firsthand but that they had also deeply affected the course of his own life. In the mahant’s introduction to Banarjī’s Ādarś Yogī, Digvijaynāth ascribes not only his rise to power in the maṭh, but his very life, to the miraculous siddhis of Gambhīrnāth. The bhūmikā or introduction to Ādarś Yogī – the Hindi translation of an English hagiography written about Bābā Gambhīrnāth and published by the Gorakhpur Mandir – is the only section in all of Banarjī’s books which is composed by Digvijaynāth himself. In striking contrast with Gambhīrnāth’s hagiography, which emphasizes the Yogī’s spirituality, yogic powers, and ecumenical ideology,24 Digvijaynāth’s introduction is a memoir that highlights his own life and youth as spiritually, if not religiously, mundane and filled with the challenges of communal strife. Throughout this brief composition, Digvijaynāth illustrates how he considers himself to be the prescribed heir of Gambhīrnāth and the power that his miraculous siddhis represent, while, at the same time, a novel type of Yogī for 24 In an English edition of Ādarś Yogī written by Banarjī, entitled Yogīrāj Gambhīrnāth, it appears that Gambhīrnāth’s definition of Sanātana Dharma differed on a basic point: the inclusion of Abrahamic faiths. While the theopolitical movement of Sanātana Dharma often emphasized a revival of a broad national Hindu tradition, from the language that Banarjī attributes to the Yogī, it seems that Gambhīrnāth did not understand this term in a strictly Hindu sense. Banarjī states that the Bābā Gambhīrnāth would instruct his disciples that, “Sanātana Dharma is not a particular system of religion, not a stereotyped set of rules and regulates, not a specialized form of sadhana or upásaná, not a particular doctrine or belief about God or the Ultimate Reality. It did not originate from the teachings of a Rishi or group of Rishis, any saint or prophet, any Avatára or Messiah, or any powerful religious organizer, at any particular time. It is the Eternal Universal Religion of Humanity, based on Eternal Universal Principles”. The dual use of the words “prophet” and “Messiah” written in conjunction with “saint” and “Avatára” indicates that, while Gambhīrnāth envisioned the two terms being similar in meaning to one another, perhaps even synonymous, he left room for the inclusion of Islam, Christianity, and Judaism in his definition, something that his successors at the Gorakhnāth maṭh certainly have not done (Banerjea 1954, 136).

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a new age. He imagines modern Hindu political involvement and might – not spiritual mysticism or yogic sādhana – at the center of his autobiography. The mahant chronicles his life – beginning in childhood (when he was known as Nanhū Siṃgh) and continuing to his ascendance of Gorakhnāth maṭh’s gaddī – as that of a Hindu warrior wishing to protect his religion against what he views as attacks from enemies, very often by people of other faiths. While Digvijaynāth’s self-identification as a militant political Yogī bears little resemblance to the local ideologies that the Gorakhpur Nāth Yogīs proceeding him espoused, they do reflect wider beliefs surrounding the Nāth sampradāya and militant asceticism in general.25 The mahant interweaves both local and universal beliefs about power into his own legendary past by conveying that his youthful actions and leadership were sanctioned by Gambhīrnāth’s grace and spiritual powers. These writings illustrate not only how the mahant wants to portray Gambhīrnāth’s sacral powers, but, crucially, also how Digvijaynāth desires to authorize his leadership claims through Gambhīrnāth’s popularity. According to Mahant Digvijaynāth’s account, he first came to know of the Nāth sampradāya as a boy when he had been put into the care of a well-known Nāth Yogī living in Udaipur. Digvijaynāth records that he was born into a Rājpūt Ṭhākur family but was orphaned at a young age after his parents passed away (n.d., ḍa). Although Nanhū Siṃgh’s paternal family initially looked after him following the death of his parents, the young boy’s uncle eventually came to resent him as he saw him as a financial threat. As Nanhū was his father’s only son, after his death, he stood to inherit his father’s portion of the family’s land, a portion which would otherwise be given to the boy’s uncle. To ensure that the property remained in his own hands, Nanhū’s uncle devised an elaborate plan to give the child away to a Nāth Yogī named Bābā Phūlnāth and requested the Yogī to take him to live in Gorakhpur to serve in the Gorakhnāth mandir (ibid.). While it is unknown what went through the Yogī’s mind during this time, Phūlnāth consented, and brought Nanhū with him back to the maṭh in Gorakhpur where the orphan first met Bābā Gambhīrnāth. Eventually, he would live in Gambhīrnāth’s āśram alongside the mahāsiddha and under the care and supervision of Gambhīrnāth’s main chelā, Yogī Brahmānāth, a man who would raise him with great care and affection (ibid., ṅa, ca). Particularly 25 While it is certainly possible, as William R. Pinch has suggested, that groups of Nāth Yogīs, along with other groups of ascetics, had been militarized during the early modern period, there seems to be no history of the Nāth Yogīs at Gorakhpur ever adopting this identity or taking up arms (2006).

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interesting about this account is that he mentions the politics of the Udaipur royal family during his youth and chronicles how rājā Fateh Siṃgh’s son, Kumār Bhūpāl Siṃgh, was disabled and therefore was considered by many to be ineligible for the throne. Digvijaynāth states that the royal family was therefore considering any young boy in the family for accession to the throne. He writes that since he was part of the royal family, he was also a contender, alluding that, regardless of his circumstances, he was destined to become one type of political leader or another (ibid., ṅa). Digvijaynāth states that after he arrived in Gorakhpur, Bābā Gambhīrnāth had favored him and ensured that he received a first-class modern education. In the section of the bhūmikā entitled, Yogīrāj kī Chatra Chāyā Meṃ Merā Jīvan or “My Life in the Shelter of Yogīrāj (Gambhīrnāth)”, Digvijaynāth recalls that it was through Gambhīrnāth’s insistence that he attended Gorakhpur High School where he mastered English (ibid., ca). While many of the Yogīs of the Nāth maṭh at that time were leading more traditionally austere lives, Nanhū Siṃgh speaks of an education that was preparing the boy for a different kind of future. Although Digvijaynāth writes of his zealous commitment to Hinduism and his experiences with his religion as a youth at the maṭh, as we will see, the boyhood episodes narrated by the mahant paint a picture of a young man who is considerably more politically active and aggressive than his predecessors at the Gorakhpur temple complex. The childhood stories that Digvijaynāth chooses to recount, naturally, share common characteristics that reflect the way that the mahant desired to present himself to the public. He composes his history as a series of episodes linked together by religious zeal, perceived bravery, charisma, and blessings. Breaking significantly with Bābā Gambhīrnāth’s hagiography, Digvijaynāth does not represent himself as attracted to a spiritual or mystical path. Indeed, the manner in which he describes his past makes it appear that his interests could not be situated further away from the temporal transcendence that Gambhīrnāth’s hagiography highlights. He envisions himself as a leader that mobilizes others in defense of the world – of a Hindu world – rather than the ascetic attempting to renounce it. In an account entitled Hindū Dharm Kī Sevā Merā Sahaj Svabhāv Hai or “My Intrinsic Nature is Service to the Hindu Religion”, the mahant regards himself, even as in childhood, as a natural protector of Hinduism and a warrior for this cause. He projects himself as a young man who, even from the eighth standard, organizes different communities for the sake of protecting his vision of Hinduism against those attempting to destroy it. These vignettes, such as saving a small railway station temple from being demolished to chasing away Christian and Ārya Samājī missionaries, portray a dedication to Hindu

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dharma that is bound in religious and political militancy, a militancy that the mahant believes is sanctioned by Gambhīrnāth. It is notable that at a time in which the local Gorakhnāth temple complex was prospering, with both Hindu and Muslim devotees coming to worship at the maṭh from as far away as Bengal,26 Digvijaynāth describes his world – and Hinduism more generally – as under threat. The mahant writes: From even the beginning of my life, the great guru’s divine influence shone upon me. It is therefore crucial for me to give some preface about this here. Since childhood, I had a firm conviction in Hinduism (hindū dharma). An example of this is that while I was in the eighth grade, an argument, in which I took a principle role, broke out concerning a local Śiv temple. The dispute was that, in those days, the land near the modern technical school was being authorized for the building of residences for railway employees. However, in that precise spot was a small Śiv temple belonging to the Lohār community that had become popular. Just as they began to tear it down, I received the news. Immediately, in an enormous group, we students ran and encircled the home of the chief engineer, Mr. Mamī. The honorable advocate, Mr. Narasiṃgh Prasād, also accompanied us. Mr. Mamī was prepared to meet with only five representatives, so we reached a compromise with him and the temple’s destruction was stopped. The next day students from all the schools were invited for a parade and at that time the other students, a local gentleman, Puruṣottāmdās, and I were arrested by the police and thrown in jail. However, such pressure was put on the government that we were all very quickly released. I attribute this wholly to the majesty of Gambhīrnāth’s grace. In the same way, when I was in the ninth grade, Christian missionaries set up a camp on the premises of the Gorakhnāth Temple and began to incessantly proselytize. Those people had been coming to do this work for many years and I wasn’t able to stand it – that within the realm of a Hindu temple – propaganda against Hinduism was being spread. I organized a large number of students together and we attacked those people [who were propagating Christianity]. We devastated their camp, threw their books and things into the pond, and they ran away. Since that moment, this proselytization has never again taken place on the grounds of the temple. Ārya Samājī missionaries were also similarly stopped. On 26 See Banerjea, (1954, 160); Nevill (1909, 102). Nevill states that “Musalmans often observe Hindu festivals and customs, worshipping at the shrines of Gorakhnath at Gorakhpur and of Kabir at Maghar”.

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realizing that the Christian missionaries had been driven away in this manner, the government administrators felt terrible. At that time the local collector, commissioner, police superintendent, and others were all Christians, therefore, there was an attempt to put us on trial for this affair. However, pressured by the good people of the city, nothing was came of it and those who had been arrested were released. Tribulations such as this have frequently occurred in my life and continue to this day, but Śrī Bābā Jī Mahārāj’s grace never fails to preserve me from calamity. (Ibid., ca)

Three prominent aspects of this narrative establish the manner in which Digvijaynāth desires to express his religious identity and his personality as a leader within these publications. The first is that while Digvijaynāth obviously wishes to display an early enthusiasm for Hindu politics and advocacy, he demonstrates his strength in these matters in a particular way. The mahant highlights that his adolescent leadership capabilities are most evident in his ability to organize and galvanize others to act on issues that he considers of religious importance. The critical moments that Digvijaynāth describes as significant incidents in his own life story are moments when he envisions Hindu culture and the religion under attack by modernization or other communities. He writes an account which shows him selflessly, almost heroically, standing against much more powerful men in defense of Hinduism. This leads us to the second, interconnected, aspect of Digvijaynāth’s narrative. The mahant presents a chronicle of his past that depicts his fearless defense of Hinduism, even in adolescence, as placing him at risk in the world and often leading to his detention by authorities. While Gambhīrnāth’s grace may have helped him avoid more lasting difficulties associated with his arrests, Digvijaynāth also demonstrates in these accounts that he is unconcerned with his own well-being; it is the protection of Hindu dharma that holds prominence in his life. The mahant describes himself in his telling of his life as a person who has always been ready and willing to sacrifice himself for the Hindu religion. The third aspect, which is inextricable from the stories that Digvijaynāth tells of his past activism against the perceived injustices that he encounters, is the preeminent role that he gives to Yogī Gambhīrnāth within these accounts. While it is hardly surprising that Digvijaynāth would praise Bābā Gambhīrnāth in the introduction to the Yogī’s hagiography, the way in which he attaches his own success in political Hinduism to the mahāsiddha is revealing. Digvijaynāth repeatedly asserts that it is because of the Yogī’s grace that he has been able to accomplish what he has, fighting opponents more powerful than he, with limited negative consequences. Through

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these narratives of his youth, Digvijaynāth links his own theopolitical authority with Gambhīrnāth’s spiritual thaumaturgical powers. It is the Ādarś Yogī himself, the unparalleled Bābā Gambhīrnāth of Gorakhpur’s Gorakhnāth maṭh, who is credited with blessing Digvijaynāth’s youthful exploits and protecting him against his enemies who may wish to harm him (such as Christian administrators). By attributing his success to Yogī Gambhīrnāth’s grace, Digvijaynāth not only secures his position as religious leader of the temple complex but also imbues his own legend with a sense of otherworldly power. In another section of Digvijaynāth’s introduction, Yogīrāj Kī Karuṇā Meṃ Yog Vibhūtiyoṃ Kā Paricay or “An Introduction to Yogīrāj’s Yogic Powers of Compassion”, Digvijaynāth recounts three incidents in which he writes that he both bore witness to Gambhīrnāth’s supernatural abilities and was also a recipient of his guru’s otherworldly aid. Two of these stories, remarkably, narrate instances when Yogī Gambhīrnāth is said to have saved Digvijaynāth’s life, emphasizing not only the mahant’s conviction in siddhis but also the extent to which Gambhīrnāth’s thaumaturgical powers are employed to authorize Digvijaynāth’s role in the temple. In the first account the mahant describes that once when he was struck with a high fever, Gambhīrnāth restored his health by simply pouring water into his mouth. Digvijaynāth writes: One time, when I must have been around eight or nine years old, I came down with very high fever. Bābā jī told the sādhus to come and check on my fever. One sādhu put his hand on my body and and realized that I my fever had drastically increased. He sent word to Bābā jī about the intensity of the fever and Bābā jī requested that water to be given to him in a small basin. After simply waving his hand above it, he poured it into my mouth. It was only after this that my terrible fever disappeared to only god knows where and I regained my health. (Ibid., jha)

Digvijaynāth states that when, later, he develops smallpox, it is once again Bābā Gambhīrnāth’s siddhis that save him. The illness progressed and finally I heard that I had died. When Yogī Gambhīrnāth was given the news of my death, he had my lifeless body placed under his cot. In the early morning, the sādhus went and saw me looking alert and after this period I slowly regained my health. On this topic they clearly remember that after my death some supernatural beings were going to take me and they, talking amongst themselves, said, “Now

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we cannot take him, we should give him back.” Then I was put back and I am alive to this day. It is my personal experience that Bābā jī gave me another life. I do not have even the least bit of doubt about this. (Ibid., na)

Finally, the third episode that Digvijaynāth recalls from his childhood is another narrative asserting Bābā Gambhīrnāth’s miraculous ability to the restore the dead to life. This story – similar to the narrative Banarjī tells in Gambhīrnāth’s hagiography and possibly a reference to that very same incident 27 – involves two brothers, one of whom becomes very ill. Digvijaynāth states that one brother appeals to Gambhīrnāth for his supernatural help. Compelled by his sympathetic and kind nature, Gambhīrnāth restores the person to life, delighting the family. While this story does not describe Digvijaynāth’s personal experience, as the other two accounts had, it narrates an experience that Digvijaynāth states that he witnessed firsthand. Digvijaynāth writes: Those people took Bābā jī to the corpse inside the house. Arriving there, Bābā jī waved his hand above the corpse. And I saw, with my very own eyes, that at that exact moment life began to stir within that dead body. In my presence a deceased person had obtained another life through his grace. (Ibid., na-ṭa)

The events Digvijaynāth reports convey the mahant’s desire to assert both his unmitigated confidence in Bābā Gambhīrnāth’s siddhis and to harness popular belief in these powers to support his own authority. They locate Digvijaynāth not only as a modern credible witness to the power associated with the Gorakhpur sampradāya and Gorakhnāth temple complex, but also assert that his very life is, in fact, a testament to the yogic powers of his predecessor. The stories suggest that had not been for the Gambhīrnāth’s will, Mahant Digvijaynāth would not only not have been in a position of such political power but that he would not even be alive. Gambhīrnāth is the political mahant’s sacred link with the divine power. His stories imply that Digvijaynāth’s life and leadership are a direct consequence of the mahāsiddha’s grace. When Digvijaynāth places Gambīrnāth’s siddhis, literally, at the heart of his own life narrative, he reminds readers about the centuries of supernatural power for which the Nāth Yogīs have been known. At the same time, Digvijaynāth’s narratives also highlight a shift in the manner in which the mahant desires to be seen as a leader and as a 27 See the story of Akkū in note 22.

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holder of this religious power. While Digvijaynāth maintains and glorifies Gambhīrnāth’s siddhis, he also simultaneously distances himself from them. Although Digvijaynāth bases his religious authority on his relationship with Bābā Gambhīrnāth and his perceived consecration by the Yogī, he does not consider himself to be capable of the same power or even to understand how Gambhīrnāth managed such supernatural acts. At the end of the section in which Digvijaynāth describes the otherworldly occurrences that he has either witnessed or participated in, he states that “unkī yogavibhūtiyoṃ ko samajh sakana mere liye āj bhī sambhav nahīṃ hai” (Even today it is not possible for me to understand his supernatural yogic powers) (1959, ṭa). While one might consider this statement to be the humility that a holy man ascribes to himself during his life, as we have seen, Digvijaynāth is hardly modest when it comes to writing about his political aptitude in mobilizing others for the defense of Hindu dharma. This is a profound shift for the head of a regional community that had traditionally not been known for temporal power, but for supernatural abilities. Recall that early modern and early colonial Gorakhpur was situated far from the centers of political power and was primarily patronized by local people for the yogic siddhis of its monastics. However, with a growing nationalist movement that centered the Hindi heartland in discussions about India’s political future, Digvijaynāth negotiated for himself a different kind of ascetic identity. An astute and charismatic politician, he fully recognized the cultural importance of siddhis and renegotiated the idea of Nāth powers in a modern theopolitical world.

3 A Yogī for the age While Digvijaynāth presents himself in Ādarś Yogī, as being a selfless protector of Hindu culture and religion from a very young age, it was not until the 1930s that Digvijaynāth was initiated into the Nāth sampradāya and became heavily involved in Hindu nationalist politics. Although he had been a member of the Congress Party in the early years of his life,28 it seems that he was too busy with the political workings of the temple complex, the many lawsuits for its leadership,29 and his becoming mahant 28 See Mahant Digvijaynāth, Yug Puruṣ Mahant Digvijaynāth Ne Kahā… (n.d., 37). 29 From 1896, after the death of Mahant Balabhandranāth, until the 1930s, the leadership of the Gorakhnāth maṭh went through a particularly fraught time. While Yogī Sundarnāth was the official mahant of the temple complex from 1896 until his death in 1924, two separate cases were brought against him in the courts in an attempt to remove him as leader of the Gorakhpur community. While neither was ultimately successful, Digvijaynāth (then Nanhū Siṃgh) was

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of the maṭh, to become actively involved in state and national politics for a signif icant period of time. However, by 1939 – four years after his ascension to the Gorakhnāth maṭh’s gaddī – he is said to have seen then Hindū Mahāsabhā president, Vināyak Dāmodar (Vīr) Sārvarkar 30 give a speech in Calcutta,31 and was inspired to join the right-wing Hindu political organization.32 While he likely leaned toward Hindu nationalism even as a member of Congress, it seems that it was Sāvarkar’s inclusion in the organization, along with the timing, that prompted him to become an active member of the Mahāsabhā. Shortly after joining the Mahāsabhā, Digvijaynāth’s political prominence began to grow as he was named minister of the organization’s Agra branch (Siṃgh n.d., 170). During this time, he gave impassioned speeches against Congress policies at Mahāsabhā rallies and in 1944, he arranged for the annual Hindū Mahāsabhā meeting to take place in Gorakhpur (ibid., 170-71). By 1947, the mahant’s commitment to building a Hindu nation and upholding the tenets put forth by the Hindū Mahāsabhā had garnered him substantial political clout and he obtained the influential position of President of the United Provinces branch of this organization.33 Mahant Digvijaynāth’s Hindu nationalist ideologies were repeatedly illustrated in the policies that he attempted to enact and the demonstrations in which he participated. One such policy that he, along with others from Hindū Mahāsabhā suborganization, The Council on Action, attempted to legislate highlights the manner in which the mahant propagated Hindu chauvinist politics. In 1947, the Council on Action was sent to meet with the United Provinces’ Education Minister, Dr. Sampūrṇānand, to discuss a list of demands that the group wished to have implemented in soon-to-be independent India. These demands, a set of ten spectacularly anti-Muslim rules and regulations, blatantly discriminated against Indian Muslims, recommending that they should not be allowed to participate in key national sectors. Digvijaynāth and others proposed that among other things “the number of Hindus and highly involved in the second case, which took place in 1919 and implicated Siṃgh’s guru Yogī Brahmanāth. After Brahmanāth lost this case in the Allahabad High Court, he left Gorakhpur and Nanhū Siṃgh went to live in a Kṣatriya dormitory (Digvijaynāth 1959, cha-ja). 30 According to William Gould, Sāvarkar became president of the Hindū Mahāsabhā in 1937 (2004, 162). 31 See Siṃgh, (n.d., 169). This date varies in different publications. 32 According to Christophe Jaffrelot, the Hindū Mahāsabhā had “effectively launched as an ideological pressure group within the Congress Party in 1922, largely as a reaction to the Hindu-Muslim riots that broke out in the wake of the Khilafat Movement” (2011, 61). 33 See All India Hindū Mahāsabhā Papers File No. P-108 (I), 11.

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Muslims in the police Department be immediately brought in proportion to the numerical strength in the population of the Province by reducing the number of Muslims and then by the fresh recruitment of Hindus”, “[t] hat the Armed Police and the Home Guard should be manned exclusively by Hindus”, and “[t]hat all the key posts in the services of the Government be given to Hindus by removing the Muslim occupants of these posts’ among others” (All India Hindū Mahāsabhā Papers File No. P-108 (I), 27). When Sampūrṇānand and the United Provinces government rejected these demands, the Mahāsabhā began a “Direct Action” movement in order to “vindicate the honor of the Hindus”. This movement and the ensuing protests led to the arrest of Digvijaynāth, who was leading demonstrations against the government (ibid., 35-36). Naturally, Mahant Digvijaynāth’s political beliefs and anti-Muslim views did not stop at the threshold of the maṭh. His involvement in the Hindū Mahāsabhā and his viewpoints on Hindu nationalism and Hindutva were also an integral part of who he was as a leader of the Gorakhnāth temple complex, a fact most obviously evidenced in Yug Puruṣ Mahant Digvijaynāth Ne Kahā… (A Man for the Age, Mahant Digvijaynath Said…), a small compilation of beliefs that Digvijaynāth expressed concerning the world (the booklet, undated, was printed by the Gorakhnāth temple complex). Over some fifty pages, this book moves through topics ranging from Mahant Digvijaynāth’s views on issues relating to the sacrality of India’s geography, the importance of religion, and the formation of a Hindu national identity, to the propagation of Hindutva, to the education of India’s youth, and finally, to specific issues concerning Kashmir, the Congress Party, and matters pertaining to migrant Hindu citizens. With chapters such as “Rāṣṭra Ek Sāṃskṛtik Ikāī Hai” (“The Nation is a Cultural Unit”, at 3), “Hindurāṣṭra: Svarūp Evaṃ Sīmāeṃ” (“The Hindu Nation: Its True Form and Borders”, at 6), “Hindutva Kā Virodh Rāṣṭra Ke Prati Viśvāsaghāt”(“Opposition to Hindutva is Treachery Toward the Nation”, at 12), “Sanskṛit Sabhī Bhāṣāoṃ kā Mūl Srot Hai” (“Sanskrit is the Original Source of All Languages”, at 31), “Muslim Tuṣṭikaraṇ Rāṣṭra Virodhī” (“Muslim Appeasement is Opposed to the Nation”, at 39), and “Kāṃgresī Śāsan Kamyūnisṭoṃ Se Bhī Ādhik Hindū Virodhī” (“Congress Rule is Opposed to Hinduism Even More Than Communism”, at 49), this text presents a vision of Nāth leadership that is previously unprecedented in Gorakhpur and reflects social and political issues specific to modernity, partition, and the novel Indian nation-state. Crucially, while this book has been printed without a publication date, according to the preface, it was f irst produced in this form by Mahant Avaidyanāth and Yogī Ādityanāth on the anniversary of Digvijaynāth’s

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centenial birthday.34 This later publication of the text illustrates that it was not only Digvijaynāth who envisioned his asctecism as militant and political, but his successors also prioritize these aspects when glorifying the mahant’s past. In striking contrast to the manner in which Digvijaynāth’s predecessor Bābā Gambhīrnāth is presented in hagiographical temple literature, Yug Puruṣ Mahant Digvijaynāth Ne Kahā constructs a different view of religiosity, one that promulgates rigidly Hindu and ardently political teachings for his community. Digvijaynāth’s writings and sayings envision the mahant’s role in the world as necessarily martial and in opposition with Muslim communities and “foreign” rule. This collection of teachings presents a vastly different type of sacrality for the community. The otherworldly power that had been highlighted in earlier writings about and by Digvijaynāth is now abandoned, and his new focus is active Hindutva politics. It is clear that Digvijaynāth understands his own role as a sādhu, not as a means of transcendence of the world, but as a defender of the Hindu religion and its people. Digvijaynāth addresses this specific concern in “Sādhu Hokar Bhī Maine Sakriya Rājnīti Meṃ Bhāg Kyoṃ Liyā?” or “Why I Joined Active Politics Even After Becoming A Sādhu?” He states: I began my life as a sādhu when I was young. In 1920, through the Congress Party, I was introduced and joined the non-cooperation movement and [subsequently] was imprisoned for a serious allegation in the incident at Chauri Chaura. Preparations were made for me to be hanged. I remained working for the Indian National Congress until 1931. However, when I saw that Congress had accepted the Communal Award and, as a due consequence of the policy of Muslim appeasement, the Muslim League was growing more powerful each and every day and they began to challenge India’s unity and integrity, I became disenchanted with the policies of Congress. I felt that I would not be able to protect the interests of the Hindus until I became a member of the Hindū Mahāsabhā. Although at the time of making this decision, I did not have an ounce of pleasure, there had been no other path for me. I felt that if Hindu society were not saved from destruction, then it would be impossible to protect the Hindu religion even in this sacred land of the Hindus. This was the main reason that Vidyāraṇya was compelled to establish the great Hindu empire of Vijayanagara. At that time too in India, having ended Muslim rule, he 34 This would put its first publication somewer in mid- to late 1995. Further study is necessary to determine if these sayings of Digvijaynāth were previously produced in print in a different form, and how they came to be compiled in this way.

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was forced to join active politics in the interest of establishing a Hindu kingship. Having obtained encouragement from these great powers, I also have decided to take an active role in politics. (Ibid., 37)

Significant for a variety of reasons, this chapter is the only part of the book which speaks directly to the leader’s decision to enter politics. While the other passages, as evidenced in their names, give the mahant’s opinion on political issues, none provides biographical information by the mahant or shows how the Yogī comprehends his own role in the world. Digvijaynāth begins this narration not with his religious involvement, but traces his story back to his pre-monastic life, although he himself doesn’t state that it was not until the mid-1930s that he took initiation in the sampradāya. The mahant presents himself, as he did in the introduction to Ādarś-Yogī, as a person who is naturally inclined towards politics and a staunch defender of Hindu dharma. He compares his own life’s work with that of Vidyāraṇya, a fourteenth-century monastic associated with the establishing the Hindu kingdom of Vijayanagara (Prasad 2007, 65), conceiving himself as a link in a chain that not only is connected with Gambhīrnāth and the Nāth sampradāya but also with a larger fraternity of Hindu warrior ascetics. Digvijaynāth imagines himself as a modern ascetic who fights, like Vidyāraṇya is believed to have done, against Islamic incursions and is instrumental in establishing a Hindu polity. In forming this analogy, the mahant also implies that Gorakhpur and the Gorakhnāth maṭh is the twentieth-century equivalent of Vijayanagara. He envisions Gorakhpur as a modern Hindu bulwark against Islam. This association is particularly ironic considering the Gorakhpur Nāth Yogīs’ land endowment by a Muslim nawāb of Awadh in the late eighteenth century. Regardless, the mid-twentiethcentury mahant, through his writings and words, actively constructs a new image for the temple and a new era of power for the Yogī leaders of this region that continues to expand today.

Conclusion In the introduction to Ādarś-Yogī, Digvijaynāth attributes the growth of the Gorakhpur temple as a transregional modern religious center to his guru Bābā Gambhīrnāth, the news of whose supernatural yogic powers spread throughout India making the region a popular pilgrimage spot (n.d., ga). While it may be true that Bābā Gambhīrnāth’s fame as a mahāsiddha expanded the regional importance of the temple in modern India, the

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articulation of this power did not shift until Mahant Digvijaynāth began to assert his own difference from his Nāth predecessors at Gorakhpur. By rejecting the idea of his own siddhis and positioning himself as a Hindu political leader, Digvijaynāth introduces himself as a modern ascetic leader. The image that he presents of himself as a political Yogī who employs modern means, like democracy, to protect Hinduism against a long and ongoing battle with supposed Islamic intruders is completely novel to the Gorakhpur Nāth sampradāya. Yet, any dismissal of supernatural powers – the siddhis with which many in the Nāth sampradāya have long been associated and that Digvijaynāth insists his own param-guru Gambhīrnāth did possess – is hardly clear-cut. While Digvijaynāth asserts a break in his leadership by claiming that he does not have or even want yogic achievement, his identity and that of the sampradāya is still intricately connected with the Nāth Yogī’s tradition of siddhis. He simply renegotiates the presentation of these powers to the public to make them more palatable within a modern world. They are no longer the siddhis of divination, healing, or immortality – however much they may still have these connotations for others – but rather they are the ability to influence government through political involvement.

Bibliography Government records Nehru Memorial Library (NML), New Delhi. All India Hindū Mahāsabhā Papers.

Primary sources Avaidyanāth, Mahant. n.d. “Prakāśakīya.” In Gorakh-Darśan: “Śrī Akṣhay Kumār Banarjī Kṛt ‘Philāsaphī Āph Gorakhnāth’kā Hindī Rupāntar.” Edited by Bhavati Prasād Siṃgh. Trans. Śam Bihārā Svarūp. Gorakhpur: Mahant Avaidyanāth Digvijaynāth Nyās, Gorakhpur Mandir. Avaidyanāth, Mahant. 1978. “Nivedan.” In Yog-Rahasya. Gorakhpur: Śrī Mahant Digvijaynāth Trust, Gorakhpur Mandir. Banerjea, Akshaya Kumar. 1954. Yogiraj Gambhirnath. Gorakhpur: Gorakhnath Temple. Banerjea, Akshaya Kumar. 1964. The Nath-Yogi Sampraday and The Gorakhnath Temple. Gorakhpur: Gorakhnath Temple.

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Banerjea, Akshaya Kumar. 1967. Discourses on Hindu Spiritual culture. New Delhi: S. Chand. Banerjea, Akshaya Kumar. 1999 [1961]. Philosophy of Gorakhnath: With GorakshaVacana-Sangraha. Reprint. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidas. Digvijaynāth, Mahant. n.d. Yug Puruṣ Mahant Digvijaynāth Ne Kahā. Edited by Yogī Adityanāth. Gorakhpur: Gorakhnāth Mandir. Digvijaynāth, Mahant. n.d. “Bhūmikā.” In Ādarś-Yogī. Gorakhpur: Digvijaynath Trust Gorakhnath Mandir. Martin, Robert Montgomery. 1838. The History, Antiquities, Topography, and the Statistic of Eastern India: Vol. 2, Bhagulpoor, Goruckpoor, and Dinajepoor: In Relation to their Geology, Mineralogy, Botany, Agriculture, Commerce, Manufacturers, Fine Arts, Population, Religion, Education, Statistics, etc. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Santinath, Nathyogi. 1989 [n.d.]. Experiences of a Truth-Seeker. Edited and translated by Askhaya Kumar Banerjea. Reprint. Gorakhpur: Gorakhnath Temple. Siṃgh, Someśvar. n.d. “Mahant Digvijaynāth-Vyaktitva Evam Kṛtitva.” In Mahant Digvijaynāth Smṛti-Granth. Gorakhpur: Gorakhnath Mandir. Tod, James. 1920 [1832]. Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan. Reprint. London: Oxford University Press. Vandyopādyāy. Akṣay Kumār. 1954. Ādarś-Yogī. Translated by Adyāpak Śrī Raghunāth Śukla. Gorakhpur: Digvijaynāth Trust, Gorakhnāth Mandir. Vandyopādyāy. Akṣay Kumār. 1925. Gambhīrnāth-Prasang. Pheni High School: Sri Mahendra Candra Mukhopadhyay. Vandyopādyāy. Akṣay Kumār. 1978 [n.d.]. Yog-Rahasya. Reprint, Gorakhpur: Śrī Mahant Digvijaynāth Trust, Gorakṣnāth Mandir. Vināyak, Śrībālakrāmjī. 1935. Kalyāṇ: Yogāṇk 1-2. Gorakhpur: Gītā Pres.

Secondary sources Amin, Shahid. 1984. Sugarcane and Sugar in Gorakhpur: An Inquiry into Peasant Production for Capitalist Enterprise in Colonial India. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Bayley, C. A. 2000. Empire and Information: Intelligence Gathering and Social Communication in India, 1780-1870. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bhargava, Meena. 1999. State, Society, and Ecology: Gorakhpur in Transition 1750-1830. Delhi: Manohar Publishers. Bouillier, Veronique. 2018. “Aurangzeb and the Nāth Yogīs.” Journal of The Royal Asiatic Society 28 (3): 525-35. Bouillier, Veronique. 1991. “The King and His Yogī: Prithvi Nārȳaṇ Śāh, Bhagavantanāth, and Unification of Nepal in the Eighteenth Century” In Gender, Caste, and Power in South Asia. Ed. John P. Neelsen. Delhi: Manohar.

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Briggs, George Weston. 2009. Gorakhnāth and the Kānphaṭa Yogīs. [1938.] Reprint Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Clementin-Ojha, Catherine. 2009. “The Royal Patronage of the Roving Ascetics of Mid-Nineteenth-Century Rajputana.” In Patronage and Popularisation, Pilgrimage and Procession: Channels of Transcultural Translation and Transmission in Early Modern South Asia, edited by Heidi R. M. Pauwels, 149-66. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Chaturvedi, Shashank, David N. Gellner, and Sanjay Kumar Pandey. 2019. “Politics of Gorakhpur since the 1920s: The Making of a Safe ‘Hindu’ Constituency.” Contemporary South Asia. 27 (1): 40-57. Diamond, Debra. 2000. “The Politics and Aesthetics of Citation: Nath Painting in Jodhpur, 1803-1843.” PhD dissertation. Columbia University. Diamond, Debra. 2008. Garden and Cosmos: The Royal Paintings of Jodhpur. Washington D.C.: Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian. Digby, Simon. 1970. “Encounters with Jogīs in Indian Sūfī Hagiography.” Paper presented at the Seminar on Aspects of Religion in South Asia, School of Oriental and African Studies University of London, January 27. Gold, Daniel. 1995. “The Instability of the King: Magical Insanity and the Yogi’s Power in the Politics of Jodhpur 1803-1843.” In Bhakti Religion in North India, edited by David Lorenzen. Albany: State University of New York Press. pp. 120-132. Goswamy, B. N., and J. S. Grewal. 1967. The Mughals and the Jogis of Jakhbar. Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study. Gould, William. 2004. Hindu Nationalism and the Language of Politics in Late Colonial India Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jaffrelot, Christophe. 2011. Religion, Caste, and Politics in India. New York: Columbia University Press. Kaviraj, Sudipta. 2010. The Imaginary Institution of India: Politics and Ideas. New York: Columbia University. Marrewa-Karwoski, Christine. “The Erased ‘Muslim’ Texts of the Nath Sampradāy” The Wire. 23 October 2018. Micheal, Bernardo A. 2012. Statemaking and Territory in South Asia: Lessons from the Anglo-Gorakha War (1814-16). London: Anthem Press. Parikh, Rachel. 2015. “Yoga under the Mughals: From Practice to Paintings.” South Asian Studies. 31 (2): 215-36. Pinch. William. 2012. “Nāth Yogīs, Akbar, and the ‘Bālnāth Ṭillā’.” In Yoga in Practice, edited by David Gordon White. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. pp. 273-288. Pravina, Yogesa. 1989. Lucknow Monuments. Lucknow: Pnar Publications. Prasad, Leela. 2007. Poetics of Conduct: Oral Narrative and Moral Being in South Asia. New York: Columbia University Press.

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About the author Christine Marrewa-Karwoski is currently a Postdoctoral Fellow at Columbia University in New York City. Dr. Marrewa-Karwoski received her PhD from Columbia University’s Department of Middle Eastern, South Asian, and African Studies and holds two Master’s degrees in Religious Studies (Columbia University) and Asian Languages and Literatures (University of Washington). [email protected]

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The Search for the Jugi Caste in Pre-Colonial Bengal1 Lubomír Ondračka Abstracts Colonial records reveal that the Jugis formed a numerous endogamous caste in the eastern parts of undivided Bengal. Even today, this Bengalispeaking community, now known as the Nāths, is present in southern Assam, Tripura, and northern Bangladesh. Scholars believe that the Jugi caste has been present in Bengal for many centuries, probably since the Pāla dynasty. However, textual sources (both in Sanskrit and Bengali) produced in medieval Bengal do not refer to this caste anywhere. I argue that the Jugis came to Bengal from somewhere in the west of India during the seventeenth century, amid economic development in the easternmost part of the Mughal Empire that fueled demand for weavers, the main occupation of the Jugis in Bengal until the nineteenth century. Keywords: householder Nāths, Jugi caste, medieval Bengal, Bengali caste system

At first sight, the very existence of a Hindu caste called Jugi may be surprising. The term jugi is a vernacular form of the Sanskrit word yogī,2 and as 1 I am grateful to Thibaut d’Huber for reading and commenting on a draft of this paper and to Nicholas Orsillo, who has not only corrected my English but also helped me clarify several ambiguous formulations. The research for this study was carried out as part of the Hinduism in Bengal project funded by the Czech Science Foundation, no. 18-01558S. 2 When referring to this caste, the term is written variously in different sources: jugi/ī, jogi/ī, yugi/ī, or yogi/ī. The most common form in Bengali texts is jugi, which was also adopted by colonial administrators and can thus be regarded as the standard form denoting this caste until the beginning of the twentieth century, when it began to be replaced by the current name of this caste (Nāths). Because in this article I deal with the history of this caste before the name change, I use the original term Jugi, which some of today’s Nāths may perceive as offensive if used for the present situation.

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_ch05

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every student of Indian religious history knows, yogīs are supposed to be celibate ascetics who do not lead a regular family life; thus, they do not form a caste. Indeed, classical Sanskrit literature of various genres offers a clear-cut distinction between a married householder (gr̥ hastha) on one hand and an ascetic renouncer (saṃnyāsī, yogī, sādhu, etc.) on the other.3 According to Patañjali, the greatest authority on yoga in ancient India, an ascetic life, including strict celibacy, is a prerequisite for yoga practice. This traditional view of a yogī was reinforced in the twentieth century, when modern Indian yoga gurus highlighted the importance of ascetic values for success in the practice of yoga. In fact, they even gained their authority from the fact that they – contrary to their non-celibate students – fulfilled the classical ideal of an ascetic yogī. Thus, today even Westerners know that a genuine yogī should be an ascetic. How, then, can a caste of Yogīs exist? The answer lies in the nature of the sources that present the householder and the ascetic as opposites. These Sanskrit texts are normative works prescribing the ideal form of society and religious life. Reality, however, has always – quite naturally – differed from the prescribed norms. The ideal categories of the householder and the ascetic are thus two opposing poles of a spectrum that contains a diversity of social models (the non-celibate ascetic, the married ascetic, the celibate married householder, etc.). Textual scholars usually failed to notice this heterogeneity, 4 and thus it was first the colonial administrators and then, about one hundred years later, Western anthropologists who described the presence of non-celibate and even married ascetics in various ascetic traditions5 and who collected data on communities of ascetic householders that formed regular endogamous castes.6 The Jugi caste in Bengal belongs to one of these complex traditions that includes a full range of communities, from initiated strict ascetics on one side to non-celibate common householders on the other. This tradition is most 3 The literature on Indian asceticism is abundant; many relevant works are quoted in Olson’s (2015) relatively recent monograph on this subject. For a brief but insightful survey, see Clark (2006, 3-22). 4 It is telling that the entry on Hindu ascetic traditions in the modern and acclaimed Brill Encyclopedia of Hinduism (Lamb 2011) does not mention the category of non-celibate ascetics at all. 5 See, e.g., Burghart (1983, 643), a study that offers an important theoretical discussion on the householder and ascetic categories; see also Clark (2006, 13-20); or Hausner (2007, 40-41). 6 The first comprehensive study on a community of ascetic householders was published by Véronique Bouillier in 1979. She chose a playful title for her book, Naître renonçant, pointing to the paradox that while renouncers normatively enter the ascetic lineage through initiation, household ascetics are born into their caste.

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commonly known as the Nāths today, although its segments were named variously in different regions and at different times.7 The origin and early history of the Nāths are still largely unclear,8 even though many, often insightful, studies about them have been published.9 At this moment, we have a much better understanding of ascetic Nāths than their householder counterparts, which is somewhat paradoxical, because the householders are much more numerous than the renouncers. Although castes of the Nāths/ Jogīs are present across nearly the entire Indian subcontinent, thus far they have been thoroughly studied only in Rajasthan.10 Due to this insufficient knowledge about householder Nāths, scholars are unable to answer even such a fundamental question as “How did castes of married yogis come to exist?” (Gold 1992, 47). Several theories have been proposed,11 but none is fully satisfying or has been unanimously accepted. Probably the most common explanation of the origin of married Yogīs is that they are “fallen ascetics”, that is, ascetics who were unable to maintain strict celibacy and began to live a family life. This theory, though, is not very convincing. First, it conspicuously reflects the value system of the ascetic Yogīs, who use it to prove their superiority over the non-celibate householders. Second, and more importantly, the origin of the Nāths is found in Kulamārga (Sanderson 2013, 79-80), a clearly non-celibate Tantric tradition with elaborate sexual rituals. If we further take into account that the early haṭha yogic texts proclaim that their practice is also open to householders, then the notion that at first there were only ascetic Yogīs and that Yogī castes formed only later from fallen ascetics does not sound very plausible. Perhaps it is not appropriate to project a hierarchy of values promoted today by a prominent group of ascetics into the historical development 7 Besides the name Nāth(a)s, the ascetic lineage (sampradāya, panth) has been known as Nāth(a)panthīs, Nāth(a)yogīs, Gorakhnāthīs or Gorakhnāthī Yogīs, Kānphaṭā Yogīs, etc., or simply Jogīs/Jugīs; householder castes are usually called Nāths or again Jogīs/Jugīs. The most common appellation of this tradition in the secondary literature is Nāth(a) Siddhas, but I never came across this term in primary sources or anthropological data, so I suspect that it is a scholarly invention (cf. also Mallinson 2011, 411a). 8 A modern and in-depth monograph devoted to this tradition is a desideratum; the most comprehensive study on the Nāths published so far (Mallik 1950, written in Bengali) is now largely outdated. Useful outlines are Bouillier (2011) and Mallinson (2011). 9 Véronique Bouillier has written an excellent survey of current research on the Nāths (2013). Several other outstanding studies have been published recently (particularly Horstmann, 2014; and Mallinson 2019). 10 For a list of these studies, see Bouillier (2013, 164). 11 For a list and brief discussion, see Bouillier (2013, 164); and Napier (2013, 10).

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of the tradition. It is easily possible, as James Mallinson has suggested (2011, 426b), that “the householder Nāths are in fact heirs of the oldest Nāth traditions”. In any case, we need more studies – historical, textual, and anthropological – to better understand the relationship between ascetic and householder Nāths. There are apparently various ways these two groups could be related to each other (Bouillier 2017, 301-19), but the most puzzling situation is in regions where the ascetic order is practically or even entirely missing but where householder Nāths have a strong presence. One such place is Bengal, or, more precisely, the eastern part of undivided Bengal. Therefore, let us explore what we can learn from studying the history of the Jugi caste in this area. Before I analyze the available evidence on Bengali Jugis, I would like to address the current state of research on this caste. Until now, scholars have studied this tradition almost exclusively in terms of literary history. In pre-modern Bengali literature, there are two narrative cycles, adapted by various authors, that constitute a specific genre which literary historians have labeled “Nāth literature”. The first cycle recounts Gorakhnāth’s rescue of his teacher, Mīnanāth, from the kingdom of women; the second describes the adventures of Gopīcandra, a son of the queen and great yoginī Maẏanāmatī. Although particularly Bengali scholars have produced dozens of important studies on Nāth literary works,12 their relevance to the history of the Jugi caste, or even the Bengali Nāth tradition in general, is very limited because these works are local literary adaptations of popular pan-Indian stories and not historical records. Some authors believe that the story of Gopīcandra reflects the actual events and historical figures of the Candra dynasty, which ruled southeastern Bengal in the tenth and eleventh centuries, but this is clearly impossible.13 The history of the Jugi caste in Bengal, therefore, remains largely unknown, even though members of the Nāth community have produced a number of books and booklets on this topic over approximately the past one hundred years. However, with a few exceptions, these publications 12 Nāth literature is discussed in standard histories of Bengali literature written in both Bengali (Bandyopādhyāẏ 1993, 353-425; Sen 1991, 189-221; Śarīph 2014, 465-83) and English (Sen 1992, 42-49; Zbavitel 1976, 189-91) as well as in several monographs (Mukhopādhyāẏ 1994; Kar 2012). Besides these literary studies, Shashibhusan Dasgupta’s analysis of Nāth literature in the context of Bengali religious history is still very useful (1962, 191-255, 367-398). 13 Relatively rich epigraphical evidence allows scholars to reconstruct the dynastic history of the Candras. No character from this story (Gopīcandra; his mother, Maẏanāmatī; or her husband, Māṇikacandra) appears in any historical record (Islam 2018, 610-41), so “there is no reason to believe that these stories of the ballads are based on facts” (ibid., 630).

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were written by enthusiastic authors who lacked scholarly backgrounds and sought to prove the ancient and glorious history of the Jugi caste and its Brahminical origin in particular (see Bordeaux in this volume). Perhaps the most important exception, though, is Narenda Candra Nāth’s Bengali monograph New Light on the History of the Nāth Tradition (1995). The author was a well-educated Sanskrit scholar who drew from diverse sources (Sanskrit and Bengali texts, epigraphical records, archaeological findings, Persian chronicles, etc.) to write this study. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm and lack of critical reflection prevented him from producing a truly reliable, scholarly work. He shares with other Nāth authors a typical fault, namely the inclination to mechanically and uncritically search for the word nātha in Sanskrit literature when constructing the early history of the Nāth tradition. According to these authors, any occurrence of this word refers to the Nāths and thus proves the existence of this tradition in the given text. Applying such a method naturally leads to absurd results.14

1 The Jugi caste in pre-Mughal Bengal The caste system in Bengal formed gradually over several centuries.15 It began to take on a more systematic form during the twelfth century, when the new Hindu dynasties of the Senas and Varmans, who replaced the previous Buddhist Pāla and Candra rulers, consolidated their power and started to promote Brahminical values and norms that dictated, among other things, how society should be structured. The results of applying Brahminical ideas to Bengali society are relatively well documented in various Sanskrit and Bengali sources produced between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries. Surprisingly, there are no clear references to the presence of the Jugi caste in Bengal in texts from this period. 14 An illustrative example of this mechanical search is present in a modern compendium on the Nāths (Debnāth 2013, 26). The author says that “we get the first written description of the Nāth tradition in the Vālmīki’s Rāmāyaṇa”, and as a evidence he quotes a verse from this text that, however, not only says nothing about the Nāths, but in fact speaks about those “who have a lord, master” (nāthavat), that is, those who are “dependent, subject” (brāhmaṇā bhuñjate nityaṃ nāthavantaś ca bhuñjate, 1.13.8ab; “Brahmans and their dependents were fed continually”, Goldman 1984, 150). 15 The best recent outline of this process was written by Ryosuke Furui (2018). However, the published version of his study was severely distorted by the interventions made by the book’s editors, who added extensive passages of their own without the author’s knowledge and consent. Therefore, I recommend consulting the original version of the text, which is available on the author’s academia.edu page (www.academia.edu/37740094/Social_Life_Issues_of_Varṇa-Jāti_System).

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Probably the earliest extensive list of castes in Bengal is recorded in the Br̥ haddharmapurāṇa,16 where the existence of various castes ( jāti) is explained as a result of the mixture of four traditional social classes (varṇa).17 The text describes forty non-Brahminical castes, which are sorted into three hierarchical groups,18 but the Jugi caste is not mentioned. It is important to note that the caste system presented in the Br̥ haddharmapurāṇa is basically identical to the one in place in today’s Bengal (Majumdar 1971, 423; Furui 2018, 63); hence, it has remained stable over several centuries. Although dating and locating purāṇic texts is notoriously difficult, R. C. Hazra has argued (1979, 552-69) that this work was composed in Bengal in the latter half of the thirteenth century. Since even modern authors accept this date,19 we can conclude that the Jugi caste was most likely not present in Bengal at the end of the thirteenth century. Another important source about the history of the caste system in Bengal is the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa, which may or may not include a reference to the Jugi caste. Scholars agree that the version of the text known to us was also produced in Bengal,20 but later than the Br̥ haddharmapurāṇa. How much later though is a matter of debate; the most probable date seems to be sometime in the fifteenth or sixteenth century.21 Although the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa offers a different mythological explanation for the creation of the complex caste system, it shares several features with the Br̥ haddharmapurāṇa (Ray 1994, 196-98): the concept that the mixture of 16 There are earlier sources, particularly epigraphical ones, that list a number of castes in Bengal (e.g., the tenth-century Paścimbhāg plate of Śrīcandra; see Sircar 1973, 19-40; Furui 2018, 57-58), but their intention was not to enumerate all castes of that period. 17 This process, the mixing of classes (varṇasaṅkara), was a traditional Brahminical method for explaining the actual diversity of castes, which goes beyond the ideal system of four classes (Aktor 2018, 71-74). 18 Because this source is extremely important for the history of the caste system in Bengal, it is presented in many publications. For a recent discussion, which goes beyond merely describing the purāṇic text and offers an insightful analysis, see Furui (2013) and Furui (2020, 227-36). 19 See Rocher (1986b, 166); Chakrabarti (2001, 50); Furui (2018, 61); Shin (2018, 178). While Hazra’s evidence for the lower limit (“this work cannot be placed earlier than 1200 A.D.”; 1963, 565) is indisputable, his arguments for the upper limit (565-69) are less convincing and open to discussion. For example, P. V. Kane (1977, 896) dates this text to “the 13th or 14th century”, and I think that even the fifteenth century cannot be easily excluded. 20 See Hazra (1940, 166); Rawal (1972, 117-119); Rawal (1982, 10-12); Rocher (1986b, 163); Chakrabarti (2001, 50 and 74 note 31). 21 See Rawal (1972, 112-17); Rawal (1982, 5-10); Rocher (1986b, 163). The text, however, apparently underwent further changes even after this period, because – as R. C. Hazra notices – “the Purāṇa with its present contents was not known to the writers of even the sixteenth century A.D.” (1940, 166).

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classes (varṇasaṅkara) is why various castes exist, the classification of low castes into three groups, and the names of the majority of the individual castes. A few castes listed in this text, however, are new and thus unknown in the Br̥ haddharmapurāṇa. One of them is the Yuṅgīs, an extremely vexing appellation. The noun yuṅgī is not a standard Sanskrit word; when it is listed in dictionaries, it always refers to the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa, 22 which therefore seems to contain the only occurrence of this word in the entirety of Sanskrit literature. This is naturally suspicious, but all editions of this text, based apparently on different manuscripts, have the same verse containing the word yuṅgī,23 so we should accept this form of the term. Its meaning, however, remains unclear because no caste of this name is known anywhere in India. Scholars are divided on how to treat it: some leave it as is without any attempt to explain it,24 whereas others admit that this term might refer to the Jugis.25 But there are also scholars who take identifying yuṅgi with jugi for granted and thus believe that this verse does in fact refer to the Jugi caste.26 While it is understandable why some authors identify the Yuṅgīs with the Jugis (in Bengali both words are pronounced similarly and the Jugi caste is missing from the list), this linkage is highly problematic on linguistic grounds. First, the word yuṅgī cannot be connected with the Sanskrit term yogī. Second, the Sanskrit yuṅgī should change into juṁgi (and not jugi) in Middle Indian languages.27 Most likely, based on linguistic analysis, the 22 Apte: “name of the mixed tribe”; Monier-Williams: “name of a particular mixed caste”; Böhtlingk-Roth: “einer bestimmten Mischlingskaste”. 23 I consulted the following editions (in chronological order; verse 1.10.108): (1) Mathurānātha Tarkaratna (1881); (2) Vidyāsāgara (1888); (3) Veṅkaṭeśvara (1909); (4) Vaṅgavāsī (1906); (5) Ānandāśrama (1935); (6) Rādhākr̥ ṣṇa Mora (1954); and (7) J. L. Shastri (1984). 24 This is, for example, the approach of all translators producing a version of the text in English (Sen 1920, 35; Nagar 2001, 47; Bhatt 2016, 58), but also of other scholars Basu 1905, 10; Chatterjee 1983, 144; Rocher 1986a, 255, item no. 41. 25 Rāẏ (1945, 94): “yuṅgi (yugī?)”; Sarma (1980, 15): “Yungi (possibly: Jugi)”; Mitra (1953, 28): “Jungi (sic) (Jugi?)”. 26 Wilson (1877, 440): “Yogí”; Tagore (1884, 10): “Yungi or Yugi”; Risley (1892, 361): “Jungi, a synonym for Jugi”; Majumdar (1971, 420): “Yuṅgi (Jugī)”; Malakar (1979, 102): “Jungi (Jugi)”; and probably also an anonymous author (1851, 61): “juagi”. This identif ication was already made in several nineteenth-century Bengali sources, for example, in the Bengali rendering of the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa (Caṭṭopādhyāẏa 1825, 17) or in the Jātimālā (Bandyopādhyāẏ 1855, 8-9). On the other hand, the earliest Bengali translation of the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa speaks about “a caste called Tr̥ ṅgi” (Ghoṣāl 1846, 40); I have no explanation for this odd term. 27 Pischel (1900, 188, § 272). All Sanskrit words containing -ṅg- that are mentioned in Tagare’s grammar of Apabhraṁśa (1987) indeed give -ṁg- in this Middle Indian language. I am grateful

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word yuṅgī is derived from the Sanskrit verb √yuṅg- or √juṅg- (“to exclude”), a past passive participle of which ( juṅgita) is attested to in dharmaśāstric literature as a term for a degraded caste. Moreover, a Prakrit form of this word ( juṁgiya) having the same meaning (“a low caste”) appears in one twelfth-century Jaina text from Gujarat.28 Hence, the linguistic evidence suggests that the Yuṅgīs mentioned in the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa have no relation to the Bengali Jugi caste. On the other hand, two facts point to the possibility that the Yuṅgīs might indeed be related to the Jugis. First, the idea of the identity of these two castes was probably prevalent in Bengal at the end of the nineteenth century. A small booklet on the history of Bengali Jugis, printed around 1886,29 contains a letter written by Bengali pandit Āśutoṣ Tarkasiddhānta on the status of the Jugis. The letter is a response to a series of questions posed by some Jugis, one of which focuses on their relation to the Yuṅgīs. The answer denies any connection, however (Nāth 2004, 46-47). That the Jugis wanted to distance themselves from the Yuṅgīs is also evident from another fact. The version of the Sanskrit work Vallālacarita, produced by the Jugis at the end of the nineteenth century (see note 37), contains a large passage on the mixing of classes taken fully from the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa. This text, however, adds one new verse, which says that the Yuṅgīs live on the banks of the Brahmaputra, make musical instruments, do not perform proper rites of passage, and do not respect the rules of ritual purity.30 This is an obvious attempt to textually prove the superiority of the Jugis over the Yuṅgīs and, moreover, to demonstrate that the Yuṅgīs actually live in Assam and not in Bengal, so any attempt to identify both castes is wrong. Further, in a report on the 1901 census of India compiled by E. A. Gait, we read the following statement in the section on the Bengali Jugi caste: “The to Andrew Ollett for his advice on this topic and also for pointing me to another publication (De Clercq 2009, 44) that confirms this rule. 28 Sheth (1963, 359b): “juṃgiya: jāti, karm yā śarīr se hīn, jisko saṃnyās dene kā jain śastrõ mẽ niṣedh hai”, referring to the Puṣpamālāprakaraṇa composed by Maladhārin Hemacandra. 29 I was not able to locate the original book in libraries, so I use the second edition published in 2004. In the preface, Dilīp Nāth, an editor of this new edition, claims that neither the author nor the date of publication is stated anywhere, but that it was first published sometime between 1870 and 1886 and that it might have been written by a Bhūtanāth Nāth. On the other hand, Pramathanāth Nāth, who mentions this booklet (1985, 35), gives the exact date of its publication: 12 āśvin 1293 (27 September 1886). I cannot resolve this discrepancy. 30 “Brahmaputrakule yuṅgī vasati vādyakārakaḥ, saṃskāravihīnaś caiva śaucācāravivarjitaḥ” (Vallālacarita, Uttarakhaṇḍa 92, edition 2006). This verse is not included in any edition of the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa, and thus it was certainly invented by the editor of this version of the Vallālacarita.

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Jogis strongly objected to the ordinary spelling of their caste name (Jugi) which is popularly derived from Jungi, a low mixed caste, whose traditional origin is from a Sudra father and a Chandál mother” (Gait 1902, 381).31 All these pieces of evidence suggest that either there was still a caste named Yuṅgī in Bengal at the beginning of the twentieth century, or, more probably, there was at least historical awareness of it, which some people associated with the Jugis. Unfortunately, I have not yet managed to corroborate this fact with any other evidence. At the very least, I find it suspicious that no Bengali or Assamese dictionary known to me lists the word yuṅgi (or juṅgi) as the name of a caste present in Bengal or Assam32 and that the literature on the caste system written in Bengali in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century does not discuss a caste called Yuṅgī, that is, outside of references to the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa. In any case, this awareness of the popular derivation of the word jugī from yuṅgī has disappeared. When, during my field work, I asked members of the Nāth community whether they minded being called Jogī or Jugi, the vast majority indicated that they did not, and none of them mentioned the possibly objectionable relationship with the Yuṅgī caste that was recorded in the 1901 census. The second fact that supports a possible association between the Yuṅgīs and Jugis is based on a verse mentioning the Yuṅgī in the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa. The text says that Yuṅgī is the son of a maiden belonging to the Gaṅgāputra caste and a Veṣadhārī father.33 The Gaṅgāputras (“keepers of the cremation ground”) are the result of mixing other low castes and are classified as “unclean Sudras” (asatśūdra) in this text, but the Veṣadhārī does not figure in the caste-mixture system presented here. The Sanskrit word veṣadhārī literally means “[a man] wearing a dress”, but “a dress” (veṣa) refers here to religious apparel. The common meaning of this 31 However, no caste named Jungi or Yuṅgī is mentioned in any census report from nineteenthcentury Bengal or Assam. 32 There is one exception. Haricaraṇ Bandyopādhyāẏa in his dictionary includes an entry for juṅgī (1988, vol. 1, 947b), saying that it is derived from the Sanskrit juṅgita (“low caste, caṇḍāl”) meaning “untouchable, low” ([saṃ juṅgita – nīcajāti, caṇḍāl] antyaja, nīca) and referring to its occurrence in the Bengali text Śibāẏan. It seems, however, that there is a mistake in the Baṅgabāsī edition that he used (Basu, 1903, 86a), since later and better editions of this text (Hāldār, 1957, 269; Bhaṭṭācārya and Bhaṭṭācārya, 1956, 83b) read jaṅgī instead of juṅgī in this verse, an interpretation that makes much more sense. In addition, Miller’s English-Bengali dictionary defines decent as “juṅgi”, “lajjā” (1797, 49a), but it is difficult to understand how the author arrived at this meaning of the word juṅgi. 33 All editions contain almost the same reading of this verse (1.10.108): “gaṅgāputrasya kanyāyāṃ vīryād vai veṣadhāriṇaḥ, babhūva veṣadhārī ca putro yuṅgī prakīrtitaḥ” (in the Shastri edition). The only variant in other editions is in pāda b (vīryeṇa instead of vīryād vai).

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compound in Sanskrit as well as in Bengali is “a hypocrite”, that is, a false ascetic who, although wearing a religious robe and pretending thus to be a real Yogī, is not in fact a genuine renouncer, because, for example, he cannot resist his sexual desires. One explanation of the Jugi caste’s origin in Bengal is that they were begotten by Yogīs (or Siddhas), who – as we know – are supposed to be celibate ascetics. Therefore, the male ancestors of the Jugis could rightly be called Veṣadhārīs, hypocrite ascetics. Although both the above-mentioned arguments for identifying the Yuṅgīs with the Jugis need to be considered, I do not find them strong enough to negate the linguistic argument against this association. Particularly problematic is the fact that the Yuṅgī caste cannot be traced in any other source than the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa.34 One scenario, however, could perhaps reconcile the contradictory evidence. As we will learn later, the Jugi caste in Bengal was not homogenous but was divided into several subcastes. It is, therefore, possible that sometime after the sixteenth century the Yuṅgīs, who were at the bottom of the social hierarchy, took advantage of the similarity between their name and that of the Jugis, changed their identity, and formed a new subcaste of Jugis, who might have had a slightly better position in the local caste hierarchy. This possible historical development, suggested probably for the first time by the colonial administrators in 1902,35 cannot, however, be proven given the current state of research.36 But even if this theory is later confirmed, it would not change the fact that the Jugi caste is not mentioned in the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa. Another important source of information on the caste system in Bengal in this period is the Sanskrit work Vallālacarita composed by Ānanda Bhaṭṭa in 1510 (Sastri 1901, vi-viii).37 In several places (particularly in Chapter 2.19), it describes the origin of various castes and presents a caste system that “is 34 Pramathanāth Nāth (1985, 35) says that the Yuṅgī caste was extremely small in the nineteenth century, but he does not provide any evidence. 35 “It may be, therefore, that there were originally two different communities, the one derived from Jogis and the other from Jungis” (Gait 1902, 381). 36 I must admit, however, that I have not been able to obtain what is probably the only study on this topic, a Bengali booklet titled Juṅgi-jāti written by Rājmohan Nāth. According to this author’s detailed bibliography (Debnāth 1999, 92), this work has only eight pages and was published in 1961 (ibid., 7). Nevertheless, from a brief mention of this study made by N. C. Nāth (1995, 23), it appears that Juṅgi-jāti deals with castes in Assam, not in Bengal. 37 There is another quite different version of this work that is crucial in the debate on the history and identity of the Jugi caste. I am preparing a study on both works, but so far, I have not found any evidence that would disprove the opinion of the majority of scholars that the second version is a forgery produced at the end of the nineteenth century; therefore, I do not discuss it here.

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not very different from the state of things to-day” (Shāstri 1902, 7), but the Jugis are not mentioned anywhere in the text. Other contemporary Sanskrit sources produced in Bengal are similar in this regard. For example, Bengali smr̥ tikāras produced an enormous volume of dharmaśāstric literature, but to the best of my knowledge, the Jugis are not attested to in it. While it is true that the majority of these works is prescriptive and presents the ideal system of four social classes (varṇa), there are also more descriptive texts that reflect the reality of the complex caste system, such as the Prāyaścittaprakaraṇa by Bhavadeva Bhaṭṭa (most likely from the twelfth century; Kane 1997, 651-52), which mentions a number of castes in Bengal (51ff, 58, 118ff) but not the Jugis. Important information about the social reality of medieval Bengal comes not only from Sanskrit sources but also from works composed in Bengali. The large narrative texts of the maṅgal-kābya genre in particular provide interesting accounts of everyday life, including that of the lower strata of Bengali society (unlike works in Sanskrit). As David Curley (2008, 1-35) notes, we cannot read these compositions as historical documents – after all they are literary fictions – but they might be quite reliable when it comes to determining the presence (or absence) of a certain caste at a given time and place. Although it is sometimes uncertain whether a particular verse refers to ascetic Yogīs or to householders (both are called jugi), we still can gain some information about the Jugi caste from the early maṅgal-kābyas. France Bhattacharya (1995) has noticed a considerable affinity between Bengali Nāth literature and maṅgal-kābya compositions about the goddess Manasā. Although this affinity mainly concerns the yogic teachings of the Nāths,38 householder Jugis (as well as ascetic Yogīs) are mentioned here and there in the stories about Manasā. For example, in the earliest adaptation of this narrative, composed by Bipradās Piplāi, the Jugis are mentioned in the list of various castes that came to settle in the new city established around the palace built for Manasā.39 Although Bipradās wrote his work in 1495/96 (Sen, 1953, iv), the occurrence of the Jugis in this text does not prove 38 Bhattacharya (1996, 317-18). However, in the final discussion of this study, I will question the idea that the yogic elements present in the stories about the goddess Manasā must come from the teachings of the Nāths. 39 Here it is clear that the caste and not the ascetic lineage is meant; moreover, the Jugis are mentioned next to the weavers (tā̃ti), with whom – as we will soon see – they share the same profession (“tāt̃ i jugī mālākāra rajaka nāpita, chuthāra gāṛāra baise haiẏā haraṣita”, 2.1; Sen 1953, 19). The new edition of the text contains the same reading of this verse (Biśvās 2002, 20), except the spelling of the word jugī, which is read as yugī. I have some doubts whether this spelling is indeed used in the manuscripts.

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the presence of the Jugi caste in fifteenth-century Bengal, because, as all historians of Bengali literature agree, the original composition underwent a number of adaptations and amendments over the centuries. Such changes are normal for this type of literature, which was originally intended for oral performance and was therefore constantly updated, both in terms of language and content. Since the only complete manuscript of Bipradās’s work comes from the nineteenth century, it is almost certain that the edited version of the text includes adaptations from the eighteenth century (if not the nineteenth as well), and therefore it cannot be used as undisputable evidence about the social reality of fifteenth-century Bengal. The same problem applies to another adaptation of the Manasā story written by Bijaẏ Gupta, which is allegedly even older than Bipradās’s. Very few scholars believe that it was indeed composed in 1494 as the colophon in one manuscript states (Smith 1980, 30-31), but even if it were, it also certainly underwent substantial changes. The Jugis are mentioned in two places in this text. The first verse is, however, considered spurious by the editor (Dāsgupta 1962, 362, verse no. 2685), and the second verse probably refers to the ascetic Yogīs, although this is not certain. 40 There are several other versions of this story (Smith 1980, 32-41), but they are either later or of uncertain date, and their manuscripts mostly come from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Of course, maṅgal-kābya is not the only genre of Bengali literature produced in this period, but I have not found any clear references to the Jugi caste in any other Bengali text. 41 I have spent considerable time searching for references to the Jugi caste in Sanskrit and Bengali texts from pre-Mughal Bengal, and I have tried to discuss all possible sources quite thoroughly because my search has led to a rather surprising finding: there is no conclusive evidence for the presence of the Jugi caste in Bengal until the end of the sixteenth century. Now, could we take a further step and say that this proves that the Jugis were not present in Bengal in this period? I am fully aware that the argumentum ex silentio must 40 Verse no. 2785 (Dāsgupta 1962, 369). The following verse mentions “the vaiṣṇava ascetics” (sannyāsī baiṣṇaba), which suggests that ascetic (śaiva?) yogīs might be meant. More importantly, the variant reading of this verse in one manuscript has “yogī darabeśa”, which most probably means “Hindu and Muslim ascetics” (this text comes from eastern Bengal, so the presence of Muslim ascetics, dervishes, would not be surprising). 41 For example, in the Caitanya bhāgabata (composed in the 1540s; Stewart 2010, 115 note 15), its author, Br̥ ndāban Dās, describes how Caitanya visits the homes of the members of various castes (1.10; Sen 1991, 54-55), but the Jugis are not mentioned. The Jugis are also missing from the castes that came from Bengal to Tripura enumerated in the f ifteenth-century chronicle Rājamālā (Nāth 1995, 27).

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be used with great caution, and when using it one should be sure that the given sources should contain the sought-after information. Although I know that each individual piece of evidence discussed above could be somehow questioned,42 I believe that the evidence, taken together as a whole, strongly suggests that the Jugis were indeed absent from pre-Mughal Bengal.

2 Jugis in Mughal Bengal The Mughal Empire’s formal annexation of Bengal in 1575 marked the beginning of a new historical epoch in the region. Although it took the Mughals another thirty-five years to fully consolidate their power here, Bengal began to undergo profound political, administrative, economic, religious, and social transformations in the late sixteenth century (Eaton 1994, 137-58). From the point of view of the history of the Jugi caste, whose main occupation in Bengal was weaving, two factors are of particular importance. First, in moving the capital of Bengal to Dhaka, the Mughals sparked economic development in the eastern parts of Bengal, a region where, according to later colonial censuses, the Jugis predominated. Second, the end of the relative isolation of pre-Mughal Bengal from northern India prompted the development of trade, which further led to the development of various types of industries, especially the textile industry. If we continue our search for the Jugis in textual sources, we should start with another text belonging to the maṅgal-kābya genre, the Caṇḍīmaṅgal by Mukundarām Cakrabartī. This work, composed probably at the very end of the sixteenth century,43 contains the most comprehensive list of castes in any source produced in this region so far (it includes even several Muslim communities).44 When Mukundarām describes how various communities take up residence in the city of Gujarāṭ, which had just been founded by Kālketu, the hero of the story, he certainly does not mean any real city where 42 It can be argued, for example, that the list of low castes in the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa is not exhaustive because it concludes with the following verse (1.10.122, in the Shastri edition): “There are many unheard castes [produced] by the fault of the mixture of classes (varṇasaṅkara). O Brahmin, who would be capable to tell their numbers and names!” Although it might indeed be the intention of this verse to say that there are many other castes besides the ones mentioned in the previous verses, it seems more to be typical purāṇic rhetoric. 43 Most scholars argue for the year 1589, but Sukumar Sen provides a convincing argument for an earlier date, namely 1555/6 (Sen 2001, 42; see also Curley 2008, 67 note 10). 44 See Sen (2001, 78-83, songs 130-36); translated in Yazijian (2015, 91-98); translated and discussed in Das Gupta (1914, 89-95, Muslim castes and 155-61 Hindu castes); and in Dimock and Inden (1989, 118-26); and further analyzed in Rahim (1963, 341-47); and Ray (1997, 234-42).

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all these castes live, but an ideal place into which he projects his ideas and knowledge about society in his own region (Rāṛh). Significantly, however, this text contains no clear reference to the Jugis.45 To be more precise, according to several scholars, one verse does mention them, but I find this assessment to be improbable. The verse in question reads: “Having come to the city of Gujarāṭ, many jagā-bhāṭas settled [here]; they roamed from house to house begging for alms”.46 The problematic word here is jagā-bhāṭa. While its second part is clear (bhāṭa means “bard”, “panegyrist”), the word jagā is puzzling.47 Sukumar Sen, the author of the standard edition of the Caṇḍīmaṅgal, glosses it as yogī (2001, 389a), which is, however, a rather linguistically odd derivation.48 That the word means some kind of wandering beggar is clear from the early Maithili work Varṇaratnākara, which lists various types of mendicants, including Jagās (Chatterji and Misra 1940, 2). Since the Yogīs are also mentioned in this list, the Jagās and the Yogīs are clearly two different groups. The meaning of this term must be sought west of Bengal among the various bardic communities. One subcaste of the Bhāṭs from western and northern India is called jāga (Singh 1998, 1324-26). While the presence of the Jāgabhāṭs is not attested in Bengal, it is documented that they traveled from Dāranagar in Uttar Pradesh “to the remote East to collect their fees” (Crooke 1896, 23). Therefore, it is almost certain that the Jagābhāṭas mentioned in the Caṇḍīmaṅgal are actually these bards from the west and thus have no relation to the Jugi caste. 49 All this evidence therefore suggests that not even Mukundarām, a well-educated poet living in the second half of the sixteenth century, was aware of a caste named Jugi. Bengali Nāth literature could be the most natural evidence for the presence of the Jugis in Mughal Bengal. Although it is difficult to date individual 45 In this discussion, I leave aside a spurious passage quoted in the critical apparatus of one edition that describes ascetic Nāth Yogīs (Bandyopādhyāẏ 1952, 360). 46 “Āsi pura gujarāṭe, baise jata jagābhāṭe, bhikṣā māgi bule ghare ghare” (Sen 2001, 83a). 47 It is telling how the various scholars who have translated this verse struggled with the term jagābhāṭa. Edward Yazijian follows Sukumar Sen’s understanding and says simply “Yogis settled in Gujarat…” (2015, 97). Another author translates it as “The bards settle there…” (Das Gupta 1914, 159). Edward Dimock with Ronald Inden leave it untranslated: “Jagā Bhāṭas come and settle in Gujarāṭa…” (1989, 125). 48 The only two Bengali dictionaries that contain an entry for jagābhāṭa (Kāium and Sultānā 2007, 219b; Murśid 2013, 1017a), quoting this verse from the Caṇḍīmaṅgal, give a derivation from jagaṯ (“a world”), which is also not convincing. Kāium and Sultānā further say that this word means “a yogi who does the job of a bard”, but I assume that they just take this explanation from another edition of this text (Dās 1999, 218). 49 This conclusion is further supported by the variant reading of rāja° instead of jagā° in Sen’s edition (2001, 343). The Rājbhāṭs are another subcaste of the Bhāṭs (Crooke 1896, 22), and the presence of this community is attested very near to Bengal, in Bihar (Risley 1892, vol. 1, 100).

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works (their manuscripts are, as usual, late), most scholars agree that the majority of the compositions were probably produced in the seventeenth century.50 However, it is possible that some texts were composed earlier, perhaps in the sixteenth century. If so, would this fact be really helpful? Apparently, it is much less helpful than generally believed because there is almost no direct relation between the Jugi caste and Nāth literature. This may sound surprising, but the facts are clear. First, both main narratives (the first about Gorakhnāth and the second about Gopīcandra) deal with stories about ascetic Yogīs and present teachings pertaining to a tradition that scholars usually refer to as the “Nāth(a) cult”, a tradition of practicing Yogīs who were at least theoretically celibate (although as we have seen, this issue is more complex). Such a tradition could hardly have consisted of poor householders who were fully engaged in their profession (mostly weaving) and made a hard living. Second, I have never come across a single piece of evidence or allusion that would in any way associate the Jugi caste in Bengal with yogic practice or learning. Third, none of the authors who have elaborated either narrative come from the Jugis; paradoxically, the composers of the best-known versions of both stories were Muslim.51 Moreover, if these literary works were produced by the Jugis, then we would expect the Jugi caste to hold a prominent position in them. In reality, however, Nāth literature is completely silent about householder Jugis.52 The only undisputable link between Nāth literature and the Jugis was represented by a bardic Jugi subcaste, whose members performed the narrative about Maẏanāmatī and her son Gopīcandra (mostly some popular parts of it, rarely the full story; Haldar 1933, 265-66) on occasions such as marriages and other family or village celebrations. This subcaste, like bardic Nāths in other parts of India, was primarily (if not almost exclusively) 50 For the references, see note 12; Mukhopādhyāẏ (1994, 7-10); Kar (2012, 57-60); Mallik (1950, 121). According to Kalyāṇī Mallik, the texts were not composed until the eighteenth century, but their stories are much older. 51 The fact that Nāth literature (or, perhaps more precisely, literature on Nāth figures) was composed by non-Nāth authors is not unique to Bengal. For example, the earliest hagiographic account of the “Nine Nāths” (Navanāthacaritramu), prominent masters of the Nāth lineage, was written by a courtly Telugu poet named Gaurana who had no relation to the Nāth tradition (Jones 2018, 198-200). 52 A rare allusion to the very existence of householder Yogīs can be found in one scene of the Gorakṣabijaẏa (61-67). When Gorakhnāth arrives in the land of women to save his teacher, Mīnanāth, a young yoginī lures him into her house and offers him a family life, stating that they will make a living by weaving and selling fabrics at the market. On the other hand, she says that she is a pure vegetarian and a Brahmin, which certainly does not reflect the social reality of the Jugi caste.

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present only in one district (Rangpur) and practically died out during the first half of the twentieth century. We cannot rule out that this community was present in Rangpur already in the pre-Mughal era, but being relatively tiny and geographically limited, it might have escaped the attention of the authors discussed so far. While this is mere speculation, it is certain that according to data collected by colonial administrators in 1807 to 1814, these bardic Jugis formed a subcaste quite different from the other Jugis who lived in other parts of Bengal; they did not intermarry and kept their distance (Martin 1838b, 535). Besides the link with these bardic Jugis from Rangpur, Nāth literature does not seem to have anything else in common with the Jugi caste. We are therefore faced with the solution of the following situation. Householder Jugis were most likely not present in Bengal at the end of the sixteenth century, but two hundred years later they formed a noticeable community, especially in the eastern parts of Bengal. Since they are quite commonly mentioned by Bengali authors writing in the eighteenth century, the change apparently occurred during the seventeenth century. What could have happened in the meantime? The most natural answer is that the Jugi caste came to Bengal from elsewhere during this period. Not only is this answer the most obvious, but I believe it to be correct as well. Unfortunately, I am not aware of any explicit, direct evidence of such migration. Although many detailed historical sources on Mughal Bengal have been written in Persian (and to a lesser extent in Arabic), these works deal predominantly with political history and the administrative system, not with the structure of Hindu society.53 As Tapan Raychaudhuri, who has analyzed the social history of Bengal in this period, writes: “For most aspects of the social life in mediaeval Bengal, the available data permit the reconstruction of only a very fragmentary picture”.54 Therefore, the lack of any conclusive proof of the arrival of the new weaving caste in Bengal is quite understandable and, in fact, expectable. Some indirect evidence, however, allows me to propose the following scenario. Soon after the Mughals consolidated their power in Bengal, the area, including its eastern part, began to undergo economic development. The most rapidly growing sector was textile manufacture. Its development led to the need for a large number of weavers, especially in the newly 53 I must admit, however, that I rely only on Mughal works in Persian and Arabic that are available in English translation (I referred to the list in Eaton 1994, 327-30). 54 Raychaudhuri (1969, 40). For a discussion of the problems of the reconstruction of social history, see 4-6 in this work, and 258-60 for the list of primary sources, including reports from European travelers.

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populated parts of eastern Bengal. This demand for new workers in the east of the empire prompted weaving castes from northern India, both Hindu and Muslim, to go east and settle. One of these castes was the Jogīs, who no longer had any relationship to yoga practice at that time and formed a poor, uneducated, and very low caste. After coming to eastern Bengal, they kept their profession, name, and low-caste status. For most of the next two hundred years, the community prospered in Bengal thanks to the textile industry boom and spread across almost the entire territory. They had no relation to ascetic Yogīs in Bengal, because the Nāth tradition (sampradāya) was not established here. Let us now consider the facts that could support the proposed scenario. First, the rapid economic development of this area after the arrival of the Mughals is well documented. Richard Eaton describes this new situation as follows: Economically, the advent of Mughal rule greatly stimulated the production of manufactured goods in Bengal, especially of exports to the imperial court in North India. The conquest also furthered the exploitation and settlement of Bengal’s forested hinterlands, a process that greatly altered the delta’s social landscape. (1994, 137)

Unsurprisingly, the dominant commodity of the newly developing industry and trade was textiles; Bengal had been an important textile producer since ancient times,55 especially after the thirteenth-century Muslim conquest (Eaton 1994, 97; Hussain 2003, 261-64). However, until the end of the sixteenth century, Bengal was only one of several textile producers, next to other major centers in Gujarat, Punjab, and Coromandel (Riello and Roy 2009, 1; Riello 2013, 20). The situation changed significantly during the seventeenth century, when “the relative importance of these regions changed, with Bengal emerging as most important among these producing regions” (Riello and Roy 2009, 6). Two factors caused the rise of Bengal as a dominant textile producer. Besides the opening of new trade routes thanks to Bengal’s incorporation into the Mughal Empire,56 the trade activities of the Dutch East Indian Company (Prakash 1985, 97-102) and later of the East India Company in the 55 Bengali muslin was valued in Europe as early as during the Roman Empire; Chaudhury (2020, 19). 56 The inclusion of Bengal in the Mughal Empire not only strengthened trade with northern India, but it also fundamentally changed the situation in maritime trade: “The Bengal coast, long out of bounds to most traders native and foreign owing to anarchic conditions and the stranglehold of the local Portuguese, once more became accessible following the province’s

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second half of the seventeenth century also contributed to the enormous demand for textiles produced in Bengal. This sudden increase in demand for textile production could be met in two ways: by introducing “significant innovation in the technique of production” (Chaudhury 2015, 98) or by increasing the number of weavers. Since we can rule out technical innovation (there is not the slightest evidence for it), only the second option remains. The number of weavers could increase in three ways: through occupational mobility,57 the use of temporal “over-capacity in the textile industry” (Chaudhury 2015, 98), or the immigration of weavers from the outside. While occupational mobility and the presence of unemployed weavers may have played a role in West Bengal, they could not have substantially contributed to the increase of weavers in the eastern parts of the region, which was newly cultivated and inhabited and was where the Jugis were primarily located. Therefore, the most likely origin of weavers in eastern Bengal is from the west. We can only guess when and from where exactly the Jugis came to Bengal. Although there is a wealth of high-quality research on the history of the textile industry and trade in Bengal in this period,58 these studies suffer from several shortcomings. We have extremely detailed information about the quantity and composition of textiles exported to Europe by the East India Company and we know exactly how this trading system worked, but on the other hand we have very little information about intra-India and intra-Asia trade,59 and – which is important to us now – we know almost nothing about the weavers themselves. The Jugis and other weaving castes are not usually mentioned at all in these studies.60 Therefore, determining where the Jugis came from apparently requires further research. integration into the empire” (Raychaudhuri 1982, 185); see also Eaton (1994, 202-3). For an analysis of trade routes in sixteenth-century Bengal, see Subrahmanyam (1987). 57 Chaudhury (1974, 170). In India, it has never been exceptional for local castes or subcastes to change professions to gain some kind of advantage. After all, the Bengali Jugis themselves changed their profession in the second half of the nineteenth century, when a crisis in the textile industry occurred, and the vast majority of them became farmers. 58 For a recent overview, see Chaudhury (2020, 12-14), and the list of references it contains (242-49). 59 Sushil Chaudhury has repeatedly pointed out in a number of studies that the importance of textile exports from Bengal to Europe is greatly overestimated by researchers, as in fact more textiles were produced here for the Indian and Asian markets. See, for example, Chaudhury (2015, 163 and 189-190). 60 One of the most signif icant exceptions is Hameeda Hossain’s monograph (1988, 47-49). However, the author draws information about the Jugis from colonial sources produced in the second half of the nineteenth century, so her findings are not relevant for my study.

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At this point, I can offer one very preliminary hypothesis: it is possible that the Jugis (perhaps together with other weaver castes) arrived in Bengal from Gujarat in the 1630s. Several facts suggest this possibility. First, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, Gujarat was a leading production center of textiles, especially cotton (Riello 2013, 99). Second, after the great famine of 1630-31, the textile industry in Gujarat practically collapsed, partly because many of the people who were part of it died or fled, and partly because when the drought ended, the fields where cotton had been grown were sown with grain. Although this famine affected much of India, Gujarat was particularly hard hit.61 On the other hand, Bengal, especially its eastern part with its rich river system, did not feel the effects of the devastating drought, and there was no famine there. Third, while Bengal was famous for producing cotton fabrics of the highest quality, by contrast, most textiles from Gujarat were ordinary and of low quality, that is, exactly the kind of fabrics produced later by Jugis (and Muslim Julahas) in eastern Bengal (Taylor 1840, 175). And fourth, despite the great distance between Bengal and Gujarat, there were various contacts between these regions. For example, Gujarati merchants operated in Bengal and traded mainly in textiles, and the regular exchange of cotton (from Gujarat to Bengal) and raw silk (in the opposite direction) took place (Raychaudhuri 1982, 184-85; Prakash 2009, 217). Therefore, it would not be surprising if the weaver caste (or at least part of it) set out during the famine or shortly thereafter from Gujarat to Bengal, where the burgeoning textile industry was in urgent need of new weavers. The second argument in support of my hypothesis that the Jugis came to Bengal from elsewhere is the fact that even in the nineteenth century there was an awareness of their western origin. When at the beginning of the nineteenth century the East India Company decided to conduct an in-depth statistical survey of Bengal, it commissioned Francis Buchanan, an extremely capable official, to do so. From his survey (conducted in 18071814) we learn that in the Dinajpur district there were “Yogis, or Jogis, who are weavers from the west of India” (Buchanan 1833, 103).62 Similarly, in a later encyclopedic work on Indian castes, we read about “the Jugi, a class of 61 For a first-hand description of the harsh consequences of this famine in Gujarat, see the travelogue of the English merchant Peter Mundy (1914, 38-49, 262-86, 339-47). 62 It is important to note that in the version published by Montgomery Martin a few years later (which is used by scholars today because it is part of Buchanan’s complete published survey), Buchanan’s original wording is abbreviated and says only “weavers from the west of India” (Martin 1838a, 741). The important information that these weavers from the west were in fact Jugis is omitted in this edition.

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coarse-cotton weavers in eastern Bengal and Assam, reputed to have come from the south-west” (Baines 1912, 41). It is not just Western authors from whom we learn about the western origin of the Bengali Jugis. The Jugis themselves seem to have been aware of this fact. After the results of the first Indian census were published in 1872, almost all low castes invented various stories that demonstrated their high caste status to improve their position in the caste hierarchy (Bandyopadhyay 1981). The Jugis also joined this movement, and towards the end of the nineteenth century, they published several works proving their Brahminical origin. One of these Sanskrit texts produced in Chittagong, which claims to be taken from the ninth chapter of the Vr̥ ddha Śātātapa Purāṇa,63 tells the story of the origin of the Jugi caste. Simply put, the Jugis are descendants of weaver women belonging to the Vaiśya class and one ascetic Yogī who was a Brahmin. The whole story is very interesting and full of remarkable details, but for us it is important that it takes place in a village near Varanasi (Bhaṭṭācāryya 1882, 8). Of course, this does not prove anything in itself. The story may have been set in this place only because the Varanasi area has high religious prestige, but it can also point to the possibility that the Jugis from Chittagong actually originated there.

Conclusion My search for the Jugi caste in pre-colonial Bengal leads to the conclusion that this caste was not present in the region until the end of the sixteenth century and came to Bengal from somewhere in the west of India only during the seventeenth century. This is a very surprising finding, which contradicts the current knowledge of the history of the Nāths in Bengal, because scholars believe that the Nāths have lived in the eastern parts of India for many centuries (since the Pāla dynasty) and that their teachings have had a profound effect on many Bengali religious traditions. Since I do not believe that this commonly accepted historical scenario is correct, I should offer an explanation for how this contradiction could have arisen. It is relatively easy to understand how the communis opinio on the history of the Nāths in Bengal was formed. Scholars have linked together 63 This is, of course, nonsense; there is no such Sanskrit work. The text was apparently composed at the request of the Jugis by a local pandit. To make it credible, he claimed it to be part of another ancient Sanskrit text. This was a common strategy used by low castes at the time to prove their high-caste origin.

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– somewhat uncritically – the following evidence: (1) works of and about Buddhist Tantric masters (siddhācāryas) who were active in eastern India during the Pāla reign; (2) the corpus of “Nāth literature” written in Bengali; (3) yogic elements found in various genres of medieval Bengali literature, belonging to different religious traditions, believed to come from the teachings of the Nāths; and (4) the noticeable presence of the Jugi caste in the eastern parts of Bengal, well documented in early colonial records and visible to this day. However, connecting these four pieces of evidence and deducing from them the centuries-old presence of the Jugi caste in Bengal is too hasty and leads to the wrong conclusion. The first and main problem with this theory is the flaw it shares with almost all studies on the history of Bengali Nāths: this theory treats the Nāths as if they formed a homogeneous community; it does not distinguish between Yogīs belonging to the initiatory ascetic order (sampradāya) on the one hand, and non-ascetic householders forming an endogamous caste on the other hand. This distinction is essential because except the last point on the above-mentioned list, the first three pieces of evidence do not have any direct relation to the Jugi caste. Scholars who speak in the same breath of both the ascetic and householder Nāths probably assume that the presence of initiatory ascetic Yogīs automatically also means the presence of householders, and vice versa. However, this is not true. Although – as stated at the beginning of this paper – the historical relationship between these two groups is unclear, we can witness very different patterns of their interactions in different parts of the Indian subcontinent (Bouillier 2017, 301-319). Where both groups are present, they mostly live in symbiosis with each other, and caste householders, due to their share in the power of ascetic Yogīs, usually have a relatively good position in the local caste hierarchy. There are, however, also places where ascetic Yogīs live without any obvious relationship with caste Yogīs, and there are other regions where householders have a strong presence but initiated Nāths are nearly or even completely absent. The eastern parts of India provide perhaps the best evidence of the latter situation. In this area (which today consists of northern and eastern Bangladesh, southern Assam, and Tripura), householder Nāths are visibly present, but ascetic Yogīs of the Nāth order are entirely missing. Was the situation the same in the past? In this study, I tried to trace the presence of the Jugi caste in pre-colonial Bengal, and therefore I did not look for ascetic Yogīs; this would require another study. However, nothing suggests that the ascetic Nāth order was ever noticeably present in this area in the past (Mallinson, 2011, 416b). There are no Nāth pilgrimage sites in eastern Bengal,

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no maṭhs,64 and no ancient Nāth temples,65 and none of the lineages (panth) into which the Nāth sampradāya is divided has ever located its headquarters here. Simply put, this region seems to be almost completely missing from the historical map of this ascetic order. This does not necessarily mean that individual Yogīs could not have appeared here in the past (they almost certainly did), but it is clear that the easternmost region of India was never part of the network of the ascetic Nāth tradition. If further research confirms the absence of the Nāth order in pre-colonial Bengal (and I would be surprised if it did not confirm it), then the abovepresented scenario about the ancient presence of the Nāths in this region will become even more problematic: it will fail not only in the case of householder Nāths, but also in the case of ascetic Yogīs. Obviously, it will be necessary to rethink the true meaning of the individual elements on which this theory is built, particularly the relationship between Nāth literature and the Nāth tradition,66 and the idea that the Nāths had a profound influence on various religious traditions in medieval Bengal. It cannot be denied that a large number of Bengali medieval religious texts of different traditions (including Muslim works) contain many yoga elements. Scholars almost unanimously ascribe the origin of these yoga elements to the Nāth Yogīs. However, if the Nāths were not present in this region at this time, they could have hardly influenced other traditions through their 64 The only exception I know of is a place locally called “Jogir bhaban” near the city of Bogra in the Rajshahi district of Bangladesh, where there used to be a relatively large monastery, probably founded at the end of the seventeenth century (Beveridge 1878, 94; Sen 1929, 13; Brian Hatcher though notes [2020, 115] that it was established in the eighteenth century and not for the Nāths, but for the Daśnāmī order). It was still inhabited by Nāth Yogīs in the second half of the nineteenth century (Hunter 1876, 171). Another, much smaller maṭh was located in the Dum Dum area (which is now part of Kolkata), quite far from the eastern parts of Bengal, where most of the householder Yogīs lived (it is briefly described by Briggs 1938, 123-24; and Mallik 1950, 101). 65 The only major temple run by the Nāth saṃnyāsīs is again located quite far away, in the village of Mahānād in the Hugli district. Since all the early archaeological findings here are vaiṣṇava, it is likely that this temple fell into the hands of the Nāths sometime in the seventeenth century (this date is also supported by the preserved land record; Bandyopadhyay, 1992, 34-35). Surprisingly, even temples dedicated to Nāth deities that could have served householder Nāths were extremely rare in this region (for example, the fairly comprehensive List of Ancient Monuments in Bengal, published in 1896, does not mention any temple dedicated to Gorakhnāth). 66 I have briefly touched upon this issue above (p. 145). The way scholars use the term Nāth literature today is too vague. At the very least, it is necessary to distinguish between texts about Nāth Yogīs and their deeds, and texts produced by Nāths themselves. Works belonging to the first category are usually composed by authors outside the Nāth order and have no direct relationship to this tradition.

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teachings. So, who then could be the source of the yoga passages in these Middle Bengali texts? Members of a yoga tradition other than the Nāths? Perhaps, but I do not think this is the right answer because the distribution of Sanskrit yoga manuscripts does not suggest that any yoga tradition ever had a significant presence in Bengal.67 Therefore, I propose, albeit very tentatively, that the yoga elements in medieval Bengali texts come from local Sanskrit Tantras. During the second millennium, Bengali authors produced a vast number of Tantric works that – as evidenced by surviving manuscripts – circulated in large numbers throughout Bengal, including its easternmost parts (Banerji 1992; Sanderson 2013, 80-81). Although the most common subject matter is rituals (Banerji 1992, 136-58), most Tantras also contain yoga passages that are often quite detailed. Naturally, this suggestion requires further research, but I believe that all the yoga elements in the Bengali texts are actually present in the local Tantras and that it is wrong to ascribe them to Nāth Yogīs. Simply put, the Nāths had no direct influence on the religious scene of medieval Bengal. Coming back to the Jugi caste in Bengal, I must conclude this study by stating that I have not been able to answer the question of its origin. Because this caste, or the majority of its members,68 came to Bengal from somewhere in the west, its origins must be sought there. Until this issue is resolved, a most puzzling question remains: Why were the Jugis called Jugis? In other words, what was their relationship to yoga? When we study householder Yogīs in Bengal – from the early colonial period to the present day – we find nothing at all that connects this caste in any way with yoga teachings or yoga practice. All the outward signs common to householder Yogīs in other parts of India (such as a small horn; Mallinson, 2011, 419a) are completely absent among the Bengali-speaking Nāths. Moreover, many householder Nāths in this region are Vaiṣṇavas, which is in contradiction with the Śaiva identity of the Nāth order. Thus, given the present state of knowledge, it is difficult to connect the Bengali Jugi caste (and today’s Nāths) in any way 67 It is telling that there are only fifty-nine manuscripts written in Bengali script in Descriptive Catalogue of Yoga Manuscripts, the extensive catalogue of yoga manuscripts containing over 2,200 items (Gharote and Bedekar 1989). Although this list is far from exhaustive, it is illustrative enough to see that this low number (2.7%) is quite disproportionate given the size of the territory where Bengali script was used. According to this catalogue, even Kerala, which is about eight times smaller, has produced more yoga manuscripts. 68 As already noted, we learn from colonial records that this caste was not homogeneous, so it is quite possible that its different segments have different origins. For example, the bardic Jugis of Rangpur probably had no close relationship with the weavers, and some part of the Jugi caste may come from the Yuṅgī caste, which has changed its identity (as discussed above, p. 140).

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with the Nāth tradition.69 Obviously, many complicated issues regarding the history of this community remain to be resolved. Hopefully, research into the Jugi caste in the early colonial period, which would be a natural continuation of this study, will help shed light on at least some unclear points in the caste’s history.

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List of Ancient Monuments in Bengal: Revised and Corrected up to 31st August 1895. 1896. Calcutta: Bengal Secretariat Press. Majumdar, Ramesh Chandra. 1971. History of Ancient Bengal. Calcutta: G. Bharadwaj. Malakar, Kalipada. 1979. Inter-Communities Relations through Castes, Rituals and Marriages. Calcutta: Firma KLM. Mallik, Kalyāṇī. 1950. Nāthsampradāẏer itihās, darśan o sādhanpraṇālī. Kalikātā: Kalikātā biśvabidyālaẏ. Mallinson, James. 2011. “Nāth Sampradāya.” In Brill Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Vol. III: Religious Specialists, Religious Traditions, Philosophy, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, Helen Basu, Angelika Malinar, and Vasudha Narayanan. Leiden: Brill, 409-28. Mallinson, James. 2019. “Kālavañcana in the Konkan: How a Vajrayāna Haṭhayoga Tradition Cheated Buddhism’s Death in India.” Religions 10 (4): 273. Martin, Montgomery. 1838a. The History, Antiquities, Topography, and Statistics of Eastern India. Vol. II. Bhagulpoor, Goruckpoor, and Dinajepoor. London: W. H. Allen. Martin, Montgomery. 1838b. The History, Antiquities, Topography, and Statistics of Eastern India. Vol. III. Puraniya, Ronggopoor, and Assam. London: W. H. Allen. Miller, John. 1797. The Tutor, or, A New English and Bengalee Work: Well Adapted to Teach the Natives English. Serampore: Printed by the author. Mitra, Asok. 1954. The Tribes and Castes of West Bengal. Alipore: West Bengal Government Press. Mukhopādhyāẏ, Sukhamaẏ. 1994. Bāṃlār nāth-sāhitya. Kalkātā: Subarṇarekhā. Mundy, Peter. 1913. The Travels of Peter Mundy in Europe and Asia, 1608-1667, Vol. II: Travels in Asia, 1628-1634, edited by Richard Carnac Temple. London: Printed for the Hakluyt Society. Murśid, Golām. 2013. Bāṃlā ekāḍemi bibartanamūlak bāṃlā abhidhān: pratham khaṇḍa (a-ña). Ḍhākā: Bāṃlā ekāḍemi. Napier, John. 2013. They Sing the Wedding of God: An Ethnomusicological Study of the Mahadevji ka byavala as Performed by the Nath-Jogis of Alwar. Jefferson, NC: McFarland. Nāth, Dilīp. 2004. Yogijātir saṃkṣipta itihās. Śilcar: Ādināth śikṣābhāṇḍār. First published 1886. Nāth, Narendra Candra. 1995. Nūtan āloke nāth sampradāẏer itihās: tāmralipi, śilālipi, mogollipir āloke. Āgartalā: Tripura rājya nāth kalyāṇ samiti. Nāth, Pramathanāth. 1985. Āsām-baṅga yogi-sammilanīr itihās. 2ẏa paribardhita saṃ. Kalikātā: Āsām-baṅga yogi-sammilanī. Olson, Carl. 2015. Indian Asceticism: Power, Violence, and Play. New York: Oxford University Press. Pischel, Richard. 1900. Grammatik der Prakrit-Sprachen. Grundriss der IndoArischen Philologie und Altertumskunde, Bd. I., Hft. 8. Strassburg: K. J. Trübner.

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Prakash, Om. 1985. The Dutch East India Company and the Economy of Bengal, 1630-1720. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Prakash, Om. 2009. “From Market-Determined to Coercion-Based: Textile Manufacturing in Eighteenth-Century Bengal.” In How India Clothed the World: The World of South Asian Textiles, 1500-1850, edited by Giorgio Riello and Tirthankar Roy, 217-51. Leiden: Brill. Rahim, Muhammad Abdur. 1963. Social and Cultural History of Bengal, vol. I: 1201–1576. Karachi: Pakistan Historical Society. Rawal, Anantray J. 1972. “Some Problems Regarding the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa.” Purāṇa 14 (2): 107-24. Rawal, Anantray J. 1982. Indian Society, Religion, and Mythology: A Study of the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa. Delhi: D. K. Publications. Rāẏ, Nīhārrañjan. 1945. Bāṅgālī hindur barṇabhed. Kalikātā: Biśvabhāratī granthālaẏ. Ray, Niharranjan. 1994. History of the Bengali People: Ancient Period. Translated by John W. Hood. Calcutta: Orient Longman. Raychaudhuri, Tapan. 1969. Bengal under Akbar and Jahangir: An Introductory Study in Social History. 2nd ed. Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal. First published 1953. Raychaudhuri, Tapan. 1982. “The State and the Economy: The Mughal Empire.” In The Cambridge Economic History of India. Vol. I. c. 1200-c. 1750, edited by Tapan Raychaudhuri and Irfan Habib, 172-93. Cambridge: University Press. Riello, Giorgio. 2013. Cotton: The Fabric That Made the Modern World. Cambridge: University Press. Riello, Giorgio, and Tirthankar Roy. 2009. “Introduction: The World of South Asian Textiles, 1500-1850.” In How India Clothed the World: The World of South Asian Textiles, 1500-1850, edited by Giorgio Riello and Tirthankar Roy, 1-27. Leiden: Brill. Risley, Herbert H. 1892. The Tribes and Castes of Bengal: Ethnographic Glossary. Vol. I. Calcutta: Printed at the Bengal Secretariat Press. Rocher, Ludo. 1986a. “Mixed Castes in the Brahmavaivartapurāṇa.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 106 (2): 253-55. Rocher, Ludo. 1986b. The Purāṇas. A History of Indian Literature, vol. 2, fasc. 3. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Sanderson, Alexis. 2013. “The Śaiva Literature.” Journal of Indological Studies 24-25: 1-113. Śarīph, Āhmad. 2014. Bāṅgālī o bāṅglā sāhitya: Pratham khaṇḍa. Kalkātā: Naẏā udyog. Sarma, Jyotirmoyee. 1980. Caste Dynamics among the Bengali Hindus. Calcutta: Firma KLM. Sen, Prabhas Chandra. 1929. Mahasthan and Its Environs. Rajshahi: Varendra Research Society.

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Sen, Sukumār. 1991. Bāṅgālā sāhityer itihās: Dvitīẏa khaṇḍa: saptadaś–aṣṭādaś śatābdī. Kalkātā: Ānanda pābliśārs. Sen, Sukumar. 1992. History of Bengali Literature. 3rd rev. ed. New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi. Shāstri, Haraprasād. 1902. “On the Organization of Caste by Ballala Sen.” Proceedings of The Asiatic Society of Bengal (January): 3-7. Sheth, Hargovind Das T. 1963. Pāia-sadda-mahaṇṇavo: A Comprehensive PrakritHindi Dictionary, with Sanskrit Equivalents, Quotations and Complete References. 2nd ed. Varanasi: Prakrit Text Society. Shin, Jae-Eun. 2018. Change, Continuity and Complexity: The Mahāvidyās in East Indian Śākta Traditions. New Delhi: Manohar. Singh, Kumar Suresh. 1998. India’s Communities. 3 vols. People of India: National Series, vol. IV. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Sircar, Dinesh Chandra. 1973. Epigraphic Discoveries in East Pakistan. Calcutta: Sanskrit College. Smith, William. L. 1980. The One-Eyed Goddess: A Study of the Manasā Maṅgal. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International. Stewart, Tony K. 2010. The Final Word: The Caitanya Caritāmṛta and the Grammar of Religious Tradition. New York: Oxford University Press. Subrahmanyam, Sanjay. 1987. “Notes on the Sixteenth Century Bengal Trade.” The Indian Economic & Social History Review 24 (3): 265-289. Tagare, Ganesh Vasudev. 1987. Historical Grammar of Apabhraṁśa. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. First published 1948. Tagore, Sourindro Mohun. 1884. The Caste System of the Hindus. Calcutta: Printed at the Catholic Orphan Press. Taylor, James. 1840. A Sketch of the Topography and Statistics of Dacca. Calcutta: G. H. Huttmann, Military Orphan Press. Wilson, John. 1877. Indian Caste. Bombay: Times of India Office. Zbavitel, Dušan. 1976. Bengali Literature. A History of Indian Literature, vol. 9, fasc. 3. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.

About the author Lubomír Ondračka is a publisher, independent researcher and part-time lecturer at the Department of Philosophy and Religious Studies, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. His research is focused on the history of yoga, death, and dying in India, and on religions and culture of Bengal. [email protected]

6

Back When We Were Brahmins Historical and Caste Critique Among Bengali Householder Nāths1 Joel Bordeaux Abstracts In much of India, including Bengal, Nāth/Yogī/Jogī are officially designated Backward Castes. This chapter addresses a Sanskritizing movement that has developed among householder Nāths in West Bengal since the early twentieth century, considering particularly how authors and organizers aff iliated with the All-India Rudraja Nath Brahmin Association use historical arguments to support their contention that they are in fact “Rudraja” Brahmins. Implicit in their claim is a critique of how caste has been practiced in Bengal since the twelfth century, since the NBRNBS, promotes the idea that Brahmin Nāths were unjustly declared avarṇa by the Sena monarch Ballāla Sena, the reorganizer of Bengali Hindu society. This chapter explores the somewhat paradoxical approach to caste and Hindu identity in the NBRNBS’s advocacy. Keywords: Brahmin Yogī, Nāth, caste, householder, Bengal, Sena, kulīn

The entry for Jugis/Jogis in Herbert Risley’s 1892 report on the British government’s Ethnographic Survey of Bengal identifies this householder community as “a weaving caste”2 before turning to the question of their origins, which Risley deems “extremely obscure”. Judging that “since the beginning of the century no fresh facts have been added” to the surveys conducted in 1 My heartfelt thanks to Daniela Bevilacqua, Christine Marrewa-Karwoski, Daniel Gold, Lubomír Ondračka, and Carola Lorea for helpful comments and discussions pertinent to this material, and to Hena Basu for her invaluable assistance in collecting relevant materials. 2 “Caste” here in the sense of jāti, i.e., hereditary, endogamous communities traditionally linked to a particular occupation.

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_ch06

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1807-18093 by Francis Buchanan, he repeated the latter’s speculation that the Jogis “were either the priesthood of the country during the reign of the dynasty to which Gopí Chandra belonged, or Ṣúdras dedicated to a religious life, but degraded by the great Ṣaiva reformer Ṣankara Áchárya, and that they came with the Pál Rájás from Western India” (Risley 1892, 355). This loaded but scattershot statement contains several themes still fundamental to discourse on the historical and present social standing of the Jogī/Yogī/Nāth community in Bengal:4 the idea (which is central to this chapter) that they were previously priests; the use of Nāth religious literature (e.g., Gopīcandra songs) to reconstruct the community’s history; the notion of their having been “degraded” to a low status by an agent of orthodox Hindu reform; links to non-Nāth ascetic traditions including the Daśnāmī sampradāya (religious order) supposedly founded by Śaṅkarācārya; and association with the hybrid-Buddhist culture of Bengal under the Pāla Empire of the eighth to eleventh centuries. Incidentally, Risley seems to have misinterpreted Buchanan, who did not in fact opine that the “itinerant bards of the low caste called Yogi”, whom he encountered reciting the legend of Gopīcandra5 in his survey of Rangpur, had been either priests or Śūdras; rather, he suspected that they were both (Martin 1838, 58). Similarly, Risley’s otherwise inexplicable reference to the Pāla dynasty having come from the West indicates that he combined Buchanan’s speculation, viz. these bardic Yogīs’ relationship to the Pālas, 3 Pinch (1996, 151-54) describes Buchanan’s itinerary and analyses his work (30-47). 4 Unless otherwise specif ied the terms Nātha/Nāth/Nath and Yogī/Yogi, along with their vernacular reflexes Jogī/Jogi and [archaic] Jugī/Jugi, should be taken as essentially synonymous jāti names denoting married householders throughout. From the twentieth century, as we will discuss, “Rudraja Brāhamaṇa/Brahmin” should be added to this list as well. The results may appear anachronistic in some cases because they are. Anachronism and equivocation are among the most effective tools available for building the kind of “imagined community” under consideration here. 5 Gopīcandra is a legendary prince (who Buchanan seems to think may have been the nephew of the eighth-century Pāla emperor Dharmapāla) persuaded by his mother Mayanāvatī to renounce his kingdom and venture forth as an ascetic Nāth Yogī. Buchanan writes: The lady Moynawoti had not a Brahman for a spiritual guide; but this important off ice was held by a Yogi, that is a Sudro dedicated to a religious life; and there is great reason to believe, that the Yogis, who repeat the [Gopicandra] songs, are descendants of this kind of priesthood, who were degraded by Songkor Acharyo, and who reject the Brahmans as spiritual guides, although in order to procure a miserable existence they have now betaken themselves to weaving, burning lime, and other low employments. (Martin 1838, 58) Buchanan earlier names the queen’s guru as “Haripa”, i.e., Hāḍipa (a.k.a. Jālandhar) (Martin 1838, 57). On Jālandhar see Dowman (1985, 245-51). On Rajasthani versions of Gopīcandra see Gold (1989; 1992). On Bengali versions see Dasgupta (1946); Haldar (1933).

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with his seemingly contradictory commentary on the Yogīs of Dinajpur,6 whom Buchanan pronounced “weavers from the west of India” and listed among the “tribes which are considered as not having belonged to Bengal, when Bollalsen [i.e. Ballāla Sena, a king of the Sena dynasty who ruled Bengal after the Pālas] settled its castes” (1892, 103). In this last respect at least, Buchanan’s view accords with Ondračka’s proposal in this volume that the communities of Nāth weavers found in Bengal had migrated to the region from Gujarat during the seventeenth century. Admittedly, the notion that householder Nāths arrived in Bengal nearly four hundred years after Ballāla Sena famously reorganized Bengali society and “settled its castes” directly contradicts the central idea considered in this chapter – the claim that householder Nāths were originally Brahmins stripped of their caste by Ballāla Sena in the late twelfth century – and undermines most assumptions that accompany it. This is fine: our goal here is, indeed, to understand the development and rhetorical underpinnings of the claim itself, its key texts and tropes, and their implications.7 From this perspective, there are compelling historical reasons to anchor our discussion to the end of the nineteenth century, even if a “Yogī priesthood” theory at least proximate to the notion that (some) Nāths were formerly Brahmins had been in circulation since Buchanan’s surveys, several decades earlier. There are two reasons for this. The first is that the Ballāla Carita (The Life of Ballāla), that now indispensable Sanskrit account of the Yogīs’ demotion by Ballāla Sena, would not be published until 1889. Secondly, the Yogīs/Nāths’ efforts must be understood alongside those of other Hindu communities, whose economic fortunes had improved under the British, to definitively raise their social standing in the 1901 census, which was to include for the first time a “detailed enumeration of the different castes in Hindu society” 6 Rangpur is now the northernmost administrative division of Bangladesh, and Dinajpur is a district within Rangpur Division. Buchanan surveyed them simultaneously. 7 At the risk of belabouring the point, let me state plainly that I consider adjudicating the historicity of householder Nāths’ claims to Brahminhood beyond the scope of this study. Even if I believed such a case were airtight one way or another, it is neither my place nor my political inclination to intervene in caste-ranking disputes; especially when these involve the status of historically disadvantaged communities. Readers may draw their own conclusions from my presentation of these issues, but in the absence of more definitive evidence regarding the composition of pre-Sultanate Bengali society I remain agnostic regarding the core claims under discussion. For related reasons, and in view of well-known tendencies towards intertextuality, variation, and emendation found in many Sanskrit texts, I also refrain from drawing f irm conclusions as to the provenance or primacy of any of the various Sanskrit works circulated under the title Ballāla Carita. These questions I leave to others with the relevant juridical authority and philological expertise, respectively.

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(Bose 1975, 154).8 Risley’s surveys were conducted in the lead-up to the census, which he would also supervise, so his report carried significant authority. Returning to the question of the Yogīs’ origins he concluded, “On the evidence now available it is difficult to arrive at any definite conclusion regarding the manner in which the caste arose. There is nothing beyond the fact that they are generally looked down upon by Hindus” (1892, 356). With the British government thus prepared to once again “settle the castes” of Bengal, like Ballāla Sena reborn in bureaucratic form, the general agreement that Yogīs were “low-caste” combined awkwardly with the lack of consensus on where they came from. Attempts to resolve this tension were complicated by the absence of the monastic Nāth sampradāya in Bengal.9 I suggest in this chapter that householder Nāths were folded into existing narratives about the disappearance of Buddhism from the region as well as Ballāla Sena’s reorganization of caste society. Drawing on the Ballāla Carita in particular, and its exegetical traditions associated with contemporary caste-uplift organizing among Nāths in West Bengal, I argue that Nāths’ criticisms of Ballāla Sena contain an implicit critique of caste as practiced in Bengal while asserting Nāths’ status as Brahmins. The interpretive community I focus on here is one of several in Bengal and Assam aimed at improving the material and/or social conditions of Yogīs/ Nāths, who are still commonly regarded as peripheral to mainstream Hindu society. As is frequently the case elsewhere in India, householder Nāth/Yogī communities in these regions are designated socially and educationally “Backward Castes” by the state. Nevertheless, as the historian of religion N. N. Bhattacharyya noted in 1974, some Nāths in Bengal and Assam maintain an identity that is distinct from their counterparts in the rest of the country and consider themselves “Rudraja” Brahmins (1996, 163). Rudraja (“born from Rudra”) references the Yogīs’ ultimate claims to descent from the god Śiva10 and distinguishes them from all existing Brahmin lineages in Bengal. The term is drawn from the Ballāla Carita and is central to the way in which householder Nāths present their community’s status so as to both mirror and contradict dominant narratives of Bengali history and Nāths’ place within it. In West Bengal there is one organization for whom this appellation and its source-text are of paramount significance: the All-India Rudraja Nath 8 See also Bandyopadhyay, 1981 (93-98) and Debnath (2020). 9 An organized Nāth sampradāya is largely absent from Bengal (except perhaps in the North) and there is, moreover, scant evidence of the sampradāya having ever been in Bengal before the eighteenth century (Bandyopadhyay 1992, 34-36). 10 Sometimes the matter is framed as simply as this, e.g., in Bhaṭṭācārya (2015, 105-6), but in the Ballāla Carita the derivation is more complex, as we will see.

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Brahmin Association (Nikhil Bhārat Rudraja Nāth Brāhmaṇ Sammilanī, hereafter NBRNBS).11 They construe the Ballāla Carita – ostensively a royal chronicle – as supporting their contention that Nāths are disenfranchised Brahmins, rather than Śūdras as is commonly believed. Significant assistance is required to reach this conclusion, however, since the Ballāla Carita never directly refers to the Yogīs as Brahmins – or for that matter, as Nāths. Drawing primarily on the NBRNBS’s own publications, including especially their unique edition of the Ballāla Carita with Bengali translation and notes, the core of this chapter outlines the case made by the NBRNBS, highlighting the distinctive caste politics suggested by positioning Nāths not only as Brahmins but as the region’s original Brahmins. Implicit in this claim is a critique of how caste has been practiced in Western Bengal since just before the area came under Turkic control. The version of the Ballāla Carita published by the NBRNBS, indeed, contends that the Yogīs were unjustly demoted from their position as Brahmins by none other than Ballāla Sena, the twelfth-century king of Bengal traditionally believed to have definitively reorganized caste society in accordance with the ideology now known as Kulīnism. Kulīnism, as we will discuss in more detail later, is an idiosyncrasy of caste in Bengal that regards a few “historically” North Indian immigrant lineages as kulīn, that is, “of [good] family” and therefore of intrinsically higher rank than other members of their respective jātis. Bengali Hindus have bitterly criticized this arrangement for centuries, and commonly regard it now as one of the paradigmatic “excesses” of medieval Brahmanism. Since Ballāla Sena’s name has become virtually synonymous with the Kulīn system he instituted, twelfth-century Yogīs’ opposition to him as depicted in the Ballāla Carita appears both prescient and socially progressive. Other NBRNBS literature strongly suggests that the Yogīs were stripped of their Brahmin status precisely because of their egalitarian views and that they even led a rebellion against the king on behalf of the common people. In this way, Nāths’ assertion of Brahmin status is simultaneously a criticism of Brahmanism itself, at least as it developed from the late medieval period in Bengal. To proceed then, I will first summarize the commonplace assumptions and historical tropes relevant to the current social status of Bengali householder Yogīs, followed by a brief introduction to the caste-uplift movement 11 To be clear, the NBRNBS does not enjoy universal support among Nāths/Yogīs in the state, and some of its claims are contested by an older organization, the  Asam-Baṅga Jogī Sammilanī (Assam-Bengal Yogi Association). In Assam there is a comparable debate among multiple such Yogī/Nāth caste associations. On this see Debnath (2020).

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which began in this community during the late nineteenth century and the activities of the NBRNBS within that context. The remainder and main thrust of the discussion will then take up the Ballāla Carita and its interpretation, as this is the locus classicus of contemporary Nāths’ sense of themselves as Brahmins.

1 Locating householder Nāths in Bengal Although there are historical reasons to doubt that mendicant ascetic Yogīs affiliated with the erstwhile Nāth sampradāya in Bengal gave rise to the Nāth/Yogī castes still found in the region, this remains the default assumption throughout the subcontinent (Mallinson 2011, 2). Studies on Bengali Nāths likewise tend to presuppose that Nāth/Yogī householder castes are the lineal or, at least in some meaningful sense, the ideological descendants of [formerly] ascetic Nāth Yogīs. In some instances, as with Nāths in the northeast of Bengal reportedly regarded as ex-disciples of the famous eighth-century philosopher Śaṅkara, they appear to have been conflated with the Daśnāmī (“Ten Names”) sampradāya he is believed to have founded (Briggs 1938, 51; Risley 1892, 355).12 Irrespective of the particulars, castes affiliated with monastic orders tend as a rule to occupy lower rungs in the social hierarchy. In this respect, the Golds’ observations regarding Rajasthani householder Nāths seem applicable farther East as well: Communities who trace their origins to ascetic traditions – the many Jogi castes, with whom the Naths of our study are sometimes classed, as well as Vaishnava mendicants – are usually not counted as twice-born Hindus. Most Jogi castes probably have their origins in communities of lowly ranked occupation who adopted traditions of popular yoga during the medieval heyday of the Naths. And even though they call themselves Jogis (Hindi for “yogis”), these castes remain as low in the eyes of most Hindus as they have always been. (Gold 1984, 116-17)

Now, Jogīs/Nāths do as a rule bury their dead in much the same way ascetics do, rather than cremate them as one would expect of caste Hindus. This is strongly suggestive of some significant historical relationship to a 12 Daśnāmīs can still be found in Bengal and also have aff iliated householder traditions, at least elsewhere in India. On Daśnāmīs see Clark (2006). Bouillier also compares Nāth and Daśnāmī householders (1997, 142-44, passim).

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monastic order. A peculiarity of the Bengali case, though, is how the idea of Nāth monks becoming householders fits in with the common assumptions about the history of Buddhism in the region, particularly in its tantric or Vajrayāna forms. Scholarship on Nāths often exhibits a preoccupation with certain ambiguously “Buddhistic” features of the ascetic tradition, which are sometimes said to be especially prevalent in East India and Nepal.13 The 1931 Census Report of Bengal likewise asserts that the Yogīs “are believed to be the degraded descendants of a class of Buddhists ascetics, followers of Gorakhnath” (quoted in Dutt 1969, 124). An in-depth rehearsal of the various ritual, philosophical, and historical arguments that have been adduced as potential evidence for an intimate if not derivative relationship between Nāths and Buddhists would take us too far from the topic at hand,14 but the key claim relevant to Bengal in particular centers on the apparent inclusion of several of the founding fathers of the Nāth sampradāya (Matsyendra, Gorakṣa, Jālandhara et al.) within Indian Buddhist anthologies/hagiographies of eighty-four “perfected” (siddha) tantric saints. Notably, there are monks, householders, and ambiguously non-celibate ascetics numbered among these Vajrayāna siddhas, and some of their cryptic caryā (“practice”) lyrics, composed in an Eastern Middle-Indic dialect commonly identified as Old Bengali, also describe yogic techniques using terms d’art now considered characteristic of Nāth teachings.15 The earliest arguments based on these sources to the effect that Yogīs as we know them must have been converts from Buddhism can actually be found in the works of an early seventeenth-century Tibetan author,16 but there are additional, more modern reasons why this discourse has gained such purchase in Bengal. 13 See for example, Sen (1975, 281); Bandyopadhyay (1992, 27). 14 For instance, Banerjea notes that the Nāth’s goal of a body of light is more in keeping with Buddhist tantra than Śaiva models in which one typically aspires to a body of sound (1962, xvii). Cf. Offredi (1999) for a more detailed discussion. For discussions of the scholarship on and relationship between Nāths and Buddhists more generally see Dasgupta (1946, 219-41); White (1996, 106-10); Majumdar (1943, 339-51). 15 See Dowman (1985); Kvaerne (1986). 16 Tāranātha’s History of Buddhism in India: “At that time, most of the yogi followers of Gauraksha [Gorakṣa] were fools and, driven by the greed for money and honor offered by the tirthika [i.e., non-Buddhist] kings, became the followers of Ishvara [Śiva]. They used to say ‘we are not opposed even to the Turukshas’ [Turks, i.e., Muslims]” (Chimpa 2004, 320). Tāranātha, incidentally, claimed to have found an Indian guru from the “Nātheśvarī” lineage of Buddhist Nāths (Templeman 1995, 957), though I suspect the name Tāranātha actually heard was instead Naṭeśvarī – one of the twelve panths (subsects) now current within the Nāth sampradāya (for a discussion of the various panths see Mallinson 2011, 9-10). According to Bandyopadhyay, members of the Naṭeśvarī Panth may yet be found in Bengal (1992, 72).

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These caryā songs are among the oldest extant literature in an Indo-Aryan vernacular, and from the time they were first published in 1916 by Haraprasād Śāstrī as Hājār Bacharer Purāṇa Bāṅgālā Bhāṣāy Bauddha-Gān O Dohā (Buddhist Songs and Couplets in One-Thousand-Year-Old Bengali Language), they have been an object of desire for linguistic nationalists across Eastern and Northern India, who have similarly wished to project the age of Old Odia, Old Hindi, and so on, back into the first millennium (Openshaw 2004, 27). A parallel literary-historical argument in which Yogīs play a significant role developed alongside Bengali claims to the caryā corpus on linguistic grounds. It purports to identify a distinctive heterodox religious ethos, recorded mainly in allusive, paradoxical poetry and found among the generally non-celibate traditions of the common folk of Bengal, which is humanistic in both its social and soteriological teachings. In the former case this is meant to be apparent in critical stances towards mainstream religious authorities, sectarian divisions, and purity regulations including caste and (to an extent) gender hierarchies; in the latter, it emerges through an emphasis on naturalness/spontaneity (sahaja) and a kind of physiological mysticism that takes the human body as a means to ultimate liberation (kāya-sādhana). This thread runs more or less continuously, the theory goes, from Buddhist and Nāth Siddhas through Vaiṣṇava Sahajiyā sects and Sufīs to the famous Bāuls of Bengal who, by the early twentieth century, had come to symbolize a particular liberal Bengali aesthetic and social vision best known through the poetry of Rabindranath Tagore.17 Note that the Jogīs are foundational to this illustrious genealogy. The latest concrete evidence we have of Buddhist activity in the region is from the fifteenth century (Sanderson 2009, 242), whereas householder Nāths are commonly supposed to have remained in Bengal throughout. Moreover, although the traditional occupation of most Bengali Nāths has been weaving (Risley 1892, 355; Mitra 1953, 245), an itinerant minority community is known to sing yogic puzzle songs called “Gorakh riddles” (Gorakṣa dhāṃdhāṃ) which have been construed as continuous with the Buddhist caryā genre (Dasgupta 1946, 485-490). Such songs are often extracted from narrative cycles recounting the legends of Gorakhnāth, Gopīcandra, and so on, which these bardic Jogīs – like their householder counterparts in Rajasthan and 17 On these issues see Majumdar (1943, 339-51); Dasgupta (1946); Openshaw (2004). Kabīr is also frequently, if selectively, invoked as a fellow traveler in this context, and according to Vaudeville the weaver caste to which Kabīr belonged were either Buddhist or Nāths (which she bluntly describes as “half-Buddhist”) before they converted to Islam (Vaudeville 1993, 73-77). Cf. Offredi (2002, 128-29). On Kabīr in Nāth discourse see Gold (2002). On the status of Bāuls see Krakauer (2015). On Tagore as a Bāul see Dimock (1959).

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Uttar Pradesh also perform, accompanied by the single-stringed lute ubiquitous in Bāul songs and iconography, and occasionally by illustrative scroll paintings as well.18 Unfortunately, the association with Buddhists and Bāuls, along with the less orthodox Vaiṣṇava and Sufī Muslim communities19 aligns Bengali Yogīs as a group, including the putatively Brahmin wing, with precisely those religious traditions in which, it is widely presumed in Bengal, the subaltern sought refuge from the indignities of caste.20 I have rehearsed all of this mainly to demonstrate how consistently Bengali Nāths are portrayed as outside the Hindu mainstream, whether through their real or imagined ties to fallen ascetics, Buddhists, Muslims, or otherwise heterodox sects. We should also note that credibility of these associations depends considerably on the a priori assumption that Yogīs are low-caste, which makes claims to Brahmin status a harder sell. As Śāstrī (editor of Buddhist Songs and Couplets in One-Thousand-Year-Old Bengali Language) is supposed to have remarked, “The yogis are now trying to take the holy thread and become Brahmin. They do not know what they were” (quoted in Bhaṭṭācārya 2015, 110). Of course, “what they were” is precisely 18 Dasgupta (1946, 427); Mahapatra (1971, 377). In eastern UP, mendicant Jogī bards playing sāraṅgīs sing nirguṇī bhajans, philosophical songs, songs based in Hindu myths and the epic of Rājā Bhartṛhari. Villagers take them for Hindu ascetics but they are in fact Muslim householders (Henry 1991, 221-22). On Rajasthani Nāth bards see Gold (1984). Also note that some East Bengali Gorakhnāth songs appear to be directed to cowherd god of that name only loosely associated with the Nāth ascetic (Basu, 2013). 19 The Bengali narrative traditions surrounding such figures as Gorakhnāth, Macchendranāth, and Gopīcandra, moreover, have most often been preserved among Islamicized Yogī communities and it has even been suggested based on manuscript evidence that a Muslim poet by the name of Shaikh Fazlullah was the first to take up the Gorakṣa Vijaya theme (in which Gorakhnāth rescues his guru Macchendranāth from dissolute amnesia in the Kingdom of Women) in Bengali (Dasgupta 1946, 428, 432). Interestingly, the earliest extant Bengali treatments of the Gorakṣa Vijaya and Gopīcandra stories date to the seventeenth century (White 1996, 395), which is consonant at least with Ondračka’s argument that Yogī weavers arrived in Bengal around that time. Similarly, several authors have marked significant Nāth “influence” on Sufī cosmologies and the numerous Sufī yoga manuals in Bengali (Tarafdar, 1965, 198-224; Tarafdar, 1992; Haq 1975, 36896; Dasgupta 1946, 428-29; Mahapatra 1972, 77; Cashin 1995, 117). Asim Roy has attributed these apparent sympathies to the idea that “the nāth stress on yogic psycho-physiological exercises, in contrast with the sahajiyā preoccupations with tāntric sexual symbols and techniques, drew Bengali Muslims generally closer to nāthism than to other esoterical disciplines in Bengal” (1983, 164), and while it remains an open question to what extent householder Nāths may have been in any sense bearers of these yogic teachings, the typically Islamicized character of Jogī castes (White 1996, 108) does suggest proximity to Muslim communities. 20 It was not necessarily the case that Bengali Muslims had previously been lower-caste Hindus, however. See Eaton (1993). The prevalence of upper castes within Indian Buddhism may also be regarded as counter-indicative to the theory that Buddhism was primarily composed of socially marginal groups.

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the issue, and there has been little agreement on the matter. Regardless of the Jogīs’ origins, their de facto status by Risley’s time was apparent: “they are everywhere reviled by the Hindus without any intelligible reason being given for the treatment to which they are subjected” (1892, 359). Similarly, the precise extent of this treatment has been inconsistent: Dasgupta, writing in 1946, records that Yogīs “are in some places untouchables” (427), while Mitra, citing the 1911 census, mention Jogīs among those “Depressed Classes” who were not untouchable but barred from temples, adding that they “deny Brahman supremacy” (1953, 21). In general, nonNBRNBS sources class Nāths as Śūdras in terms of the classical four castes (catur-varṇa) scheme, but given the traditional view that there are only Brahmins and Śūdras in Bengal this tells us little. In Inden’s Marriage and Rank in Bengali Culture, synthesized from a large collection of genealogical manuscripts,21 we find the clan (kula) name “Nāth” listed among the lower ranks22 of the nominally scribal Kāyastha jāti; ranks that are considered “identical with the lower castes of Śūdras” (1976, 40, 68). More recently, Bengali “Naths/Yogis/Jogis” have been listed by the Central Government among the socially disadvantaged Other Backward Classes/Castes (OBC) eligible for positive discrimination, for example in public-sector employment. An organization called the Asam-Baṅga Jogī Sammilanī (Assam-Bengal Yogi Association, hereafter ABJS) had petitioned the government for targeted scholarships and jobs in 1911,23 but the proposal to add the community to the 1936 Government of India (Scheduled Castes) Order24 was scuttled since, as Sekhar Bandyopadhyay writes (1985, 278), the “Naths or Jogis were … united against inclusion” in it, citing comparatively high literacy rates as evidence for their higher status.25 Nevertheless, some Yogī communities, less optimistic about their opportunities, reapplied for OBC reservations more recently. The National Commission for Backward Castes was established in 1993, with “Yogi, Nath” added the next year26 and 21 On these genealogies, see Chatterjee (2005b). 22 The extremely broad Sādhya, or “Ostensible” Kāyastha subcategory in which the name “Nāth” appears includes patrilineal clans for whom promotion into the middling ranks of Siddha (“Established”) Kāyasthas is theoretically possible but whose qualifications as such remained “to be proved” (sādhya) (Inden 1976, 38-40). 23 See Bandhopadhyay (1985, 231). 24 Scheduled Caste status would have implied that Yogīs were Dalit. 25 Roughly 25% of the men or 11% overall in the 1931 census were literate. This was an improvement over the 1901 census, where overall literacy among Jogis was a scant 7.6% (Bose 1996, 155). Bandyopadhyay calculated 10.4% overall in 1911 and 13% in 1911 (1981, 106). 26 The Gazette of India No. 163, p. 18.

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“Jogi” as of 1999.27 The most recent West Bengal list 28 also includes both “Yogi, Nath” and “Jogi”. To be clear, Brahmin subcastes have been designated as OBC in some places, so these initiatives are not entirely irreconcilable with the claims made by the NBRNBS and their forerunners, but they do align Yogīs politically with communities at the lowest end of the social hierarchy, which is of a piece with the popular association of Nāths with former or non-celibate ascetics, Buddhists, tantric Vaiṣṇava sects, and Muslims. The cumulative effect makes assertions by a presumed “creamy layer” (comparatively prosperous subset) of the Nāth community that they are Brahmins even more surprising.

2 Sanskritization, organization, and advocacy among the Yogīs Yogīs/Nāths were not alone in their struggle to increase the social prestige of their community. A great many other castes whose educational and economic fortunes had risen harbored similar ambitions, among the more successful of whom I will highlight the Suvarṇa Baṇiks (goldsmiths) and Kaibartas (a prominent agriculturalist jāti).29 Traditionally considered Śūdras, these two communities commonly claim to be Vaiśyas and Kṣatriyas, respectively. In general, movements of this sort emulated upper-caste customs in a time-honored strategy described by sociologist M. N. Srinivas as “Sanskrtitization”.30 They especially flourished, as Inden observes, during the latter half of the nineteenth and first half of the twentieth centuries: During this period numerous caste associations were founded, and many Bengalis, scholars and otherwise, spent their time collecting kulajis [genealogies] and publishing histories of their caste, often claiming ranks higher than those traditionally accorded them. Much of this activity was at least in part a response to the attempts of the British Census Commissioner, Herbert H. Risley, to produce ranked lists of castes in the Census of India. (1976, 4)

Writing in 1949, the anthropologist (and future Commissioner for Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes) N. K. Bose dated modern organizing among 27 The Gazette of India No. 270, p. 24. 28 West Bengal Backward Castes Act of 2012. 29 Many Kaibartas became wealthy landowners following the Permanent Settlement of 1793 and subsequent disintegration of the ancien régime in Bengal. They were extremely politically active in attempts to elevate their caste status (Bandyopadhyay 1981, 97, 104). 30 See Srinivas (1969, 1-45).

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Nāths to 1872, when, following an incident where some members of the Kaibarta community “were made outcaste” for eating at Jogī homes, the latter petitioned the Pandits’ Association at Sanskrit College for a legal opinion (vyavasthā) on their caste status. The pandits’ ruling that the Yogīs were “of good behavior”, inspired a few dozen of them the next couple of decades to begin wearing the sacred thread (upavīta) traditionally reserved for upper-caste Hindus (1975, 153-54). This controversial move was likely bolstered by the publication in 1889 of a Sanskrit text (the Ballāla Carita mentioned above31) containing apparent references to Yogīs having worn the thread during the twelfth century. Risley commented on the situation in 1892 as follows: “the Jugis are assuming the sacred thread en masse, and this pretension has given rise to numerous quarrels with the Brahmans, some of which have ended in protracted and vexatious litigation” (356). Risley also noted that the men of one particularly Sanskritized Yogī subcaste claimed to belong to the Śiva Gotra32 (Vedic instruction lineage), follow Sāma Vedic rituals, and “even attend tols or indigenous Sanskrit Colleges, but they have to sit in the courtyard, and are regarded more or less as intruders” (1892, 357). His haphazard account of the Jogīs was itself controversial within the community, who in the wake of the 1901 census established the Jogī Hitaiṣinī Sabhā (Yogī Welfare Society.) This was followed in 1905 by the journal Jogī Sakhā (Yogī’s Friend), whose purpose was “to establish unity among the Jogis by dissolving the distinctions of subcaste among them, to raise the social status of the caste, and to help in the spread of education” (Bose 1975, 154). It is worth pointing out here how from their inception these institutions jettisoned the heretofore common vernacular spelling “Jugi” in favor of the “corrected” spelling “Jogī”. This literal Sanskritization in an “attempt to change the group name to one more hallowed in Hinduism” was a common feature of caste mobility movements in Bengal (Bandyopadhyay 1981, 112). The trend appears to continue with the fully Sanskrit appellations “Yogī” and “Nāth” becoming more common in official records, and of course the NBRNBS preference for the name “Rudraja Brahmin”. As the Jogī Hitaiṣinī Sabhā was short lived, the more proximate ancestor of the NBRNBS is the aforementioned ABJS founded in 1910 by Dr. Rādhāgovinda Nāth, a scholar of Vaiṣṇavism. The ABJS organized around education with 31 Edited by Kaviratna, with Bengali translation by Śaśibhūṣaṇ Bhaṭṭācārya. 32 For example, Mahapatra (1971, 377). Clark mentions Śiva Gotra as the gotra into which householders of any caste (even Muslims) or gender in West Bengal may be initiated if they take on a vrata (vow) to become a “saṃnyāsī” (ascetic) for the duration of Śivarātri celebrations (2006, 16).

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some success, and in the year before the 1911 census, Rādhāgovinda published a book, Baṅgīya Jogī-jāti (The Yogīs of Bengal), presenting an illustrious history for Nāths, inveighing against their low-caste status, and defending Yogīs’ rights to the sacred thread. Further Bengali publications in this vein followed. By 1914 Jogī Sakhā was publishing essays encouraging its readers to take up the thread (Bose 1996, 156), and Rādhāgovinda’s translation of the Ballāla Carita appeared in 1915/16 (Bandyopadhyay 1997, 261 note 97). Śaśibhuṣaṇ Nāth’s 1925 monograph Jogī Darpan (Reflections on the Yogīs) also asserted Yogīs’ rights to upper-caste rituals, while tracing the Jogīs’ origins to Śiva (Basu 2004, 17). Some years earlier, Risley in his report had described certain Jogī subcastes who employ specialists from within their own communities in the ritual roles Brahmin priests typically filled in mainstream Hindu contexts (Risley 1892, 358-59). These “Jugí Bráhmans”, as he called them, are presumably the same “priests of the Jogi caste” who first attempted to position themselves as Brahmins proper in the 1921 census. In the next census, a decade later, the claim was advanced by non-priestly members of the jāti as well (Bose 1996, 156). Publishing, as before, kept pace with politics: the latter endeavour almost certainly drew inspiration from Sureścandra Nāth Majūmdār’s 1923 Rājguru Jogī-Vaṃśa vā Rudraja Brāhmaṇ-Jātir Vivaraṇī (The Royal Preceptor Lineage of Yogīs or, an Account of the Rudraja Brahmin Caste), which was in its second edition by 1927 (Basu 2004, 17). According to the NBRNBS website, the organization was founded in the 1940s as Paścim Baṅga Rudraja Brāhmaṇ Sammilanī (West Bengal Rudraja Brahmin Association) before adopting its current, more expansive, name.33 The Condensed History (Saṃkṣipta Itihās) published by the organization indicates that they coordinated closely with the ABJS until 1979 until parting ways over the issues of Brahmin identity (which the ABJS had grown wary of) and OBC reservations which the NBRNBS opposed (Debnāth 2009; Debnath 2020, 141-42).34 Initially the NBRNBS seems to have focused on publishing (both new works and reprinting rare books) as a means of “restoring social prestige” to the Nāth community and promoting its “culture and heritage”. The NBRNBS publishing house, Śaiva Prakāśanī (Śaiva Publishers), has since 1981 also issued a regular periodical, Śaiva Bhāratī (Śaiva Voice), which 33 Both 1944 and 1949 are given as founding years. Compare http://nbrnbs.org/about.html with https://nbrnbs.org/index.html (accessed February 2, 2018). 34 For more on this and comparable cleavages in Assam as well as Bengal, see Debnath (2020). The rift between these two tendencies in Yogī caste associations appears to follow the recognition/ redistribution debate elucidated in Fraser and Honneth (2004).

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I draw on in the next section. Current NBRNBS activities highlighted on their website also include organizing upanayana (sacred thread investiture) ceremonies for Nāth Brahmin boys and providing books, food, and lodging to students “coming from distant places for higher studies”.35 They – or the associated Rudraja Brāhmaṇ Purohit Saṅgha (Rudraja Brahmin Household Priest Society) – also hold “training camps” for priests (Debnāth 2020, 141). The current general director of NBRNBS, Mr. Upendra Kumār Debnāth, also heads this organization. Their basic contention is that the communities now known as Nāths/Jogīs are descendants and rightful heirs of Bengal’s original Sāma Vedic Brahmins (Debnāth 2013, 100). Arguments advanced in support of this idea tend to be variations on the theme that householder Nāths behave (or have historically behaved) in certain ways characteristic of Brahmins, particularly with regard to practicing yoga, accepting royal gifts of land, and performing ritual worship on behalf of others. The last two of these we will see in the Ballāla Carita, but with reference to the first, Debnāth cites the Rāmāyaṇa to the effect that only Brahmin householders were excepted from the general rule that one must renounce the world and become an ascetic (saṃnyāsī) in order to undertake the practice of yoga and austerities. Since Nāth householders have a tradition of practicing yoga,36 the logic goes, Nāths must have been Brahmins. An array of textual proofs drawn from other Sanskrit sources including the Ṛg Veda and Taitirīya Āraṇyaka, the Brahma Sūtra, the Epics and Bhagavad Gītā, various Saṃhitās (e.g., Yajñavalkya, Harita, Suta, Manu), the Yoginī Tantra, and even the Śaṅkara Digvijaya proceed along similar lines. A few cases betray a tendency to anachronistically construe the words nāth (lord) and yogī (practitioner of yoga) as proper jāti names, but more commonly the argument runs (quoting the Vaśiṣṭha Saṃhitā), “The marks of a Brāhmaṇa are practicing yoga and asceticism, controlling the senses, knowing the scriptures etc.” and Nāths possess these qualities (Debnāth 2013, 101-2, 111). To an extent, Nāth authors basing their arguments on these venerable Sanskrit sources could even be read as a demonstration of the latter point. However, the most important Sanskrit text for proving Nāths are Brahmins – and the one most thoroughly mediated by NBRNBS translation, interpretation, and popularization efforts – is a later, ostensively historical one: the Ballāla Carita. 35 See https://nbrnbs.org/about.html (accessed February 2, 2018). 36 This of course assumes equivalence or at least continuity between whatever yoga meant in the context of the Rāmāyaṇa and the form of (presumably kuṇḍalinī) yoga practiced by householder Nāths. Predominant emphasis on physical postures (āsana) is unlikely in either case.

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3 The life and legacy of Rājā Ballāla Sena The Ballāla Carita is presented as a chronicle of the rule of the penultimate Sena king, but the book is concerned with the life of Ballāla Sena in a tertiary sense at best. In actuality, the text alternates between long series of lists categorizing different castes and the story of Rājā Ballāla’s conflict with the Yogīs: the opening chapter simply profiles Brahmin and Kāyastha clans, while the second depicts an incident in which the king, enraged by a Yogī ascetic’s insult to his Royal Chaplain, formally degrades the Yogīs. Chapter three then launches into an extended description of the various castes and how they originated (with special attention to the Yogīs’ descent from Śiva), and it is only upon reaching the fourth and final chapter that we discover the main narrative had begun in media res. Backstory is given at this point on Ballāla Sena’s relationship with a powerful Yogī guru who will eventually curse the king in retaliation for his treatment of the Yogīs. The story ends somewhat bizarrely with Muslim-coded foreigners invading the kingdom as a result of the Yogī’s curse. Clearly, this work was part of an ongoing conversation about caste and history to which we require an orientation, beginning with the Senas. Originally from Karnataka, the Sena dynasty gradually displaced the Buddhist Pāla kings over the course of the twelfth century, becoming the last Hindu kingdom to control the majority of Bengal before their own conquest by Bakhtiyār Khaljī at the beginning of the thirteenth. Ironically in the current context, the Senas seem to have begun their career as Śūdras before styling themselves Brahmins and/or Kṣatriyas (Inden 1976, 60). Bookended by Buddhist and Muslim rulers, the Senas were – especially by contrast – zealous promulgators of Brahmanical orthopraxy in their territories.37 Ballāla Sena is particularly famous in this respect, being a prominent dharma śāstrī (legal scholar) himself.38 In fact, Ballāla Sena is now primarily remembered (accurately or not39) for his reorganization and codification of the Bengali caste hierarchy.40 Since this process is central to 37 On the Senas’ social policies see Fururi (2020, 202-14, 227-36). 38 His most famous work is Dānasāgara. On Ballāla Sena, his works, and influence, see Kane (1930, 340-41) and (1962, passim). For a broader treatment of Ballāla Sena and caste see Vidyanidhi (1896, 199-223) 39 Majumdar argues that the genealogies are “just-so” stories from the perspective of the fifteenth to sixteenth centuries, rather than historical accounts (1943, 629-34). 40 On Ādiśūra and Kulīnism see Chatterjee (2005a); Dutt (1969, 1-27, 61-62) Inden discusses Ādiśūra and the related legend of King Pṛthu (1976, 51-60). For a discussion of the migration of Brahmins to Bengal based on inscriptional evidence, including the emergence of new categories of more highly-ranked Brahmins, see Fururi (2013, 240-41).

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understanding the Ballāla Carita, it will likewise require a brief explanation; one last preamble to our discussion of the text proper. According to traditional genealogical records, a [likely legendary] king of Bengal named Ādiśūra desired to perform a certain Vedic rite of which his seven hundred local Brahmins were ignorant. He, therefore, sent for five proper Vedic Brahmins from Kanauj, who arrived with their families and with proper Kāyastha Śūdra families in tow as servants. These North Indian Brahmins deftly performed the appropriate rites and the North Indian Kāyasthas likewise impressed the king through their own refined and orthodox behavior.41 Ādiśūra persuaded them all to remain in Bengal for the good of the realm, but in so doing he upended the station of his kingdom’s erstwhile Brahmin and Kāyastha elites, introducing an element of chaos into the social order. Simultaneously, there was a concern to preserve the authentic customs of the recently arrived Northerners, lest they assimilate to inferior local standards. The issue is supposed to have remained unresolved until the time of Ballāla Sena. Ballāla Sena’s solution to the conundrum was to formally codify Brahmin and Kāyastha castes into an idiosyncratic system now known as Kulīnism. Naturally, those families (kulas) with a claim to ancestors in Kanauj topped the new order: the five Brahmin and three Kāyastha clans imported by King Ādiśūra were formally designated “of good family” or kulīn, with the relative status of indigenous Brahmins and Kāyasthas hinging theoretically on how close their conduct adhered to the norms exemplified by their immigrant counterparts. Ambitious non-kulīn Brahmins and Kāyasthas closest to the top of this scheme were therefore encouraged to emulate the Northerners’ refined behavior and, if possible, absorb their kulīn essence (kaulīnya) – understood to have a genetic component – by marrying their daughters into kulīn families; meaning that, in order to maintain or enhance their social standing, kulīn as well as kulīn-adjacent families were now strongly incentivized to find kulīn grooms. One particularly notorious result was that the alleged superiority of kulīn men merely by dint of their lineage and ritual comportment might outweigh other factors normally taken into consideration in marriage proposals (e.g., age, means, number of co-wives) with disastrous results for the brides, including poverty, widowhood, and potentially sahamaraṇa (“dying along with” one’s husband) at very young ages. Local Brahmins and Kāyasthas who nevertheless accepted Ballāla Sena’s arrangement were thus assigned middling social ranks, with possibilities 41 Higher-ranked Kāyasthas are considered Sat-Śūdras in (most of) Bengal: that is, “Good Śūdras” with gotras and rights to perform Vedic rituals (Inden 1976, 36-37).

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for upward mobility predicated on the aforementioned favorable marriages, while those who failed to conform to this “Sanskritizing” regime found themselves permanently relegated to the least respectable ends of their respective jātis. Those considered ineligible to intermarry with kulīns included the so-called Ari (Enemy) or Kaṣṭa (Troublesome) Brahmins occupying the lowest station among those who were learned in the Veda (śrotriya), as well as the non-Vedic clans of the seven hundred Saptaśati Brahmins who had originally failed King Ādiśūra (Inden 1976, 67-71). Standard genealogical/caste accounts make no mention of or obvious place for hypothetical Rudraja Brahmins who reject Kulīnism and do not comport themselves according to prevailing Śrotriya norms 42 despite claiming a Vedic lineage. Then again, such accounts tend to presuppose the existence of ideological principles structuring caste society. Conversely, in a 2009 article for Śaiva Bhāratī, Debnāth depicts Ballāla Sena’s social policies as entirely arbitrary and determined by whomever he favored at the moment: “Raja Ballāla, purely out of anger and caprice and completely against the rules, slighted and socially demoted Rudraja Brahmins and Suvarṇa Baṇiks” (2013, 35). That is to say, King Ballāla downgraded the previously Brahmin Nāths and the previously Vaiśya Goldsmiths to Śūdras. Predictably, Debnāth’s primary evidence for this allegation is the Ballāla Carita, but why have the Goldsmiths suddenly entered the picture? As it turns out, many Suvarṇa Baṇiks agree that a text called the Ballāla Carita records their community’s unwarranted debasement at the hands of the Sena monarch. However, the Ballāla Carita they cite contains no mention of Nāths/Yogīs in this sense. It is challenging to judge in the abstract whether there are two significantly divergent manuscript transmissions of the Ballāla Carita or two fundamentally different texts sharing a title, putative author(s) and sources, basic structure, and themes.43 For present purposes, the imperative to focus on the 1889 text as [re]published (with notes etc.) by Śaiva Prakāśanī is clear, but its import cannot be grasped in isolation from the better-known text published shortly thereafter by the Asiatic Society. Some difficulty in disentangling these traditions is unavoidable since the Ballāla Carita itself appears to be a composite of a network of related texts by the same name. It claims to have been initially composed by Ballāla Sena’s tutor Gopāla 42 For example, Śrotriya Brahmins only perform rites for Sat-Śūdras (Inden 1976, 52). 43 Mullick mentions only two manuscripts of the text in the form published by the Asiatic Society, both from the eighteenth century (1902, 40-41), while the editors of the text as published by Śaiva Prakāśanī worked from a single, presumably more recent source.

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Bhaṭṭa at the king’s own direction. Gopāla’s descendant Ānanda Bhaṭṭa then revised or incorporated this document into his own work under the same title some three centuries later, and in so doing drew in material from additional sources, including yet another text called Ballāla Carita, attributed to the distinguished Sena court poet Sarana. 44 The version of Ānanda Bhaṭṭa’s work edited by Haraprasād Śāstrī45 and published by the Asiatic Society in 1904 under the hypercorrected title Vallāla Carita is by far the more widely distributed and usually the referent when secondary literature cites the text. 46 It presents, in Devanagari characters, a generally unflattering account of Ballāla Sena and his reorganization of the Bengali social hierarchy, highlighting the plight of the Suvarṇa Baṇiks. The text published by Śaiva Prakāśanī is an inexpensive chapbook with the Sanskrit text in Bengali script accompanied by a Bengali translation, an introduction to the work, copious annotations, and an afterword reintroducing householder Nāths as Brahmins. This longer version is based instead on the 1889 Ballāla Carita edited by Hariścandra Kaviratna and focuses on the Yogīs in addition to the topics mentioned above. Some verses or parts of verses can be found in common, especially in the first and second chapters of both texts, and much of the same content – including Ballāla Sena’s conflict with the Goldsmiths – appears in both, but the language is rather different in the sense that events are narrated differently and in that the Sanskrit of the 1889 text includes more vernacular vocabulary and more prose than we find in the Vallāla Carita edited by Śāstrī. 47 For these reasons, and because Yogīs do not appear in Śāstrī’s edition, it is tempting to speculate that the 1889 Ballāla Carita is of a later provenance, and that perhaps the community who produced and transmitted 44 On the composition of the text see Mullick (1902, 40); Majumdar (1943, 239-40); Rāy (1916, 443-55). 45 Śāstrī was aware of the other version “published some years ago by the Nathas the wellknown booksellers of Chinabazar in Calcutta”, but stated plainly, “I have pronounced it to be spurious and unreliable” (quoted in Rāy, 1916, 450). The historian R. C. Majumdar, on the other hand, was more judicious in his evaluation, opining that “so far as can be judged from the internal evidence, both the texts stand on the same footing, and have drawn upon a common source of floating traditions”, and adding that both the Baṇik and the Yogī-centric versions of the Ballāla Carita show signs of having been composed with social status rather than historical accuracy in view (Majumdar 1943, 239-41). 46 Exceptions include Majumdar (1943) and Kar, who makes only passing reference to Ballāla Carita, although it is clear which version of the text he means since he says it mentions Pitambaranāth (2012, 34). 47 There is some of this in Asiatic Society text as well, however, e.g., gāi for Sanskrit grāma, village (Śāstrī 1904, 16).

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this version expanded upon a hypothetical core narrative about Ballāla Sena’s illegitimate, vindictive demotion of the Suvarṇa Baṇiks to include a parallel fate for the Yogīs, but this is far from certain and irreconcilable with our subjects’ understanding of the Ballāla Carita as an entirely historical document.48 To be clear then, the discussion that follows concerns Yogīs in the Śaiva Prakāśanī edition of the 1889 Ballāla Carita, setting aside for the moment any attempt to reconcile its abbreviated account of the Suvarṇa Baṇiks’ fate or its extensive taxonomies of caste admixture (and so on) with those found in the more widely available work of the same name. The Ballāla Carita begins in a manner most unusual for a royal biography but appropriate for Ballāla Sena: it gives an extensive account – largely consisting of lists – of the ranks of kulīn and non-kulīn Brahmin and Kāyastha families in the region, their marriages, and Vedic instruction lineages (gotra) before turning in its second chapter to the more controversial cases of the Suvarṇa Baṇiks and Yogīs among others. The text hardly begins to discuss Ballāla Sena’s annoyance with a wealthy and insufficiently deferential Goldsmith before immediately transitioning into a discussion of how enmity arose between Brahmins and Yogīs (Debnāth 2006, 41), which may seem like an ironic turn of phrase for a text reckoned as evidence that Yogīs are in fact Brahmins, but it is a distinction the Ballāla Carita maintains throughout. On the other hand, the text is conspicuously imprecise in its use of the term “Yogī”, leaving the reader to divine from context where possible whether the referent is a generic ascetic, a Nāth ascetic, or a householder Jogī. The fact that the narrative is prefaced and interrupted by disquisitions on caste rankings, and furthermore presented out of chronological sequence, only muddies the waters further, but I have chosen to follow the order in which the information is presented in the text so as to highlight the effect. The setting is Śivarātri, a major festival among the Yogīs. The Jaṭeśvara Śiva temple is packed with people and the royal chaplain Baladeva Bhaṭṭa is about to perform an extravagant pūjā on Ballāla Sena’s behalf when a yogī-rāj (presumably the abbot of the monastery on the temple grounds) sees all the wealth the king is about to donate and lays claim to it after the pūjā. When Baladeva snaps that the monk ought not to be greedy, the offended abbot angrily expels Baladeva from the premises (Debnāth 2006, 42-43). Unfortunately, the Yogīs’ relationship with the king was already strained 48 See Debnāth: “No historian or researcher has disputed the utter historicity of the Ballāla Carita” (2009, 49). To the contrary, see comments by Śāstrī above, as well as the equally strong statement by Majumdar: “That Vallāla-charita cannot, therefore, be regarded as an historical text admits of no doubt” (1943, 241). See Ray (1916, 443 ff.) for another critical evaluation.

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since at some point in the past they declined to eat food from his father’s memorial services (śrāddha) – their rationale being, according to Debnāth (2013, 109), that “tejasvī Brahmins” (i.e., Brahmins energized as a result of ascetic practices) cannot eat food from a śrāddha without destroying their accumulated power. The Nāths’ refusal of the king’s hospitality, however, left him ill-disposed towards them, and on learning of this public insult to his chaplain, he is blinded by tears of anger. At this point he swears for the sake of preserving dharma to punish the Goldsmiths and destroy the arrogant Yogīs. Ballāla Sena decrees that anyone who eats with them, accepts gifts from them, ritually honors them, or engages them to perform rituals (yajana-yājana), or consorts with them will be reduced to the status of a Śūdra, their sacred threads49 becoming meaningless (Debnāth 2006, 43-45). The text reports that the chastened Yogīs fled the kingdom, or else remained to suffer in silence, surrendering their sacred threads and adopting the behavior of lower castes due to poverty (ibid., 49-50). But, in the telling of the tale, it depicts Yogīs in positions typically associated with Brahmins, that is, living as monastics, exercising control over an important Śiva temple, and receiving or rejecting royal gifts. With the next chapter, the text shifts abruptly to the origins of various castes.50 Here the ambiguity in the way the Ballāla Carita employs the term yogī to refer to both ascetics and householders takes center stage as the text employs both sectarian and biological terminology. Fittingly, this section is the source of the appellation Rudraja, which it applies to all Yogīs. To be more precise, the text avers that “all the many descendants of Rudra” who are “intent on yoga-dharma” arise from Eleven Rudras sprung from the forehead of Brahmā (Debnāth 2006, 52).51 Regarding the term yogī here, the text fairly clearly refers to the householder jāti, since the same verse that asserts “Yogīs are all Rudraja” goes on to enumerate what appear to be Dharmagare subcastes from Western Bengal52 including Kānphaṭā, Macchendra, Aghora-panthī, Bhatṛhari, and so on (ibid., 56). Yogīs are then 49 Debnāth (2006, 48 note 10) specifies that this statement refers the Yogīs’ threads. The Sanskrit text itself is unclear on this point. 50 Following the Brahmavaivarta Purāṇa (Debnāth 2006, 54 note 14). 51 The Ballāla Carita then provides multiple lists of the Eleven Rudras and their wives (Debnāth 2006, 55-56). I attempted to cross reference these with the Śiva Purāṇa as this is the text the NBRNBS website cites in its creation account and explanation of the appellation Rudraja but the Śiva Purāṇa creation account (1970, 250-51) involves eleven mind-born sons of Brahmā (sages like Vasiṣṭha, etc.), not the Eleven Rudras who are discussed at 138 note 127. 52 Risley (1982, 357) lists Matsyendra, Gorakṣa, and Bhairava. This, together with the reference to Śiva and Kaśyapa Gotras and Sāma Vedic rituals, strongly suggests that the NBRNBS and possibly the Ballāla Carita itself came out of a Dharmagare Yogī context.

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said to be of the lineage (vaṃsa) of one Bindunāth,53 a lineage replete with the names of Nāth/Buddhist Mahāsiddhas like Matsyendra, Cauraṅgi, Mīna, and Gorakṣa who “reached the zenith of the world (brahmāṇḍa) through haṭha yoga” (ibid., 57-59). Taken together, the effect is to further blur the distinction between Nāth Yogīs as monastics who phenomenologically behave as if they were Brahmins (including high levels of realization and supernatural abilities attained through asceticism) and Nāths/Yogīs as an endogamous householder caste. We can see more of these Brahmin-esque traits exemplified in the final section of the Ballāla Carita. Here, following a brief recap (Debnāth 2006, 8890) of Ballāla Sena’s political career, hypocritical fondness for Dalit women, and quarrels with the Goldsmith caste, comes the story of the king’s demise as a result of a being cursed by a powerful Yogī named Pītambaranāth. The episode begins some time before the unfortunate incident with the royal chaplain on Śivarātri. This Pītambaranāth was an accomplished astrologer who the rājā himself used to honor as a guru54 until the Yogī relayed unwelcome news regarding the princess’s impending nuptials. Having examined the groom’s horoscope, Pītambaranāth predicted that the princess would be widowed on her wedding day if the couple married. Ballāla Sena was horrified, naturally wanted a second opinion, and brought in eight Brahmin astrologers to re-evaluate his prospective son-in-law. They reassured the king that all the signs were good, so on their advice Ballāla Sena had Pītambaranāth imprisoned and the princess married. Nevertheless, the groom died from dysentery on the night of the wedding as the Yogī had predicted. At this, the fearful king released and feted Pītambaranāth, offering him gifts. In a possible [p]rejoinder to the account of the ostensibly acquisitive Yogī abbot in the first chapter of the book, Pītambaranāth replies that he had no use for wealth and instead requests of the king land dedicated to the “service of Śiva” (Debnāth 2006, 90-92). The rājā happily donates this, but the amity between Ballāla Sena and Pītambaranāth evaporates instantly when Ballāla Sena issues his decree humiliating the Yogīs. In retaliation, Pītambaranāth – an adept with the ability to shape reality through speech alone (vāk-siddhi) – pronounced this curse on the Sena king: “Just as I and 53 Bhaṭṭācārya (2015, 105-6) cites the Ballāla Carita to the effect that the sage Kaśyapa is supposed to have married his daughter Kṛṣṇadevī to this Bindunāth, so that Yogī daughters have Kaśyapa Gotra. Cf. Risley (1892, 357), where the anonymous “progenitor” of the Dharmaghare Yogīs is supposed to have married Kasyapa’s daughter. 54 Possibly a distorted echo of the Gopīcandra legends in which Queen Mayanāvatī had a Yogī for a guru.

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my people have been punished and scorched by the fires of insult, so you and your people will burn in actual fire” (ibid., 93). According to the Ballāla Carita, the Yogī’s curse took effect the following year when a foreigner (mleccha) by the name of Bāyādumba (a.k.a. “Baba Adam”, regarded elsewhere in Bengal as a Sufī saint55) invaded Sena lands. The Ballāla Carita further records that before setting out to make war on this Bāyādumba, Ballāla Sena conferred with the women of the royal household, who asked what they should do if the invading army cannot be repelled. The king responded that if the battle goes badly, he will notify them via messenger pigeon, at which point they should all enter the fire and become satīs. Ironically, although Ballāla’s forces win the day, messenger pigeons are indeed carelessly dispatched to the palace during the army’s victory celebrations. Seeing the pigeons incoming, the women assume the worst and commit suicide. Finally, when Ballāla Sena returns to find the women burning he goes mad and joins them in the flames (ibid., 94-96), an emasculating motif found elsewhere in Nāth legends featuring the kingturned-Yogī Bhartṛhari.56 Without saying so explicitly, there are several features of this story that effectively represent Pītambaranāth as if he were a Brahmin. These include his guru relationship with the king, his virtuoso display of astrological expertise, his receipt of a land grant in particular, his confrontational stance towards the king, and his ability to levy effective curses. Most important, perhaps, is the sense that the eight Brahmin astrologers at whose suggestion Pītambaranāth is jailed presumably see the Yogī as their direct competition. Debnāth has developed this theme fairly extensively, arguing that a root cause of the enmity between Ballāla Sena and the Yogīs was that the kulīn Brahmins newly appointed to the pinnacle of Bengali caste society were jealous of the Nāths, since the latter controlled most of the temples and monasteries and commanded the people’s respect as gurus. In his telling, the kulīn Brahmins conspired with the king against the Yogīs precisely in order to uphold and advance within kulīn hierarchies. The Nāths, on the other hand, “paid very little attention to caste and such ( jāt-pāt) and were willing to initiate anyone into Nāth Dharma. The primary reason Ballāla Sena hated them was that he was not so pure-minded as the Nāths with their liberal, egalitarian practices (sāmanyavādī-nīti)” (Debnāth 2009, 50). In fact, the Nāths are supposed in this reading to have publicly 55 See Rahim (1967, 79-81). 56 For examples of Bhartṛhari actually or nearly self-immolating, see Gold (1992, 123), Tiwari (2002, 33-35, 95), and Jha (1998, 48).

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protested against Kulīnism. Debnāth explains further that they did so because Kulīnism further stratified society and was bad for the majority of the people. That is to say, the Yogīs were not motivated to oppose or even overthrow the Sena king by the interests of their own community, but rather acted in solidarity with the underclasses and out of concern for society as a whole. In this telling, the Yogīs were also progressive on gender issues. It has long been acknowledged that Kulīnism placed considerable burdens on women from upwardly mobile families, and Debnāth does not fail to invoke the familiar tragic image of the kulīn man with “hundreds of wives” drawn from families hoping to enhance their status through intermarriage. He adds that while kulīns promoted the practice of sahamaraṇa or widow immolation (satirized in the final act of the Ballāla Carita), Yogīs took the position favored by Vaiṣṇavas and nineteenth-century social reformers that Hindu widows should rather become celibate yoginīs.57 Thus, in their opposition to Kulīnism, twelfth-century Yogīs emerge as progressive leaders of a “protest movement”, and when that was suppressed by the authorities they launched a “people’s rebellion” (2014, 50). Ultimately, in this reading, it was the Yogīs’ egalitarian social critique that prompted the king’s extreme and illegitimate response as depicted in the Ballāla Carita. A related implication of the Pītambaranāth story seems to be that Ballāla Sena’s degradation of the Nāth community led to the fall of Sena Empire just a couple of decades later. Lack of respect for Brahmins as a harbinger of political calamity is relatively commonplace in Sanskrit legal and Puranic traditions, but here it is disrespect towards Yogīs that portends the end of the last major Hindu kingdom in Bengal. The article by Debnāth entitled “The Ballāla Carita and the Nāth Yogī Rebellion” (“Ballāla Caritam O Nāth-Yogīder Vidroha”) includes additional details that make the connection between the oppression of Yogīs and the downfall of Ballāla Sena more explicit. Debnāth asserts that the two influential Nāth Yogīs were in fact leaders of “rebellion” against Ballāla Sena: Pītambaranāth who cursed the king, and an abbot named Dharmagirī who fled the country due to persecution and forged an alliance with Bāyādumba. Debnāth identifies Bāyādumba somewhat more precisely as a Muslim (yavana) or an Afghan (pāṭhān), so his alleged alliance with the Yogī Dharmagirī is especially significant in this version of events,58 which goes beyond Pītambaranāth’s curse to explicitly 57 In other cases, they allowed remarriage (Badyopadhyay 1981, 119; Bose 1975, 156). 58 There are hints of “warrior ascetic” tradition in this aspect of the story but we should be cautious with this interpretation since according to Lorenzen organized warrior ascetics are

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align a Yogī character with the foreign invaders (2009, 50). Thus, Ballāla Sena’s “defeat” (i.e., suicide) can be attributed to the Yogī Dharmagirī, who deposes the king without contravening the well-established narrative that it was Ballāla’s son and successor Lakṣmaṇa Sena who according to legend left his dinner on the table and fled the palace in fear when Muhammad Bakhtiyār Khaljī invaded Bengal in 1204.

Conclusions Ambiguity regarding the referent of the term yogī is a key and constant feature of the Ballāla Carita, its contemporary exegetical traditions, and the discourse on Nāths more generally. Slippage between various senses of yogī – a word whose semantic range includes practitioners of yoga, ascetics in the generic sense, superhuman figures of legend, monastic members of the Nāth sampradāya, and assorted householder jātis (individually and collectively) – has provided a rhetorical fulcrum for the creation, mutation, and revision of Bengali Yogī communities’ histories. Additional terminology and mythology shared among Nāths in the broadest sense has doubtless encouraged persistent attempts to recover the missing history of householder Yogīs in the region from sources containing concepts and narratives associated with Nāth ascetics. Householder Yogīs’ imagined origins in “fallen” monastics who abandoned their vows of celibacy also retains a certain explanatory power regarding their social status. This kind of equivocation is plainly evident in the climax of the so-called “Nāth Yogī Rebellion” led by Pītambaranāth and Dharmagirī, which is meant to have happened, chronologically speaking, after the majority of the Yogīs (monks and householders of means) fled the country, leaving only a degraded and scattered householder remnant behind. Even by its internal logic, then, the degree to which the overthrow of Ballāla Sena depicted in the Ballāla Carita was a Nāth/Yogī initiative is therefore questionable. Furthermore, judging by the -girī suffix alone one would expect Dharmagirī ̄ to be a Daśnāmī rather than a Nāth ascetic.59 Hopefully, further research into sparsely documented before the late sixteenth century (Lorenzen, 1978, 68-69). In any event the Nāth sampradāya never appears to have developed military traditions comparable to those found within Daśnāmī and Rāmānandī orders (Mallinson 2011, 12-13). 59 Interestingly, Debnāth connects the Nāth lineages named after siddhas in the Ballāla Carita with Daśnāmī names Girī, Purī, and Bhāratī (2006, 62 note 22). These three, according to Clark, “figure most prominently in nāga armies” in sixteenth- to seventeenth-century North India (2006, 39).

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Yogīs’ relationship to Daśnāmīs (and with Saṃnyāsī/Bairāgī/Gosāin castes) in Bengal is forthcoming, as conflations and/or indications of admixture among these groups, including the trope about Nāths as former disciples of Śaṅkarācārya, are quite common. On the other hand, given Śaṅkarācārya’s reputation in some quarters as a “Crypto-Buddhist” (pracchanna-Bauddha),60 Nāth/Daśnāmī ambiguity may also feed into narratives aligning Bengali Nāths with Buddhists. The identif ication of certain Yogī f igures central to Nāth tradition among the ranks of medieval Vajrayāna Buddhist saints, and the concurrent assumption that Buddhist followers of these Nāths must have turned to Śaivism following the decline of Buddhism in India, is an old one in Tibet, but its impact on early twentieth-century Bengal was also pronounced. Householder Yogīs were thus grafted onto the existing story of the disappearance of Indian Buddhism due to assimilation, the efforts of Hindu reformers, and the arrival of Turkic Muslim armies from the Northwest.61 The notion that householder Nāths are former Buddhists, or at least Buddhist-adjacent, remains popular for a variety of reasons, including that householder Yogīs’ imagined origins among (presumed) lower-caste Buddhists and/or “fallen” Buddhist/Nāth monastics who abandoned their vows of celibacy retains a certain explanatory power regarding their low social station. Even those who prima facie reject the idea that Nāths were in any meaningful sense Buddhist often explain the dearth of Nāth ascetics in Bengal and the low status of Yogī householder castes in structurally parallel terms. NBRNBS sources considered above do not represent Householder Nāths as biologically descended from ascetics of the Nāth sampradāya. Their preferred explanation for their presence in and the relative absence of Nāth ascetics from Bengal – distinct and quite possibly unrelated phenomena – is not that Nāth ascetics settled down and became householders but rather, following the Ballāla Carita, that Nāth ascetics and householders were distinct parts of one community, rather like Buddhist monks and laity, until the ascetics fled the country due to persecution by Ballāla Sena, leaving a small contingent of unfortunate householder Jogīs in the region. Although this narrative styles Nāths as Brahmin Śaivas, its parallels with popular notions about Bengali Buddhism are evident in several respects. It depicts a combined monastic/lay religious group with a critical stance towards 60 An accusation most famously leveled by the philosophers Rāmānuja and Bhāskara (Biderman 1978, 412). 61 See Wedemeyer (2014, 37-67); Truschke (2018).

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caste disempowered by the orthodox Hindu Sena dynasty.62 Its monks and elites are then dispersed concurrently with the demise of the Senas due to mleccha invasions. As a result, the householder laity remain at the margins of society, bereft of leadership and susceptible to conversion by lower-caste Vaiṣṇavas or Muslims. Overt identification with ambiguously Buddhist/Nāth Siddhas (Matysendranāth, etc.) was not necessarily opposed to the agenda of Sanskritizing the Yogīs, however. Śāstrī in his article “Discovery of Living Buddhism in Bengal” espouses the idea that medieval Nāth Siddhas – whom he deems a “bridge” between Hindu and Buddhist sects – were shunned by Brahmins but “had immense influence among the other castes” (1897, 8). He then implies that contemporary Yogīs’ adoption of the caste name “Nāth” is of a piece with their desire for recognition as Brahmins: “In Bengal an entire section of the yogi caste call themselves Náthas, and those were anxious some years ago to assume the holy thread and become Bráhmanas, i.e., made an unconscious effort to regain their religious supremacy” (ibid.). The other timely and possibly ready-made narrative into which the Yogīs fit neatly involved Ballāla Sena’s unjust reordering of Bengal’s castes. We saw that both published editions of the Ballāla Carita depict the Suvarṇa Baṇiks as having previously been Vaiśyas. By 1909/10 at least, the Dalit Namaśūdra community formerly called Caṇḍālas also claimed to have been Brahmins unduly outcaste by Ballāla Sena (Bandyopadhyay 1997, 46-47).63 Further research into other groups revisiting the twelfth-century judgments of Ballāla Sena with an eye to changing their social status in the twentieth or twenty-first centuries would be most welcome. Bandyopadhyay maintains for understandable reasons that “such agitations for improvement in ritual status were not aimed against the system as a whole” (1981, 94) but I have suggested here that the Nāths’ criticism of Ballāla Sena, in particular, opens up space for a more thorough critique, or at least a muted version of one. Several castes including the Yogīs actually pursued a two-pronged strategy for social advancement: Sanskritization and liberalization/secularization (Bandyopadhyay 1981, 118-19). These inclinations are inextricable in NBRNBS publications, which pair their claim to Brahminhood with critique of caste as historically practiced in Bengal. Though advocating on behalf of a community listed as OBC, the NBRNBS avoid the anti-Brahmin posture one might expect 62 In this respect the Buddhist Pāla dynasty plays an interesting role in the Ballāla Carita, since one of the reasons Ballāla Sena demotes the Suvarṇa Baṇiks is that he suspects them of Pāla sympathies. Conversely, Ballāla upgrades the Kaibartas, who had assisted him in fighting the Pālas (Majumdar 1943, 240-41). 63 The Matua community has also blamed Ballāla Sena for its condition since at least 1944. See Lorea (2020, 10).

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elsewhere in the subcontinent. An essay entitled “Viplav Keno? Kothāy? Kiser?” (“Revolution Why? Where? Whose?”) states this clearly: “Nāths do not hate Brahmins, they simply oppose Brahmanical custom (brāhmaṇya nīti) … You are Brahmins and Nāths are also Brahmins” (Hāldār 2004, 41). Rather than critique caste as an institution in the abstract, the NBRNBS have the softer target of Kulīnism, now widely regarded as emblematic of the worst “excesses” of caste in Bengal and the source of its most egregious patriarchal customs as well, since the tragic plight of young brides betrothed to an aged kulīn of meagre means and the horrifying specter of satī loom behind it. Against this backdrop Nāths can style themselves as the indigenous “good Brahmins” of Bengal, liberal on caste and forward-thinking on gender,64 unlike those hierarchical North Indian kulīns. Framed in these terms, Rudraja Brahmins represent Bengali Brahmins as they should have been, so to speak, not only untarnished by the evils of Kulīnism but unjustly cast down for their opposition to it. Through their historiographic interventions depicting Ballāla Sena as a capricious and cynical tyrant and Nāth Brahmin Yogīs as principled advocates for the common people, the NBRNBS actually valorizes Brahminhood as a force for social uplift that can be pitted against Brahmanism itself. “Let the Brahmanism be open to all, so that the problem of class conflict be over”, writes Sanskrit professor Ram Chandra Tripaty: “in course of time, the process of Brahminisation will inspire each and all and people will forget the social inequality” (Bhaṭṭācārya 2015, 16). I cannot say with certainty to what extent NBRNBS members might echo these particular sentiments, since they do seem to envision Brahminhood as having some hereditary component and there is an unmistakable casteconsciousness to the whole project, as evident in the desire rectify the painful injustice of being considered “like Śūdras” and the apologetic admission (essentially quoting the Ballāla Carita) that some Nāths indeed “went hungry and started behaving like low castes” (Debnāth 2009, 33). Clearly, there is some embarrassment around this so-called lowliness (hinatā) observable among some Yogīs. On the other hand, Mr. Debnāth also indicated that the community had in the past absorbed large numbers of householders oppressed by the Brahminical establishment, and some NBRNBS members I spoke with in Kolkata told me proudly of Nāth communities in Russia, Israel, and the United States. This suggests that conversion must have been 64 To their credit, the Jogī Sakhā did support women’s education more or less from the start, and at least one decorated pundit (Bhaṭṭācārya 2015, 103-5) even avers that Nāth women have a right (adhikāra) to the Vedas, invoking the sage Gargī of Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad fame as an ideal.

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a possibility at some point or that their sense of community may be broader or more flexible than we typically imagine jāti to be. The question of how an avowedly Brahminical organization like the NBRNBS might relate to Islamicized Yogī communities remains somewhat open. The reading of the Ballāla Carita in which one of the leaders of the Nāth “rebellion” enlists the aid of a Muslim general and his army to punish Ballāla Sena, and the insinuation that it was the suppression of the Nāths (or perhaps the Yogī’s curse) that ushered the Sena dynasty out and the Khalji Dynasty in, may represent something of an appreciative gesture. Nevertheless, any serious attempt to unite the various Yogī communities will almost certainly not involve universal identification as Śaiva Brahmins. In this regard it is a little ironic that (outside the Ballāla Carita, which purports to be a sixteenth-century text) one of the first datable hints in the direction of the idea that Nāths used to be Brahmins may derive from Gopīcandra legends, which have largely been preserved among Islamicized Yogīs. I refer here to Buchanan’s extrapolation of the idea that Yogīs used to be “priests” from the fact that a Nāth Siddha named Hāḍipā65 is depicted as the Royal Preceptor of Queen Mayanāvatī in the poem. In a sense, though, Buchanan’s logical leap highlights one of the most salient reasons that Nāths’ self-assertions as Brahmins seem credible at all, which is that in parts of Bengal a situation obtains that is similar to what Gold describes in Rajasthan: “among the peasant castes the householder Nath plays a role analogous to the Brahman … in some ritual functions the Nath can replace the Brahman” (1984, 125). It would seem far easier for a community to “become” Brahmin if they already serve a stereotypically Brahminical function. NBRNBS efforts in training Rudraja Brahmin priests point in precisely that direction.

Bibliography Bandyopadhyay, P. K. 1992. Nātha Cult and Mahānād, a Study in Syncretism. Delhi: B. R. Publishing Company. Bandyopadhyay, Sekhar. 1981. “Caste, Class and Census: Aspects of Social Mobility in Bengal under the Raj, 1872-1931.” Calcutta Historical Journal 5 (2): 93-128. Bandyopadhyay, Sekhar. 1985a. “Social Mobility in Bengal in the Late Nineteenth and the Early Twentieth Centuries.” Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Calcutta. Bandyopadhyay, Sekhar. 1997. Caste, Protest and Identity in Colonial India: The Namasudras of Bengal, 1872-1947. Richmond: Curzon. 65 The name itself implies that he was a Dalit of the Sweeper (Hāḍī) caste.

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Banerjea, Akshaya Kumar. 1962. Philosophy of Gorakhnath with Goraksha-VacanaSangraha. Gorakhpur: Mahant Dig Vijai Nath Trust. Basu, Hena. 2004. Castes in Bengal: Some Bengali Publications, 1840-1940. Kolkata: Basu Research and Documentation Service. Basu, Smita. 2013. “Goalbandhani Gaan of North Bengal: A Translation and Study of an Oral Tradition in Rajbanshi Rural Life, Misra on Eastern Bengal.” Journal of the Comparative Literature Association of India 2-3. Bhaṭṭa, Ānanda. 1904. Vallāla Caritaṃ. Edited by Haraprasād Śāstrī. Collection of Oriental Works, vol. 1070. Calcutta: Asiatic Society of Bengal. Bhaṭṭa, Ānanda and Upendra Kumār Debnāth. 2006. Ballāla Caritaṃ. 2nd ed. Upper 24 Parganas: Mādhavī Debnāth. Bhaṭṭācārya, Goṣṭhbihārī. 2015. Rudraja Brāhmaṇ Paricay. 5th ed. Upper 24 Parganas: Śaiva Prakāśanī. Bhaṭṭācārya, Bhavatoṣ, ed. 1953. Dānasāgara of Ballāla Sena. Bibliotheca Indica. Calcutta: The Asiatic Society. Bhattacharyya, Narendra Nath. 1996. History of the Śākta Religion. 2nd rev. ed. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers. Biderman, Shlomo. 1978. “Śaṅkara and the Buddhists.” Journal of Indian Philosophy 6: 405-13. Bouillier, Véronique. 1997. Ascètes et rois: un monastère de Kanphata Yogis au Népal. Paris: CNRS. Bose, Nirmal Kumar. 1975. The Structure of Hindu Society. Translated by Andre Beteille. New Delhi: Orient Longman. Briggs, George Weston. 1938. Gorakhnāth and the Kānphata Yogīs. Calcutta: Motilal Banarsidass. Buchanan (Hamilton), Francis. 1833. A Geographical, Statistical, and Historical Description of the District, or Zila, of Dinajpur, in the Province, or Soubah, of Bengal. Calcutta: Baptist Mission Press. Cashin, David G. 1995. The Ocean of Love: Middle Bengali Sufi Literature and the Fakirs of Bengal. Stockholm: Association of Oriental Studies, Stockholm University. Chatterjee, Kumkum. 2005a. “The King of Controversy: History and Nation-Making in Late Colonial India.” American Historical Review (December): 1454-75. Chatterjee, Kumkum. 2005b. “Communities, Kings and Chronicles: The Kulagranthas of Bengal.” Studies in History 21 (2): 173-213. Chattopadhyaya, Debiprasad, ed. 1979. Tāranātha’s History of Buddhism in India. Translated by Chimpa and Alaka Chattopadhyaya. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Clark, Matthew. 2006. The Daśanāmī-saṃnyāsīs: The Integration of Ascetic Lineages into an Order. Leiden; Boston: Brill. Dasgupta, Shashi Bhushan. 1946. Obscure Religious Cults as Background of Bengali Literature. Calcutta: University of Calcutta.

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Debnath, Kunal. 2020. “Research in Progress: Radical-Pragmatic Debate over Reservation: A Study of the Naths of West Bengal and Assam.” Explorations: E-Journal of the Indian Sociological Society 4 (1): 135-48. Debnāth, Upendra Kumār. 2009a. “Ballāla Caritam O Nāth-Yogīder Vidroha.” Śaiva Bhāratī. Debnāth, Upendra Kumār. 2009b. Rudraja Brāhmaṇder Itihās. 3rd ed. Kolkata: Śaiva Prakāśanī. Debnāth, Upendra Kumār. 2013. Nāth Sampradāyer Itivṛtta. 3rd ed. Kolkata: Śaiva Prakāśanī. Dimock, Edward C. 1959. “Rabindranath Tagore: ‘The Greatest of the Bauls of Bengal’.” The Journal of Asian Studies 19 (1): 33-51. Dowman, Keith. 1985. Masters of Mahāmudrā: Songs and Histories of the Eighty-Four Buddhist Siddhas. SUNY Series in Buddhist Studies. Albany: State University of New York Press. Dutt, Nripendra Kumar. 1969. Origin and Growth of Caste in India Vol II: Castes in Bengal. Calcutta: Firma KLM. Eaton, Richard Maxwell. 1993. The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier, 1204-1760. Berkeley: University of California Press. Fraser, Nancy, and Axel Honneth. 2004. Redistribution or Recognition? A PoliticalPhilosophical Exchange. Translated by Joel Galb, James Ingram, and Christiane Wilke. London: Verso. Fururi, Ryosuke. 2013. “Brāhmaṇas in Early Medieval Bengal: Construction of Their Identity, Networks and Authority.” Indian Historical Review 40 (2): 223-48. Fururi, Ryosuke. 2020. Land and Society in Early South Asia: Eastern India 400-1250 AD. London: Routledge. Gold, Ann Grodzins, Madhu Natisar Nath, and David S. Magier. 1992. A Carnival of Parting: The Tales of King Bharthari and King Gopi Chand as Sung and Told by Madhu Natisar Nath of Ghatiyali, Rajasthan. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gold, Daniel, and Ann Grodzins Gold. 1984. “The Fate of the Householder Nath.” History of Religions 24 (2): 113-32. Gold, Daniel. 2002. “Kabir’s Secrets for Householders: Truths and Rumours among Rajasthani Nāths.” In Images of Kabir, edited by Monika Horstmann, 143-156. New Delhi: Manohar. Haldar, Gopal Chandra. 1933. “The Legend of Raja Gopichand.” In Proceedings and Transactions of the Sixth All-India Oriental Conference, 265-78. Patna: Bihar and Orissa Research Society. Hāldār, Mākhanlāl. 2004. Yogamārger Rudraja Brāhmaṇ Pariciti O Rudraja Brāhmaṇ Jātir Saṃkṣipta Itihās Evaṃ Patrāvalī. 2nd ed. Upper 24 Parganas: Śaiva Prakāśanī.

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Haq, Muhammad Enamul. 1975. A History of Sufi-ism in Bengal. Dacca: Asiatic Society of Bangladesh. Harihara. 1998. Bhartṛhari-Nirveda-Nāṭakam. Edited by Manojnāth Jhā. Delhi: Naga Publishers. Inden, Ronald B. 1976. Marriage and Rank in Bengali Culture: A History of Caste and Clan in Middle Period Bengal. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kane, P.V. 1930. History of Dharmaśāstra (Ancient and Mediaeval Religious and Civil Law) Vol. I. Pune: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. Kane, P.V. 1962. History of Dharmaśāstra (Ancient and Mediaeval Religious and Civil Law) Vol. V (Part 2). Pune: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. Kar, Sujan Sarathi. 2012. Nāth-Sāhitya: Dharma O Samāj. Kolkata: Pustak Bipani. Krakauer, Benjamin. 2015. “The Ennobling of a ‘Folk Tradition’ and the Disempowerment of the Performers: Celebrations and Appropriations of Bāul-Fakir Identity in West Bengal.” Ethnomusicology 59 (3): 355-79. Kvaerne, Per. 1986. An Anthology of Buddhist Tantric Songs: A Study of the Caryāgīti. Bangkok: White Orchid Press. “List of Other Backward Classes in West Bengal.” n.d. West Bengal Backward Classes Welfare Department. https://wbxpress.com/list-other-backward-classes-westbengal/ (accessed October 4, 2018). Lorea, Carola. 2020. “Religion, Caste, and Displacement: The Matua Community.” Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Asian History. https://doi.org/10.1093/ acrefore/9780190277727.013.428. Lorenzen, David N. 1978. “Warrior Ascetics in Indian History.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 98 (1): 61-75. Mahapatra, Piyushkanti. 1971. “Nath Cult of Bengal.” Folklore 12 (10): 376-96. Mahapatra, Piyushkanti. 1972. The Folk Cults of Bengal. Calcutta: Indian Publications. Majumdar, R.C., ed. 1943. The History of Bengal. Vol. I (Hindu Period). Dacca: University of Dacca. Mallinson, James. 2011. “Nāth Sampradāya.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Vol. III. Society, Religious Specialists, Religious Traditions, and Philosophy, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen, Helene Basu, Angelika Malinar, and Vasudha Narayanan, 409-28. Leiden: Brill. Martin, Robert Montgomery, ed. 1838. Historical Documents of Eastern India, Vol. VII (Ronggopur). Delhi: Caxton Publishers. Mitra, Asok. 1953. The Tribes and Castes of West Bengal. Census 1951. Alipore: West Bengal Government Press. Mullick, Promatha Nath. 1902. History of the Vaisyas of Bengal. Calcutta: Thacker, Spink & Co. “Nikhil Bharat Rudraja Nath Brahman Sammilani.” http://nbrnbs.org/about.html (accessed February 2, 2018).

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Nikhil Bhārat Rudraja Nāth Brāhmaṇ Sammilanī, and Rudraja Brāhmaṇ Purohit Saṅgha. 2009. Nikhil Bhārat Rudraja Nāth Brāhmaṇ Sammilanīr Saṃkṣipta Itihās. Edited by Upendra Kumar Kumar Debnath. Kolkata. Offredi, Mariola. 1999. “The Concepts of Sound and Light in Gorakh Yoga through the Analysis of Three Nāthpanthī Manuscripts from the Jodhpur Collection.” In Religion, Ritual, and Royalty, edited by N. K. Singh and Rajendra Joshi, 153-72. Jaipur: Rawat Publications. Offredi, Mariola. 2002. “Kabīr and the Nāthpanth.” In Images of Kabir, edited by Monika Horstmann, 127-41. New Delhi: Manohar. Openshaw, Jeanne. 2004. Seeking Bāuls of Bengal. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. “Other Backward Classes of West Bengal.” 2010. West Bengal Backward Classes Welfare Department. https://wbxpress.com/other-backward-classes-of-westbengal/ (accessed October 4, 2018). Pinch, William R. 1996. Peasants and Monks in British India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Rahim, Muhammad Abdur. 1967. Social and Cultural History of Bengal. Karachi: Pakistan Publishing House. Ray, Benoy Gopal. 1965. Religious Movements in Modern Bengal. Santiniketan: Visva-Bharati. Rāy, Jatindra Mohān. 1916. Ḍhākār Itihās. Vol. 2. Kolkata: Sasimohan Ray Kaviratna. Risley, Herbert Hope. 1892. The Tribes and Castes of Bengal. Calcutta: The Bengal Secretariat Press. Roy, Asim. 1983. The Islamic Syncretistic Tradition in Bengal. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Sen, Sukumar. 1975. “The Natha Cult.” In Cultural Heritage of India, edited by Haridas Bhattacharyya, 2nd ed. Vol. IV, 280-90. Calcutta: Ramakrishna Mission Institute of Culture. Śāstrī, Haraprasād. 1897. Discovery of Living Buddhism in Bengal. Calcutta: Hare Press. Śāstrī, Haraprasād. 1916. Hājār Bacharer Purāṇa Bāṅgālā Bhāṣāy Bauddha-Gān O Dohā. Calcutta: Bangiya Sahitya Parisad. Shastri, J.L., ed. 1970. The Śiva Purāṇa. Vol. I. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Srinivas, M.N. 1969. Social Change in Modern India. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Tarafdar, Momtazur Rahman.1965. Husain Shahi Bengal. Dacca: Asiatic Society of Pakistan. Tarafdar, Momtazur Rahman 1992. “Influence of the Natha Cult of the Growth of Sufism in Bengal.” In Shī’a Islam, Sects and Sufism, edited by Frederick De Jong, 97-104. Utrecht: M.Th. Houtsma Stitching.

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Templeman, David. 1997. “Buddhaguptanatha: A Late Indian Siddha in Tibet.” Tibetan Studies: Proceedings of the 7th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies, Graz 1995, edited by H. Krasser et al., Vol. II, 955-65. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. “The Gazette of India No. 163.” 1994. Government of India Press. “The Gazette of India No. 270.” 1999. Government of India Press. Tiwari, Nandaki Sora, H. U. Khan, and Arvind Macwan. 2002. Bharthari: A Chhattisgarhi Folk Epic. New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi. Truschke, Audrey. 2018. “The Power of the Islamic Sword in Narrating the Death of Indian Buddhism.” History of Religions History of Religions 57 (4): 406-35. Vaudeville, Charlotte. 1993. A Weaver Named Kabir: Selected Verses with a Detailed Biographical and Historical Introduction. French Studies in South Asian Culture and Society 6. New York: Oxford University Press. Vidyānidhi, Lāl Mohān. 1896. Sambandhanirṇaya or a Social History of the Principal Hindu Castes in Bengal. 2nd ed. Calcutta: New School Book Press. “WB Backward Classes (Other than SC & ST) Reservation of Vacancies in Services & Posts Act, 2012.” n.d. Government of West Bengal Law Department. https:// wbxpress.com/west-bengal-backward-classes-other-than-sc-st-reservation-ofvacancies-in-services-and-posts-act-2012/ (accessed October 4, 2018). Wedemeyer, Christian K. 2014. Making Sense of Tantric Buddhism: History, Semiology, and Transgression in the Indian Traditions. New York: Columbia University Press. White, David Gordon. 1996. The Alchemical Body: Siddha Traditions in Medieval India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

About the author Joel Bordeaux is a Gonda Research Fellow at the International Institute for Asian Studies in Leiden, researching representations of “Buddhist China” in Hindu tantras. Other ongoing projects include a monograph entitled Raja Krishnacandra: Hindu Kingship and Myth-Making in Early Modern Bengal, as well as papers on vernacular mantras, fanciful commentaries, and orientalist occultism. [email protected]

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Shades of Power The Nāth Yogīs in Nepal1 Christof Zotter Abstracts Śrī Siddha Bhagavantanāth was a Yogī of the Nāth sampradāya who appeared on the scene in 1773 CE in Salyan, West Nepal, and went on to have a stellar career as one of the most trusted advisors of Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh, ruler of Gorkha. Bhagavantanāth’s miraculous help in war campaigns, diplomatic services, and political advice was opulently rewarded with land grants and the post of central overseer (maṇḍalāi) of all Yogīs in the newly founded and still expanding kingdom of Nepal. These benefits allowed him to establish two monasteries: Rānāgaũ in Salyan and Śrīgāũ in Dang. Using newly discovered historical documents, this chapter examines the development of these monastic settlements, the economic and social power they represented, and their dynamic relations with the state. Keywords: Nepal, royal patronage, institutionalization, power struggles, succession, inscriptions/historical documents

In revisiting what is known about the early history of the Nāth Yogīs in Nepal and contrasting what is known about them from the time of the Malla kings (1200-1768/69) with the information we have from the period of Śāh and Rāṇā rule (1768-1950), the present chapter will attempt to shed light on the different “shades” of power and power relations evidenced among Nepalese Yogīs. In the first part, based on a re-reading of the available epigraphic sources, it will be shown that in the Kathmandu Valley the close linkage between the Yogīs and the king, which is clearly attested for later periods and has been repeatedly projected by scholars onto the more remote past, only came 1 My thanks go to Monika Boehm-Tettelbach, Manik Bajracharya, Véronique Bouillier, Simon Cubelic, Axel Michaels, Adrián Muñoz, and Astrid Zotter for their comments on an earlier draft of this paper, and to Philip Pierce for correcting the English.

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_ch07

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into existence slowly. The second part of the chapter deals with the special relation of the Śāh kings from Gorkha to their tutelary deity Gorakṣanāth, and briefly describes the stellar career of Siddha Bhagavantanāth, a Yogī from West Nepal, who has already been studied in the pioneering works of Günter Unbescheid (1980) and Véronique Bouillier (1991a and b). Finally, the chapter discusses new pertinent documents, some yet unpublished, thus providing updated information about the development of Bhagavantanāth’s lineage, including a demonstration that the support and privileges granted by the temporal powers to this lineage for more than a century were not open-ended.

1 Early traces of the Nāth Yogīs in Nepal As an example of Gorakṣanāth’s “power over nature” George W. Briggs, in his classical monograph on the Nāth Yogīs, relates versions of the Nepalese legend of how the saint caused a twelve-year drought in order to bring Matsyendranāth from the Kapotal mountain (Kāmarūpa) to Nepal (Briggs 1938, 197-99). This famous story is retold in different chronicles or “genealogies” (vamśāvalīs) of Nepal. While almost all versions link this event to King Narendradev, who most probably ruled in the seventh century CE,2 other details vary greatly.3 The oldest available chronicle, the Gopālarājavaṃśāvalī, whose redaction was finalized during the reign of Jayasthiti Malla (r. 13821395), merely mentions that King Narendradev and his ācārya, Bandhudatta, initiated the chariot festival ( jātrā) of Śrī Lokeśvar of Bugma (Buṅga). 4 It is only in the chronicles composed in the nineteenth century or later that both features especially interesting in the present context – namely the identification of the Buddhist deity Lokeśvar or Avalokiteśvar with Matsyendranāth and the involvement of Gorakṣanāth – form part of the legend.5 To trace the origin of Nāth Yogīs in Nepal, however, we have to rely on other sources.6 2 See Locke (1980, 297), and Unbescheid (1980, 169-71). 3 For a detailed account of the different versions of the legend, see Locke (1980, 281-95), and Unbescheid (1980, 152-68). 4 Locke (1980, 281); Unbescheid (1980, 170); Vājracārya and Malla (1985, 126). 5 According to Locke (1980, 282) the first dateable document that includes Matsyendranāth in the legend is a manuscript dated NS 797 (1677 CE), containing the Matsyendrapadyaśatakam of Nīlakaṇtha, a poem evidently written at the behest of King Śrīnivās Malla (r. 1661-1685). The first dateable account to link Gorakṣanāth with Matsyendranāth is the short summary of the story by William Kirkpatrick, who visited Nepal in 1793 (Locke 1980, 288, with reference to Kirkpatrick 1969, 190-91). For a suggested earlier identification of Lokeśvar as Matsyendranāth, which cannot be discussed here, see Tuladhar-Douglas (2006, 7, 178, 198 and passim). 6 For further legendary accounts of Gorakṣanāth found in the vaṃśāvalīs, see below, p. 210.

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1.1 The Yogīs and the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap Epigraphic evidence for the presence of followers of Gorakṣanāth in the Kathmandu Valley first appears in the late fourteenth century. Most often mentioned in this context is a copperplate (tāmrapatra), dated Nepāl Samvat (NS) 499 (1379 CE), that was attached to the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap, the wooden pavilion from which the name Kathmandu derives. Its prominence is somewhat surprising given the fact that the original – “a blackened and warped plaque nailed high overhead in an almost inaccessible place on the beams” (Slusser and Vajrācārya 1974, 221 note 60)7 – could not be read properly. For decades scholars had to rely on a transcription published by Yogī Naraharināth in Saṃskṛta Sandeśa in 1953 (VS 2010, 5-6), which remains incomprehensible in many passages.8 Admitting that they were unable to rectify Naraharināth’s faulty reading, Mary S. Slusser and Gautamavajra Vajrācārya write about this inscription: “In N.S. 499 … The Harigaṇas [followers of Hari (=Śiva), i.e., the Kāpālikas] received this building of Yaṃgala [another of the city’s many names] by order of Jayasthiti Malla … from this day it was theirs. … It is given by the king”. Gorakṣanātha, too, is mentioned in the text. (1974, 211)

The two authors further suggest that the statue at the center of the building, usually identified as Gorakṣanāth (but seen by some as a representation of the legendary builder Lopīpād9 or the Buddhist Siddha Padmasambhava10), was probably installed at the same time (1974, 211-12).11 As Mary Slusser herself realized later (Slusser 2017, [11] note 13), this interpretation, which was often repeated,12 needs revision. As Kashinath Tamot has pointed out in a post on www.nepalamandala.org (2009),13 the inscription 7 Cf. Rājvaṃśī (VS 2074, 34). 8 Slusser and Vajrācārya (1974, 221 note 60); Unbescheid (1980, 67). 9 The story of how the Siddha Lopīpād (also known as Lūīpa or Lopīnāth) built the maṇḍapa with a single tree brought from Mt. Kailash is found in the Śrīnāthatīrthāvalī, a pilgrim’s guide from Rajasthan compiled under the patronage of the Jodhpur king Mānsingh in the nineteenth century. For the pertinent text passage, see Naraharināth (VS 2010, 2-3), and Pant (VS 2074, 89); see also Bouillier (1993, 86); Locke (1980, 433); Malla (2015, 580). 10 Cf. Unbescheid (1980, 71), with further references. 11 On the different identifications of the statue, see also Malla (2015, 580). 12 See, e.g., Bouillier (1986, 129) and (1993, 86); Gutschow (2011, 506); Locke (1980, 435); Petech (1984, 187); Risal (2015, [6]); Unbescheid (1980, 67). 13 I am grateful to Véronique Bouillier for providing me with a copy of the text, which is no longer available online.

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actually contains no reference to Gorakṣanāth, Naraharināth (VS 2010, 5) having misread the month name vaiśākha at the beginning of the text as an invocation to the “god Gorakṣa” (devo go(gva)rakṣo).14 Other details are called into question too: having assumed that the word “Harigaṇa” denotes a group of Śaiva ascetics, Slusser and Vajrācārya identify the recipients of the donation as Kāpālikas. They comment that the Kanphaṭṭās,15 who long asserted their legal ownership by collecting rents from the shops around the maṇḍap (1974, 211),16 “are akin to the Kāpālika, or ‘skull men’” (1974, 210) and argue that these ancient extremist skull-bearers are the antecedents of the group who inhabited the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap before the building became a protected historical monument in 1966. These were the Kusales/Kusles/ Kusalyās, also known as Jugīs, Kāpālīs or Darśandhārīs,17 a Newar caste group of tailor-musicians who claim Gorakṣanāth as their patron. There is no room to discuss the evidence for skull-bearing ascetics in ancient Nepal or their assumed relation to the Kanphaṭṭās (or Darśanīs) and Kusles,18 but following a re-reading of the text another point needs to be corrected (cf. Slusser 2017, [11] note 13). According to a copy of the copperplate prepared with a Nepali translation by Pandit Cittaharṣa Vajrācārya,19 Kashinath Tamot’s edition based on a photo taken in 1997 (Tamot 2009), and another new edition prepared after the plate could be recovered from the rubble heap of the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap after the disastrous earthquake of 2015 (Rājvaṃśī VS 2074, 38), the inscription does not concern the donation of the building to 14 See also Pant (VS 2074, 390) and Risal (2015, [10] note 22). It is only almost a century later, in the time of Jayasthiti Malla’s grandson, Yakṣa Malla (1428-1482), that a copperplate can be found starting with an invocation to Gorakṣanāth (see below, p. 201). 15 Slusser and Vajrācārya write “Kānphaṭṭā”. I give the word as it is spelled in the Nepālī Bṛhat Śabdakośa (Parājulī et al., VS 2058, s.v.). The Oxford Hindi-English Dictionary has kanphaṭā (McGregor 1993, s.v.). Given the fact that this term commonly used by outsiders and frequently found in the secondary literature is rejected by most Yogīs as derogative (see the chapters of Bouillier and Stuparich in this volume) I prefer to speak of Darśanīs, Nāths, or ascetic Yogīs when referring to those labelled as Kanphaṭṭās. 16 For further details, see Unbescheid (1980, 70). 17 For these designations, see Bouillier (1993, 76-77); Unbescheid (1980, 130). 18 On these issues, see Bouillier (1993, 78-79 and passim). 19 The copy, containing in the upper margin the seals of the “Bir Library, Nepal” and the “Guṭhī Samsthān, Guṭhī Lagat Kāryālaya”, was microfilmed by the Nepal-German Manuscript Preservation Project (NGMPP) as K 55/5 (metadata for this and other NGMPP documents referred to in this chapter can be found in the Documenta Nepalica database: https://nepalica. hadw-bw.de/nepal/catitems/index/). For more information on the copies prepared by Siddhaharṣa Vajrācārya’s son Cittaharṣa Vajrācārya in 1934 CE, see Kashinath Tamot’s “Kāṣṭhamaṇḍapko tāmrapatrābhilekhaḥ: Cittaharṣa Vajrācāryako pāṭh ra anuvād”, posted on https://medium. com/nepalmandal/ (accessed February 9 2022) on December 6, 2017.

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a group of ascetics, but rather, following an order of Jayasthiti Rāja Malla, fixes the date for the “Harigana (Tamot: Haragana, Rājvaṃsī: Hariśana) jātrā”20 to the second lunar day of the bright fortnight of the month of Vaiśākh in Yamgal (the southern part of present-day Kathmandu City), and on the following day in Yambu (the northern part of Kathmandu). Since the document neither mentions Gorakṣanāth nor the donation of the building to his followers, one may also question what has been said about the installation of the undated statue. Although the copperplate cannot plausibly be invoked to demonstrate that the followers of Gorakṣanāth received royal patronage and had control over the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap from the time of the famous king Jayasthiti Malla, subsequent inscriptions from the same early Malla period still attest to their close association with the impressive building located prominently at the crossing of the ancient trans-Himalayan trade route and the principal north-south road through Kathmandu. A copperplate dated NS 537, Āṣāḍh kṛṣṇa amāvāsya (1417 CE) states that Jogī dignitaries (bharāda) who came to “Yaṃgraṃndo”21 were each to be given a pot of beaten rice.22 Half a century later, again on the new moon day of Āṣāḍh in NS 585 (1465 CE), another copperplate was issued that starts with an invocation of Gorakṣanāth (oṃ namaḥ gorakṣanāthāya) in the Sanskrit portion and describes the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap as being decorated with golden flags (svarṇadhvaja) and always having “Master Yogīs” (Yogīśvaras) residing in it. It commemorates the fact that one Caitanyanāth, a Yogī from Gauḍ Deś (in what is now Bengal) bought a field measuring 9 ropanīs and gave it to the venerable Avadhūtas in order to finance the cakra of the Yogīs held annually on the new moon day of Āṣāḍh. Furthermore, the inscription stipulates how the caretakers of the trust should allot proceeds from the donated field (i.e., how much rice should be used for cooking, for brewing beer, for trading for salt, oil, spices, curd, chicken, etc.), and it mentions the different types of earthen pots (required for the pūjā).23 This cakra or yogīcakra, which Unbescheid (1980, 69) and others24 understand as cakrapūjā, is also the 20 Unfortunately, nothing is known about this procession from other sources. 21 Pant (VS 2074, 91) explains the term as yaṃgalko maṇḍap (“the maṇḍap of Yaṃgal”), i.e., the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap. 22 G. Vājrācārya (VS 2033, 196-97); Pant (VS 2074, 91). 23 For editions, see Naraharināth (VS 2010, 7-8), and (VS 2022, 225); D.R. Regmi (1966a, 79-80); a copy made by Cittaharṣa Vajrācārya was microfilmed by the NGMPP as K 55/4; see also Bouillier (1986, 130, and 1993, 87); Locke (1980, 435); Pant (VS 2074, 93); Slusser and Vajrācārya (1974, 211); Unbescheid (1980, 68-69). 24 See, e.g., Bouillier (1986, 130); Locke (1980, 435).

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subject of two more copperplates found in the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap: one issued in NS 605, Āśvin śukla 4 (1485 CE),25 the other26 in NS 632, Āṣāḍh kṛṣṇa 14 (1512 CE).27 One open question is what kind of cakrapūjā was performed at that time. In discussing this issue, Unbescheid and others point out that the cakrapūjās performed today by ascetic Yogīs in an annual cycle in various localities inside the Kathmandu Valley28 differ from the classical tantric cakrapūjā.29 While the latter is a ritual performed by a circle (cakra) of initiates in secret, the cakrapūjā of the Yogīs usually marks the beginning of the annual procession (yātrā) of a local deity and is a public event. In it the officiating Yogī places a number of earthen pitchers (ghyāmpo) of beer in a ritual configuration on the ground and worships different goddesses, the eight Bhairavas, nine Nāths and other deities, in ten directions, one after the other in a clockwise circle. Finally, a blood sacrifice (bali) is offered by a member of the associated guṭhī.30 As Unbescheid and Bouillier stress, the cakrapūjā of the ascetic Yogīs has parallels to the ghaṭasthāpanapūjā performed by the Kusles as part of their traditional caste obligations; this is a ritual that takes place during the

25 The Yogī dignitary (bhalāda) Hetunāth or Hatnāth donated 4 ropanīs of land for an annual cakra and the feasting of the jogibhalādas on their return from a pilgrimage to Gosainkund. (For editions, see Naraharināth VS 2010, 4, and VS 2022, 224; D. R. Regmi 1966a, 85-86; for a copy, see NGMPP K 54/57; see also Locke 1980, 435; Pant VS 2074, 92; Slusser and Vajrācārya 1974, 211; Unbescheid 1980, 69-70.) 26 The sixfold venerable (śrī 6) Bālnāth from Tripurāsthān, Khaṇḍal Deś, donated 4 palas and 2 karṣas (in total approx. 280 grams) of gold dust (suvarṇa cūrṇa, kālā luṃ) for the annual jogicakra held on Āṣādh kṛṣṇa 14 (For editions, see Naraharināth VS 2010, 8-9, and VS 2022, 225; D. R. Regmi 1966a, 99; for a copy, see NGMPP K 55/1; see also Locke 1980, 435; Pant VS 2074, 92; Unbescheid 1980, 70). 27 Unbescheid’s opinion (1980, 67, 113) that the NS 499 copperplate (see above) was already ordering the Darśan(dhārīs) to perform the gaṇapūjā (=cakrapūjā) at the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap caused confusion (see Bouillier 1993, 86 note 20) but cannot be confirmed. 28 For a list of the seventeen places, see Locke (1980, 442 note 105) and Unbescheid (1980, 117-27). The Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap is not included in these lists because the celebration of the cakrapūjā there had ceased some decades earlier (Unbescheid 1980, 113). 29 For the tantric cakrapūjā typically involving the “five M’s” (pañcamakara), that is, alcohol (madya), meat (māṃsa), f ish (matsya), parched or fried grain (mudrā), and sexual union (maithuna), see e.g., Briggs (1938, 171-73); for the differences to the cakrapūjā of the Yogīs in the Kathmandu Valley, see Bouillier (1986, 159) and Unbescheid (1980, 109-10). 30 The officiating Yogī usually also performs a namaskārapūjā in which he offers the middle portion (nābhī, lit. “navel”) of a big round loaf of bread called roṭ to the main deity or deities of the locality (see the description of the cakrapūjā in Bouillier 1986, 160-61; Locke 1980, 230 and Unbescheid 1980, 115-17).

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nhaynhumā rite on the seventh day after death and includes the worship of a ghyāmpo at the doorstep of the deceased.31 This leads to other still unresolved questions regarding the early yogīcakras at the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap, and later on at other places in the Valley (see below, pp. 206 and 212). Which group of Gorakṣanāth followers actually performed these rituals? Who were the Jogībharādas, Yogīśvaras and Avadhūtas mentioned in the inscriptions? Were they, as they are today, ascetic Darśanīs or the antecedents of householder Kusles, who claim in some localities to be the original pūjārīs of the annual cakrapūjā (cf. Unbescheid 1980, 112-13)? Or was there no such distinction at that time? Since historical evidence is meagre and the groups in question use the same designations (such as Yogī/Jogī, Darśandhārī, etc.) it is difficult, if not impossible, to resolve these issues. 1.2 Other early traces The Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap is not the only place where early traces of Gorakṣanāth and his followers are found.32 Interestingly, the two oldest witnesses link the saint with a Buddhist site. According to Locke (1980, 433), the earliest reference to Gorakṣanāth in the Kathmandu Valley is an inscription on a stele – in the quadrangle of Iṭuṃ Bahā, a Buddhist monastery not far from the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap – dated NS 502 Āṣādh śukla 10 (1382 CE) and commemorating the donation and installation of a Dīpāṅkara Buddha statue. The donor, the mahāmantrī Madanrām Varddhan – not, as Locke writes (1980, 433), the powerful feudatory Jayasiṃharām Varddhan, but his brother (cf. Petech 1984, 152) – is referred to as “a disciple of a descendant of Gorakh” (gorakhātmajaśiṣya).33 Just seven years later, an icon of Gorakṣanāth’s 31 For this ritual, see Bouillier (1986, 161) and (1993, 100); Unbescheid (1980, 140-41). For a description of the present situation in Bhaktapur, see Gutschow and Michaels (2005, 54). According to the oral legends recorded by Unbescheid among the Kusles of Patan, the ghaṭasthāpanapūjā was first performed by Kusalnāth Darśandhāri aka Kāpāli Yogī (an accursed disciple of Jālandhar and later Gorakṣanāth, and the legendary progenitor of the Kusles) in order to cure a plague that had infested the people of the Valley. Out of gratitude for his help the people allowed him to stay in Nepal and arranged a marriage for him, his descendants having since settled in every quarter of the city (Unbescheid 1980, 136-37). 32 Mahes Raj Pant mentions a concentration of at least six other “Gorakhnāthī” pavilions (maṇḍap or sattal) in Kathmandu, all located within a walking distance of twenty-five minutes. Among these pavilions the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap is the oldest. Two can be traced back to the late fourteenth century, and one to the f irst half of the f ifteenth century (Pant VS 2074, 92-93). However, it is uncertain from when on these buildings were associated with the Yogīs. 33 Tevārī et al. (VS 2010, 42); Naraharināth (VS 2022, 245); Dh. Vajracārya (VS 2022, 34); D. R. Regmi (1966b, 26); see also Bouillier (1986, 130), and (1993, 87); Locke (1980, 301, 433).

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footprints (pāduka) was installed by one Acintanāth in front of a cave near Pharping known as a place where Padmasambhava stayed and meditated on his way to Tibet.34 The inscription,35 dated NS 511, Māgh śukla 5 (1391 CE), mentions Jayasthiti Malla’s suzerainty and some other historically important facts (see Petech 1984, 141, 195) but it does not provide sufficient evidence to conclude, as Unbescheid (1980, 173-74) does, that it was Jayasthiti Malla who gave the Yogīs a first important needed impulse. Unbescheid is not the only scholar to draw such a conclusion. Locke, when talking about the time of Jayasthiti Malla, speaks of “the fact of royal patronage of the yogis” (1980, 436) and Bouillier, more cautiously, raises the question of whether this patronage (and the performing of the cakrapūjā as well) may have been impacted by the culture of Mithila, the land Jayasthiti Malla came from (1993, 87). One reason for attributing such importance to this king is undoubtedly the misinterpretation of the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap copperplate of NS 499 (see above). Unbescheid for one may have been influenced by what is told about Jayasthiti Malla in the vaṃśāvalīs. The so-called Wright Chronicle attributes the establishing of the feet and the image of Gorakṣanāth at Mṛgasthalī (see below) to him,36 and the chronicle ascribed to Padmagiri states that Jayasthiti Malla placed the footmarks of Gorakṣanāth “in a temple” (Hasrat 1970, 56). Unbescheid (1980, 60) proposes that this temple may have been the shrine in Pharping and refers to the above-mentioned inscription of NS 511, ignoring the fact that it names one Acintanāth and not the king as donor. It should be added that the two statements in the chronicles are to be treated with caution. Both texts were composed only in the nineteenth century. Remarkably, the Gopalarājavaṃśāvalī, which was finalized during the reign of Jayasthiti Malla, and thus provides a more direct account of the events of that time, mentions neither Gorakṣanāth nor the Yogīs.37 So it seems that there is no solid proof for royal patronage of the Yogīs by Jayasthiti Malla or any other early Malla king. 34 The cave is located on the hillside above the Vajrayoginī temple. According to Unbescheid, this site is still of great importance for the Yogīs who visit Pharping on their return from Gosainkund to perform a cakrapūjā that marks the beginning of the local hariśaṅkara ekādaśī yātrā (Unbescheid 1980, 79-80, 101, 103, 125). 35 For an edition, see D. R. Regmi (1966a, 31). 36 Wright (1877, 183) referred to in Unbescheid (1980, 60); see also Bajracharya and Michaels (2016b, 86). 37 According to the edition of Dhanavajra Vājrācār ya and Kamal P. Malla, the Gopalarājavaṃśāvalī contains two references to a group (gaṇa) of Yogīs (in the translation explained as Kusales) who donated a golden roof for the chariot of a local deity in NS 503 (1383 CE), on Caitra śukla 10 (Vājrācārya and Malla 1985, 37, 85, 132) and Phālguṇa śukla 11 of that year (Vājrācārya and Malla 1985, 68, 117, 162-63), but as Mahes Raj Pant (1993, 46-47) convincingly

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Rather, the data suggests a different conclusion: all known early donations made in support of the Yogīs were private donations. Interestingly, all were offered by Yogīs themselves. The same seems to hold true for many donations made in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, which also attest to the fact that the cult of Gorakṣanāth spread further throughout the valley. Unbescheid mentions inscriptions in Patan, Bhaktapur, Banepa, and Dhulikhel. All are related to small Gorakṣanāth shrines run by Kusles (Unbescheid 1980, 81, 141-42). Also, the f irst inscription attesting to a Gorakṣanāth sanctuary at Mṛgasthalī, today Nepal’s most important center of ascetic Darśanīs, does not record a royal donation, as Unbescheid thinks, but a private one (although the king was personally involved). As in some of the vaṃśāvalīs,38 this place located on a hilltop between the temples of Paśupatināth and Guhyeśvarī in Deopatan is linked by Yogīs with the legendary event at the time of Narendradev (see p. 198) and is identified as the spot where the saint confined the rain-giving snakes and caused a twelve-year drought (Unbescheid 1980, 58). It has already been mentioned (see p. 204) that another famous king, namely Jayasthiti Malla, is said to have supported Mṛgasthalī. But the first inscription relating to the place is found only in the seventeenth century. A copperplate issued in NS 788, Māgh śukla 5 (1668 CE)39 states that, with the motive of pleasing the Thrice Venerable (śrī 3) Gorakhnāth of Mṛgasthalī, an outsider (paradeśi), Bālnāth (text: Vār°) Jogi, donated a plot of 60 modis (murī) of land in Phāṃdo Byāsi in Devadālī in order to meet expenses for performing the pañcopacārapūjā of Gorakhnāth and holding the feast for the Dvādaśapanth Yogīs (in the Newari portion: Bārahapanth Jogī) to be held annually on Vaiśākh śukla 8 when the raganayāta of the Macchendrajātrā takes place. 40 The Sanskrit portion of the inscription mentions the Kathmandu king Pratāp Malla (r. 1641-1674 CE), but only (like the sun and other gods) as a witness, not as the donor. Moreover, the next inscription discussed by argues, both donations were made by Niyogīs, whom he identifies as members of the Newar butcher caste (mod. New. Nāy). 38 See Padmagiri’s chronicle (Hasrat 1970, 44) and the Bhāṣāvaṃśāvalī (Pauḍel VS 2020, 4). 39 For an edition, see Naraharināth (VS 2013, 453-54); a copy with an anonymous Nepali translation was microfilmed by the NGMPP as K 44/59; see also Bouillier (1986, 130) and (1993, 87-88); Unbescheid (1980, 59, 176-77). 40 The word raganayāta probably refers to the arrival of Matsyendranāth’s chariot in Lagankhel, Patan, where it circumambulates a tree that is believed to be the residence of Matsyendranāth’s mother. This event is still known as laganayāta or lagaṃyāḥ (I am grateful to Manik Bajracharya for this information). Unbescheid (1980, 59) reports a local tradition according to which Siddha Bālaknāth, a disciple of Gorakṣanāth (Unbescheid refers to Briggs 1938, 31), took samādhi on that day. See also Unbescheid (1980, 100).

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Unbescheid is not a royal donation as he claims (1980, 59). Less than two years later, in NS 790, Kārttik śukla 9 (1669 CE), the Patan king Śrīnivās Malla (r. 1661-1685) reconfirmed the land owned by Darśandhārī Bālnāth Jogī at Phāṃdo Byāsi which had been sold (prasādārapā, lit. “favoured”) by his Twice Venerable Elder Brother (śrīśrīdāju), that is, his cousin Pratāp Malla.41 This alleged evidence for royal support has to do only with the Yogīs’ land transactions, but there is another source documenting a royal guṭhī founded to support the Yogīs. In NS 793, Phālguṇa śukla 10 (1673 CE), Śrīnivās Malla, who adopted Avalokiteśvar-Karuṇamaya of Buṅga (see p. 198) as one of his tutelary deities (iṣṭadevatā) and made him the state deity (Locke 1980, 308 note 68, 414-15), affixed a long stone inscription to the Rāto Machindranāth temple at Ta Bahā in Patan. 42 Besides many other regulations relating to the cult of the deity, the text mentions that the Kusle Yogīs (text: kusariyā jugī) of two named city quarters were to sound the conch shell (śaṅkha) during the āratīpūjās (worship with a lamp performed at dawn, noon, and dusk), 43 and later it lists the land given for a “jogīcakraguthi” in the name of the king’s mother, the Twice Venerable Bhānumatī, to feed the jogīcakra – here probably simply meaning the “circle of Yogīs” – at Ta Bahā (text: Tavabāhā) after the ghaṭasthāpana on the new moon day of Caitra. 44 According to Locke (1980, 311 note 75), the custom initiated by this royal donation no longer exists, but his informants told him that the Yogīs who were previously to be fed were ascetic Yogīs. Unbescheid sees a continuation of the custom in the cakrapūjā of the Nāths and their feeding by Buddhist Vājrācāryas that take place a month later, on the new moon day of Vaiśākh just before Matsyendranāth is taken out of the temple and placed on the chariot (Unbescheid 1980, 114, 121). 45 It is only about one hundred years after Śrīnivās Malla’s inscription in Patan that we have other confirmed evidence of royal support for Yogīs. In NS 883, Mārga kṛṣṇa 5 (1762 CE), the Kathmandu king Jayaprakāś Malla ruled that one Lakṣmaṇnāth was to provide one ku (c. 1.1 liters) of husked 41 For an edition, see Naraharināth (VS 2013, 452-53); a copy with a Nepali translation was microfilmed by the NGMPP as K 44/61. 42 For an edition, see Regmi (1966b, 154-61), and Tevārī et al. (VS 2020, 7-11); for an English summary, see Locke (1980, 308-12). 43 Locke (1980, 309); Regmi (1966b, 156); Tevārī et al. (VS 2020, 8). 44 Locke (1980, 311); Regmi (1966b, 156); Tevārī et al. (VS 2020, 10). 45 Locke mentions the feeding of a group of ascetic Yogīs at Bu Bahā in Patan after the saṃkrāntipūjā (worship of Avalokiteśvar on the first day of each month). In contrast to the royal guṭhī of Ta Bahā, it was organized by a private donation set up by the saṃgha of the Bahā. The only historical information about this feeding is that it was discontinued after the earthquake of 1934 (Locke 1980, 260-61, 311 note 75).

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rice, some lentils and salt to each visiting “Nāthaju”. The expenses were to be met through the income from 12 named plots of land (in total c. 90 ropanīs). As trust members (guṭhiyāra), the Yogī Lakṣmaṇnāth and the Tulādharanī (a female member of the Buddhist Tulādhar caste) Bhiṃkhvālamayī are named.46 In NS 884, Jyeṣṭha śukla 8 (1764 CE), these two persons were able to buy a house at Indracok (text: Ogla Ṭol) in Kathmandu for 50 ka[vindramallī] ṭaṃ[kā]s (a coin circulated by Pratāp Malla) and donate it to Gorakhnāth.47 Finally, two month later in NS 884, Śrāvaṇ śukla 2, Jayaprakāś Malla donated another house in Ogla Ṭol and appointed the same two persons as trust members (guṭhijana). 48 Jayaprakāś was the last Malla king of Kathmandu, whose reign ended just a few years later in September 1768, when the Gorkha ruler Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh seized control of the city as a prelude to, in the following months, taking the other Malla kingdoms of the valley. Before I discuss how this transition of power from the Malla kings to a lineage from Gorkha, with Gorakṣanāth as their traditional tutelary deity, affected the situation for the Yogīs and how the new model of the relation between the king and the Yogīs started to come to the fore, I shall briefly summarize what can be said about the early traces of the Yogīs in the Kathmandu Valley and their relation to the royal powers of the Malla period. 1.3 The Yogīs and the Malla kings Although repeatedly claimed, there is no proof that the Yogīs received royal support as soon as they began appearing in the Valley sometime before the end of the fourteenth century. All early donations known were made by private persons, whose names often ended in -nāth. Not much is known about these donors. Some were outsiders (hailing from Bengal or elsewhere), while others seemingly lived in the Valley. From the seventeenth century onwards, we also find donations being made by Darśandhārīs (probably Kusles) jointly with their wives or sons. These private donors contributed to 46 For an edition, see Naraharināth (VS 2013, 454-55); a copy with a Nepali translation made by Siddhiharṣa Vajrācārya was filmed by the NGMPP as K 44/43 and K 451/65; see also Bouillier (1986, 130); Unbescheid, (1980, 59, 177). 47 Unbescheid (1980, 62) refers to an unpublished palm leaf (tāḍapatra), Gorakhnāth Guṭhī document no. 14. A handwritten copy of it together with a Nepali translation made by Siddhiharṣa Vajrācārya was f ilmed by the NGMPP as K 44/44 and K 451/60. Further copies and Nepali translations are found in the Indracok Maṭh Guṭhī documents (see NGMPP 79/9, 10, and 17B). 48 Unbescheid (1980, 62) with reference to an unpublished tāḍapatra, Gorakhnāth Guṭhī document no. 13 (=NGMPP 44/42 and 451/61). See also NGMPP 79/11, 12, and 17A.

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a Yogī ritual culture that seems to be unique to the Kathmandu Valley, being unknown in the realms that later became part of the “greater Nepal” of the Śāh kings or in India. As indicated, the cakrapūjā of the Yogīs, performed, according to the epigraphic evidence, first at the Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap and later on in other places within the Valley (see also below p. 212), still raises questions. The same holds true for the origin and history of the Kusles. Some of these questions can possibly be answered by digging deeper into the rich Nepalese epigraphic material; others will probably remain open. It is, however, certain that the followers of Gorakṣanāth – although they were not the only Śaiva ascetics who gained influence in the Valley during the Malla period49 – could establish themselves and thrive in the region, even before King Śrīnivās Malla started to favor them with land donations in the seventeenth century and so helped to institutionalize their role in the local religious life, especially in the cult of the god of Buṅga, whose annual procession was made a state ritual alongside the ancient state cult of Paśupatināth. Finally, we have evidence that the Yogīs were supported by Jayaprakāś Malla, the last Malla king of Kathmandu, who repeatedly financed one specific Yogī and his consort (?), a Buddhist Tulādharanī. Unfortunately, there is no further information about this Lakṣmaṇnāth, but possibly we have here an early example of a pattern that will be dealt with in more detail later in the chapter, namely a close personal relation between a king and a Yogī, each making use of his power to secure the other’s trust. Pertinent in this context is a story in the vaṃśāvālīs of the Kathmandu Valley that highlights the motif of khaḍgasiddhi, the empowerment (of the king) for battle by a magical sword.50 The chronicles narrate how Jayaprakāś, while spending his temporary exile in the Guhyeśvarī temple near Mṛgasthalī in Deopatan, received a sword from the hands of a Yogī which empowered him to clear the court of Kathmandu of his enemies and reoccupy the throne.51 This sword, however, did not prevent the king of Gorkha Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh taking Kathmandu in 1768.52 Nor could the army of Nāgā ascetics kept 49 For the history of the maṭh of the Jangam and the Daśnāmī ascetics see, e.g., Bouillier (1983 and 1998/99); Gutschow (2011, 591-602). 50 On the khaḍgasiddhi and associated Nepalese state rituals, see A. Zotter (2016). 51 See Hasrat (1970, 87), Paudel (VS 2020, 212-13); Śarmā (1969, 11). Wright writes that the sword was given by a “devotee” (1877, 224), while Bajracharya and Michaels translate “a certain ascetic” (2016b, 112), but the Nepali text of the Wright Chronicle actually uses the words jogī and yogī (Bajracharya and Michaels 2016a, 96). 52 As a modern interpreter of the story argues, however, it at least prevented him from conquering Kathmandu in battle and instead forced him to win it through a blessing from the goddess of the realm (A. Zotter 2016, 293).

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by Jayaprakāś to defeat the Gorkhālīs protect his kingdom. The vaṃśāvalīs do not provide enough information to determine the sectarian affiliation of these fighting ascetics, but they report, often in some detail, that the king did not hesitate to remove valuable items and treasures from the temples of Paśupatināth and other deities to meet the immense expenses incurred by these Nāgās.53 These details are not absent from the Gorkhāvaṃśāvalī,54 a text dealing with the genealogy of the victorious Śāh kings of Gorkha, but, remarkably enough, the story of how Jayaprakāś received khaḍgasiddhi at the Guhyeśvarī temple is told differently, without any reference to a Yogī.55 A probable explanation lies in the fact that the Śāh kings considered Gorakṣanāth and his Yogīs as within their own orbit.

2 The Yogīs and the Śāh kings 2.1 Gorakṣanāth and the Śāh lineage In the vaṃśāvalīs of the Kathmandu Valley, Gorakṣanāth does not play any prominent role apart from bringing Avalokiteśvar-Matsyendranāth to Nepal (see p. 198),56 but in the Gorkhāvaṃśāvalī just mentioned the situation is 53 See Bajracharya and Michaels (2016b, 115); Hasrat (1970, 90); Śarmā (1969, 14); Wright (1877, 228); cf. also Paudel (VS 2020, 214-15, 217). We know from Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa’s Divya Upadeś and his letters that he defeated an army of Nāgās in Sā̃gā in 1763 CE (Pant et al. VS 2025, 330, 858, 1026 and 1030; see also C. Zotter (2018, 449 note 19). Hamilton reports that a Vairāgī (a term that tends to be used for ascetics of the Rāmānandī order), who concealed Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa from the police in Benares after the king had killed an officer, came with an army of five hundred Nāgās to Nepal in order to claim his reward for saving the king’s life (Hamilton 1819, 245-46). According to Baral, the leader of the Nāgās slain in Sā̃gā was the Aghorī Gulābrām, who had granted khaḍgasiddhi to Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa in Benares (see below note 71) and now demanded his share of the spoils gained by the power of the granted sword, but was refused and went over to Jayaprakāś Malla (Baral 1964, 234). 54 See Naraharināth (VS 2021, 162). 55 According to the account in the Gorkhāvaṃśāvalī, it was a Saṃnyāsī from Bhaktapur who advised Jayaprakāś to dress as an ascetic (phakir) and go to the Guhyeśvarī temple. There, the king (eating only curd and bananas and consuming cannabis and opium) spent the nights doing japa until a sword emerged from the water vessel that represented the goddess, but it was only after a young girl appeared and took the sword out of the vessel that he was able to take hold of it (Naraharināth VS 2021, 162). 56 In the Wright Chronicle he is also briefly mentioned concerning an event said to have happened in NS 857 (1737 CE). It relates how a farmer overhears a nightly meeting in which Matsyendranāth promises Bhairava that he will come to rule also over Nepal (the Kathmandu Valley) if he goes to Gorkha where Gorakṣanāth resides (Bouillier 1986, 133; Locke 1980, 319; Unbescheid 1980, 167; Wright 1877, 197-98; Bajracharya and Michaels 2016b, 96-97).

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completely different. The text of it published by Naraharināth (VS 2021) abounds in references to the saint that attest to a deep and enduring faith on the part of the royal Śāhs in the siddha’s powers.57 Gorakṣanāth is one of the three family (kula-) and tutelary deities (iṣṭadevatā) of the Śāhs.58 As Unbescheid and Bouillier have shown, the situation in Gorkha has parallels in several of the petty princely states that existed in the Western Himalayas before the Śāh rulers expanded their realm and unified what became known as the kingdom of Nepal. Here too, we find founding myths in which a ruler gains sovereignty over newly conquered territory with the magical help of a siddha or Yogī.59 Another manifestation of this nexus between the temporal power of a king and the magico-spiritual power of a Yogī in the context of founding and maintaining the state is the frequent existence of siddha sanctuaries near royal palaces and the manifold ritual links between these two seats of power. In Gorkha this state sanctuary is the so-called Gorakṣanāth cave, located just ten meters below the palace.60 The very place name, Gorkha, derives from it. A badly damaged inscription issued during the reign of King Śivdev II in Saṃvat 122 (698 CE) indicates that in ancient times Vajrabhairava was worshipped in the cave.61 It is uncertain when the Yogīs took over the place. The installation of Gorakṣanāth’s footprints (pādukā) in the cave is ascribed to Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa’s great-grandfather, Pṛthvīpati Śāh (r. 1673-1716).62 57 The text starts with the story of how the young Dravya Śāh, while herding cows in Lamjung, meets a Darśandhārī boy who turns out to be Gorakṣanāth himself, and who prophesies that his interlocutor will rule over Gorkha, that the fourth king of his lineage (Rām Śāh) will be a great religious personality, and that the seventh king (Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh) will also rule over Nepal, i.e., the Kathmandu Valley (Naraharināth VS 2021, 1-3). The text recounts how Rām Śāh’s minister, Lakhan Thāpā, is introduced to the secrets of kuṇḍalinīyoga by Gorakṣanāth and becomes a siddha (ibid., 16-17), and how Gorakṣanāth reveals to Rām Śāh’s queen that she is an avatāra of Kālī and Lakṣmī and that he will need her śaktī to fulfil the promise he gave to Dravya Śāh (ibid., 34-39). Gorakṣanāth also appears to Rām Śāh (ibid., 52-53) and his son Ḍambar Śāh (ibid., 70). For a German summary of these stories, see Unbescheid (1980, 37-42); for a French summary, see Bouillier (1986, 133). The vaṃśāvalī’s account of Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa’s encounter with the siddha will be dealt with below, pp. 211-212. 58 The other two are the goddesses Kālikā, residing at Gorkha Palace, and Manakāmanā, the deified queen of King Rām Śāh (cf. last note). 59 See what the two authors write about the kingdoms in Jumla, Doti, and Dang (Bouillier 1986, 131-32, 162, and (1993, 32-33 and passim); Unbescheid (1980, 7-8, 18-23, 27-28, 179-80). 60 For a description of the cave, see Bouillier (1986, 137-38) and Unbescheid (1980, 43-44). 61 Nowadays Vajrabhairava’s worship takes place in a temple at the Upallo Koṭ in Gorkha and is conducted by the same Yogīs who perform the rituals in the Gorakṣanāth cave (Unbescheid 1980, 44-45; see also Bouillier, 1986, 141). 62 Hasrat (1970, 122); Naraharināth VS (2021, 59); see also Bouillier (1986, 136) and Unbescheid (1980, 43-44). The Gorkhavaṃśāvalī also reports that a few years before his death King

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Correspondingly, Āśānāth, the progenitor of the householder (gharbāri) Yogīs who perform the daily pūjā at the sanctuary, is said to have come during Pṛthvīpati’s time from Lamjung to settle in Gorkha and become the (first?) pūjārī of Gorakṣanāth.63 As was shown in the last section (see p. 206), the Patan king Śrīnivās Malla (a contemporary of Pṛthvīpati) integrated Yogīs (seemingly Kusles as well as ascetics) along with other specialists into the cult of his tutelary deity. In Gorkha the Yogīs – here members of a certain Gharbāri family – took on central roles in the daily ritual of the royal iṣṭa- and kuladevatā. Financed by a guṭhī, they acted as royal priests of Gorakṣanāth and every day delivered the king’s share of the blessed offerings (prasād) to the local representative of the palace (Bouillier 1986, 137-38).64 The Gorakṣanāth cave in Gorkha is also believed to be the site of an event that is said to have taken place three generations after Pṛthvīpati, when the future king and conqueror Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa was a child. 2.2 Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh and the Yogīs Like several of his predecessors, Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa is said to have had a personal encounter with Siddha Gorakṣanāth and to have received a special boon. According to the Gorkhāvaṃśāvalī, when Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa was six years old he went to the cave near the palace and met a Yogī who asked him for curd. The boy quickly brought some from the palace (where he was instructed by his mother to do whatever the Yogī wanted him to). The siddha consumed it, asked the boy to open his hands, vomited the curd on the palms and told him to eat it. When Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa started crying, the siddha touched him and repeated his request. The boy still did not obey and let the curd fall on his feet. Then Gorakṣanāth laughed and explained that if he had eaten the curd everything he wished would be fulf illed. Since the curd fell on his feet, he instead would rule every country into which his feet stepped. Gorakṣanāth promised that he would Pṛthvīpati gave the order that his descendants always faithfully worship Gorakṣanāth, Kālikā, and Manakāmanā in order to protect the kingdom from its enemies (Naraharināth VS 2021, 77). 63 According to a genealogy prepared by Yogī Naraharināth, Āśānāth was a learned Upadhyāya Brahmin belonging to the Kāśyapa gotra and the Mādhyandinī śākha of the White Yajurveda who took “yogadīkṣā” before coming to Gorkha (Naraharināth n.d., 11). For further details on the nityapūjā and other rituals, the ancillary guṭhī, and the lineage of the pūjārīs, see Bouillier (1986, 138-45). 64 Bouillier also reports two other ritual occasions on which the Yogīs came into direct contact with the king; an annual feeding (bhaṇḍārā) on the new moon day of Śrāvaṇ, and a special pūjā involving 125,000 pieces of flatbread (savā lākh roṭ) which every Śāh king had to perform at least once in his lifetime (Bouillier 1986, 141).

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stay with Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa’s army and whenever the army moved, he would move with them.65 As already mentioned, it was this king, blessed thus by the siddha, who set himself and his army marching towards the Malla kingdoms east of Gorkha to conquer them. In the Kathmandu Valley he encountered a yogic ritual culture that was, according to all that we know, different from what he was familiar with from Gorkha and the other kingdoms in the west. Nonetheless, he supported the Yogīs there as well. This is evident from a lālmohar (a paper document bearing the Śāh kings’ red seal) issued just one year after the conquest of Kathmandu. In Vikram Saṃvat (VS) 1826, Kārttik śukla 4 (1769 CE), Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh made an extensive donation, consisting of more than 30 plots of land (measuring 219¾ ropanīs in total) in the newly conquered territory in order to finance four cakrapūjās of the Yogīs: in Thāymadu Ṭol (Bāṅgemuḍhā), Asan Ṭol,66 the “forest of Guhyeśvarī” (Mṛgasthalī),67 and Indracok.68 If we assume that these pūjās were similar to the rituals performed during Malla times – and there is good reason to do so – Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa would not be the founder of this custom, as Unbescheid was told by the Yogīs (see Unbescheid 1980, 114), but rather gave his support to an already existing yogic infrastructure and expanded it.69 As Unbescheid observes, the cycle of cakrapūjās, which continued to prosper after Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa until its decline in the twentieth century, was an important factor when it came to 65 Naraharināth (VS 2021, 95); Unbescheid (1980, 42-43). For another vision Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh saw of Gorakṣanāth, see Naraharināth (VS 2021, 148). 66 This pūjā is still performed. According to Unbescheid, it takes place on Caitra śukla 9 when the chariot (rath) of Kathmandu’s White Matsyendranāth makes its first halt in front of the Annapūrṇā temple (Unbescheid 1980, 119). 67 Nowadays this pūjā, held on Bālācaturdaśī (Mārga kṛṣṇa 14), marks the beginning of the annual cycle of seventeen cakrapūjās performed by the ascetic Yogīs throughout the Valley (see p. 202), and is also known as mahācakrapūjā or gaṇacakrapūjā (Unbescheid 1980, 117). For the other ritual activities of this day – also known as the “sowing of one hundred seeds” (śatabījāropaṇa) – in the Paśupati temple area, which the Yogīs associate with the mythological drought caused by Gorakṣanāth (see p. 198), see Unbescheid (1980, 105-7). 68 The text is published in Naraharināth (VS 2013, 289-90) and N. R. Pant et al. (VS 2025, 1063-64). A new edition by the present author on the basis of several office copies filmed by the NGMPP is available online (https://nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/editions/show/8637 (accessed February 9 2022)). For a discussion of the document, see also Unbescheid (1980, 114, 178). 69 The question is whether the assumption is correct, and if so, what modif ications were introduced. Pointing out the fact that the Yogīs perform such a pūjā nowhere else, Bouillier assumes that it was formerly a wholly Newar cult celebrated by the Kusles, before the ascetic Yogīs took over the ritual and the Kusles were consigned to the role of assistants (Bouillier 1993, 88; see also Unbescheid 1980, 112-14).

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projecting power (Unbescheid 1980, 114-15). In places all over the Kathmandu Valley, the ascetic Yogīs had to appear and perform their cakrapūjā before the annual procession of the local deity could start. One year after his donation supporting the cakrapūjās, Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa issued an edict that increased the rights and privileges of the Yogīs further and was effective not only in the Kathmandu Valley, but in the whole of his still expanding realm. In VS 1827 (1770 CE), Kārttik śukla 15, he appointed a central overseer (maṇḍalāi) of the Yogīs and authorized him to receive one ānā as a yearly customary fee (dastur) from each household of a number of ethnic and professional groups ( jāts) – including the Kusles. Furthermore, the charter ordered that the Yogīs be fed mornings and evenings, and assigned both the judiciary fines paid by the Yogīs for illicit sexual behavior and the escheated property of Yogīs who died heirless to the maṇḍalāi.70 While the support of the cakrapūjās could be seen as a continuation of the policy to institutionalize the role of the Yogīs in the local ritual culture, as already attested for the rule of Śrīnivās Malla, the introduction of a central overseer invested not only with the right to keep certain judiciary revenues but also with judicial authority over the Yogīs (cf. Bouillier 1991a, 156) was an innovation. The reasons for introducing this office (which was not unique to the Yogīs) and the circumstances under which it came into being have been discussed elsewhere (see C. Zotter 2018, 451-53 for further references), but some details regarding the first office holder are of particular interest for the present chapter. They point to another kind of relation between the king and the Yogīs – seemingly not foreign to the world of the Malla rulers (cf. the story of Jayaprakāś Malla), but more typical of Western kingdoms. According to the legends, the blessing of Gorakṣanāth at the cave in Gorkha was not the only magical support that empowered Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa to expand his kingdom. Like his opponent, the Kathmandu King Jayaprakāś Malla (see p. 208), he is said to have been imbued with khaḍgasiddhi by an ascetic. While the available accounts agree that Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa received it in Benares, other details vary greatly, and the identity of the siddha who bestowed this boon remains obscure.71 70 For an edition of a copy of the document filmed by the NGMPP as K 469/9, see C. Zotter (2018, 465-68); for a discussion and further references, see 451-53 in the same work. 71 While Hasrat only speaks of a “Siddhi (sic) or Yogi” who gave Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa the sword and promised that “if he or his successors would keep it in any battle, they would meet with success” (Hasrat 1970, 134), the Gorkhavaṃśavalī calls him “Siddha Avasthi” (Naraharināth VS 2021, 124), a name found elsewhere. Baburam Acharya (1978), who collected different versions of the story and traced the siddha’s family name as a genuinely Brahmin one but could not find any epigraphic evidence for the donations mentioned in the legend, concludes that the Avasthī

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More can be said about another siddha who was of great help to the king and not only figures in legends but can be also traced in documents. As the story goes, it was in VS 1820 (1763 CE) that Bhagavantanāth appeared in the kingdom of Salyan, one of the small princely states in southwest Nepal, impressed the local ruler, King Śrīkṛṣṇa Śāh, by working miracles,72 and soon gained profound influence at the royal court. As emissary of the king of Salyan, he came into contact with Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa who, at the time, was unsuccessfully attempting to conquer Kirtipur, a key location for the planned conquest of the Kathmandu Valley. Placing his spiritual powers at Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa’s service, Siddha Bhagavantanāth realized that the people of Kirtipur were able to resist the Gorkhālīs’ attacks because of the grace (karuṇā) of their city deity, Bāgha Bhairava. The siddha meditated on this deity and asked the king to let a partridge fly out of his own hand. When the bird alighted on the roof of Bāgha Bhairava’s temple, which according to Bhagavantanāth signaled a favorable time to attack, the king did so, this time victoriously.73 The siddha was richly rewarded for his service. Two later documents – a letter (patra) from Prime Minister Rāṇā Udīp Singh to Mahant Khīmānāth written in VS 1940 (1883 CE) and an order (rukkā) from Prime Minister Vīr Śamśer to Mahant Hīrānāth issued in VS 1955 (1899 CE) – mention that Bhagavantanāth was offered the royal insignia of the conquered king, his male and female slaves, the princess, and a gift (bheṭī) of 125,000 rupees.74 According to the legendary account by Puṣkārnāth (Naraharināth, n.d., 87) he was even offered the throne of Kirtipur, but refused and returned to his disciples in Salyan. Given this role as successful adviser, it was only logical that, when Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa had conquered the Kathmandu Valley and created the office of the central overseer of Yogīs (see p. 213), which guaranteed the officeholder regular revenue, it was Bhagavantanāth who was appointed as maṇḍalāi. The story of Siddha Bhagavantanāth illustrates how a Yogī’s interaction with the king can cause a shift in power. Spiritual powers displayed in was, in fact, a fictitious person (144). According to Baral (1964, 147), the mendicant, who was also known as Gulābrām (cf. Acharya, 1978, 143), was probably a Brahmin of the Avasthī clan and belonged to the Aghor sect. Baral (1964, 234) thinks that it was this Gulābrām who later came with an army of Nāgās to Nepal (cf. note 53). 72 His miraculous deeds are recorded in an account by Mahant Puṣkarnāth published in Naraharināth’s Yogivaṃśāvalī (Naraharināth, n.d., 85-86). For a German summary, see Unbescheid (1980, 27-28); for an English translation, see Bouillier (1991b, 8-9). 73 Naraharināth (n.d., 87); Unbescheid (1980, 25-26); Bouillier (1991b, 10-11). See also Acharya (1972, 191). 74 Naraharināth (VS 2022, 454 and 466); see also Naraharināth (n.d., 87); Unbescheid (1980, 25); Bouillier (1991b, 11-12).

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miraculous deeds or transferred as blessings are answered by gifts and privileges, and are therewith translated into institutionalized economic or even political and administrative authority. The royal support Bhagavantanāth received not only from Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa but also from other kings (see C. Zotter, 2018, 450 for further references) allowed him to found a monastery (maṭh) in Rānagāũ, Salyan, and later on a second one in Śrīgāũ, Dang.75 The siddha enjoyed fiscal autonomy inasmuch as the landholdings of the maṭhs were exempted from taxes, while the privileges of the maṇḍalāi granted him uncontested judicial authority over all Yogīs in the expanding Śāh realm. Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa, on the other hand, profited not only from the siddha’s spiritual or magical powers. Bhagavantanāth had a profound knowledge of the situation in the kingdoms in the west. This was of great advantage for the expansionist king, and the siddha’s advice and support was valued in other affairs as well. This is evident from a letter to the siddha sent by the king a few months before his death.76 After initial formalities that testify to the high respect shown to Bhagavantanāth,77 the king launches into an account of the birth and death of his grandson and requests the siddha to continue blessing the royal family, so that others will be born and live long. Then the letter turns to politics. In answer to Bhagavantanāth’s advice – in the letter styled as “orders” (hukum) – the king reports about attempts to come to an agreement with the principalities in the western mountainous area and humbly requests the siddha to send men of his own out as support. Next the letter considers the war campaign in the east. Here again the siddha figures prominently. In compliance with Bhagavantanāth’s orders, a sword was sent to the front and the ensuing defeat of the Kirātas is ascribed to his blessings. Furthermore, the letter addresses the personal situation of Bhagavantanāth in Salyan and provides him with information about other recent diplomatic activities. All this shows how closely the king was devoted to the siddha and how deeply the latter was involved in state affairs. 2.3 Bhagavantanāth’s lineage under the Śāh kings and Rāṇā rulers Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa passed away in 1775. His son, Pratāpsiṃha (r. 1775-1777), and grandson, Raṇabahādur (r. 1777-1799), who occupied the throne in quick 75 See Bouillier (1991a, 155-57), and (1991b, 12-13). 76 The text of this letter has been repeatedly published (see, e.g., Baral 1964, 341-43, Naraharināth n.d., 83-85, VS 2022, 6-7; and N. R. Pant et al., VS 2025, 1187-89). For an edition of a copy microfilmed by the NGMPP as K 469/32, see https://nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/editions/show/23499 (accessed February 9 2022). 77 Cf. Bouillier (1991b, 14-15); C. Zotter (2018, 451).

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succession, reconfirmed Bhagavantanāth’s appointment as maṇḍalāi of the Yogīs in VS 1833 (1776 CE), in VS 1839 (1782 CE), and finally in VS 1843 (1787 CE),78 the year in which Bhagavantanāth took samādhi in his monastery in Śrīgāũ. Using the documents published by Yogī Naraharināth (VS 2022), Bouillier has sketched out how, after some initial struggles, Bhagavantanāth’s successors managed to inherit the privileges of the maṇḍalāi and to turn both of the siddha’s maṭhs into prosperous institutions by gathering further birtā land grants and buying additional land. But the same documents also substantiate that the mahants got involved in conflicts, so that finally the influence of Bhagavantanāth’s lineage declined (Bouillier 1991a, 159-69). In the following section I will restrict myself to discussing a few new document findings, which help to shed further light on these conflicts, especially on the dispute regarding the succession of Chatra- or Chetranāth (“Ksetranāth” in Bouillier’s chapter), which Bouillier (who lacked this information) describes as “a crisis whose episodes remain rather obscure” (Bouillier 1991a, 167). But before coming to the events that followed the death of Chatranāth in VS 1963 and constituted the death blow to the maṭhs’ autonomy, I shall briefly discuss how former mahants had to defend their privileges. While Bhagavantanāth entertained intimate personal relations with the king, later mahants had to interact with an evolved administrative apparatus (cf. C. Zotter, 2018, 459). Furthermore, after Jaṅg Bahādur Rāṇā became prime minister in 1846 and turned his office into a heritable powerbase from which he acted as de facto ruler of the country, this apparatus fell into the hands of a lineage of Rāṇā autocrats who followed their own (mainly financial) interests and whose primary concern did not include “support[ing] institutions aiming at the legitimation of a royal power they wanted to bypass” (Bouillier 1991a, 164). The first mahant to deal with the new situation was Jagadīśvarnāth, Bhagavantanāth’s fourth successor, who received the ratification of his abbotship from King Surendra (countersigned by Jaṅg Bahādur Rāṇā and other officials) in VS 1904 (1848 CE).79 Jagadīśvarnāth had to make many petitions (bintīpatra) to defend the privileges of the maṭh (see Bouillier 1991a, 162-163 with further references). From two published documents it can be added now that he was even temporarily dismissed from office because of 78 For editions and translations of these documents, see C. Zotter (2018, 469-476); for further discussion, see 454-455 in the same work. 79 For this document, see Naraharināth (VS 2022, 462-463), and https://nepalica.hadw-bw.de/ nepal/editions/show/39526 (accessed February 9 2022).

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an issue that caused troubles for his successor, too (see below). In VS 1909 (1852 CE), Jyeṣṭha kṛṣṇa 4, the king appointed one Santoṣnāth as mahant because Jagadīśvarnāth (the text misspells his name as Jagatonāth) did not follow the rule (bandej)80 that the occupier of the maṭh’s throne (gaddī) should not keep a woman.81 But just nineteen months later Jagadīśvarnāth was reinstalled and Santoṣnāth dismissed because the latter was keeping a woman from whom water could not be accepted, inasmuch as she had committed infanticide or had had an abortion ( jātakamārā pānī bāhek bhayako svāsnī).82 In the same month (VS 1910, Pauṣ) Jagadīśvarnāth also received confirmations of different privileges (Naraharināth, VS 2022, 464). He had thus been successful in his petitions to the prime minister, at least for the time being. The period under Khīmā- or Khimānāth, Jagadīśvarnāth’s disciple and selected successor,83 was also marked by struggles, but now the mahant was not only quarrelling with local authorities and the central administration in Kathmandu.84 Another party emerged on the scene. Probably disappointed by the fact that the money collected throughout the kingdom for the Yogīs was sent to a private monastery located in a remote jungle in West Nepal and run by mahants who kept women, Pīr Haṃsanāth, the mahant of the Mṛgasthalī monastery, accused Khīmānāth of whoring (raṇḍibājī) and claimed the maṇḍalāi privileges for himself. The issue became a court case. Finally, in VS 1940 (1883 CE), the prime minister, at that time Rāṇā Udīp 80 It is not certain which bandej is meant here, but probably the text refers to a decision of the Bārahpanth (the assembly of the twelve orders, the highest authority among the Nāths) made in VS 1899 (1842 CE) according to which a mahant should not keep a woman inside the maṭh but only in a house built outside (cf. Bouillier 1991a, 166). 81 A copy of this rukkā was f ilmed by the NGMPP as K 356/32. For an edition, see https:// nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/editions/show/42439 (accessed February 9 2022). 82 A copy of this rukkā was f ilmed by the NGMPP as K 356/42. For an edition, see https:// nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/editions/show/42437 (accessed February 9 2022). According to the NGMPP catalogue card Santoṣnāth was dismissed because “he was engaged in marrying with a woman from an untouchable caste”. The cataloguer probably understood the word jātaka-mārā as jāta kamārā, “born as a slave girl” (for the slaves of the maṭh, see note 94). It is interesting to note that Santoṣnāth was seemingly deleted from the public record, nor does his name appear in any of the available genealogical lists (see, e.g., Naraharināth n.d., 77-79, 90). 83 Khīmānāth received a first official confirmation of his abbotship from Lieutenant General Vīr Śamśer Jaṅg Bahādur Rāṇā (a later prime minister) in VS 1935 (see NGMPP 97/40) but the proper mahantyāīko lālmohar, the ratif ication by the king, was only issued in VS 1938 (1882 CE) (for an edition of a copy filmed as NGMPP K 469/1, see https://nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/ editions/show/52076 (accessed February 9 2022)). 84 For Khīmānāth’s failed attempt to extend his authority and collect f ines from Yogīs in Phalabang, see Bouillier (1991a, 164-65) with reference to Naraharināth (VS 2022, 452).

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Singh, declared with reference to a decision of the Bārahpanth (see note 80) that Khīmānāth was a Gharbāri Yogī and decided to split the maṇḍalāi. Khīmānāth was assigned the judicial fines and the escheated property (see p. 213) from the Gharbāri Yogīs, and Haṃsanāth the same revenues from the “wandering” (ramtā) Yogīs (that is, the celibate Darśanīs).85 Khīmānāth passed away on VS 1943 Āśvin sudi 4 (1 October 1886 CE), but not before he slapped his disciple Hīrānāth on the back, thereby selecting him as his successor. 86 One day before his death Khīmānāth similarly wrote a letter to Hīrānāth confirming that he had selected him.87 When his guru died, Hīrānāth took this letter and copies of other documents (such as Khīmānāth’s mahantyāīko lālmohar) to the Salyan office. According to a tradition that goes back at least to the time of Rūpnāth’s disciple Loknāth, Bhagavantanāth’s third successor, the head of this off ice, Colonel Lok Bahadūr Thāpā, came with a squad (paṭṭī) of soldiers to participate in the enthronement of the new mahant “with singing and playing of instruments” (bājāgājā smet bajāi).88 A month later (Kārttik sudi 8) the same colonel sent a report together with the gold coin (asarphī) Hīrānāth had presented as a fee (salāmī), along with copies of the official confirmations of earlier mahants to Kathmandu.89 The issuing of the lālmohar was processed by different off ices of the central administration90 and on VS 1944, Māgh kṛṣna 8 (1888 CE) – more than a year after the papers had been forwarded from Salyan to Kathmandu – an official bestowal of Hīrānāth’s abbotship was issued by King Pṛthvī Vīr Vikram.91 Hīrānāth’s “reign” was a “period of calm” (Bouillier, 1991a, 167); at least we have no evidence of conflict. It was, however, only the calm before the storm. Hīrānāth passed away in VS 1962 (1905 CE) and in the month of Bhadra of 85 See the letter from Rāṇā Udīp Singh published in Naraharināth VS 2022, 454-56, and the discussion in Bouillier (1991a, 166-67). 86 That a mahant selected his successor by slapping him on the back is f irst mentioned in Khīmānāth’s mahantyāīko lālmohar (see note 83) and is borne witness to in many later documents. 87 For an attested copy, see NGMPP K 97/41. 88 See NGMPP K 469/33; https://nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/editions/show/41326 (accessed February 9 2022). 89 For this report, see NGMPP K 97/38. 90 For a statement (boleko) issued on VS 1944, Kārttik vadi 3 by the Registration Off ice (daphtarkhānā) commenting on Thāpā’s report, see NGMPP 97/42; for a note from the commander-in-chief’s office concurring with the bolekos of the Home Ministry (mulukī aḍḍā) and daphtarkhānā, issued in VS 1944, Kārttik sudi 9, see NGMPP 97/43. 91 The NGMPP microfilmed several copies of this mahantyāīko lālmohar; see K 469/2, 24 and 37. For a translation, see https://nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/editions/show/37661 (accessed February 9 2022).

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the same year Chatranāth (or Chetranāth), the disciple whom Hīrānāth had slapped on the back, was installed on the throne under the same ceremony as observed for his guru (see above), by the head of the Salyan district office (gauḍā), Lieutenant Colonel Raṇavīkraṃ Bahādur Rāṇā. We know from a witness statement that Chatranāth presented two gold coins as salāmī – one for the prime minister (Dev Śamśer) and the other for the second-highest ranking person in the Rāṇās’ role of succession, the commander-in-chief general (Bhīm Śamśer) – but for months nothing happened.92 On VS 1963, Pauṣ gate 9, he submitted another petition.93 Then he fell sick and on VS 1964, Jyeṣṭha gate 17 (30 May 1907) passed away without having received his mahantyāīko lālmohar. This did not bode well for his successor. That the maṭhs in Rānāgāũ and Śrīgāũ were – despite the reduction of privileges during Khīmānāth’s time – still flourishing institutions is evident from a detailed inventory list prepared during the events that followed Chatranāth’s death.94 This document is, however, not only proof of prosperity. Its mere existence is also a symptom of a decline in the maṭh’s power. Never before had the government dared to enter the maṭh for such official auditing. There were several reasons why this thorough investigation was initiated. That Chatranāth was missing the proper papers was only one problem. Another problem was that there was more than one claimant to the monastic throne. On the very day of Chatranāth’s demise, one Devīnāth95 informed 92 https://nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/editions/show/41325 (accessed February 9 2022). 93 This information is mentioned in NGMPP K 468/61. 94 See NGMPP 468/61. The extensive document, signed by 17 persons (including Loknāth and Devīnāth (see below), the maṭh’s lawyer and its treasurer, other local officials, the magistrate of the Salyan court (adālat), and representatives of the Salyan district office (gauḍā)) and dated VS 1964, Bhādra gate 8, lists the following items (in Rānāgāũ): the maṭh’s cash on hand (sorted according to currency), jewels, gold and silver jewelry, silver pūjā vessels, other vessels (sorted according to material), weapons (72 in total, including 2 pistols, 36 guns of different types, and 16 swords), the seals of the previous mahants, clothes, animals (44 in total, including 2 horses, 17 cows, and 17 buffalos), and slaves (kamāro-kamārā) (30 male and 38 female), while a separate inventory list in the same document comprises 94 items from Dang (the maṭh in Śrīgāũ). Then follows a list with short summaries of 18 official documents (land grants, appointment letters, etc.) kept in the maṭh. Finally, details of the income from 12 landholdings in Dang, Salyan, Deukhuri, Sunar, etc., and from the maṇḍalāi (209 rupees 40 paisas for the year VS 1963) are listed, totaling 948 rupees, tallied against the maṭh’s expenditures, such as the annual costs for different pūjā materials (ranging from 1 to 5 rupees per item), sacrificial animals for the two Dasaĩs (38 rupees in total), clothing for the owner (mālik), female and male workers (naukār), and slaves (cākar) (480 rupees), salaries for helpers (ardalibhāī) and gurubhāīs (96 rupees), the pūjārī (11 rupees), and clerks (95 rupees), and outlays for loincloths for visiting Yogīs (15 rupees), etc. 95 In fact, Chatranāth’s elder biological brother (see below).

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the prime minister about the mahant’s death and requested, if not in so many words, the favor of being installed as the successor.96 Two month later, on VS 1964, Śrāvaṇ gate 7, another bintīpatra was sent to the prime minister by one Loknāth who related in detail what the tradition since Bhagavantanāth had been, and that he was the disciple whom Chatranāth slapped on the back.97 Attached were seven witness statements recorded by Lieutenant Colonel Vīr Bahādur Basnyāt Kṣetrī of the Salyan district office, all confirming Loknāth’s claim.98 And indeed, judged by the customary law of the siddhas’ tradition, so far always accepted as authoritative by the state, Loknāth would have been the lawful heir to the maṭh’s throne. But that did not decide the issue. Once more, a Yogī from Mṛgasthalī, one Jaimannāth, interfered. Appealing to state law, he complained that the candidate selected was only eleven years old – that is, had not reached adulthood yet99 – and that it would be illegal to give the office to a child. Jaimannāth proposed that he should be appointed instead.100 Although all local authorities, the office holder in Rānāgāũ, officers of the gauḍā and even the king of Salyan (by then a mere vassal to the state) supported Loknāth, and the idea was to entrust the maṭh to a representative until the boy turned sixteen, Loknāth lost his case. There is another issue that probably caused suspicion in Kathmandu. The investigation of the Rānāgāũ case made manifest how the mahants had tangled up spiritual and biological lineages with one another. The system was simple. The mahant initiated the son of his guru, and thereafter selected him as the next throne-holder. As the report prepared by the king of Salyan, Śamśer Bahādur Śāh, and Lieutenant Colonel Vīr Bahādur Basnyāt Kṣetrī of the gauḍā, on VS 1964, Śrāvaṇa gate 22,101 informs us, Khīmānāth had 96 See NGMPP K 469/15; https://nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/editions/show/52081 (accessed February 9 2022). Devīnāth declared elsewhere explicitly that he had been selected by the late mahant as his successor. In a statement recorded by Vīr Bahādur Basnyāt Kṣetrī, he reported that Chatranāth had said to him a few days before he passed away: “Don’t quarrel with me. Even if I survive, you’ll need to do this maṭh’s work [for me]. Also, once I’m dead, this maṭh will be yours [to run]” (see NGMPP K 469/45; https://nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/editions/show/40840 (accessed February 9 2022)). 97 See NGMPP K 469/33; https://nepalica.hadw-bw.de/nepal/editions/show/41326 (accessed February 9 2022). 98 Five of the statements report that Loknāth was initiated when Chatranāth resided as head (pīr) of the monastery in Caughera, Dang (see NGMPP K 469/38, 40, 41, 44 and 45). All witnesses also had to answer a question regarding Loknāth’s age (see below). 99 The candidate’s supporters insisted that he was already twelve or older, and thus an adult (for references, see last note). 100 See the discussion of this petition in K 469/46. 101 For this report, see NGMPP K 468/61.

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two sons. The elder one, the above-mentioned Devīnāth, was initiated by Mahant Jagadīśvarnāth, as his father had been. Thus, according to customary law, he was out of contention for the tradition’s role of succession. Mahant Khīmānāth’s disciple and successor, Hīrānāth, initiated and selected his guru’s younger son, namely Chatranāth. This “trick” was repeated in the next spiritual generation. The boy who was slapped by the dying Chatranāth was the biological son of Hīrānāth. No final decision from the central administration has been discovered in the archival records yet, but the end of the story as it is told in the Yogivaṃśāvalī by Puṣkarnāth (seemingly the one who finally was appointed as mahant102) indicates that the role of another source of power needs to be considered: the avaricious Rāṇā autocracy. Puṣkarnāth does not mince his words: the prime minister, Candra Śamśer Rāṇā, “plundered” (sarvasva haraṇ garī) the maṭh by giving 1,200 big[h]ās of land to relatives and depositing diamonds, jewelry and gold from it in the [national?] treasury (ḍhukuṭī dākhel bhayo; Naraharināth n.d., 89).103 Loknāth complained about this injustice, but “the twelve-year-old child yogī” was not heeded (ibid.). When Loknāth was left without even a kauri or a dhur of land to assure his livelihood, he proclaimed, “I will not drink water under your rule of such cruel darkness” (tīmro yasto kaṭhor aṃdhakār ko sāsanmā pānī pīudīna) and left Kathmandu on foot; only after reaching the Indian border at Raxaul did he drink water again (ibid.; see also Bouillier 1991, 167). Puṣkarnāth further reports that Loknāth never returned to Nepal, and that he stayed in Hilorī maṭh in South India and practiced yoga until his death (kailāsvās) in VS 1999 (Naraharināth n.d., 89). Bereft of the powers his lineage once possessed, he returned to the primordial “power generator” of his tradition.

Conclusion Starting in the late fourteenth century, Nepal saw the influence of different Nāth groups whose origins are not always traceable. A revision of the early evidence from the Kathmandu Valley reveals that, against the current view, nothing proves the alleged patronage through Hindu Malla kings until the seventeenth century. All earlier donations in support of the Yogīs we know 102 Different genealogical lists published by Naraharināth have Loknāth as the ninth and Puṣkar or Puṣkarnāth as the tenth mahant (Naraharināth n.d., 77, 79, 90; see also Bouillier 1991a, 168). 103 Further research is needed to verify these statements, but it is evident from later documents that the maṭh’s estates became a holding (tāluk) of the state in VS 1966 (see e.g. NGMPP K 233/64).

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of were private ones. Remarkably, the two earliest pieces of evidence for Yogīs in the Valley link them with Buddhist sites. But even without royal patronage they became established at the very heart of Kathmandu, at the contested building from which the city’s name derives. The epigraphic material furthermore bears witness to the emergence of a distinct ritual culture of the Yogīs, which developed through interaction with “foreign” Yogī dignitaries (e.g., from Bengal), before, in the seventeenth century, it was integrated into a newly created state cult and Gorakṣanāth started to play a role in the mythology of the Valley. As shown in the second part of the chapter, the situation in the kingdoms west of the Kathmandu Valley was different. There, a Yogī or siddha often was integral to the foundational myth of the state. According to this pattern, it was the symbiotic alliance of king and Yogī that created a temporal power, a more or less autonomous share of which the Yogī wielded. The example of Bhagavantanāth and his lineage illustrates how such temporal power of Yogīs can be inherited, but also how it is encroached upon by different forces. It is affected by changes in the surrounding power setting (power shift from Śāh to Rāṇā rule), local conflicts, struggles within the tradition between different centers (Rānāgāũ vs. Mṛgasthalī) or ideals (Gharbāri vs. ascetics), or even within one lineage (Loknāth vs. Devīnāth). Conflict thrives in the shadow of power, whatever shade it may have. Although they may last for some time, in the end the temporal powers of the Yogīs are but temporary.

Appendix: Malla period inscriptions discussed Date of issue

Location

1379 (NS 499)

Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap, Jayasthiti Malla fixes the date for the Kathmandu “Harigana jātrā”; no reference to Gorakṣanāth donation and instalIṭuṃ Bahā, lation of a Dīpāṅkara Kathmandu Buddha statue

1382 (NS 502 Āṣādh śukla 10)

1391 (NS 511, Māgh śukla 5)

cave near Pharping

Abstract

icon of Gorakṣanāth’s footprints (pāduka) installed

Donor

Reigning king

mahāmantrī Madanrām Varddhan, “a disciple of a descendant of Gorakha” (gorakhātmajaśiṣya) Acintanāth Jayasthiti Malla

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Shades of Power

Date of issue

Location

Abstract

1417 (NS 537, Āṣādh kṛṣṇa 15) 1465 CE (NS 585, Āṣādh kṛṣṇa 15) 1485 (NS 605, Āśvin śukla 4)

Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap, Jogī dignitaries to be given a pot of beaten Kathmandu rice Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap, land dedicated to finance the cakra of Kathmandu the Yogīs

Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap, land dedicated for an annual cakra and Kathmandu the feasting of the jogibhalādas on their return from a pilgrimage to Gosainkund 1512 (NS Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap, gold dust donated for 632, Āṣāḍh Kathmandu the annual jogicakra on Āṣādh kṛṣṇa 14 kṛṣṇa 14) land dedicated in 1668 (NS Mṛgasthalī, Phāṃdo Byāsi to per788, Māgh Deopatan śukla 5) form pañcopacārapūjā of Gorakhnāth and holding the feast for the Dvādaśapanth Yogīs on Vaiśākh śukla 8 Patan king recon1669 (NS firmed ownership of 790, Kārttik land in Phāṃdo Byāsi śukla 9) 1673 (NS 793, Phālguṇa śukla 10)

1762 (NS 883, Mārga kṛṣṇa 5)

1764 (NS 884, Jyeṣṭha śukla 8) 1764 (NS 884, Śrāvaṇ śukla 2)

Ta Bahā, Patan

Kusle Yogīs to sound the conch shell (śaṅkha) during the āratīpūjās, land given for a “Jogīcakraguthi” in the name of the king’s mother land dedicated to feed visiting “Nāthajus” through Lakṣmaṇnāth and Bhiṃkhvālamayī Tulādharanī house at Indracok, Kathmandu, donated to Gorakhnāth house at Indracok, Kathmandu, donated to Gorakhnāth

Donor

Reigning king Jyotir Malla (r. 1408-1428)

Caitanyanāth from Gauḍ Deś

Yakṣa Malla (r. 1428- 1482)

Hetunāth or Hatnāth

Ratna Malla (r. 1484-1520 CE) and Ari Malla of Kathmandu

Bālnāth from Tripurāsthān, Khaṇḍal Deś outsider (paradeśi), Bālnāth Jogi

Ratna Malla of Kathmandu Pratāp Malla of Kathmandu (r. 1641-1674 CE)

Śrīnivās Malla

Śrīnivās Malla of Patan (r. 1661-1685) Śrīnivās Malla of Patan (r. 1661-1685)

Jayaprakāś Malla

Jayaprakāś Malla of Kathmandu

Lakṣmaṇnāth and Bhiṃkhvālamayī Tulādharanī

Jayaprakāś Malla of Kathmandu

Jayaprakāś Malla

Jayaprakāś Malla of Kathmandu

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Bibliography Acharya, Baburam. 1972. “King Prithvi Narayan Shah’s Military Campaigns, 17641767.” Regmi Research Series 4 (10): 190-95. Acharya, Baburam. 1978. “King Prithvi Narayan Shah: Coronation and Visit to Varanasi.” Regmi Research Series 10 (9): 141-44. Bajracharya, Manik, and Axel Michaels. 2016a. Nepālikabhūpavaṃśāvalī: History of the Kings of Nepal: A Buddhist Chronicle. Edition. Himalayan Traditions and Culture Series 4. Kathmandu: Himal Books. Bajracharya, Manik, and Axel Michaels. 2016b. Nepālikabhūpavaṃśāvalī: History of the Kings of Nepal: A Buddhist Chronicle. Introduction and Translation. Kathmandu: Himal Books. Baral, Leelanateshwar Sharma. 1964. “Life and Writings of Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh.” PhD thesis. School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. Bouillier, Véronique. 1983. “Les Jangam du Népal: caste de prêtres ou renonçants?” Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 72: 81-148. Bouillier, Véronique. 1986. “La caste sectaire des Kānphatā Jogī dans le royaume du Népal: L’exemple de Gorkhā.” Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 75: 125-68. Bouillier, Véronique. 1991a. “Growth and Decay of a Kanphata Yogi Monastery in South-West Nepal.” The Indian Economic and Social History Review 28 (2): 151-70. Bouillier, Véronique. 1991b. “The King and His Yogī: Prithvi Nārāyaṇ Śāh, Bhagavantanāth and the Unification of Nepal in the Eighteenth Century.” In Gender, Caste and Power in South Asia: Social Status and Mobility in a Transitional Society, edited by J.P. Nelson, 2-21. New Delhi: Manohar. Bouillier, Véronique. 1993. “Une caste de Yogī Newar: Les Kusle-Kāpāli.” Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 80 (1): 75-106. Bouillier, Véronique. 1998/99. “The Sannyasi Monasteries of Patan: A Brief Survey.” European Bulletin of Himalayan Research 15/16: 70-77. Briggs, George Weston. 1938. Gorakhnāth and the Kānphaṭa Yogīs. Calcutta: YMCA Publishing House. Gutschow, Niels. 2011. Architecture of the Newars: A History of Building Typologies and Details in Nepal. Vol. 2, Part IV, The Malla Period (1350-1769). Chicago: Serindia Publications. Gutschow, Niels, and Axel Michaels. 2005. Handling Death: The Dynamics of Death and Ancestor Rituals among the Newars of Bhaktapur, Nepal. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Hasrat, Bikrama Jit, ed. 1970. History of Nepal: As Told by Its Own and Contemporary Chroniclers. Hoshiarpur: V. V. Research Institute Book Agency. Kirkpatrick, William. 1969. An Account of the Kingdom of Nepaul: Being the Substance of Observations Made During a Mission to That Country, in the Year 1793: Illustrated with a Map and Other Engravings. New Delhi: Man̄ juśri Publishing House.

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Locke, John K. 1980. Karunamaya: The Cult of Avalokitesvara-Matsyendranath in the Valley of Nepal. Kathmandu: Sahayogi Prakashan. Malla, Kamal P. 2015. “Selected Papers on Art and Culture of Nepal. A Review of Slusser.” In From Literature to Culture: Selected Writings on Nepalese Studies, 1980-2010, edited by K. P. Malla, 568-83. Kathmandu: Social Science Baha. McGregor, R. S., ed. 1993. The Oxford Hindi-English Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Naraharināth, Yogī. n.d. Yogivaṃśāvalī: Vol 1. [Kāśī?]. Naraharināth, Yogī. VS 2010. “Kāṣṭhamaṇḍapaḥ. Kāṭhamāḍauṃ.” Saṃskṛta Sandeśaḥ 1 (6): 1-10. Naraharināth, Yogī, ed. VS 2013. Itihāsprakāś. Vol. 2, pt. 3. [Kathmandu]: Itihāsprakāśsaṃgha. Naraharināth, Yogī, ed. VS 2021. Gorkhāvaṃśāvalī. Kāśī: Āryavīrsaṅgha. Naraharināth, Yogī, ed. VS 2022. Itihāsprakāśmā sandhipatrasaṃgraha. Dang: Ādhyātmik Sammelan. Pant, Mahes Raj. 1993. “On Reading the Gopālarājavaṃśāvalī.” Ādarśa 1: 17-76. Pant, Maheśrāj. VS 2074. “Kasko kāṣṭhamaṇḍap.” In Janaipūrṇimādekhi rānīpokharīsamma: cāḍbāḍ, devmūrtī, devsthal ra prācīn pustaksambandhī lekhko sā̃gālo, edited by M. Pant, 83-93. Kathmandu: Khilaśarma-Rājīvalocan ajośīsmārakapratishṭhāna. Pant, Nayarāj, Devīprasād Bhaṇḍārī, Gautamvajra Vajrācārya, and Dineśrāj Pant. VS 2025. Śrī 5 Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāhko upadeś. Lalitpur: Jagadambā Prakāśan. Parājulī, Kṛṣṇaprasād et al., eds. VS 2058. Nepālī bṛhat śabdakoś. Kathmandu: Royal Nepalese Academy. Pauḍel, Nayanāth, ed. VS 2020. Bhāṣā vaṃsāvalī. Kathmandu: Nepāl Rāṣtriya Pustakālaya. Petech, Luciano. 1984. Mediaeval History of Nepal: c. 750-1480. 2nd revised. Roma: Ist. Italiano per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente. Rājvaṃśī, Śyāmsundar. VS 2074. “Kāṣṭhamaṇḍapko tāmrapatra abhilekhharū.” Prācīn Nepāl 195: 36-40. Regmi, Dilli Raman. 1966a. Medieval Nepal: Source Materials for the History and Culture of Nepal: 740-1768 A.D., Vol. 3: Inscriptions, Chronicles and Diaries etc. Calcutta: Mukhopadhyay. Regmi, Dilli Raman. 1966b. Medieval Nepal: Select Inscriptions, 1524-1768 A.D. with Verification and Corresponding Dates in C.E. Vol. 4. Calcutta: Mukhopadhyay. Risal, Dipesh. 2015. “Kasthamandap: Microcosm of Kathmandu’s Living Culture and Storied History.” https://www.asianart.com/articles/kasthamandap/index. html (accessed February 9 2022). Śarmā, Bālcandra. 1969. “Kaṭhmāṇḍū-upatyakāko ek rājvaṃśāvalī: Gatāṅkako bā̃k ī.” Ancient Nepal 6: 1-17.

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Slusser, Mary Shepherd, and Gautamavajra Vajrācārya. 1974. “Two Medieval Nepalese Buildings: An Architectural and Cultural Study.” Artibus Asiae 36 (3): 169-218. Slusser, Mary Shepherd. 2017. “On the Loss of Cultural Heritage in Quake-Ravaged Nepal.” https://asianart.com/articles/heritage/original/index.html (accessed February 9 2022). Tevārī, Rāmjī, Devīprasād Bhaṇḍārī, and Śaṅkarmān Rājvaṃśī. VS 2010. “Kāṣṭhamaṇḍape Pārāvatamahāvihāre (Iṭaṃvahāle) saṃsthito Jayasiṃharāmavarddhanasya rājye sthāpito’bhilekhaḥ: Vi. Saṃ 1439.” Saṃskṛta Sandeśaḥ 1 (11): 41-44. Tuladhar-Douglas, Will. 2006. Remaking Buddhism for Medieval Nepal: The Fifteenthcentury Reformation of Newar Buddhism. London; New York: Routledge. Unbescheid, Günter. 1980. Kānphaṭā: Untersuchungen zu Kult, Mythologie und Geschichte Śivaistischer Tantriker in Nepal. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag. Vajrācārya, Dhanavajra. VS 2022. “Śaktiśālī bhārādār rāmvarddhanharū ra tātkālik Nepāl” Pūrṇimā 7 (2, 3): 12-36. Vajrācārya, Dhanavajra, and Kamal P. Malla, eds. 1985. The Gopālarājavaṃśāvalī: A Facsimile Edition Prepared by the Nepal Research Centre in Collaboration with the National Archives, Kathmandu: With an Introduction, a Transcription, Nepali and English Translations, a Glossary and Indices. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag. Vajrācārya, Gautamvajra. VS 2033. Hanūmānḍhokā rājdarbār. Kathmandu: CNAS. Wright, Daniel. 1877. History of Nepal: Translated from the Parbatiyā by Munshi Shew Shunker Singh and Pandit Shrī Gunānanda. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Zotter, Astrid. 2016. “State Rituals in a Secular State? Replacing the Nepalese King in the Pacali Bhairava Sword Procession and Other Rituals.” In Religion, Secularism, and Ethnicity in Contemporary Nepal, edited by David N. Gellner, Sondra L. Hausner, and Chiara Letizia, 265-301. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Zotter, Christof. 2018. “Ascetics in Administrative Affairs: Documents on the Central Overseers of Jogīs and Saṃnyāsīs in Nepal.” In Studies in Historical Documents from Nepal and India, edited by Simon Cubelic, Axel Michaels, and Astrid Zotter, 445-91. Heidelberg: Heidelberg University Publishing.

About the author Christof Zotter studied Indology and Ethnology at the University of Leipzig and received his doctoral degree from Heidelberg University. Currently, he leads the editorial program of the Research Unit “Documents on the History of Religion and Law of Pre-modern Nepal”, Heidelberg Academy of Science and Humanities, researching the history of Nepalese ascetical traditions. [email protected]

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Yogī, Paṇḍit, and Rāṣṭra-Bhakta Some Reconstructions of Yogī Naraharināth’s Religious Career Eloisa Stuparich Abstracts Yogī Naraharināth (2013/15-2003), mahant of the Nāth maṭh in Kathmandu, was an important cultural icon in twentieth-century Nepal, acclaimed as an avatār of Gorakhnāth by his disciples. Controversial among advocates of multiparty political representation in Nepal, Naraharināth was committed to preserving Nepal as a uniquely Hindu monarchy, modeled on a notion of Vedic dharma that he regarded as the primordial religion of the Himalayan region. Articulated on the model of the karma-yogī, his religious persona combined Nāth asceticism, Sanskrit scholarship, and Hindu nationalism, and appealed to a variety of followers. This article examines accounts of Yogī Naraharināth’s life and discusses his work as a yogī, as a paṇḍit, and as rāṣṭra-bhakta, underscoring the centrality of his commitment to Hinduness in Nepal. Keywords: Nepal, Naraharināth, Ima Mātā, Mrigasthali, Hindu-rāṣṭra, Hinduness

Hagiographical representations of Yogīs have often stressed the theme of power as central to the charisma of a particular guru. Often depicted as enabling the rise and fall of locale potentates through their blessing or curse, Nāth Yogīs feature prominently in stories that depict the tension between renunciation and lay life, ascetic potency and worldly power, magic and politics. In Nepal, discourses on Yogī Naraharināth (1915-2003) represent a contemporary embodiment of the hagiographical tradition, presenting him as an exceptional guru of great achievement. But if much Nāth lore had focused on stressing the elements that position a Yogī above

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_ch08

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mundane matters, centering his charisma around the pivot of renunciation, Naraharināth’s devotees construe their guru’ religious career as very much in the midst of the concerns of twentieth-century Nepal, highlighting those features, such as his scholarship and his nationalist commitment, that speak of his involvement in worldly affairs. Yogī Naraharināth is discussed therefore not only as a yogī, but also as a paṇḍit and as a raṣṭra bhakta – the tension between mundane and ascetic power being mediated by the notion of the karma-yogī.

1 Ima’s poster For the contemporary visitor of his āśram, the first acquaintance with Yogī Naraharināth is mediated by a big poster that features his picture along with a condensed summary of his work, making sense of his cultural significance through a list of achievements. The text was composed as recently as 2012 by Ima Mātā, a female disciple who has risen in prominence in the last two decades as one of Yogī Naraharināth’s foremost followers. Charged with wordy strings of Sanskrit compounds, the combined effect of the picture and the language conveys enough to locate Yogī Naraharināth in a socio-religious context that most Indian and Nepali Hindus would recognize, but which is unusual in Nāth praxis. We can therefore take this document as a starting point for understanding which features of their guru’s life resonated as significant for his disciples. First, the poster is headed by an invocation (defined as a mantra), composed by Naraharināth himself, which helps us define the framework of his activities: Oṃ, Svasti, Gauḥ Śrīḥ Śivau Vedāḥ Pañcadevāḥ Pañcabuddha Sarve Devāḥ Śrīvāgīśvarī Vijayate! Oṃ Namaḥ Śivāya

Immediately after the syllables of auspicious introduction (represented by the graphic symbols for the oṃ and the svastika), we find an element absolutely central to Naraharināth’s understanding of dharma: the cow (gauḥ), here – quite uniquely – put in the first position, before the names of the gods. That cows are central in Yogī Naraharināth’s world would not come as a surprise to a devotee visiting his āśram: this presents itself formally as a cow shelter (gōśālā) and asks for donations for the cattle, rather than for the temples.

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Śrī can be read either as Lakṣmī’s name or as the honorary prefix to the divine names that follow, here graced by a visarga not quite required by the rules of sandhi but contributing to visually increase the Sanskrit aura of the mantra for the vernacular reader. The name that follows is particularly interesting, because the use of the dual Śivau (Śiva and Śivā) shifts the attention from the Brahmanical purity of the sacred cow to a dimension of cosmological significance first theorized by the Tantras, the unity of Śiva and Śakti. The Vedas appear explicitly, however, in the next word, but followed by the pairing Pañcadevāḥ and Pañcabuddha, meant to establish a parallel between the canonical five deities of Brahmanical worship (Viṣṇu, Śiva, Śakti, Sūrya, Ganeṣa) and the five Dhvani-Buddhas of the Vajrāyāna tradition (Amoghasiddhi, Amitabhā, Ratnasambhava, Akṣobhya, and Vairocana): though mostly irrelevant for a Hindu person from India, this element would make sense, however, to a visitor from the Newari community, who would be accustomed to seeing representations of the five Buddhas at the corners of the stūpas and around the doors of local Newari Buddhist houses. This co-optation of Buddhist elements, which represents an example of what Gellner has phrased “domination by subordinate inclusion” (Gellner 2005, 770) of Buddhism, represents a major theme of Naraharināth’s work. The second line localizes the cult, since it is dedicated specifically to the goddess Vāgīśvarī (“The Lady of Words”), the tantric name of Sarasvatī, attested both in Śaiva-Śākta and Buddhist meditational manuals. Her significance in Naraharināth’s life does not lie in her status as a goddess of learning per se, but rather in the presence of her temple on the holy ground of the āśram of Devghat, which he founded near the saṇgam of the Narayani and Kali Gandaki rivers, where he restored a dilapidated Vāgīśvarī temple. With the last invocation, oṃ namaḥ śivāya, arguably the best-known mantra for exoteric Hindu praxis, we are brought back to a territory familiar to all Hindus. This unusual combination of divine names reveals a very different religious idiom from the one that we would expect from a Nāth Yogī – cows, Veda, Sarasvatī, and Buddhas are creatively combined to render a picture of religious praxis definitely outside of the conventions of tantric yoga. This departure from the Nāth tradition is also reinforced by his attire in the poster picture, reproduced just under the mantra heading, which distinguishes him from other figures of sādhus through the adoption of a more straightforwardly nationalist aesthetics. Most notably, he wears a bhoṭo, the double-breasted garment fastened on the chest by string tiers, a shirt that constitutes the traditional Nepali dress and that was already outmoded in favor of Western fashion during Naraharināth’s time, except for formal occasions. The bhoṭo would be perceived as an unusual choice, since Nepali

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Yogīs, like the Indian ones, either style themselves in loose-fitting ocher robes or wear a simple dhotī. The same holds true for the headdress: while the traditional custom for a Yogī would be a turban (or no headdress at all), here Naraharināth is sporting an ocher hat shaped as a ṭopī, the men’s cap traditional to both the Bahun-Chettri and Newari communities in Nepal, but decorated, in his case, with a Oṃ symbol on the front. Though marking Yogī Naraharināth’s ascetic status through their ocher color, both the bhoṭo and the ṭopī disrupt the expected image of the gruff and disheveled sādhu, disciplining his figure within the more domestic parameters of a traditional householder’s garb and emphasizing his selfidentif ication as a Nepali. Furthermore, the photo does not show any rudrākṣa beads, nor – significantly – the nād siṅgī or janeu, the sacred whistle that marks one’s first initiation into the Nāth order, this being possibly hidden under the bhoṭo. The kuṇḍals (the heavy earrings inserted through the cartilage of the ears upon full initiation) are thus the only element that identify Yogī Naraharināth as a member of the Nāth sampradāya or, as most laymen would say, a Kānphaṭā (“split-ear”) jogī, a designation that most Yogīs generally find derogatory and oppose vehemently. Any possible idea that Yogī Naraharināth could have been just another jogī begging on the street, however, will be definitively removed as soon as the person contemplating the poster starts to read the text listing his intellectual achievements, poetical talent, and organizational abilities: Yogī Naraharināth. Śāstrī. Having the knowledge of the Veda as his ornament; gem among the poets; skilled among the poets; extemporary poet; great poet; teacher of dharma-śāstra, teacher of sāṃkhya-yoga, teacher of āyurveda.1

Besides these titles in classical branches of knowledge we find achievements in modern scholarship (“Archeologist. Writer of history. Publisher of history. Knowledgeable in languages in hundreds of scripts”),2 just before a presentation of his ritual activity (“Performer of forty-five lakṣahomas. Performer of 129 koṭi-homas. Performer of 5 śiva-yāga”).3 Only then do we find one epithet that contextualizes him within the Nāth school (“Devoted to Śiva-Gorakṣa”),4 fol1 “Yogī Naraharināthaḥ / Śāstrī / Vedavidyālaṅkāraḥ kaviratna-kavikovid-kavikāntakavibhūṣaṇa-āśukavi-mahākaviḥ dharmaśāstrācāryaḥ saṃkhyayogācārya āyurvedācāryaḥ”. 2 “[P]urātattvavedī / itihāsa-lekhakaḥ / itihāsa prakāśakaḥ / śataśolipibhāṣājñāḥ”. 3 “45 lakṣahomakṛt / 129 koṭihomakṛit / 5 śivayāgakṛt”. 4 “[Ś]ivagorakṣabhakta”.

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lowed by a list of phrases that, now standard among his devotees when praising him, point to his qualities of character (“Lifelong student. Lifelong pilgrim. Lifelong practitioner of yoga. Lifelong volunteer. Lifelong philanthropist”).5 Further, we are told that he was “devoted to the peace and benefit of the whole world, brahmacārī from childhood and practitioner of the path of truth”.6 The expression brahmacārī from childhood (ābala) is here a technical term, and not just another generic expression of praise, since it designates somebody who has become a renunciant in his childhood or adolescence and has never gone through a stage of married life. In Nepal, where many people may choose some form of renunciation later in life, and where many Yogīs are married, with a somewhat hybrid status between temple-keepers, gurus, and householders, Yogīs who have always been celibate are comparatively rare and are the only ones eligible to assume certain roles, such as becoming mahant of a main temple, or pīr7 of the Ratannāth mandir in Dang. Again, this detail would distinguish him from other Yogīs with whom our visitor to the āśram could be familiar. What comes next becomes more specific, as it evokes a well-defined Vedic background for his biography: Purified by millions and millions of repetitions of the gayatrī, mother of the Veda. Of the gotra of Bharadvāja, of pure mānava conduct. Having Bharadvāja, Āngirasa and Bṛhaspati as his three pravaras. Learned in the Mādhyandinīya branch of the Śukla Yajurveda. Learned in the Īśāvāsyopaniṣad.8

Both gotra and pravara (the former designating the endogamic clan within one’s caste, the latter indicating the ancestors to be mentioned during a sacrifice and to determine marriage eligibility) are terms mostly relevant for Brahmin householders, while Nāth Yogīs are identified instead by their panth, one of the twelve branches in which the sampradāya is subdivided.9 5 “[Ā]jīvana vidyārthi / ājīvana padayātrī / ājīvana yogābhyāsī / ājīvana svayamsevak / ājīvana paropākaraparāyaṇaḥ”. 6 “[V]iśvaśānti-viśvakalyāṇa parāyaṇa / ābālabrahmacārī satyapathacārī”. 7 The symbolic chief of the temple, chosen annually, who embodies the founder Siddha Ratannāth. 8 “[K]oṭi-koṭi-veda-mātṛ gāyatrī japapavitraḥ / pavitramānavacaritraḥ bhāradvājaṛṣi gotraḥ / bharadvāja-āṅgīrasa-bārhaspatya-tripravara / śukla yajurveda mādhyandinīya śākhādhyāyī / īśāvāsyopaniṣadadhyāyī”. 9 The phrase “satyapathacārī” (see above) could perhaps be read as reference to Naraharināth’s panth (the Satyanāth Panth), if read as a synonym for satyapanthī, particularly after ābālabrahmacārī (Śrīśnāth and Devnāth, two of Naraharināth’s disciples, made a point of

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A lay reader, however, would not necessarily be informed on the policies of self-identification of the Yogīs and may therefore not notice this deviation from the usual Nāth praxis: he or she would grasp that the figure presented here is a paṇḍit, rather than a member of an esoteric tantric lineage. As for the word mānava, this is reminiscent, of course, of the Mānavadharma-śāstra or Manu Smṛti, but, while the word “Mānava” in the śāstra is clearly a patronymic derived from the name Manu, to the general Nepali reader this reference is not immediate and mānava is more often understood in its ordinary meaning of “human”, the normal usage of the word in Nepali and Hindi (such as in the phrase mānava ādhikār, “human rights”), conveying therefore the idea of a dharma for, or inherent in, humanity itself, a linguistic ambiguity that can be used as the basis for suggesting that a śāstric version of dharma is coterminous with human morality as such. The inclusion of Yogī Naraharināth in the world of Brahminical scholarship is reinforced by two references to specific texts: the Śukla Yajurveda and the Īśāvāsyopaniṣad. The Śukla Yajurveda, in the context of contemporary Bahun-Chetri ritual praxis, is the source of the Rudrāṣṭādhyāyī, colloquially called Rudrī, a compilation of eight hymns to Rudra from the Yajurveda that is often celebrated as a pūjā to Śiva in special occasions – a reference that contextualizes Naraharināth within the parameter of orthodox BahunChetri ritual praxis. This emphasis on Brahminical elements in the representation of Naraharināth – which is significantly different from the tropes of Nāth hagiographies – highlights an important dimension of Sanskritization in the Nāth sampradāya: Sanskrit scholarship, on the one hand, and ritual expertise on the other, are associated with the public persona of the guru to the point of overshadowing his Nāth identity.

2 Two life stories I will give an overview here of how Naraharināth’s image as a paṇḍit and as a raṣṭra bhakta emerge from two accounts of his life written with celebratory purposes: the article Kirtir yasya sa jīvati (“One who has fame, lives on”) in the Yogī Naraharināth Abhinandana Grantha (“Celebratory Collection on Yogī Naraharināth”) written in 1997 by Svāmī Prapannācārya, one of the stating in personal communication that satyapanthī Yogīs were more likely than Yogīs of other panth to be celibate). The possible Nāth import of the phrase, however, is lost in the midst of Naraharināth’s other epithets, and would probably go unnoticed.

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leaders of the Viśva Hindū Mahāsaṅgha, and the booklet Yogī Naraharināth by the Yogī-householder Kāśīnāth Yogī, published in 2010. As we will see, though the ascetic notions of sādhanā and tapas emerge throughout the accounts, thus consistent with a focus on Naraharināth as yogī, the emphasis of the narrative is on his scholarship and on his commitment to the nation. Svāmī Prapannācārya gives BS 1969 (1913) as the date of birth for Balvir Singh Thapa, while Kāśīnāth Yogī reports it to be BS 1971 (1915). They both agree that he was born on 17 Phālgun (February-March), from Gauri Devi and Lalit Singh Thapa, in Lalu, a village belonging to the Kalikot district in the Karnali region (Prapannācārya, 23; Yogī, 11). This is a remote mountain area in Western Nepal, culturally close to the Indian Himalaya, with a predominantly Bahun-Chetri population. Prapannācārya emphasizes his mother’s influence on his early upbringing, while Kāśīnāth Yogī mentions a figure called Yajñaprasad Ācharya as Naraharināth’s childhood’s teacher. At the age of eight (Prapannācārya) or nine (Yogī), Balvir Singh, a talented boy who had quickly learned the alphabet, received his upanayana and met his future guru. Kāśīnāth Yogī’s account of this event is more congruent with the Nāth hagiographical style, while Prapannācārya’s report is more formal. For Kāśīnāth Yogī: “at the age of nine, wandering away from his birthplace, the village of Lalu, having come to Jumla, at Cauhancaur Bazar, he stayed in the mandir [of] Candannāth [and] Bhairavnath”. There he meets his guru “a sādhu, a split-ear (kān-cirā) bābā, mahant, śivdarśanī, Yogī Chipranāth”, who, understanding that he has met a worthy boy, gives him instruction in the path of yoga as well as knowledge (vidyā), keeping him in the Bhairava mandir for three years. At the age of thirteen, the guru formally requests the boy from his parents, and brings him to Devi Patan in India, to instruct him in guru-mantra and yoga for three more years, after which he initiates him in the Satyanāth panth of the Nāth sampradāya with name Naraharināth. Since the disciple wants to study Sanskrit, and there are no schools for this at Devi Patan, he asks his guru’s permission to go somewhere else. He is then, at the age of fifteen or sixteen, sent to the Sarasvatī Saṃskṛita College in Khanna, Ludhiana, a school supported by donations (Yogī 2010, 11-12). Kāśīnāth Yogī takes his delight in describing the state of indigence in which Naraharināth pursues his education: he has only one meal per day, two sets of clothes to wear, and, since there is no electricity, he traps some fireflies in a transparent jar to make light for his nightly studies. He spends his small allowance to buy school supplies and, to quench his hunger, he sometimes picks wild fruits from local fields. Having graduated from the school with the title of śāstrī, he returns to his guru in Devi Patan. He then departs again, however, wandering to pilgrimage places and meeting with

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other sādhus and learned men, until he settles down in Varanasi at the local Nāth maṭh, the Gorakṣaṭillā (Yogī 2010, 13-15). In B.S. 2000 (1943-44) he is selected as secretary (saciv) of a local publishing house associated with the sampradāya, the Yoga-pracāriṇī (Yogī 2010, 16). Alternatively, according to Prapannācārya, the young Balvir Singh first leaves his family home to enroll in a local school, the Siddha Candannāth Bhāṣā Pāṭhaśālā of Jumla. The principal of the school is a native of Udaypur, mahant Kṣipranāth, who, says Prapannācārya, has moved to Jumla attracted by the natural beauty (prākṛtik saundarya) of the place. Impressed by the boy, and thinking that he could become “a living image of Guru Gorakhnāth” (Guru Gorakhnāth-ko pratimūrti), Kṣipranāth initiates him in the sampradāya with name Naraharināth, for “the defense of the eternal Vedic Hindu dharma, Hindu culture, and Hindu nation” (sanātana vaidika hindu-dharma, hindu-saṃskṛti, hindu-rāṣṭra-ko rakṣā) (Prapannācārya 1997, 24). Whether this was Kṣipranāth’s own phrasing of the instruction he was imparting to his pupil, Naraharināth’s understanding of it, or perhaps Prapannācārya’s wording, it is impossible to ascertain. The tone of this account, however, is consistent with Naraharināth’s own nationalist leanings and reflects Prapannācārya’s social status: the Svāmī was in fact an important member of the Hindu Vishwa Mahasangh and seems more invested than Kāśīnāth Yogī in extolling Naraharināth’s intellectual achievements in a Hindu nationalist perspective. If his report is accurate, we can observe that the Nāth institutions in which Kṣipranāth operates already present a high level of Sanskritization. Prapannācārya states in fact that after completing his education at the pāṭhaśālā, Naraharināth moves with his guru to Gorakhnāth Mṛgasthalī Siddhācala, the main Nāth maṭh in Kathmandu, where he studies the Laghukaumudī, the Amarakośa, the Caṇḍī, the Gītā, and other books with Kṣipranāth. From there, he moves to the Yogāśrama of Mayapuri in Haridwar, to study at the Yogāśrama Sanskṛta Vidyālaya founded by Purnanāth, where he studies vyākaraṇa and darśaṇa with mahāmahopadhyāya Dravyesh Jha, and vyākaraṇa, kāvya, and sāhitya with paṇḍit Jñaniram Shastri. Between 1935 and 1936, we find him in Varanasi, at the Gorakṣaṭilla Maidaginī, where he studies with Yogī Śaṅkarnāth Falegrāhī and with mahāmahopadhāya Harihara Kripālū. The syllabus here includes the Siddhānta Kaumudī, the f irst āhnika of the Mahābhāṣya, and the Brahmakāṇḍa of the Vākyapadīya. Afterwards, he travels in the company of other sādhus and reaches Lahore, where he enrols at the Lahore Prācya Vidyāpīṭha to study Mammaṭa’s Kāvyaprakāśa, the first half of Bāṇabhaṭṭa’s Kadāmbarī, and

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other “philosophical subjects” (dārśanik viṣaya) with mahāmahopadhyāya Mādhava Bhaṇḍāri and Keshevdev Gauda. In 1938, he passes the śāstri examination at the Sarasvatī Saṃskṛta Mahāvidyālaya in Ludhiana, where he has studied sāhitya and the six darśanas with Vishvanath Prabhakar, winning all the competitions in śāstrārtha, kāvya, and composition of nibandha. Thirsting for more, he moves to Haridwar again, to study the Veda at the Kāḍī Viśvavidyālaya, whose vice-chancellor (upakulapati), Jagdev jī, is a scholar of the Ārya Samāj. He takes Naraharināth as his favourite student, and teaches him famous sūktas, anuvākas, kaṇḍikās, and mantras from the four Vedas, while other teachers instruct him in the Śatapathabrāhmaṇa, Taittirīyabrāhmaṇa, Aitareyabrāhmaṇa, Tāṇḍyabrahmaṇa, and Gopaṭhabrahmaṇa. He passes the exam for the title of Vedālaṅkara in 1940, but his quest for knowledge has not yet come to an end. He travels again, to visit the library of the Motināth Saṃskṛta Vidyālaya in Rawalpindi, the library of the Raghunāth Saṃskṛta College in Jammu and Kashmir, and other libraries in Multan and Peshawar for the purpose of studying the Śaivāgama (Prapannācārya 1997, 24-25). Kāśīnāth Yogī describes the course of events that led to his appointment as the next mahant of Mṛgasthalī, the position being vacant. Since the mahantship of Mṛgasthalī was a religious foundation (guṭhī) funded by the royal house since the time of Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh, and overseen by the Prime Minister since the time of Jaṅg Bahādur Rāṇā, it was customary that the mahant be appointed under recommendation (siphāris) of the minister, with “royal seal” (lit. “red seal”, lālmohar) from the king. The person formally in charge of appointing a new mahant is thus the then prime minister Padma Śamśer Jang Bahādur Rāṇā, who in BS 2003 (1946-47) asks Digvijaynāth, the mahant of the Gorakhnāth maṭh in Gorakhpur, to assume the leadership of Mṛgasthalī. Digvijaynāth refuses, saying that it would be difficult for a person to hold the mahantship of two different locations, and suggests to Padma Śamśer the name of Naraharināth, residing in Varanasi at the time – a Nepali skilled in the path of yoga (yogakram-mā kauśala) and celibate since childhood (bālbrahmacārī). Naraharināth is therefore summoned to Mṛgasthalī to talk with Padma Śamśer, and replies to his request expressing a concern for the scarcity of “pūjā items etc.” (pūjā sāmagri ādi) in the temple. The minister assures him that he will receive help in this regard, and on the day of Śivarātri of BS 2003 (February 1947), with the lālmohar of king Tribhuvan, Naraharināth becomes mahant. Prapannācārya does not discuss the events leading to Naraharināth’s appointment, but simply states that after studying the Śaivāgamas, Naraharināth decides to turn his path into that of a karma-yogī, “for the

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rights and the benefit of the whole Oṃkāra family,10 along with the advancement of the Gorakṣa-sampradāya” (Prapannācārya 1997, 25): keeping in mind the śloka from the Rāmāyaṇa “api svarṇamayī laṅkā na me lakṣmaṇa rocate / jananī janmabhūmiśca svargādapi garīyasī”11 Yogī jī returns to do sevā in Nepal. After listing several names of other Svāmīs and learned men that had chosen to stay in India to live more comfortably, Prapannācārya states that Yogī jī phrased his commitment in this way: “The dishonor that I face in my maternal land (mātṛ-bhūmi) is my honor. The dishonor made to me by my country (deśa), is my great honor. The jail of my country is the birthplace ( janmabhūmi) of Lord Kṛṣṇa for me”. He also quotes a verse of a song of the vernacular poet ( jana-kavi) Keshar Dharmaraj Thapa: “Don’t cry Mother, I’ll wipe away your tears”, to state that Naraharināth, following the emotion of the song, came back to Nepal. “This” – he says – “was the good fortune of the only Hindu nation of the world (viśva-ko ek mātra Hindu-rāṣṭra)”. The notion of the Hindu-rāṣṭra lies at the very core of Yogī jī’s political commitment, and Prapannācārya mentions how, in 1950, he founds an organization called Karmavīr Mahāmaṇḍal “with the main goal of protecting the Vedic Hindu religion and serving the nation”. The role of the Karmavīr Mahāmaṇḍal in launching the Gorkha agitations of 1960 – a conservative uprising against the attempted reforms of the Nepali Congress of B. P. Koirala – has been discussed in the secondary literature on the history of Nepal, with contradictory reports on the course of events and on Naraharināth’s involvement in them.12 They all agree, however, on the net result: as a consequence of the protests, which turned violent, King Mahendra dismissed Koirala’s government, put an end to the first democratic experiment of post-1951 Nepal, and resumed absolute power by establishing the so-called “Panchayat democracy” – a system based on the election of village or town councils (pañcāyat), whose member would in turn choose representatives at the district level. The representatives of the districts would then nominate the majority of the members of the Rāṣṭrīya Pañcāyat, a national legislature body with extremely limited powers, which allowed for an unrestrained exercise of power by the monarch. We can here briefly recall the important consequences that the establishment of the Panchayat system had for the religious life of the country. 10 The group of religious traditions that, in Naraharināth’s thought, make use of the syllable oṃ and can therefore be subsumed under the broader umbrella of Hinduness. 11 “Even if Lanka is made of gold, oh Lakṣmaṇa, I don’t like it. One’s mother and place of birth are even better than heaven”. 12 For a more detailed overview of the events, see Whelpton (2011, 93-98), Joshi and Rose (1966, 360-62), Adhikari (2015, 90), Tripathi (2011, 56-57), Dangol (1999, 195).

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First, it is at this time that Nepal starts to be consistently referred to as ekmātra hindū rājya, the “only Hindu kingdom (of the world)”, and the constitution specifies that the king must be “an adherent of Aryan culture and the Hindu religion”, a provision that will remain in place up to the constitution of 1990. Second, religious conversions are forbidden, though it is possible to “revert” to Hinduism for Nepali people who have embraced other faiths. The status of South Asian religions other than Hinduism, most notably Buddhism (but, in theory, Sikhism and Jainism too, though these are underrepresented in Nepal), is problematic: they are considered a subset of Hinduism and therefore accepted as possible practices, but, precisely because of this inclusion, their potential to differ from the ideology of the Hindu Panchayat is neutralized (Gellner 2005). Kāśīnāth Yogī, reading the Panchayat system as a positive intervention of the King, mentions that Naraharināth acted as an advisor to Mahendra in establishing it: In Nepal, after the Gorkha incident of that time, there was another time of change in the country. Since the government of the then king Śrī Pañc Mahārājādhirāja Mahendra Vīr Vikram Shāh, to do political leadership of the Panchayat democracy according to the rules of the śāstras for advancing the progress of Nepal, in the month of Maṃsir [Nov-Dec] of the year 2017 [1960], had asked the advice of Yogī Naraharināth-jyū, Yogī-jī gave to Śrī Pañc Mahendra advice and guidance according to the Veda, the Purāṇa, the Five Principles of Conduct (pañcaśīla nīti), the Raghuvaṃśa Mahākāvya, and the Rām-rājya of the Rāmāyaṇa, and since Śrī Pañc Mahendra announced the Panchayat democracy, the fact that he gave to the King good advice and guidance clearly shows that he always wanted the well-being of the king, of the country of Nepal, and of the people of Nepal. (Yogī 2010, 41)

The nature of Naraharināth’s advisory role to the king is not specified, but we know that from this moment his interests will revolve around three interconnected trajectories: establishing institutions of Sanskrit learning, founding organizations for the promotion of hindū-dharma, and celebrating Koṭi Homas. In almost all of these enterprises, we will find Mahendra as sponsor and guest of honor. Between Chaitra 1 and 7, BS 2022 (March 14-20, 1966) Naraharināth holds the Bṛhad Ādhyātmika Pariṣad (“Great Spiritual Assembly”) in Tulsipur, Dang. Prapannācārya reports that Mahendra is the chief guest (pramukh atithi) and “protector” (saṃrakṣaka), and Somnath Sigdel (a conservative paṇḍit who enjoyed royal patronage) is chairman (adhyakṣa). Treasurer

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(koṣādhyakṣa) for a long time is Sharada Shamsher Rana (Prapannācārya 1997, 27), who was “adviser of education” in the Royal Councilors’ Government of 1952-53 and son of the former Rana president, Mohan Shamsher Rana (Joshi and Rose 1966, 105). After the first meeting, a second one is held on the week of Baiśākh 27, BS 2023 (May 9, 1966), this time in Kathmandu, to do an evaluation of the previous conference. In BS 2023, Phālgun 17-20 (February 28-March 4, 1967), a third meeting is held in Janakpur. The fourth is held in the week starting on Māgh 1, 2024, (January 15, 1968) at Devghat. Another conference organized by Naraharināth and inaugurated by Mahendra is the Vidvat Pariṣad (“Assembly of learned ones”) of Baiśākh 2023 (April-May 1966), again with Somnath Sigdal as chairman, particularly organized to bring together Nepali paṇḍits (Prapannācārya 1997, 28). This conference seems to be a Nepalese echo to the Vidvat Pariṣad organized by the Vishwa Hindu Parishad at the Kumbh Melā of the same year (January 1966), and discussed by Christophe Jaffrelot.13 It is important to notice, however, how Prapannācārya’s account reads the Vidvat Pariṣad held in Nepal not on the background of Sangh Parivar activism, but more specifically, as a form of continuity with the tradition of Sanskrit learning that Naraharināth had inherited from his teachers during his youth studying at the various viśvavidyālayas in India: First, while staying in India, Yogī jī had taken a deep dive into the Ganga of knowledge from experts like mahāmahopādhyāya Dravyesh Jha, mahāmahopādhyāya Hari Kripalu, mahāmahopādhyāya Madhav Bhandari, upakulapati Jagdev, śāstrārtha mahāratha Shankarnath Falegrahi, ācārya Vishvanath Prabhakar, paṇḍit Jñānirām etc. Now, with the intention of taking a deep dive into the Ganga of śāstrīya knowledge with Indian learned men together with Nepali learned ones, Yogī jī organised a Vidvat Pariṣad. This was the first vidvat conference of Nepal in the fast paced age of the 21st century. This conference happened in the month of Baiśākh of the year B.S 2023 [April-May 1966]. Except Padmaprasad Bhattarai, nyāyaratna, teacher of navya-nyāya, darśanālaṃkāra, almost all famous Sanskrit experts (vidvat) of Nepal of the time were present in the vidvat conference of Dang. (Prapannācārya 1997, 27-28) 13 Despite its poor representation, the meeting in Allahabad was intended to be a kind of parliament and repository of Hinduism. A subcommittee was designated to “elaborate a code of conduct suitable to promote and strengthen the Hindu samskars … This Vidvat Parishad then met to simplify the rites of purification, to give an official status to five principal festivals of the Hindu calendar, and above all to elaborate the much-vaunted code of conduct” (Jaffrelot 2010, 231).

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Prapannācārya does not elaborate on the proceedings of the Vidvat Pariṣad, but he suggests that this conference had, in fact, political overtones: “as far as I understand the smell of politics had entered even in this conference” (Prapannācārya 1997, 28). An engagement that more clearly illustrates the overlap between the Nepali Hindu rhetoric of the Panchayat period and Hindutva activism in India is provided by Naraharināth’s attendance to the meetings of the Viśva Hindū Saṅgh (or Mahāsaṅgh), an organization discussed by Véronique Bouillier in relation to the emergence of Hindu fundamentalism in Nepal.14 The genesis of this movement is intimately connected to the history of the Indian Viśva Hindū Pariṣad in India. In the month of Phālgun of BS 2036 (1980), Naraharināth is reported participating at the VHP meeting in Allahabad/Prayag, inaugurated by the Dalai Lama, in spite of an expected inauguration by the king of Nepal: The news that the inauguration of the meeting would be done by the lotushand of Śrī pañc Mahārājādhirāja Birendra was printed in all newspapers of India. Due to some unforeseen circumstances, the inauguration of the Viśva-hindū-pariṣad [at] Prayag was done by the Rāja dharmaguru, the Dalai Lama. At the summit, there were around three and half lākh of people. The program lasted for three days with great show. At this summit, many people, many pilgrims had come from Nepal to bathe in the tīrtha of Prayagrāj. But did Yogi Naraharināth travel there as an [independent] pilgrim or because of an invitation? This was unknown. He was present at the summit. (Prapannācārya 1997, 30)

His participation seems to have important consequences, as he assumes the leadership of a future Viśva Hindū Mahāsaṅgha. Prapannācārya reports that a few months after the summit in Prayag, the Indian press started to publish that another summit would be held at Birganj under Naraharināth’s leadership. The conference took place in the month of Caitra (March-April) of BS 2036 (1981), inaugurated by king Birendra. Delegates from twenty-two countries were invited. Among them there were Lanka, Germany, Japan etc. The Indian Ambassador was also present there. Delegates from 14 regions and 75 districts of Nepal had participated. Scholars, politicians, artists, journalists, teachers, students, workers, 14 “Les cadres du Mahasangh ne récusent pas le qualificatif de ‘fondamentalistes’ qui, disent-ils, a été dénaturé car que veut-il dire d’autre qu’un ‘retour au fondament’, à la source même de l’hindouisme, dont le temps a terni le pureté” (Bouillier 1997, 88).

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Jains, Buddhists, Sikhs, Ārya Samājīs, Kṛṣṇā Praṇāmīs etc, all the Oṃkār Parivar had actively participated. But heavy rains and thunderstorms at night had caused safety problems. In spite of such disastrous natural conditions and other problems, as a result of the continuous effort of a stubborn, indomitable Yogī jī, now the Viśva Hindū Mahāsaṅgha has successfully opened almost 25-30 national branches in the international field. (Prapannācārya 1997, 31)

Naraharināth, however, will not participate in the important Mahāsaṅgha of 1988, sponsored by the monarchy in occasion of the vratabandha of the Crown Prince: in the same year, two journalists have been arrested for having published an interview to Naraharināth, expressing views critical of the king. Though he is not personally prosecuted, he distances himself from the VHM (Bouiller 1997, 91). Prapannācārya does not discuss this incident but focuses instead on the different avenues through which Naraharināth establishes himself as an advocate of Sanskrit learning. In 1972, in fact, Naraharināth devotes his energies to the task of establishing a Nepala Saṃskṛta Viśvavidyālaya in Beljhundi, Dang. Prapannācārya reports that local people, both of Tharu and Parbatiya origins, donated land for the enterprise, allowing Naraharināth to put together 5000 bighā15 of local land (Prapannācārya 1997, 27). Kāśīnāth Yogī discusses some difficulties in establishing the institution: renaming it Mahendra Saṃkṛta Viśvavidyālaya, Naraharināth was to ask an acceptance permit from the king’s administration, which assured it. However, during the process of the permit being approved, Mahendra died, and his son Birendra inherited the throne. Naraharināth petitioned the new king and the new ministers, but Birendra’s cabinet did not approve the permit. According to Kāśīnāth Yogī: since selfish followers made false backbiting about Yogī jī, alienating the king too, with the pretext that he had asked the permit for the Sanskrit university without discretion, the government of that time, without any law, forcefully imprisoned Yogī jī, and the innocent Yogī jī stayed in a difficult prison, in hardship. This was in B.S. 2029 [1973) or B.S. 2030 [1974-75]. (Yogī 2010, 63)

Kāśīnāth does not name the people who pressed charges against Naraharināth, but states that Yogī jī was in and out of prison three or four times in this 15 Five-eighths of an acre.

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period, until he sought shelter in India, staying at the Puranath Akhāḍhā in Delhi to “take rest” (viśrām linu). Consequently, continues Kāśīnāth: The king of that time [Birendra] sent some men to call him and since Yogī jī had faith in the learned men of Nepal, the call of dharma, and towards the nation, not being able to forget the country, he returned back to Nepal around the year 2036 [1979-80], and stayed – blessed be the nationalism of Yogī jī! (Yogī 2010, 46)

Prapannācārya, instead, does not even mention the imprisonment, saying simply that Naraharināth had to leave the country. Interestingly, in keeping with the hagiographical genre, he describes Yogī jī’s troubles as a form of tapas: The news about the undetermined future of the Nepāla Saṃskṛta Viśvavidyālaya could be read or heard, in gossip and in newspapers. One day Yogī jī had to leave not only Dang but also Nepal and take shelter in India … But then finally a day arrived to make tilāñjali16 to Dang Beljhundi. Abandoning his house, field, 5000 bighās of land, his horse, and all his property, barefoot, empty-handed, Yogī jī for several months went wandering for Varanasi, Delhi, etc. Without eating, without drinking, even without rain in the heat! It is difficult to say if to Mother Nepal will ever be born another son doing such sādhana and tapas. (Prapannācārya 1997, 28)

In BS 2028-29 (1972-73), Naraharināth establishes another institution of Sanskrit learning, the Sarayū Saṃskrita Viśvavidyālaya, in Bicchiya,17 Girijapur, in India. The subjects of study reportedly included sāhitya, nyāya, vyākaraṇa, veda, vedānta, jyotiṣa, tantrāgama, purāṇa-itihāsa, saṃkhya-yoga, English, and others. At its peak, the university had around five hundred students, though few were preparing for the title of śāstri or ācārya. Prapannācārya’s account reports the difficulties encountered in running this school: a scholar from Lucknow University was invited to spend some time at the institution, and within a week twenty-five more teachers came to be appointed. However, due to the poor f inancial conditions of the university, salaries could not be distributed regularly. And teachers started to leave. Meanwhile 16 I.e., “to bid goodbye”. Tilāñjali is an oblation of water and sesame seeds. 17 Bicchiya is located at the border between India and Nepal, near the river Sarayu (Prapannācārya 1997, 28).

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because of the indolence of the committee, there was no provision of meals. Therefore the students, too, started to leave. Only few teachers were left. (Prapannācārya 1997, 30)

Soon, the university shut down. The third avenue of his Hindu activism in Nepal, the celebration of the Koṭi Homas, fire-sacrifices centered on the repetition of the gāyatrī mantra ten million (one koṭi) times, is the one for which he is most often remembered and in which he will continue to be active until his death. Ima Mātā’s poster, quoted at the beginning of this chapter, gives the number of such ritual performances as 129; Kāśīnāth Yogī mentions 139, while Prapannācārya states that Naraharināth had planned to perform 108 Koṭi Homas, but only succeeded in performing around 70, for which he lists 55 locations in Nepal and 14 in India. Prapannācārya further says that the motivation for the rituals was “to purify the polluted land and environment” and that the first celebration was in the year BS 2036 (1980) at Birganj (Prapannācārya 1996, 31). Kāśīnāth Yogī’s account has a more international vision of these events, reporting them to be performed “for the welfare of the nation (rāṣṭra-kalyāṇ) and world peace” (viśva-śānti), and mentioning Sri Lanka, Japan, and Australia as Koṭi Homa locations. One of the last places in which the Koṭi Homa is celebrated is particularly significant, as it becomes Naraharināth’s own personal āśram in Devghat, in the region of Chitwan. Devghat’s status as tīrtha is due to its being located at the saṅgam of the Narayani and Kali Gandaki’s rivers, with an important burning ghāṭ on the riverbank, thus falling in the well-attested category of river-tīrthas, but acquired further luster in recent decades because of Naraharināth’s effort. Describing the foundation of the āśram, established there in 1996, Kāśīnāth Yogī reports that an āśram dedicated to the sage Vaśiṣṭha was found in the jungle next to Devghat, along with a cave of Gorakhnāth.18 The main trace of the “āśram” is a mūrti of the goddess Vāgīśvarī and various artwork, found while he was researching the place around the month of Māgh (January-February) in BS 2052 (1996). Naraharināth then started to worship the Devī in that location, thus establishing the temple now known as Vāgīśvarī mandir (Yogī 1997, 60). The place soon becomes the center of a controversy, as it conflicts with the establishment of a Medical College in the same location. Kāśīnāth Yogī reports the problem as follows: Right in that place, clearing the jungle, the Congress Party of the time decided to establish the B.P. Medical College, of about 100 bighā of land, 18 The cave of Gorakhnāth is a place where Gorakhnāth is thought to have performed tapas.

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and had already built two or four buildings, but Yogī jī, [said that] that place had been since ancient times a sacred ground, and that, since there was an āśram of the Ṛṣi Vaśiṣṭha and a temple of the goddess Vāgīśvarī, now too, it must be kept just as sacred ground, the forest must also be protected, and the Medical College can be built at another appropriate location of the same district. The Congress, saying that it would not let go of the sacred place, did not listen, and so Yogī jī went to the Supreme Court and appealed according to the rules; with a definite verdict of the Supreme Court the plan of the Congress was nullified. The Medical College moved elsewhere. That place has always remained a divine land (devobhūmi), there have been several yajñas, havanas, [and] pūjās, and it has been made into a religious locality (dharmika-sthal) after Yogī jī made the announcement and proclamation that he had renamed that very place “Yogī Naraharināth āśram” and put there a photo of himself. (Yogī, 61)

Devghat would become a center of Naraharināth’s commemoration after his death on February 25, 2003 (Phālgun 13, 2059) and would go on to be managed by his closest disciple, Śrīśnāth. In the typology identified by Véronique Bouillier, it may be considered a nījī (“personal/private”) maṭh, as opposed to the pañcāyatī maṭhs that belong to the Nāth sampradāya in an institutional, collective way (Bouillier 2008). Located in the forest, near a tīrtha – and therefore consonant with the iconic image of the yogī immersed in the wilderness – it certainly mirrors Naraharināth’s status as a renouncer, but in presenting itself as a cow shelter (gōśālā) it is also tied to a nationalistic idiom that becomes more prominent once, as I have overviewed above, the visitor encounters the figure of Yogī-jī through the eyes of his disciples’ accounts.

3 Karma-yoga and parārtha sādhanā Discourses on Yogī Naraharināth’s public life in Nepal reveal an important consequence of the changed socio-religious environment of twentiethcentury South Asia: the rephrasing of religious charisma around notions of social involvement, instead of renunciation – a marked difference from the pre-colonial hagiographical representations of Nāth Yogīs. As overviewed by Adrian Muñoz at the beginning of this volume, in fact, the idiom of siddhis highlights a central ambiguity in the context of Nāth hagiographies: on the side, they represent the Yogīs’ ascetic achievement, with connotations pointing towards the magical, the miraculous, and the exceptional, on the other, they implicitly hint at the domain of worldly power that many prominent

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Yogīs have historically enjoyed. It is important to notice, however, that it is the domain of renunciation that makes it possible for the hagiographical narrative to center the Yogī’s power as foundational, insofar as ascetic authority is always presented as superior to worldly power as such. In the many stories of interactions between kings and Yogīs, whether the monarch abandons the throne altogether to become an ascetic himself, as it was the case with Bhartṛhari and Gopīcand, or whether he takes advantages of a Yogī’s magical prowess to establish his rule, as Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh and Mānsingh did, the king is always presented as a disciple to the rāj-guru, often depicted seated at his dhūnī at the outskirts of civilized space. Hagiographical narratives such as the Śrī Mastnāth Carit studied by David White (2001), in which an outraged Nāth Yogī curses the emperor Ālam Śāh with the downfall of the Mughal empire (thus effectively ushering British rule into the subcontinent) represent a far cry from nowadays’ representations of Yogīs committed to the Hindu nation. The pre-modern image of the Yogī, in fact, is typically that of an ascetic, often absorbed in meditation in the forest, sometimes surrounded by deer, or himself transformed into a deer, as Gorakhnāth is in the narrative of Ratannāth.19 In the Siddh Goṣṭ, a Sikh poem styled as a dialogue between Guru Nanak and the Nāth Yogīs, the tension between the Nāth ethos of ascetic pursuit and the ideal of threefold sevā of the Sikh tradition20 provides a framework for the Yogīs to spell out the value of solitude as a means for achieving spiritual perfection: Away from the stores and highways, we abide in the woods among the plants and trees. Our food is fruit and roots; [to live like this] is the wisdom spoken of by the wise ones. We bathe at sacred pools and attain fruits of peace, so that our minds are free from filth. Gorakh’s disciple Loharipā says, this is the way of yoga. (SG 7, in Nayar and Sandhu 2007, 119)

Against this background, the intellectual and social commitments of Yogī Naraharināth can be better understood as part of a broader shift in religious 19 The choice of this animal is significant: the Sanskrit word mṛga applies specifically to the deer, but more generally to all wild, non-domestic animals and is thus the opposite of paśu, the domestic animal and potential sacrificial victim, which is the standard label in tantric parlance for the uninitiated, bound to their attachments. 20 Tan (physical), man (mental) and dhan (philanthropic).

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values in twentieth-century South Asia, particularly through the application of the notions of karma yoga and sevā to the realm of politics, an ideological move born out of the reformist movements of the late colonial era. In India, this was particularly clear in the context of the reformist strands tied to the development of neo-Vedānta, when thinkers such as Svāmī Vivekānanda and Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan intertwined Western ideas of philanthropy with Upaniṣadic notions of cosmic unity through a process of “Europeanization” of Vedānta (Halbfass 1988). As summarized by Andrew Fort, this marked an important break with the classical sources, generally invested in presenting liberation (mokṣa) as the purview of the detached renunciate (1998). With the rephrasing of sevā (hitherto understood as devotional service to a deity or guru) as “organised service to humankind” (Beckerlegge 2000, 60) a new conception of ascetic agency was born, which paved the way for the nationalist re-elaboration of karma yoga in political fashion.

Conclusion The Sanskritization apparent in the recent developments of the Nāth tradition has already been discussed by Daniel Gold (1999) and Véronique Bouillier (2008), who have noticed how contemporary forms of Nāth religious life tend more and more towards Brahmanical models. In Naraharināth’s case, however, a rhetoric of interest in the Veda is completely intertwined with a nationalistic impulse, to the point of obliterating the Nāth identity of the Yogī in favor of the image of the paṇḍit and of the raṣṭra-bhakta. The social involvement of the renunciate, engrossed in samāj sevā as a category of spiritual life, becomes endowed here with an explicit political consciousness: it is the Yogī who must protect the dharma of the nation, which in turn becomes the custodian of Hinduness. This conceptual shift has the important consequence of displacing the soteriological dimension: in Naraharināth’s own words, providing sevā to the nation (understood as primordially Hindu) is presented as a superior form of sādhanā, an “altruistic” (parārtha) sādhanā, as opposed to the “selfish” (svārtha) sādhanā of the sādhu engrossed in the pursuit of his own liberation. The dichotomy composed of these two conceptions of spiritual life is the focus of Naraharināth’s booklet Vaidika Siddhānta (1988), a composition of different Sanskrit quotations (not particularly vaidika except for the first half of the second verse of the Īśa Upaniṣad21), with a commentary in Hindi 21 “[K]urvann eveha karmāṇi jijīviṣecchataṃ samāḥ /evaṃ tvayi nānyatheto ‘sti na karma lipyate nare”: “Just by performing karman one should desire to live one hundred years. For you,

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styled as an oral speech (pravacan). The work advocates social engagement as the utmost duty of a spiritual person and starts by evoking a generic praise of paropakāra (“benefiting others”) against the svārtha sādhanā of the man seeking his own liberation. It gradually shifts its emphasis to the ideal of the warrior ascetic, to climax in the end with a call to war against an enemy that is implied, but remains undefined. It can provide here an example of Naraharināth’s style, meant to excite feelings of enthusiasm and commitment by conforming to epical models, and transposing the concerns of the present, now dehistoricized, on a plane of mythical atemporality. I will conclude, therefore, with a brief excerpt from Vaidika Siddhānta that highlights Naraharināth’s own understanding of his role as a religious leader: not a secluded ascetic enabling the rise and fall of kingly powers through his act of blessing, but a militant defender of dharma: There are two kinds of sādhanā. One is the selfish sādhanā, the second is the altruistic sādhanā … Selfish sādhanā is easy to find everywhere. One who does altruistic sādhanā, the sādhanā of benevolence, the sādhanā of the world and of the higher world, the sādhanā of the benefit for others, his name is sādhu … Clouds give rain for the benef it of others. Trees produce vines, medicinal herbs etc. for the benefit of others, thus sādhus and sants too go ahead precisely for the benefit of others. Even staying seated for the benefit of others they do sādhanā … Hey sādhu! You have performed the sacrifice of the sādhanā of the pure awakened Brahman, by which, washed the dirt of the impressions of your former lives, you are already purified. Now the course of your individual sādhanā got completed. Now only the sādhanā of the benefit of the world is to be done. You do not have even a bit of selfishness. For removing the sorrow of the poor sorrowful ones you have taken this birth. Today Kāmadhenu is sorrowful, Mother Earth is sorrowful. Dharma is sorrowful. All the world is sorrowful. That pure altruistic watercourse of the Vedic ṛṣis and munis, make it flow again! Show the move forward! Everybody will follow behind you … Raise up! Wake up! Gird your loins! Gather people! Bring all together, go, go forward! The destruction of the dharma is happening! Save the dharma! Dharmo rakshati rakshitaḥ.22 (Naraharināth 1988, 4-6) there is no other way than this. Karman does not stick on a man”. We can note here, incidentally, that karman in the context of the Īśa Upaniṣad means ritual action (such as the agnihotra, etc.), while Naraharināth’s commentary interprets it as social and political action. 22 “The dharma defends its defenders”.

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Bibliography Adhikari, Indra. 2015. Military and Democracy in Nepal. New Delhi: Routledge. Beckerlegge, Gwilym. 2000. The Ramakrishna Mission: The Making of a Modern Hindu Movement Delhi: Oxford University Press. Bouillier, Véronique. 1997. “Émergence D’un Fondamentalisme Hindou Au Népal?” Archives De Sciences Sociales Des Religions 42 (99): 87-104. Bouillier, Véronique. 2008. Itinérance et Vie Monastique: Les Ascètes Nāth Yogīs en Inde Contemporaine. Paris: Maison des sciences de l’homme. Dangol, S. B. 1999. The Palace in Nepalese Politics: with Special Reference to the Politics of 1951 to 1990. Kathmandu: Ratna Pustak Bhandar. Gellner, N. David. 2005. “The Emergence of Conversion in a Hindu-Buddhist Polytropy: The Kathmandu Valley, Nepal, c. 1600-1995.” Comparative Studies in Society and History 47: 755-80. Gold, Daniel. 1999. “Nath Yogis as Established Alternatives: Householders and Ascetics Today.” In Ascetic Culture: Renunciation and Worldly Engagement, edited by K. Ishwaran, 68-88. Leiden: Brill. Halbfass, Wilhelm. 1988. India and Europe: An Essay in Understanding. Albany: State University of New York Press. Jaffrelot, Christophe. 2010. Religion, Caste, and Politics in India. New Delhi: Primus Books. Joshi, B. L., and Leo E. Rose. 1966. Democratic Innovations in Nepal: A Case Study of Political Acculturation. Berkeley: University of California Press. Naraharināth, Yogī. n.d. Vaidika Siddhānta. Viśva Hindū Mahāsabhā, Jambudvīpīya Bṛhadādhyātmikā Pariṣad. Nayar, E. Kamal, Jaswinder Singh Sandhu, and Nānak. 2007. The Socially Involved Renunciate: Guru Nanak’s Discourse to the Nāth Yogis. Albany: State University of New York Press. Prapannācārya, Svāmī. 1997/2054 (BS). Yogī Naraharināth Abhinandana-grantha. Yogī Naraharināth Abhinandana-grantha Prakāśana Samiti, Kathmandu. Tripathi, D. P. 2011. Nepal In Transition: A Way Forward. New Delhi: Vij Books India White, G. David. 2001. “The Exemplary Life of Mastnath: The Encapsulation of Seven Hundred Years of Nath Siddha Hagiography.” In Constructions Hagiographiques dans le Monde Indien: Entre mythe et histoire, edited by Francoise Mallison, 139-161. Paris: Champion. Yogī, Kāśīnāth. 2010. Rāṣṭriya Jāgaraṇakā Pratīka, Yogī Naraharināth. (Dhārmikasthala Paricaya Sahita). Śiva Gorakṣanātha Sevā Saṇgha Samiti, Surkhet.

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About the author Eloisa Stuparich is a Research Fellow at the Giorgio Cini Foundation (Venice, Italy), where she is currently working on the digitization of the Sanskrit manuscripts of the Danielou Fund. [email protected]

9

The Evocative Partnerships of a Monastic Nāth Templein Contemporary Rajasthan Carter Hawthorne Higgins Abstracts Scholars have noted the ability of Hindu gurus to mobilize their disciples in political, humanitarian, and developmental projects. Drawing on ethnographic fieldwork in Gogameri, a rural pilgrimage site in India that has long drawn religiously diverse worshippers, this chapter examines how Yogī Rupnāth, the influential abbot of a monastic pilgrimage temple, sought to assert a new sense of Hindu inheritance and affiliation, in part through charitable development. It proposes that what ability the abbot had to trigger religious transformation derived from his collaborations with Hindu nationalist and state government actors, and from the web of devotional and socio-emotional ties among temple workers and volunteers. Yet this ability was nevertheless constrained by enduring historical and affective-experiential dynamics among the pilgrimage public. Keywords: pilgrimage, Rajasthan, sevā, Hindu nationalism, temple trust

The ritual landscape in Gogameri, a rural pilgrimage site in Rajasthan, India, has changed dramatically since the turn of the twenty-first century.1 Many 1 This chapter is based on fieldwork funded in part by a 2012-13 International Dissertation Research Fellowship, awarded by the Social Science Research Council. I am grateful for the suggestions of Daniel Gold, Anne M. Blackburn, and Durba Ghosh on early drafts; for those of Yasmine Singh on several drafts; for Kenneth Dean’s comments on a late draft; and for the reviews of Daniela Bevilacqua, Eloisa Stuparich, and Véronique Bouillier. Aftab Jassal, Saiba Varma, and Malavika Kasturi provided helpful questions and comments on presentations of the some of the material included here. In what follows, I have used pseudonyms for my interlocutors with the exception of public figures.

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_ch09

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of the recent construction projects are clustered around one of the two ritual sites that have long drawn religiously diverse pilgrims there: the mausoleum (meṛī; literally, “mound”) of Gogājī, an oral-epic hero and saintly deity whom many people now characterize as bearing relationships to both Hinduism and Islam. Religio-charitable trusts build and operate pilgrim hostels on land endowed to Gogājī’s tomb, which is managed by the Rajasthan state government’s Department of Devasthan (royal temple endowments). One religio-charitable association that provides infrastructure throughout the village is the Gorakhtila Dhuna Trust, which also serves as the temple board of Gogameri’s other celebrated ritual site: Gorakhtila, the “private” (nijī) monastic temple of Gorakhnāth, who is here remembered as Gogājī’s divine guru.2 The Dhuna Trust is directed by Gorakhtila’s Abbot (Mahant), Balyogī Rupnāth, who was on a building spree when I knew him between 2008 and 2013. By 2013, the trust had constructed school buildings, a bus stop, toilet and bathing complexes, and a cow haven. All of these were built on public land as part of a government-coordinated, but trust-led effort to develop Gogameri into a world-renowned destination for devout tourists. To trustees, these infrastructural projects constituted offerings of sevā (religio-charitable “service”) to Gogājī, Gorakhnāth, and their devotees. The Dhuna Trust was also outfitting the Gorakhtila temple complex with a range of new built spaces. Their ornamental style incorporates cement moldings of Hindu deities and regional and nationalist heroes into a foresthermitage theme-park aesthetic that revivifies the site’s hagiography in order to attract tourists as well as pilgrims. The ascetics and devotees class the temple as a monument to the “ascetic’s fire” (dhūṇā) where Gorakhnāth meditated during Gogājī’s lifetime (posited to have been between the ninth and thirteenth centuries), when the site was situated in the thick of an unsettled wilderness. In addition to ritual sites, another structure on the compound that was designed in this style is the village’s police station, which the Dhuna Trust constructed in 2011 on a public-private contract. Whereas in history and hagiography it was the sovereign who endowed Nāth temples in recognition of their miracles (Bouillier 1991, 1993; A. G. Gold 1992; D. Gold 1995; White 1996, 8, 309-11, 343-49), new arrangements in economic governance and infrastructure provision have allowed this Nāth 2 Bouillier (2018) points to a distinction among Nāth monastic properties. Whereas nijī maṭhs (“personal monasteries”) are passed down through the founder’s lineage and are controlled by the current abbots, pañcāyatī maṭhs (“collective monasteries”) belong to the order more broadly and are now claimed by the Akhil Bhāratvarṣīya Avadhūt Bheṣ Bārah Panth Yogī Mahāsabhā (i.e., the All-India Association of Nāth Yogīs). Devotees in Gogameri alternately call Gorakhtila nijī and “private”, using the English loanword in contrast to the government-managed mausoleum of Gogājī.

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temple board to sponsor the building of a state apparatus. If older patterns of Yogī-State exchange survived secular democracy (White 1996, 346-48; Bouillier 2018, 276-78), then post-development and a robust public Hinduism sometimes pluralize the direction of these exchanges (Bouillier 2018, 29295).3 Addressing this volume’s interest in the power, social authority, and political import of Nāth Yogīs, this chapter draws on ethnographic research in Gogameri to explore how Rupnāth has sought to reshape the site’s built landscape and pilgrims’ senses of religious inheritance and belonging. The hereditary priests of Gogājī’s tomb are men from the Chayal community of Muslim Rajputs who claim descent from Gogājī. The Chayals remember Gogājī as converting to Islam and self-entombing at the end of his life. Such memories are also celebrated by many – but by no means all – hereditary devotees, who belong to Hindu, Muslim, and Sikh communities from across North Indian caste spectra, including the lowest strata. Responding to a surge in pilgrimages by lower-middle-class Hindus since 2000, Mahant Rupnāth has helped to form a constellation of actors, institutions, spaces, and texts that work to orient the pilgrimage to a “reformulated” (Blackburn 2001) martial account of Gogājī’s life and death. Here, Gogājī sacrifices himself in battle attempting to protect Hindu India from “Muslim invaders”. Rupnāth has been joined at times by the Devasthan Department, the Brahmin priests of ancillary sites at the Gogājī mausoleum, Vasundhara Raje (Rajasthan’s on-again, off-again Chief Minister and head of its Bharatiya Janata Party [BJP]), and the local leadership of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS).4 Separately and in partnership, these actors strive to recalibrate the site’s hagiography and ritual landscape by incorporating strategies of mobilization borrowed from Hindu nationalism, and mobile ritual and narrative forms associated with a heavily Vaiṣṇava mode of contemporary Hinduism often called Sanātan Dharma.5 In doing so, they set the contours 3 Here, “post-development” refers to the arrangements of infrastructural and social service provision in the aftermath of India’s market reforms, beginning in earnest in 1991, but especially after the implementation of “second-generation” reforms, many of which have made use of publicprivate partnerships (see Coehlia et al. 2011; Ahluwalia 2014; Sahasranaman and Kapur 2014). For studies of public partnerships with “faith-based organizations” in service, see Hackworth (2012), Muehlebach (2012), Atla (2013), Tuğal (2017), and Feener and Fountain (2018). 4 For a brief anthropological perspective on Ms. Raje, see Piliavsky (2015). The Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (“National Volunteer Organization”) is the paramilitary body at the ideological and strategic core of the Hindu nationalist movement (Anderson and Damle 1987; D. Gold 1991; Hansen 1999). The Bharatiya Janata Party (“Indian People’s Party”) is the electoral wing of the movement (Rajagopal 2004; Thachil 2014). 5 On the North Indian history of Sanātan Dharma, see Lutgendorf (1991), Kasturi (2010, 2018), Saunders (2011), Zavos (2011), and Freier (2012). The nationalist mobilizing strategies I have in

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of the “sevā-development” project in Gogameri, which offers development services as sevā and attempts to refashion the pilgrimage’s practices of sevā-pūjā (worship) in light of new visions of Hindu history and belonging. Scholars have suggested a broader context for Rupnāth’s efforts by pointing to new religious, governmental, and economic arrangements in India. Nanda (2009) links a growth in the middle-class followings of business-savvy, Hindutva-friendly gurus, and rising levels of ritual-heavy religiosity, to “neoliberalism” and “globalization” by way of a “state-temple-corporate nexus”. This nexus redirects wealth from global markets to areas such as “religious tourism” through public-private partnerships, and insinuates majoritarian religious sensibilities and ritual displays into electoral politics and bureaucratic practice (ibid., 6, 64-65, 76-85, 92-109, 115-29, 132-39). Ikegame (2012) studies how the BJP state government of Karnataka filtered public funds for disaster relief and development through the religio-charitable associations of guru-led devotional communities. The ensuing “sacred triangle of state-corporation-matha” has seen the consolidation of more political power in the hands of both big business and “governing gurus” whose monasteries residents compare to “a parallel state” (ibid., 52, 58, 60). While this chapter follows similar dynamics into the countryside where corporate sponsors are less forthcoming, it places Rupnāth’s endeavors into a longer view of the Gogameri pilgrimage and a closer-range view of devotional and socio-emotional relationships. Assuming that political actors work to “borrow” the imperatives of guru-sevā for infrastructural endeavors (Copeman and Ikegame 2012, 36; cf. Copeman 2008), it explores how Rupnāth in turn seeks to channel political forces into programs of religious change. The chapter takes “social authority” to refer to Rupnāth’s capacity to effect religious change and asks how this capacity is composed and constrained, with the conclusion returning to the question of its degree. Tempering a top-down model of institutional authority, the argument proposes that what ability the Abbot has to spur change is cobbled together through his cultivation of several types of “evocative partnerships”: relations between two or more terms whose interactions work to elicit faculties and generate a sense of inheritance. In particular, the chapter examines three types of evocative partnerships: affective-experiential, institutional-rhetorical, and mind include the long-game provision of sevā (social services) (Beckerlegge 2003; Simpson 2004; Froerer 2005, 2006, 2009; Jaffrelot 2008; Patel 2010; Chidambaram 2012; Thachil 2014; Bordia 2015; Bhattacharjee 2016; Alder 2018), campaigns to “reclaim” public spaces associated with Islamic inheritance (Veer 1994; Davis 1996, 1997; Oza 2007), and hagiographical writing that combines positivist historiographical truth-claims with emotional rhetoric (Veer 1994, 146-52, 160-62; Pandey 1995; Thapar 2005; Benei 2008).

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daily-operational. The first section suggests that pilgrimage experiences arise through the co-functioning of attuned bodies and the self-organizing historical shape of the festival, a situation which limits the scope for straightforward intervention or seamless religious change. The second section explores how Rupnāth’s collaborations with Ms. Raje and the RSS began to assemble semiotic and material conditions for religious experiences imbued with a new vision of Hindu history and belonging. The third section asks how Rupnāth is able to maintain ritual authority – and thus his desirability as a partner to political actors – while focusing his attentions on larger-scale projects beyond ritual practice. It suggests that his daily-organizational partnerships with junior ascetics, temple workers, and volunteers facilitate Gorakhtila’s thriving ritual life, in part, because of the close devotional and socio-emotional attachments that bind these men to Gorakhnāth, the temple, and their sevā (Samuels 2010). The chapter concludes that even prominent ascetic leaders and their influential institutions do not suffice to explain religious change. Rupnāth’s collaborative efforts have succeeded where they have because they tap into a momentum among sections of Gogameri’s changing pilgrimage public – sections who approach Gogājī and Gorakhnāth with more widely circulating forms of contemporary Hindu practice, and/or who prioritize claims of Hindu inheritance and jurisdiction – and because Rupnāth improvises skillfully with the resources and opportunities at hand. Yet the Gogameri pilgrimage public has always been heterogeneous, and other sections continue to valorize an ethics of “communal goodwill”, the narrative of Gogājī’s conversion, and/ or the ritual leadership of Gogājī’s Chayal attendants. The most significant constraints on Rupnāth’s “social authority”, then, derive from the pilgrimage’s historical and affective-experiential dynamics, which predispose large numbers of pilgrims toward the celebration of religious diversity.

1 Pilgrimage experience at the Gogameri melā In order to appreciate Rupnāth’s ability to foment religious change, it is necessary to take a step back from his projects and consider the religious field in which he seeks to intervene, for his sensibilities and investments were developed in it, and its interactions with broader circumstances have created the conditions of possibility for his interventions. This section introduces the historical development of the Gogājī epic and Gogameri melā (pilgrimage and livestock “festival”), the development of pilgrims’ capacities to relate to these, and their convergence in contemporary celebrations. In

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the affective-experiential sense used here, the idea of evocative partnerships suggests that pilgrimage experiences bubble up at the encounters of persons – who are equipped to act and be affected in socio-historically specific ways – and the historically derived aggregate context of the festival, including its human, material, and semiotic elements.6 Over the course of its development, a dispersed formation of Gogājī worship has continuously elaborated narratives, ritual forms, and fields of potential.7 While the first record of the festival dates to the seventeenth century (Sarsar 2013), the first textual reference to Gogājī – invoking his protection of cattle and defence of his territory against his cousins – appears in the sixteenth (Dhali 2004, 72-73). One of my interlocutors also claims to have identified Gorakhtila’s 1539 endowment deed in the Rajasthan state archives (B. Śarmā 1992, 40). Despite a lack of documentation, the festival and epic likely emerged before the sixteenth century at junctions of diverse itinerant groups, incorporating their narratives and practices. The pilgrimage and livestock festival has been traced to a spatiotemporal node in the Thar Desert’s nomadic circuits (Kothiyal 2016, 43, 52, 63, 137-39, 218-20), and the epic has been linked to interactions among Rajput-Afghan warrior-ascetics, low-caste performers, and “hybrid” religious specialists (Hiltebeitel 1999, 14, 91, 95, Ch. 5, passim.). Following the thirteenth-century appearance of non-codified lineages of tantric Yogīs – predecessors to the Nāths (Mallinson 2011; 2012) – “Nāth”-style lore, ascetics, and symbolism also made their way into Gogameri and the Gogājī epic (White 1996, 90, 98-99, 222, 466 note 22). 6 I take pilgrimage experience to be a singular bundle of affections, perceptions, reactions, and recognitions – potentially accompanied by senses of inheritance and belonging – which is triggered by an encounter and filtered through habits, memories, and expectations as well as socio-libidinal, identity-based, and intellectual investments. This understanding is influenced by philosopher Gilles Deleuze, who famously worked with Spinoza’s definition of bodies in terms of their capacities to act on other bodies and to be acted on by them in turn (1988, 25-28, 48-51, 97-104, 123-28; Deleuze and Guattari 1987, 256-65). 7 The chapter’s approach to the Gogameri festival and its historical elaboration draws on Kenneth Dean’s conceptions of religious formations and ritual-events in southeast China (1998, 2009). He understands local ritual formations and regional religious movements to have developed through “collective experimentation” and “self-organization” in interaction with broader conf igurations. This involves a dynamic feedback loop between a “syncretic religious field” of potential forces of affection, and the “ritual-events” that creatively actualize these potentials before they are folded back into the syncretic field, transformed. The mutual determination of virtual potentials and actual forms is mediated through the sphere of affect and intensity in ritual-events, comprising trillions of micro-material forces. While ritual-events and the syncretic field work above and below the level of individuals, they are also the premier site of processes of individuation, where linear identifications are repeatedly remapped onto bodies, and bodies are remolded in ways that embed them in formations of power.

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Both in their nebulous appearance and in contemporary celebrations, the festival and epic performances commemorate heroic and ascetic pasts by bringing together moving parts: not only human participants (and their livestock), but also ritual and narrative forms and habits of participation and affection born of repeated engagements (Wadley 1989). In the nineteenth century, bureaucratic records indicate that celebrants and traders at the festivals belonged to a range of communities (e.g., oil-pressing, agriculturalist, merchant, and Rajput) (Sarsar 2003, 325-26). Colonial ethnography suggests that in many parts of North India all castes – Hindu, Muslim, and Sikh – celebrated Gogājī’s annual holiday (see below) and visited his shrines to be cured of snakebite,8 but that the most elaborate festivities were led by members of sanitation and Nāth Jogī castes who had made the pilgrimage to Gogameri.9 While the festival and the epic arose and transformed among celebrants through a kind of self-organization, they did so in interaction with broader cultural and political currents. Between the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Rāthoṛ warriors established a polity in Bikaner and expanded into Chayalwara (named after its dominant group, the Chayals), where Gogameri was located, and Dadreva (now in Churu District, Rajasthan), where the epic is set and a smaller melā is celebrated (Goetz 1950, 39-50; Seghal 1970, 24-26; Kothiyal 2016, 68). In the seventeenth century, the Rāthoṛ state began dispatching soldiers and revenue collectors to the Gogājī mausoleum, noting that its pujārīs’ (“ritual attendants”) were Chayal (Sarsar 2013, 325-26), as are the hereditary priests today. Bards also began composing genealogical texts that tied the desert’s ruling dynasties to Kṣatriya characters in Sanskrit texts and warriors said to have fallen in battle against Ghaznavid and Ghurid armies (Sreenivasan 2002, 2007; Kamphorst 2008).10 In the nineteenth century, colonial ethnographers recorded so-called “Hindu” and “Muslim” narratives of Gogājī. In the former, a Chauhan king dies a hero’s death 8 Elliot (1869, 256-57), Crooke (1893, 182-83; 1894, 213), Vogel (1926, 263-66), Rose (1919, 171, 188-90). See also Lewis (1956), Lapoint (1978), and Oberoi (1994, 160-62, 182-83, 253). 9 Oman (1889, 66-84), Greeven (1984a, 55-62; 1984b), Crooke (1891, 2, 164), Briggs (1920, 123-24, 149-52, 178-79; 1938, 99-100), Cunningham (1970, 81). 10 While we have no record of the Chayals patronizing such a text, the Kyāmkhān rāso (Kavijān, 2008) conveys a relative sense of some of their networks. This seventeenth-century poem traces the lineage of the Kāyamkhānī rulers of Fatehpur (now in Sikar District, Rajasthan). Like the Chayals, Kāyamkhānīs identify as Chauhan Rajputs whose ancestors converted to Islam, and their lineage text mentions Gogājī as a forebear and the Chayals as distant kin. On this basis, one might expect the Chayals’ worlds and cosmos to have been populated by Indic and Abrahamic practices and figures, but their sensibilities and concerns to have pertained more directly to rural martial circles (Talbot 2009).

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opposing the incursion of an imperial ruler (sometimes Ghaznavid or Ghurid, but equally Prthvīrāja Chauhan); and in the latter, he “converts” to Islam and self-inters.11 In 1911, the penultimate ruler of Bikaner, Ganga Singh (r. 18881943), renovated the mausoleum and had an anthropomorphic image carved into the tomb (Khan 1997, 65-66; 1998; Higgins 2018, 664-67). When Bikaner joined the state of Rajasthan in independent India in 1949, this renovation and some 600 acres of endowed land led the state government to transfer its control to the new Devasthan Department, which has since administered the festival and land. If the ritual sites, ritual and narrative forms, and priestly and ascetic institutions resulting from these developments constitute one side of the encounters that give rise to pilgrimage experiences, then the other side consists in the assembly of bodies with acquired repertoires of aptitudes. The following approaches the generation of such repertoires by synthesizing my observations and conversations in Gogameri with the childhood memories of Ramsharan Chauhan, a middle-aged Rajput man from rural Uttar Pradesh.12 Similar to many hereditary pilgrims, Ramsharan grew up in several circles that related collectively to Gogājī, and it was by observing and participating in such interactions – within broader formations of “ritual power” and subjectivation (Dean 2009) – that he developed bodily, emotional, and intellectual capacities to do so. At home, he joined family members who offered daily worship; through social networks he learned how to interact with epic performances; and he accompanied kin and others as they celebrated Gogājī’s annual holiday, Gogānaumī (“Gogājī’s Ninth”), on the ninth day of the month of Bhāduā (August-September). In such cases, people convene to connect to the Gogājī-event through musical commemoration and acts of worship that engage participants’ entire “body-brain-culture network” (Connolly 2005, 27-28, 55-57, 72). The intensified aural flows and narrative intrigue or lyrical praise intermingle with olfactory stimulants and the sight and feel of the socio-material scaffolding of Gogājī worship. Any of 11 For the Hindu martial version, see Tod (1920 II, 807, 843-44, 1027 note 1) and Erskine (2006, 95). On “Hindu” vs. “Muslim” versions, see Cunningham (1979, 79-86; 1964, 158-60) and Rose (1919, 171). For “Muslim” versions, see Oman (1889, Ch. 3), Greeven (1894a, Ch. 4), Horovitz (1913, 100-2), and Briggs (1938, 181, 183-84). Our conception of “conversion” is indebted to Protestant proselytizing since the nineteenth century (Eaton 2009). More sensitive to the precolonial life-worlds out of which the Gogājī epic grew, Bouillier (2015, 10) writes that Gogājī learns and recites the Islamic declaration of faith as “an effective mantric formula” to cause the earth to split and accept his living entombment. 12 The following description builds on Dean’s (1998, 30-38) consideration of the processes whereby children in southeast China acquire capacities to interact with temple festivals.

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these may engender socio-libidinal and intellectual investments, and the impulsion to repeat connections commences the development of aptitudes. Every year in Bhāduā, Ramsharan processed through his village with retinues of devotees, dressed in bright yellow clothes and carrying the insignia of Gogājī worship, including the iconic chaṛī (large bamboo flagpole; literally, “bridegroom’s cane”).13 As the group sang to the rhythms of Dalit drummers, he learned to recognize processors moving in and out of states of possession. When no-longer-human agents spoke through them to direct or correct movements, they indirectly taught him how to navigate ritual morality. In pre-adolescence, Ramsharan finally went with his family to Gogameri for Gogānaumī, now capable of relating to Gogājī in many ways. During Bhāduā, flows of people bringing diverse ritual styles descend on Gogameri: pilgrims, ascetics, performers, traders, pastoralists, beggars, bureaucrats, police forces, and more. While some call Gogājī “Zāhir Pīr” and say he converted to Islam, others call him “Jāhar Vīr” and remember him as a Hindu war hero, with a spectrum between the two.14 Some avoid meat and alcohol, whereas others consecrate their liquor and flesh with laudatory interjections (albeit no longer within the ritual sites). Heterogeneity is in character for this “whirlwind” of a festival (cf. A. G. Gold 1988, 302-4), which includes livestock trade, a carnival, purposively frivolous shopping, and the performing arts. Meanwhile, ascetics and gurus give counsel and nonBrahminical priests direct offerings of coconuts at impromptu hearths. When children like Ramsharan encounter this diversity at the melā, they notice the bodily gestures and comments of older family members. If these gestures and comments signal respect for this variance, children may extemporize such a reaction. Depending on the outcome, they may come to delight in the festival’s plurality. However, their co-travelers may instead stage arguments, prioritizing their own mode of celebration. If they denounce a grouping of other styles with movement-signals that spread their agitation to the children, then the latter may develop exclusive investments in the festive 13 For colonial-era descriptions of chaṛī processions, see Oman (1889, 72-78), Greeven (1894a, 62-63; 1894b, 15-19), and Briggs (1920, 123-24, 149-52, 178-79); cf. Lapoint (1978). 14 Jāhar is the Rajasthani form of the Persian-derived zāhir, referring to Gogājī’s habit of “reappearing” after his self-entombment to visit his wife, drink milk, and fulfill the desires of worshippers. Rupnāth and his partners wish to police the honorific titles that pilgrims address to Gogājī. Since he sacrificed himself in battle in order to protect Hindu India from “Muslim invaders”, they say, he was a Hindu hero (vīr) and could not have been a Muslim saint (pīr). Despite such discursive practices – which differentiate between “Hinduism” and “Islam” and work to purify the one of elements of the other – Gogājī’s should be seen as participating in the Thar Desert’s map of powerful pīr-vīr shrines whose saintly inhabitants claim their own minor territories and spheres of efficacy (B. Singh 2015, 35-58).

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styles of their groups. Whichever develops, these experiences are added to children’s repertoires of aptitudes for interacting with Gogājī and the festival. Cutting through the range of activities and forms, one priority everyone shares is to encounter Gogājī and Gorakhnāth, and expectations can be powerful. After standing in lines outside for hours, pilgrims’ anticipatory energies intensify as they approach the ritual sites, when a wave of excitement starts to tow them. Ferried through the mausoleum, for instance, individual worshippers receive little time in the inner sanctum (gaṛhī, “small fort”) and at the tomb (samādhi, mazār). Propelled from all sides, they bend at the waist in order to embrace and massage the tomb as they weep, chuckle, whisper prayers, and call out in veneration. In addition to contact with Gogājī and Gorakhnāth, many also seek their miraculous graces (camatkār, kṛpā). “Desires are fulfilled” (manokāmnā pūrī hotī hai), one hears. Pilgrims bring hopes and afflictions and ask for miraculous help, swearing some type of service (sevā) in return (cf. Raj and Harman 2006). Possession and exorcism are common, but while specialists perform exorcisms elsewhere during the melā, at Gorakhtila and Gogājī’s tomb it is the heroic saints who confront possessing agents directly and invisibly in what are sometimes called “battles” (laṛāī). These exchanges affect many who witness them, and a regular refrain is that “genuine” exorcisms cause horripilation in bystanders. It is in relation to this understanding of the pilgrimage formation that the chapter tries to situate Rupnāth’s ability to institute religious change. The historically elaborated shape of the pilgrimage joins the aggregation of celebrants with attuned bodies to generate the conditions of religious experiences at the festival. Both the festival and the epic arose at the meeting points of nomadic routes, and changing circumstances brought them to new articulations as successive political regimes sought to know and act on the pilgrimage and its public. Devotees’ access to the cumulative stock of ritual and narrative forms depends on the contexts of their participatory learning, and varying contexts breed a range of aptitudes and investments and thus a diversity of festive engagements. Relying on his own equipment to interact with Gorakhnāth, Gogājī, and the pilgrimage, Rupnāth, too, has improvised in the circumstances in which he found himself, which in this case also includes nationalist mobilizing strategies and publicly circulating forms associated with Sanātan Dharma. As he has sought to transform the pilgrimage, he has targeted many components of its affectiveexperiential interworking. He has also pressed government actors charged with supervising the festival – the Assistant Devasthan Commissioner and the District Collector – to preempt its self-organization with a centralized

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administration and to provide social and infrastructural services. And he has sought to replace the pilgrimage’s indeterminate religious affiliation with a new sense of Hindu historical belonging.

2 A pilgrimage site of one’s own This section asks what role institutional partnerships have played in Rupnāth’s program to spur religious change. Rewinding to the period 20042006, it tracks how his collaborations with the RSS and Vasundhara Raje have shaped the Dhuna Trust’s sevā-development project. The initial result was a set of public events, texts, and pilgrimage spaces designed to mediate new relationships with a changing pilgrimage public. Employing rhetorical strategies aimed at their intellects, bodies, and emotions, these productions sought to enroll devotees in the site’s public-private development, and to evoke a new sense of inheritance and affiliation. Yet in working with Hindu nationalists, Rupnāth has also had to maneuver around pilgrims’ celebration of religious difference. In pitching Ms. Raje and the RSS as allies to pilgrims, the Dhuna Trust underscored their developmental and mobilizing “efficacy” (Piliavsky and Sbroccoli 2016) and their devotional responsiveness to the pilgrimage. Linked to economic growth, the wider availability of new kinds of travel and communication technology, and novel trends in pilgrimage and tourism (A. G. Gold 1988, 262-89; Lochtefeld 2010; Saul 2013; Geary 2017; Pinkney and Whalen-Bridge 2018; Thomases, 2019), the early twenty-first century witnessed an unprecedented expansion of, and a demographic change in, the pilgrimage public. Hereditary devotees now arrive more frequently and are joined by newcomers, mostly lower-middle-, working-, and farming-class Hindu families seeking miraculous interventions or a brush with regional cultural pasts as advertised by state media campaigns (Veer 1994, 107-8, 119-28; Hancock 2008). Citing this growth and the strain it puts on the village (cf. Shinde 2007, 2010), many expressed frustrations at what they saw as the festival’s inexpert organization and lack of basic services. To Rupnāth, the village’s “undeveloped” (aviksit) landscape crystallized a contradiction: How could a site of such historical significance and suprahuman power have been so neglected? He was not the only one posing such questions, and several moves between 2004 and 2007 heralded change. After Rupnāth succeeded to Gorakhtila’s ascetic throne (gaddī) in December 2004, the Devasthan Department implemented a new plan for public-private infrastructure

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provision and the Hindu Right turned up, shaping the emergence of trust-led sevā-development. The first collaborative changes that Rupnāth instituted as mahant were in the organization of the Dhuna Trust.15 With new ideas about the administration of pilgrimage, he appointed board members with varied specialties who would facilitate novel ways of operating: a full-time accountant, urban businessmen, a lawyer, and upper-level bureaucrats. Within the first year of his direction, the trust rebuilt the temple and its compound – including monastic quarters, a public hall for Rupnāth’s nightly audiences, and the free cross-caste communal feasting hall – and added new facilities for the festival: a pilgrim hostel; the Gorakṣa-Gaṅgā pond for ritual bathing; more than 150 toilets; covered “barricades” to channel and shade pilgrims as they stand in line for worship; and a free medical clinic (C. Śarmā and S. Śarmā 2005, 19-21). The trust’s subsequent projects have pursued infrastructural and social service delivery, environmentalism, social reform, cow protection, and the fostering of a muscular yet egalitarian mode of Hindu dharma. As he reshaped the temple and its trust, Rupnāth also sought new lines of communication with pilgrims. In collaboration with the local RSS leadership, he set a publishing agenda to reinterpret the pilgrimage.16 The first result was a book commissioned from a local married couple trained in journalism and history, entitled Research-Based History of Gorakhnāth and Gogāji (C. Śarmā and S. Śarmā, 2005). A local RSS organizer recommended journalists, Sarvan Suthar and Safi Mohammad Bhati, who would author the trust’s nascent periodicals: Nāth-Panth, on religion, and Gogāmeṛī Times, on development. As the trust’s director of public relations, Sarvan arranged for Rupnāth to pen the preface to an RSS-affiliated NGO’s chapbook on Gogājī (Omprakāś 2007). Combining hagiography, historiography, and emotional rhetoric, these texts reframe Gogājī and Gorakhnāth in terms adapted from Sanātanī and 15 Rupnāth hails from a farming household of a mid-ranking Hindu caste in Sikar District, Rajasthan. He arrived at Gorakhtila at the age of twelve, when his family offered him as an ascetic initiate, just as Pipalnāth, his predecessor as mahant, and the junior Kṛṣṇanāth, whom Rupnāth is grooming as his eventual successor, had arrived. Rupnāth’s parents had faced fertility-related challenges. When they prayed to Gorakhnāth for a son, they swore to “offer” (caṛhānā) the boy back at the dhūṇā when he came of age. Both Rupnāth and Pipalnāth were disciples of Dhyannāth, who is counted as the temple’s 123rd mahant and who founded the Gorakhtila Dhuna Trust in 1976. As mahant between 1994-2004, Pipalnāth purchased some of the land around the temple, hired a part-time accountant, and installed a CCTV system. However, it was following Pipalnāth’s 2004 death and Rupnāth’s succession to the ascetic throne that the Dhuna Trust became a prominent force in Gogameri’s sevā-development. 16 On the relationship between writing and oral traditions, see Blackburn (2003), Green (2008), Orsini (2015), and Kothiyal (2016, Ch. 5, passim.).

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Hindu nationalist narrative practices: Gogājī was an incarnation of Viṣṇu who died defending Hindu India from Mahmud of Ghazni (a Turko-Persian warrior-king credited with the now-infamous 1025 CE raid of the Somnāth temple in Gujarat) (Veer 1994, 146-52, 160-62; Davis 1997; Thapar 2005), and Gorakhnāth was the incarnation of Śiva who planned the defense. The texts address pilgrims as a Hindu public, and although they celebrate the diversity of worshippers, they offer a new “ethos of engagement” (Connolly, 2005) to guide inter-group relations. Whereas devotees often invoke a “communal goodwill” (sāmpradāyik sadbhāvnā) among Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs of all castes, the periodicals claim that both Gorakhnāth and RSS ideologue, M. S. Golwalkar, taught “social harmony” (sāmājik samrastā), defined as caste-inclusive, inter-religious service to “Mother India” (Bhārat Mātā, the nation as goddess) (McKean 1996; Ramaswamy 2010).17 Social harmony makes room for each community – and the journalist, Safi, who is Muslim, is cited often as evidence – but insofar as it is oriented to the Hindu nation. In 2006, several months after the periodicals appeared, Rupnāth and Chief Minister Vasundhara Raje collaborated on an event at Gorakhtila to jumpstart the Devasthan Department’s new post-development program. Termed “One’s Own Pilgrimage Site, Labour, and Reputation” (apnā dhāmapnā kām-apnā nām; hereafter, “Apna Dham”), it enabled public religious and charitable trusts to lease endowed temple land in order to construct and operate travel facilities (Higgins 2018, 670-72). Covering the event, the periodicals presented Ms. Raje as an ally to pilgrims by highlighting her devout feelings and actions and her unusual capacity to enact change, or what one could call her devout efficacy.18 One article juxtaposes her apex office and socioeconomic position, as conveyed by her helicopter, to the ritual gestures through which she is said to have “maintained the tradition of an average pilgrim” (prostrating before the dhūṇā, touching Rupnāth’s feet, 17 Gogāmeṛī Ṭāīms, “Sampādkīya: Gogāmeṛī vikās: saccī samrastā”, November 24, 2006, p. 2; Nāth-Panth, “Sampādakīya: sāmājik samrastā ke purodhā śrī guruji”, 24 November 2006, p. 3; Gogāmeṛī Ṭāīms, “Śrī gurujī janmaśatābdī samārohoṃ kī karī meṃ viraṭ Hindū sammelan”, January 24, 2007, p. 1. These articles stem from celebrations of Golwalkar’s centennial at Gorakhtila and a bicycle procession to an RSS conference on sāmājik samrastā in Jodhpur. The RSS created the Sāmājik Samarastā Manc (which Shah translates as “Social Assimilation Platform”) in 1983 as a way to woo Dalits (Shah 1998, 254-55). 18 On the efficacy of “big men”, see Hansen (2001), Anand (2011, 2013), Piliavsky (2015, 2016), and Piliavsky and Sbroccoli (2016). On gurus as big men and women, see Copeman (2008), Copeman and Ikegame (2012), and Ikegame (2012). The idea with devout efficacy is to link a public, performative reading of bhakti to an emotional public, and track how bhakti feelings are harnessed to larger projects through public performatives and rhetorical affectivity (Appadurai 1990; Berlant 2004; Novetzke 2006; Benei 2008).

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etc.).19 Another adds that she was “carried away by emotion (bhāv-vibhor) [both] within the Gorakhtila complex”, and “on seeing how developed the compound and facilities were”.20 Since Rupnāth had designed and funded the spaces that elicited such emotion from her, he could be seen as the architect of these affects, and thus as possessing his own devout efficacy. An article on their gift exchange confirms this. Rupnāth is described as presenting Ms. Raje with ritual items from Gorakhtila, a charitable donation of Rs. 501,000 for her non-profit, and “a written request for the development of Gorakhtila and its environs”.21 After reading the request, she “instructed the District Collector to place Rs. 500,000 in the care of Mahant Rupnāth for construction works”, and promised to pressure the government to connect the village to statewide utilities and highway networks.22 Yet in the spirit of Apna Dham, she also urged “leaders of industry, businesspeople, and commoners alike” to mobilize private capital for “public sevā”, which she called a devotional imperative for all Hindus.23 In other words, devout efficacy is tiered in the age of public-private partnerships, and while the politician and mahant would work on behalf of pilgrims, devotees would need to take responsibility for developing “their own pilgrimage site” (apnā dhām). Following the event in 2006, Rupnāth and Ms. Raje sponsored the construction of ritual, tourist, and infrastructural spaces where pilgrims might absorb the new vision of Gogameri’s Hindu history and affiliation. With the Rs. 500,000 from the District Collector, the Dhuna Trust erected a water tower at the Gorakṣa-Gaṅgā pond and an inter-village piping system to feed it, enabling pilgrims to engage in ritual bathing as they might at better-known Hindu pilgrimage sites. In 2013, it added the “Ancient Dhuna” shrine and jungle-themed family attractions, both designed in the forest-hermitage 19 Nāth-Panth, “Mukhyamantrī ne nibhāī: śraddhāluoṃ kī paramparā”, September 24, 2006, p. 1. 20 Nāth-Panth, “Gorakṣaṭīlā meṃ mukhyamantrī bhāv-vibhor”, September 24, 2006, p. 1. Drawing on rāsa theory, Appadurai (1990) cautions against reading historical offerings of textual praise to deities or sovereigns – or contemporary offerings to “big men” – in terms of inner states or emotional authenticity. Since these exchanges use formulaic and exaggerated aesthetic forms to produce a “community of sentiment” marked by intimate hierarchy, one should ask instead if they precipitate a shared mood and felt connections (106-9). 21 Gogāmeṛī Ṭāīms, “Gorakṣaṭīlā meṃ mukhyamantrī ne māṃgī mannateṃ”, September, 24 2006, p. 4. 22 Nāth-Panth, “Mukhyamantrī ne nibhāī”, p. 1. Note that the amount of money Ms. Raje authorized the District Collector to give to Rupnāth is just less than his donation to her nonprofit (which had added the auspicious extra one), recalling how temple deities consume a portion of the foodstuff that devotees offer before returning the remainder as prasād and thus the political “metaphor” of pūjā (Dirks 1987). 23 Gogāmeṛī Ṭāīms, “Gorakṣaṭīlā meṃ mukhyamantrī ne māṃgī mannateṃ”, p. 4.

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theme-park style mentioned above. While Rupnāth’s spatial productions foreground the resonances of the site’s hagiography with broader Hindu formations, the state-built sites attributed to Ms. Raje replace signs of paraIslamic inheritance with evocations accommodating Gogājī’s hagiography to Hindu nationalist accounts of the past.24 Within the open-air Panorama (2008), a footpath leads pilgrims along a narrative tour etched into stone tablets and depicted in tableaux and illustrations, which recount Gogājī’s battle with Mahmud of Ghazni, doubling the claims of the Dhuna Trust’s historio-hagiography. Designed to evoke grand medieval Rajput palaces, the pink sandstone façade of the new Gogājī Temple (2018) envelops the mausoleum, hiding the minarets and two Nastaliq-script inscriptions that mark its Islam-adjacent inheritance (Higgins 2018, 664-65). Rupnāth’s partnerships have seized on the twenty-first-century surge in pilgrimages and the Apna Dham program to reassemble the material and semiotic conditions of pilgrimage experience in a multi-pronged effort to evoke a sense of Hindu history and belonging. The new texts and spaces appeal to sensoria, intellects, and sensibilities in different and multiple ways, and claims are reduplicated from one channel to the other (cf. Smith 1987, 75-94). However, the affective-experiential partnerships that give rise to a given pilgrim’s sense of things include more than just the semiotics of ritual space and monastic publications, and the habits, memories, expectations, and desires on the other side of such encounters can pose serious challenges to the Dhuna Trust’s efforts. Rupnāth knew the difficulty his project faced, and this is part of what led him to cultivate strategic relations with those in whom he recognized a devout efficacy. Yet devout efficacy requires lower-profile types of networking as well, and Rupnāth’s own has emerged atop an interlocking set of managerial, ritual, and menial efforts by trustees, junior ascetics, temple workers, and volunteers. While his institutional-rhetorical partnerships took a top-down approach to modifying the conditions of pilgrimage experience, one way to develop a bottom-up picture of his program is to ask about the daily mechanics of Gorakhtila’s operations, and about those whose daily lives are organized by their labor there. 24 The Panorama was a joint venture of the Rajasthan Heritage Protection and Promotion Authority (RHPPA), the Public Works Department, and regional engineering and construction firms, while the new Gogājī temple was a joint venture of the Devasthan Department and the Rajasthan Road Development and Construction Corporation. Nevertheless, the initiative for both sites is off icially attributed to Ms. Raje, who presided over their respective dedication ceremonies.

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3 Sevā as work and worship at Gorakhtila When contemporary gurus are attractive partners to political and philanthropic actors, this is often due to perceptions that their words command authority among devotional audiences, whom they might be persuaded to mobilize in mutually desired projects (McKean 1996; Copeman 2008; Nanda 2009, 92-102, 118-30; Copeman and Ikegame 2012; Ikegame 2012). While the Dhuna Trust’s publications created new lines of communication with Rupnāth’s audience, the temple remains their primary point of connection. This raises a question, however, for though Rupnāth is immensely involved in the temple’s operations, he does not often engage with daily ritual practice.25 Both his ritual authority and his desirability as an institutional-rhetorical partner therefore depend on his coordination with the junior ascetics who administer collective worship and the temple “servants” (sevak), “volunteers” (sevādār), and “staff workers” (karmcārī) whose labors maintain the temple’s daily operations. That his coordination does result in a flourishing ritual life is attributable, in part, to the dynamic complex of devotional and socioemotional bonds that tie these men to Gorakhnāth, the temple, the ascetics, one another, and their own labors.26 This section articulates a third sense in which Rupnāth’s ability to trigger religious and infrastructural change hinges on evocative partnerships, here meaning operational collaborations and the attachments that both sustain and are transformed by them. While many at Gorakhtila are old enough to remember a time before the 2000s when worshippers’ visits were limited to the festival, pilgrims now arrive in smaller numbers year-round. If they time their travels right, they may join residents at the morning or evening worship (ārtī), Rupnāth’s nightly audiences, or Sunday morning offerings of roṭ (“sweet cake”) to Gorakhnāth. In 2013, collective worship was led by Yogīs Mohannāth (head ritual officiant) and Himalnāth (who directed individual worship at the new Ancient Dhuna shrine). Yet a majority of travelers arrive in the daytime and worship on their own. Many hope for a sight of the mahant but often only find servants and volunteers in the public part of the temple. Other than 25 See Bouillier (2018, 287-95) on the idiosyncratic distribution of administrative responsibilities at the Mastnāth monastery in Asthal Bohar, Haryana. Whereas recent mahants of the major ascetic throne (baṛī gaddī) have concentrated on social service provision and electoral politics, those of the minor throne (choṭī gaddī) have seen to asceticism and ritual practice. 26 Envisioned in the abstract, this arrangement would consist of all of the actual connections made and altered – and sometimes dissolved (cf. Y. Singh 2019, 226-52) – among the people, spaces, practices, discourses, objects, and texts that together constitute Gorakhtila as a complex living entity.

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the festival and the intensive preparations for it, Rupnāth travels regularly to visit disciples, lead or attend ritual and ascetic celebrations, and nourish connections with potential allies for sevā-development. A changing retinue of servants journey with him – which intensifies their felt ties to Gorakhtila, the Nāth sampradāya, and him – but most stay back to help run the temple. Servants, volunteers, and employees offer sevā and relate to the temple in different ways. Servants are local men who work full- or part-time at Gorakhtila and maintain close devotional, social, and economic bonds with its mahant. They all have family and village relations to the temple, but while some are drawn to their work by devotional connections to Gorakhnāth, others are there because a skill of theirs caught Rupnāth’s eye. Volunteers are unpaid and move to Gogameri in order to entreat Gorakhnāth and Gogājī to intervene in serious challenges, and employees come in search of work, not out of devotion. As they volunteer and work, men from both latter groupings are drawn into circles of friendship with the servants. For servants and volunteers in particular, these circles open possibilities for ethical and devotional transformation. In order to illustrate how they do, this section profiles Dilip Joshi, a volunteer from rural Uttar Pradesh, and Ratan Singh, a servant from Gogameri. In 2010, Dilip moved to Gogameri with his wife, Kalpana, and became a volunteer. Over the first decade of their marriage, they were unable to produce a child or afford their own residence and they lived with Kalpana’s family, which were all sources of Dilip’s ignominy in the village. They began attending jāgaraṇs (“all-night devotional gathering”) (A. G. Gold 1988, 99-123) at which Gogājī possessed a medium and heard supplications, and he ensured Kalpana’s delivery of a son. In return, Dilip travelled to Gogameri for the festival, but thereafter police arrested him on suspicion of kidnapping – because he was poor and unliked, he told me. At the first jāgaraṇ Dilip attended on being released from custody, Gogājī promised to exonerate him if he vowed to visit Gogameri monthly. Unable to leave work so routinely, he quit, moved to Gogameri, and dedicated himself to serving Gogājī and Gorakhnāth. Dilip’s favourite part of his new job at a general store came in early afternoon, when transporting local buffalo milk in an ice-cream pushcart gave him the opportunity to “visit Bābā [Gorakhnāth]” at Gorakhtila. Volunteers have their own routines as they worship. Dilip’s included washing his hands and face before coming inside, spending several minutes praying at the life-size image of Gorakhnāth, and practicing breath control at the dhūṇā (“ascetic’s fire”). Whatever their routines, volunteers usually socialize and help out when they come. After his daily worship, Dilip chatted over tea with kitchen servants and then swept and mopped

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the floors before returning to his pushcart. Alienated from his village and owing his son’s life to Gogājī, he was learning to make do in Gogameri, and his sevā, proximity to the ascetics, and budding relationships with servants helped to sustain him in the process. As servants and volunteers work together under the direction of the ascetics, they also joke, teach, learn, and share life experiences (cf. Simpson 2006, 55-86; Samuels 2010). Conversations easily jump from local gossip or amusing internet videos to autobiographical reminiscences, moral reflection, or comparisons of Nāth monasteries that speakers have visited (cf. Prasad 2007; Y. Singh 2019, 139-89). Understandably, what an ascetic says carries the most weight in matters of morality and temple procedure, but others speak with authority, too. Their exchanges are marked by a human-to-human variant of what Babb calls “hierarchical intimacy” (1986, 183-85, 210), which operates according to seniorities of station and age and links bonds within Gorakhtila to broader formations of subjectivation (family, caste, village, cultural region, schools, etc.).27 Older servants initiate affectionate teasing with younger workers and correct their words and actions if they find them wanting. Both ways of relating draw newer or younger men into existing bonds.28 Given the amount of time they spend together, servants and volunteers develop a storehouse of common knowledge, ways of speaking, and interpretive frames. Once, as I sat in the temple with servant Ratan Singh, a volunteer named Vinay who walks with a cane arrived for his daily sevā. As we spoke about mundanities, both men responded to agreeable observations (about the weather and a Dhuna Trust construction project) by attributing them to Gorakhnāth’s kṛpā, or “miraculous grace”. In Gogameri, this routine linguistic flourish incorporates speakers into the volunteer and professional circles at both ritual sites. Later, Ratan characterized Vinay’s ability to walk as Gorakhnāth’s “greatest [instance of] kṛpā”, here using the term in a different language game. Vinay had suffered a seizure that doctors 27 As a significant factor determining the capacity in which people serve the temple (i.e., as servant, volunteer, or employee), class shapes relations between men from different groupings. While casteist behavior ( jāt-pāt, chuāchūt) is rejected at the level of explicit discourse, caste group usually joins the family as a signif icant site of subjectivation for rural servants and volunteers, and caste belonging is an important way in which people identify themselves and others, influencing how individual temple workers interpret the actions of others. 28 This sort of homosociality is not limited to the temple, of course. I spent a significant amount of time with a group of men who worked for the operator of a general store and a commodities distribution business, and I found the sorts of phatic and socio-moral cultivations among them to articulate with those practiced in the temple.

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predicted would leave him paralyzed, Ratan reported. Yet when his wife brought him to Gorakhtila, Gorakhnāth restored the use of his limbs. Not just facilitating a way of belonging, here Ratan also placed an object of common knowledge into a shared representational frame – and I heard Mohannāth and others mention this “greatest kṛpā” as well. Another object of shared knowledge that Ratan reinterpreted within this frame was his own initial encounter with Gorakhnāth’s grace in 1992. After Ratan prayed at the temple, Gorakhnāth had healed him of a fever and a sinus infection that doctors had been unable to cure. As Ratan told it, this was the event that inaugurated his two decades of sevā. Working, worshipping, and volunteering at Gorakhtila permit and encourage servants and volunteers to see the actions of Gorakhnāth more clearly. On the one hand, they accumulate experiences of participating in the space-time of the temple, which results in new memories, habits, and expectations that expand their capacities to act and be affected. On the other hand, conversations and longer-term relationships encourage them to “redescribe” their memories in shared representational frames (Asad 1993, 141-46). For example, when Ratan first told me about his 1992 healing, he asked rhetorically, “What’s the use of doctors when they couldn’t save me?”, and “when doctors die, too?”. From memory, he then recited a stanza of the “Nirvāṇ samādh”, a liturgical text that is popular at Gorakhtila: Om, my guru, herbal medicine is spread everywhere except the other side of death. If herbal medicine works on all ailments, then why did Dr. Dhanvantari [the deity of Ayurveda] die? Don’t anyone even think of herbal medicine, which was the first widow of Dr. [Dhanvantari]! Doctors place hope in herbal medicine, but the guru teaches liberating meditation.29

As he was reciting the verse, Ratan indicated where it was displayed on the temple wall and then showed it to me in a copy of the liturgical booklet the Dhuna Trust prints and distributes. Ratan’s remembered past; his interactions with liturgical texts and hagiography; his relationships with Vinay and 29 “Oṃ gurū jī jaṛī būṭī kī bahu vistārā, param jot kā ant na pārā, / Jaṛī būṭī se kāraj sare vaidy dhanvantarī kāhe ko mare. / Jaṛī būṭī soco mat koī, pahale rāṇḍ vaidy kī hoī, / Jaṛī būṭī vaidyoṃ kī ās, śrī gurū ucāv nirvāṇ samādh”. I thank Daniel Gold, Kalyan Singh Bishta, and Bimla Bhakuni (pers. comm.) for discussing this verse with me.

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others who had been healed; common knowledge and interpretive frames; and the range of experiences accumulated by offering twenty years’ worth of sevā – all of this worked conjointly to enable him to see Gorakhnāth’s miraculous grace more broadly and distinctly.30 Over the time that I knew him, Ratan told me of many instances when Gorakhnāth acted graciously, spanning his ability to pay for his daughter’s wedding, catching a ride home from a wedding in the dead of night, his son-in-law’s survival of a car crash, and secondhand and hagiographic accounts. Although not all sevaks had received Gorakhnāth’s miraculous help, such suprahuman forces were a topic of daily conversation and frequently the object of vow-requests at Gorakhtila. Thus, they too entered into the complex of relations constituting Gorakhtila as a dynamic entity. Through their sevā, servants and volunteers come to encounter these forces in new ways, and some see it as their primary responsibility to make them accessible to a growing pilgrimage public. Under the conditions of change outlined above, many of these men have also come to understand this work as historically significant. Not only do they serve the great Yogī, but they also do so at a turning point. Rupnāth, Dhuna trustees, and servants told me that for a stretch of time up through the recent past, Hindus had forgotten the historical eminence and incredible power of Gorakhnāth and Gogājī. As a consequence, Gorakhtila and Gogameri had received little patronage or public recognition. However, many felt as if the tides were turning under Rupnāth’s skilled direction.

Conclusion Reflecting on the social authority of Nāth Yogīs, this chapter has sought to show that Rupnāth’s capacity to trigger religious and landscape transformations was built and thus dependent on his coordination with the Dhuna Trust, temple servants, and volunteers, and on his collaborations with the state government, Vasundhara Raje, and the RSS. The deepening of the socio-emotional and devotional attachments that sustain Rupnāth’s 30 It is as if Ratan’s memories were concatenated into different but communicating sequences: events from his own life; observations and conversations at Gorakhtila; and the episodes of Gorakhnāth’s and Gogājī’s hagiographies. As these shifting, expanding series of memories intersected over particular recollections or experiences (in response to the appeals of the lived present), it became possible to decipher Gorakhnāth’s grace in new ways; and this experience in turn became a perceptual-interpretive resource in the future (de Certeau 1997; Deleuze 1990, 102-4; 1991, 62-72).

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daily-organizational partnerships safeguards his ritual authority – and thus his attractiveness as a partner to political actors – by ensuring that pilgrims can find a thriving ritual life at Gorakhtila. This enables him to pursue institutional-rhetorical partnerships that gather material and semiotic resources evoking a hagiographic past that articulates variously with broader Sanātanī and Hindu nationalist narrations of history. Yet if pilgrimage experiences emerge through the contact and co-functioning of trained bodies and the festival’s aggregate context, then the new hagiographies and spaces can only go so far in transforming the senses that pilgrims have of Gogājī’s life, death, and importance for collective belonging. While the trust’s efforts address people from different angles, attempting to work on their intellects, sensoria, and emotions, devotional investments are not so easily withdrawn. In closing, then, the chapter reflects briefly on the degree of Rupnāth’s capacity to effectuate religious change. At what scale were his claims persuasive (Blackburn 2010, 201-4)? By 2013, Rupnāth’s project was a moderately successful one whose interventions en toto by no means represented the conceptions and practices of the entire pilgrimage public, or perhaps even those of a statistical majority. Yet in varying partial form, they did find broad receptive audiences. In accounting for this relative success, it is important to underscore the heterogeneity of Gogameri’s pilgrims again. Not only is it the case, as commonly noted, that Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs from all castes visit the site, but its devotional public, like others, is also marked by self-difference over time. Given the projects of socio-religious differentiation, unification, and purification since the nineteenth century, and changes in sensibilities and the public character of religious formations since the 1990s, fewer visitors in Gogameri are Muslim and more are disposed to invest devotionally in overtly Hindu configurations of the pilgrimage. To clarify a bit further, one might consider the extent to which people worship Gogājī in order to “[nourish]” an intergenerational and/or inter-community connection that “clarifies the deeper question ‘Who am I?’” (Prasad 2007, 126). Here, one could differentiate among communities of hereditary devotees, individual families of hereditary devotees, newly invested devotees, those in search of miraculous aid, and those out for a holiday tour. While worshippers of the first two types often take the Gogameri formation as a center of orientation, those of the last two types do not. Many who are healed or assisted there reorient themselves to Gorakhnāth and Gogājī, and given their unfamiliarity with the ritual and narrative forms of Gogājī worship, they often look to the Yogīs and their representatives for answers. This class of new pilgrims and the hereditary devotees who already remember Gogājī as a Hindu war hero

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struck me as comprising the primary audience of the Dhuna Trust’s projects. However, even hereditary pilgrims with contrary historical practices support Gorakhtila, as when supporters of Gogājī’s Muslim priests fund Gorakhtila’s kitchen and understand Rupnāth as an unofficial guru. In addition to the genealogical transmission of guru-discipline relations (D. Gold 2012), another dynamic at play in such cases concerns sevā-development more broadly. While a guru’s words often carry a heavy weight, Rupnāth’s voice has become so prominently audible because, beyond hagiography, he articulates the concerns of a great many hereditary devotees. As mentioned above, most everyone I met in Gogameri had the sense that Gorakhnāth and Gogājī marked an apex in Indian history and remain exceptional sources of miraculous power. Understandably, many were frustrated with the contrast presented by the infrastructural deficiencies, mismanagement, and lack of recognition they perceived to plague the site. Discontent with this contradiction lies at the heart of most every Dhuna Trust project, and it is this, I think, which resonates so widely with pilgrims. Not only do the trust’s writings and Rupnāth’s public appearances foreground this incongruity, but pilgrims also generally share the assessment of Hanuman Saini, the Dhuna Trust’s treasurer, who told me that the Abbot’s construction projects are all designed to “display the grandeur (gaurav) of Bābā [Gorakhnāth]”. Of course, there is a plurality of ways in which devotees envision the historical significance and miraculous capacities of the site’s saintly deities, and while Rupnāth and the Dhuna Trust may tap into a collective energy, they modulate these historical visions, sometimes comprehensively. Yet hereditary pilgrims often have local specialists and other mnemonic resources at home that take precedence over texts and spatial semiotics in Gogameri, and the priority of these resources may constitute part of the pilgrimage’s ability to absorb even authoritative visions as, finally, one expression among many.

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Goetz, Herman. 1950. Art and Architecture of Bikaner State. Oxford: Bruno Cassirer. Gold, Ann Grodzins. 1988. Fruitful Journeys: The Ways of Rajasthani Pilgrims. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gold, Ann Grodzins. 1992. A Carnival of Parting: The Tales of King Bharthari and King Gopi Chand as Sung and Told by Madhu Natisar Nath of Ghatiyali, Rajasthan. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gold, Daniel. 1991. “Organized Hinduism: From Vedic Truth to Hindu Nation.” In Fundamentalisms Observed, edited by Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby, 531-93. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Gold, Daniel. 1995. “The Instability of the King: Magical Insanity and the Yogis’ Power in the Politics of Jodhpur, 1803-1843.” In Bhakti Religion in North India: Community Identity and Political Action, edited by David N. Lorenzen, 120-32. Delhi: Manohar. Gold, Daniel. 1996. “Experiences of Ear-Cutting: The Significances of a Ritual of Bodily Alteration for Householder Yogis.” Journal of Ritual Studies 10 (1): 91-112. Gold, Daniel. 1999. “Nath Yogis as Established Alternatives: Householders and Ascetics Today.” In Ascetic Culture: Renunciation and Worldly Engagement, edited by K. Ishwaran, 68-88. Leiden: Brill. Gold, Daniel. 2012. “Continuities as Gurus Change.” In The Guru in South Asia: New Interdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by Jacob Copeman and Aya Ikegame, 241-54. London: Routledge. Green, Nile. 2008. “Breathing in India, c. 1890.” Modern Asian Studies 42 (2-4): 283-315. Greeven, R. 1894a. The Knights of the Broom: An Attempt to Collect and Explain Some of the Ceremonies of the Sweepers in the Benares Region. Benares: The Medical Hall Press. Available online: http://hdl.handle.net/2027/hvd.hnbp5x (accessed May 3, 2018). Greeven, R. 1894b. The Lay of Saint Amin and the Lord of Resin; Paraphrased from Hindi Village-Songs. Calcutta: Thacker, Spink and Co. Available online: http:/ hdl.handle.net/2027/hvd.hxcp51 (accessed May 25, 2019). Greeven, R. 1898. The Heroes Five (Panchon Pir): An Attempt to Collect Some of the Songs of the Panchpirya Ballad-Mongers in the Benares Division. Allahabad: The Pioneer Press. Hackworth, Jason. 2012. Faith Based: Religious Neoliberalism and the Politics of Welfare in the United States. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Hansen, Thomas Blom. 1999. The Saffron Wave: Democracy and Hindu Nationalism in Modern India. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Hansen, Thomas Blom. 2001. Wages of Violence: Naming and Identity in Postcolonial Bombay. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

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About the author Carter Hawthorne Higgins is Visiting Scholar in the Department of Religious Studies, Duke University. He holds a PhD in Asian Literature, Religion, and Culture from Cornell University and was previously a Postdoctoral Research Fellow at the Asia Research Institute, National University of Singapore. [email protected]

10 Towards a Nāth Re-Appropriation of Haṭha-Yoga* Daniela Bevilacqua

Abstracts This chapter contextualizes the practice of haṭha yoga among Nāth ascetics and describes its “re-appropriation” in contemporary times. Taking an ethnographic perspective, it examines two case studies: the international propaganda of the textually prolific Yogī Vilāsnāth, and Yogī Śivanāth’s work in the yoga śivir (camp) in Gorakhpur. These case studies are investigated in the context of the political role yoga has recently played, as a form of soft power. These studies suggest that the “re-appropriation” of haṭha yoga is a consequence both of the international popularity of yoga today and of the aims of building and consolidating the identity and prestige, at home and abroad, of the Nāth sampradāya in order to cultivate new forms of patronage and social prestige. Keywords: Nāth sampradāya, haṭha yoga, tradition, re-appropriation, modernization, yoga śivir

Since the end of the nineteenth century, yoga has been used by Indian gurus as a tool for highlighting India’s philosophical and spiritual relevance in the world. This trend has become a more explicit political strategy in the last few years, since Modi’s government, capitalizing on the widespread diffusion of yoga practices in the world, decided to invest in yoga as a form of soft power.1 * Part of the research presented in this article was carried out for the ERC funded Haṭha Yoga Project, under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation program (Grant Agreement no. 647963). Here, I would also like to thank James Mallinson, Véronique Bouillier, and Eloisa Stuparich for their valuable advice while writing this paper. 1 Soft power – a label coined by Joseph Nye, Jr. – is the ability to influence other societies through a “country’s culture, ideas and policies rather than hard force like military, diplomatic coercion or economic bribery” (Singh 2017).

Bevilacqua, Daniela, and Eloisa Stuparich (eds), The Power of the Nāth Yogīs: Yogic Charisma, Political Influence and Social Authority. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463722544_ch10

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Considering the fact that today yoga attracts individuals of all ages and social backgrounds, it comes as no surprise that the order traditionally associated with it, the Nāth sampradāya, would try to fit into this yogascape. This would mark an historical discontinuity, as the practice of haṭha yoga, according to several scholars (see below), has been absent from Nāth practice for quite some time. In this chapter I will briefly analyze the historical relationship of haṭha yoga and the Nāth sampradāya and then, using ethnographic data, evaluate the role that today this form of yoga has among Nāths. To follow, after a short theoretical overview on the role of yoga as a symbol of cultural nationalism and as an international practice, I will focus on two examples of what I call the “re-appropriation” of haṭha yoga: the textually prolif ic work of Yogī Vilāsnāth, who is also engaged in proselytizing at the international level, and the more local activities of the Gorakhnāth temple of Gorakhpur organized by Yogī Śivanāth, through a description of the yoga śivir (yoga camp) held in Gorakhpur on the occasion of the 2018 International Day of Yoga. But what do I mean by “re-appropriation”? In linguistic studies, reappropriation (or reclamation and resignification) is a term used to identify a cultural process by which a group reclaims words that were previously used to negatively judge it (Brontsema 2004). The reappropriated words, therefore, become the means for personal or socio-political empowerment (Godrej 2011). Although the concepts of haṭha yoga and haṭhayogī were denigrated during colonial rule,2 the use of the label “re-appropriation” in this article does not refer to the rehabilitation of a term, rather the opposite: given the wide world fame of yoga and haṭha yoga, Nāths want to take back their original “codification” of the practice and its status as a specific feature of their history as well as their self-identity, to partake of the fruits of its prominence, especially considering the political value that yoga has acquired during the last years. Analyzing the teachings of Yogī Vilāsnāth and Yogī Śivanāth, using interviews and online and textual sources, this chapter provides preliminary information on this re-appropriation of haṭha yoga, suggesting that it is a necessary tool for new forms of patronage and a potential tool for social and political power. 2 The term haṭhayogī was used by European visitors to designate various categories of wandering ascetics begging or performing diff icult and, according to a western taste, disreputable practices. As Mark Singleton has demonstrated, there was ill will towards yogis and especially towards practitioners of haṭha yoga (2010, 41).

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1 Yoga, haṭha yoga and the Nāth sampradāya: A historical and ethnographic overview In this section, I am not going to unravel the history of haṭha yoga, since many scholars have already written on the topic and ongoing research is further developing our present knowledge.3 My purpose here is to frame the historical connection between yoga, haṭha yoga and the Nāths, referring to past and present stories and histories while providing a brief theoretical background on haṭha yoga. The Nāth sampradāya is the only order whose members have referred to themselves as Yogīs throughout their history and who have used this label as their identity marker. According to the Nāths’ traditions, the doctrine of yoga was taught by the god Śiva to Matsyendranāth, one of the nine forefathers of the order. 4 Many are the legends about Matsyendranāth, and according to one, he was able to listen to Śiva expounding the yoga doctrine to Pārvatī while he was in the belly of a fish and the divine couple stood on the shore of the sea.5 Matsyendranāth then transmitted his knowledge to his disciple Gorakhnāth, the supposed founder of the order, who further developed it and in particular established the practice of haṭha yoga. Given the absence in textual sources of descriptions of physical practices or austerities among ascetics, it is not impossible to suppose that the distinctive practices of haṭha yoga, or at least some of those that would later develop into these practices, were in use among ascetics before the composition of the haṭha corpus. However, given the fluid reality of the Indian ascetic world, in which ascetics used to (and still do) wander and search for gurus to develop their religious path, where individuals belonging to different religious orders used to meet and exchange their knowledge and experiences, and where competitiveness pushed orders to adapt and adopt useful and “trendy” practices, it is impossible to determine who invented or originally used these techniques. This shared attitude determined the spread of methods which could then be differently interpreted. While the purpose of some practices, mostly austerities, was to cultivate tapas – inner spiritual fire – other techniques have been used to assist in 3 See for example, Mallinson (2008, 2011, 2012, 2014, 2019, 2020); Birch (2011, 2019a, 2019b); Alter (2005, 2012); Muñoz (2016); White (1996, 2009), Burchett (2019). To these it should be added the forthcoming critical editions and monographs produced by the members of the Hatha Yoga Project. 4 In reality, it is likely that Matsyendranāth was a follower of a specific tantric school, the kaula jñāna of which yoga was a part (see Mallinson 2019, 6 note 35). 5 There are several legends about the origins and life of Matsyendranāth, on which see Muñoz (2010, 55-80).

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maintaining celibacy or to use the body and the vital energies moving in it to obtain a “perfected” body, and to reach deep meditative states. These latter techniques were to be identified in Sanskrit textual sources as haṭha yoga. The word literally means forceful but, as suggested by Birch, “the force of Haṭhayoga refers to forcing what normally moves down (i.e., apāna, bindu) and what is usually dormant (kuṇḍalinī) to move upwards” (2011, 537).6 A Buddhist text from the Kālacakra tradition, the Vimalaprabhā (dating from around the tenth to eleventh century), claims that haṭha is the practice that makes the prāṇa flow in the middle channel and arrests the bindu of the bodhicitta (ibid., 536). Similarly, the Amaraughaprabodha (a Nāth Śaiva work from the twelfth century), the first non-Buddhist text to use the term haṭha yoga to describe a specific yoga system, describes haṭha yoga as “that which is intent upon stopping the breath” (ibid., 547), whose purpose is to make the breath “to rise up the central channel in order to prevent the emission of semen” (Mallinson 2020, 11). Early Nāth yoga texts overlaid yoga techniques of laya yoga7 with more physical techniques, as exemplified in the Haṭhapradīpikā, a fifteenthcentury text which provides a theoretical systematization of haṭha yoga almost dominant to this day (Mallinson 2011, 15). Its author, Svātmārāma, places himself in the lineage of twenty-nine great Siddhas that starts with Ādināth, followed by Matsyendra and Gorakṣa. Owing to this lineage, his work was associated with what was to be recognized later on as the Nāth sampradāya.8 According to the Haṭhapradīpikā, haṭha yoga is mostly a set of physical practices consisting of ṣaṭkarma (six acts of self-cleansing), āsana (postures), prāṇāyāma (breath control), kumbhaka (breath retention), mudrā (internalized energetic practices), and bandha (lock). These practices apply to a body as described in tantric works, and therefore composed of a system of nāḍīs (channel), cakras (wheel), and vitalized by energies like vāyus and kuṇḍalinī which have to be controlled (see Flood 2006). 6 As Mallinson has demonstrated, not only was the first text that taught the practices later classified as haṭha yoga (the Amṛtasiddhi, dating from around the eleventh century) composed in a Buddhist Vajrayāna milieu, but the name haṭha yoga itself originated in a Buddhist milieu (Mallinson 2020, 2, 11). 7 Laya yoga or yoga of dissolution is one of the four types of yoga, together with haṭha, mantra, and rāja yoga. The Amaraughaprabodha explains dissolution as the dissolution of the mind’s flow, while in the Yogabīja it is the dissolution of the mind that leads to steady breathing and the highest state of happiness. In other texts, laya yoga methods focus on the raising of kuṇḍalinī through energy channels and cakras (Mallinson and Singleton 2017, 6-7). 8 It is likely that there were various lineages of Yogīs which came to be organized at the beginning of the sixteenth century. From this period on, in contrast to the generic label yogī, we have references to a specific order of Yogīs defined and organized as Nāth (Bouillier 2017, 2).

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According to the Nāth tradition, Gorakhnāth himself would have explored these practices; he is credited with several works in Sanskrit (which almost certainly were not actually written by him), including the Vivekamārtaṇdạ, Gorakṣaśataka, and the Siddha Siddhānta Paddhati, which may be seen as “technical guides to the theory and practice of haṭha yoga” (White 2011, 80), as well as works in vernacular languages, such as the Gorakh Bodh and the Gorakh Bānī, metaphorical poems that attempt to express the experience of the Absolute (Muñoz 2011, 112).9 The techniques of haṭha yoga aimed to lead the individual to experience within the body the union with the Absolute, while the progressive control of the physiological and mental processes would lead the individual to obtain superhuman powers (siddhis) and the control of natural phenomena. The development of siddhis, as described in this volume by Muñoz, created a multifarious corpus of stories and legends about Yogīs, and also attracted the attention and the support of kings. As Bouillier points out: “Credited with exceptional powers, they were sought out by kings: they f igure in numerous foundation myths as allies of conquering kings, giving help both in mastering natural obstacles and subjugating enemies” (2017, 165). This is particularly true in Nepal where powerful Siddhas and Yogīs were and are worshiped as protectors of kingdoms (see the contributions of Zotter and Stuparich in this volume). This royal support, as well as the support of Muslim emperors, could transform Nāth Yogīs into landlords and powerful priests in royal palaces and shrines, as well as political advisors. These roles have endured to the present day, adapting to new political scenarios (see Marrewa in this volume). As we will see in this chapter, it is not unlikely that a further move by the Nāths to reclaim a source of power might come from yoga, in spite of the fact that the practice of yoga among the Nāths is not as prominent as it is assumed to be at the time of Gorakhnāth. According to Mallinson, today probably very few Yogīs master haṭha yoga practices: although they successfully adopted haṭha yoga, “the Nāths appear not to have practiced their invention very assiduously” and this would be demonstrated also by the fact that “[n]o new texts on Hatḥa Yoga have been composed by the Nāths” (2011, 15). However, as Mallinson himself has pointed out, it is difficult to properly evaluate the role of haṭha yoga texts 9 Despite the attribution to the founder of the order, it is unlikely that Gorakhnāth produced these works. For example, according to Mallinson (2012, 263) the Gorakṣaśataka was composed in about 1300 CE, while texts like the Gorakh Bānī likely were composed between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries (Djurdjevic 2019, 1).

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and the purpose for which they were written.10 Furthermore, haṭha yoga was not a monolithic tradition, but was differentiated according to various contexts, and developed differently because it was taught by different gurus. They confronted, shared, and adjusted practices that could be useful for individuals on the path of yoga sādhanā (discipline). As far as I could verify during my fieldwork, ascetics mention very few yoga texts, always stressing that the real teaching is in the oral explanation of the guru and the real result depends solely on constant practice: it is not surprising, then, that there are very few practical texts on the topic written by ascetics for ascetics. Furthermore, if we look at historical and ethnographic evidence, the situation becomes even more intricate. During my conversations with sādhus, I realized not only that the understandings of haṭha yoga might be different among ascetics, but also that those practices which are traditionally listed in haṭha yoga texts are not denoted by ascetics as haṭha yoga; rather they are generally categorized as yoga, or yoga kriyās (Bevilacqua 2017). Contemporary sādhus, indeed, interpret haṭha yoga as tapas, or rather, as the strict intention necessary for accomplishing something, often resulting in arduous and challenging behaviors for the body. In the light of what has been said above, were and are the Nāths haṭha yoga practitioners, considering that haṭha yoga is a fluid concept which may include various physical practices such as tapasyā, breath retention, ṣaṭkarmas, āsanas, and kriyās? In the following paragraphs I will demonstrate that this question has an affirmative answer. The link between the Nāths and tapasyā11 is attested: for example, the fame of Dhinodhar, a monastery in Kacch (Gujarat), rests on the story of Dharamnāth’s penance (Briggs 1938, 116-18). He came from Peshawar towards the end of the fourteenth century in search of a suitable place to perform penance and, after various events, he decided to settle on the hilltop of Dhinodhar. There, he stood on his head on a betel nut for twelve years. This penance was so powerful that the gods decided to ask him to stop. Indeed, when he stood upright, his gaze consumed in fire the first thing he looked at, which was the sea, leaving the present desert land of the Rann of Kutch. As far as I could verify during my fieldwork, this headstand tradition 10 Several of these works discourage practices like austerities typically practiced by ascetics, demonstrating that they were probably addressing a householder (probably royal) audience. 11 Already testified in the Vedic literature and Greek accounts from the fourth century BCE, the practice of tapasyā has an ancient tradition in India. In the Mahābhārata, for example, tapas and yoga are often used as synonymous, and tapasvin are also referred to as yogin. However, there are no written sources which describe in detail these practices. This does not mean they did not exist, but rather that, unfortunately, no early texts had been written or compiled about them.

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is still alive in the monastery on top of the hill: the present mahant, Yogī Maheśnāth, follows the practice of his own guru and stays in headstand daily during the hot season for about one hour. Other austerities I observed among Nāths include khaṛeśvarī, in which the sādhu has to remain standing for twelve years, and jav tapasyā, in which the ascetic remains seated for nine days without eating, drinking, or doing any physiological activity.12 When we look at visual evidence, the connection between yogic physical practices and Nāth Yogīs is strong. During a fieldwork trip in Gujarat, Dr. Mallinson and I found probably the first sculptural evidence of non-seated āsanas at the Mahudi gate of Dabhoi. Likely built in 1230, this gate displays three layers of sculptures which outline a clear Nāth context. In the lower layer there are twelve Nāths; on top of them there are eight Yoginīs and above them eight Bhairavas with consorts, while above, in between the facades of the arches, there are carved sculptures of ascetics performing complicated āsanas. Another example of Nāths’ practice of āsana is given by a c. 1602 illustrated manuscript of the Bahr al-hayat, a Persian work which is said draw from a supposed lost work either in Hindi or Sanskrit called the Amṛtakuṇḍ (“Pool of Nectar”). The illustrated manuscript was probably composed fifty years after the text,13 and it presents twenty-two āsanas. According to Carl Ernst, the author was probably a Persian scholar who travelled to India and observed Nāth Yogīs – as can be deduced by their apparel, especially by the presence of the siṅgī14 – practicing physical postures (seated and inverted āsanas and breathing exercises) which were then beautifully painted in the manuscript (2016). The fact that the author decided to depict Nāth Yogīs as performers, should be considered as a proof of the strict association between the order and these practices. Further examples of Nāths performing physical practices are given by the painting in the Mahāmandir and the Udai Mandir of Jodhpur. Built by the mahārājā of Marwar Mānsingh (1803-1843) for his guru Devnāth, the Mahāmandir has murals, which may date from 1810 CE, that depict Nāths in complex āsanas; likewise the Udaimandir, probably 12 It should be noted that tapasyā can refer to various strict behaviors maintained for a long time which can have a greater or lesser affect on the body, and that aim to control the body and its impulses, be they sexual, dietary, or other drives. 13 James Mallinson personal communication (May 20, 2020). 14 The siṅgī is a small horn worn on a thread around the neck, and the element which properly distinguishes a Nāth Yogī. The earliest textual reference to the siṅgī is a description by Ibn Batuta recorded in 1361, but a statue of Matsyendranāth wearing an antelope-horn siṅgī, dated to the tenth century by the Government Museum of Mangalore, testifies to its earlier use (Mallinson 2019, 8 note 51).

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built in 1821 CE. Fifty-three of the āsanas are present in both the temples, however each āsana on the walls of the Mahāmandir is quite distinct and it appears that the artists painted a dozen or so real Yogīs performing postures, since the same Yogī can be seen in several postures (Birch, forthcoming). Let us say a few words here on vernacular sources. If we consider the Gorakh Bānī (Sayings of Gorakh),15 attributed to Gorakhnāth but probably composed between the sixteenth and the eighteenth century, we can recognize those practices we defined as haṭha yogic. The Gorakh Bānī clearly stresses the importance of breath and bindu retention for the Yogī, “who holds above what goes below” (sabadī 17), and the importance of practice like khecarī mudrā (“reverse the tongue and touch the palate”, sabadī 133) to drink the amṛt produced in the skull (sabadī 87), as well as the reversion of the breath to pierce the six cakras (sabadī 105). Sabadī 141 describes the haṭha yogic practices of vajrolī and amarolī that are used to achieve the retention of the semen (see Mallinson 2018); whereas sabadī 48 mentions the presence of six postures without naming any. Similar evidence comes from those who criticized the Yogīs. I will use here different examples from Kabīr’s oeuvre (fifteenth century), which offers clues to Yogīs’ practice. When, in sākhi 43 of the Bījak, Kabīr says that Gorakhnāth was a “yoga connoisseur” who “for nothing polished his body” (Hess and Singh 1983, 94), he is most probably referring to the haṭha yogic techniques of ṣaṭkarmas and breath purification of the nāḍī. In pad 174 of the Granthāvalī (Hawley 2005, 275.) Kabīr talks about the Yogīs, denigrating their holding back their seed, while in a poem from the Ādi Granth, he states: “madman, give up yogic posture (āsanu), and breath control” (Lorenzen 2012, 33). These lines clearly refer to practices – the retention of the seed, postures, and breath control – that have been classified in texts as haṭha yoga. Since these practices (used in a similarly described tantric body) are also present in the Gorakṣaśataka (thirteenth century) we can suggest a continuity of certain practices among Nāths from the thirteenth to the eighteenth century. The fact that vernacular and visual sources depict often Nāth Yogīs as the practitioners of physical forms of haṭha yoga should not be underestimated. Likewise, it should not be underestimated the fact that the idea that haṭha yoga/yoga practices originated among Nāths is widespread among other traditional orders (i.e., Rāmānandīs and Daśnāmīs). It appears then quite clear that Nāth Yogīs used to follow various practices in the past and, considering my conversations with Nāths, they still practice 15 I use here the translation of the Gorakh Bānī given by Gordan Djurdjevic and Shukdev Singh (2019).

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yoga. However, we should keep in mind the fact that, “while it might seem that a yogī is quite simply one who practices yoga, what is considered to constitute ‘yoga’, and to what degree that yoga is central in the religiosity of any given yogī, varies greatly” (Burchett 2019, 187). We have to remember, indeed, that Hindu ascetic orders are better identified not as a totality but as a collection of paramparās or lineages which historically and geographically can have had different developments and therefore different sādhanās.16 Several Nāths I met confirmed the fact that they follow the yoga sādhanā, although they claim not to practice many āsanas, because these are important only for the body. Furthermore, in a conversation with some Nāth Yogīs in Gorakhpur they stressed the fact that to see a Nāth practicing, one should enter his room early in the morning – that is, their practice is very private and they will rarely do this in public.17 On account of these considerations, it seems understandable that some Nāths try to reclaim a more visible space in the yoga scene. However, as we will see through the case studies, the approaches towards this reappropriation of haṭha yoga vary considerably.

2 Background for the case studies In this section I am going to briefly consider the possible reasons behind the Nāths’ renewed interest in yoga, the role of yoga as a symbol of cultural nationalism and as an international practice, and the role of lay devotees and foreigners as patrons. It is with Svāmī Vivekananda (1863-1902) and his Rāja Yoga (1896), an innovative translation and commentary of the Patanjali’s Yogasūtra,18 that yoga began to be globally promoted as an example of Indian religiosity and considered as “a respectable area of personal interest for the middle classes of Europe and America” (Newcombe 2017, 7). Within India, however, 16 See, for example, the Nāth tradition described by Monika Horstman in Rajasthan: it shows no interest in siddhis or in kuṇḍalinī, while it emphasizes yogic breath control and contemplation of an “interior journey leading to liberation in the esoteric body” (2017, 14). 17 It should also be considered that in those events in which usually ascetics display their “physical” skills, such as religious festivals like the Kumbh Melā, Nāths represent a small percentage of the ascetic population which often does not participate on the frontline of mainstream events (like the main baths) and usually have a limited space in the festival area. 18 The Yogasūtra, a collection of 196 Sanskrit sūtras (aphorisms) probably compiled circa 400 CE by Patañjali, synthesize and organize knowledge about the theory and practice of yoga from older traditions (see Maas 2013, 53-90).

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Vivekananda’s idea of yoga was also instilled with national pride, becoming “a model of material self-sufficiency predicated on an ideal of a uniquely Indian spiritual capability” (ibid., 8). As Joseph Alter explains, around the early 1920s a “Yoga Renaissance” began in India, pioneered by individuals like Śrī Yogendra of the Yoga Institute of Santa Cruz, Bombay, Svāmī Kuvalyānanda of the Kaivalyadhama Ashram in Lonalva, and Svāmī Śivānanda of the Divine Life Society in Rishikesh (1997, 280). They propagated yoga as “a scientific form of universal public health and physical fitness”, particularly focusing “on the beneficial medical effects of asanas” (ibid.), and “[a]s early as 1930, Swami Kuvalayananda was ‘mass producing’ Yoga instructors so as to transform the physical education curriculum of public education in India” (Alter 2004, 9). This focus on āsanas was also developed practically by Krishnamacharya and his students (e.g., Iyengar and Jois), who expanded upon popular forms of yoga teachings which then spread further, resulting in the present, transnational scene.19 Another distinctively modern yoga movement was that of the Bharatiya Yoga Samsthan, which “grew directly out of the RSS” in 1968, “and involves a structured program of yoga exercise perform in public parks throughout India” (Alter 2004, 158) as a tool against the “sickness of modernity”, sponsoring a free practice of yoga to create a society that “would become healthy, happy, peaceful, and above all else, moral and self-controlled” (Alter 1997, 281). Therefore, this new approach to yoga strictly developed around themes such as morality, healthiness, fitness, spirituality, and nationalism; fittingly, Yogī Avedyanāth, the mahant of the Gorakhnāth temple of Gorakhpur, one of the most important centers of the sampradāya in the North, opened a Yoga Samsthān in 1982 in the college established by the temple leadership (see below). However, since at least the end of the 1970s, the temple had been systematically publishing works on yoga and haṭha yoga addressed mostly to a lay Indian audience. This can arguably be read as a strategy of cultural nationalism aimed at promoting the practice of yoga and, by association, the sampradāya itself. Likewise, considering the importance attributed to yoga, it is unsurprising that the Yogī Mahāsabhā, an organization created in 1906 to function as a central power for the Nāth Yogīs to propagate the 19 This was a very complex period in which several social, cultural and political variables were at stake in forging ideas of yoga. Since a detailed explanation would be “words consuming” for this chapter, the interested reader is suggested to dig into three fundamental works: Alter’s Yoga in Modern India (2004), DeMichelis’ A History of Modern Yoga (2004), and Singleton’s Yoga Body (2010).

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knowledge and the ideals of the sampradāya, lists in its 1995 statute the practice of yoga among its rules, stressing the study of yoga as compulsory for all Yogīs (Bouillier 2017, 58, 62). The fact that the temple’s publishing house and the Yoga Samsthān both address themselves to a lay Indian audience lead us to the second issue that I would like to introduce: the role of lay people as patrons in contemporary India. Wealthy individuals have always supported ascetics and this volume has discussed the role of kings in financing and determining the fortunes of religious centers. With the loss of royal patronage, religious centers faced a big dilemma. As Bouillier writes, “[t]he quest for patronage had to take new turns” and since “the Nath Yogis had to find financial support to replace the princely generosity” they often addressed their attention to political parties, as well as to merchants and businessmen (2012, 374). By the 1990s, the national policy of economic liberalization opened up India’s markets to the world and businesses began to operate in a more competitive global economy (Fuller and Harris 2001). In the same period, the politico-religious nationalism of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and the continuous propaganda of religious and cultural associations such as the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) and the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) transformed the public sphere, which became increasingly religious in tenor, with Hindus more assertive about celebrating their religion and identity in direct opposition to Muslims and Christians (Fuller and Harris 2001, 227). As argued by Nanda (2009, 144), indeed, “economic globalization and neo-liberal reforms have created the material and ideological conditions” that have enabled Hindu religiosity to grow. The support of the state became “a channel for pumping taxpayers’ money into promoting temples, ashrams, and pilgrimage spots”, making Hinduism a “rapidly growing and lucrative market” (ibid., 109). Thus, a three-sided partnership between the secular state, temples, and corporate interests has been created: “[t]he government provides land either as a gift or at a throwaway price for temples’ investments in schools, universities, hospitals, and other charities … At this stage, industrialists and business houses step in: they make donations to build and sustain these religious institutions headed by the holy man/guru they may happen to revere” (ibid., 114). Despite the presence of new religious groups on the Indian scene,20 many wealthy people still direct their devotion towards traditional sampradāyas to respond to a demand for authenticity and religious authority, but it is not 20 See Warrier (2003) on the “secularization” of religion.

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uncommon that monasteries have to adapt their function and the service they provide in order to compete with new religious institutions for support (see Higgins in this volume).21 Bouillier argues that today, Nāth monasteries show a less sectarian attitude and are also open to a more individual approach to the order traditions (2008, 280). Gurus and ascetics may attempt new approaches to better satisfy the religious quest of a wider society that now spills far beyond the geographical borders of India, a society in which requests can come from all over the world. While it was almost impossible for a foreigner to become part of a traditional ascetic sampradāya in the past, this began to change in the second half of the twentieth century, and today not only can foreigners be initiated, but some of them are even able to obtain important religious titles, sometimes after having paid conspicuous amounts of money (see Bevilacqua 2020). For this reason, more and more sādhus today search for foreign disciples, knowing that some might pay generously to be initiated or to skip some steps of the training, although not all initiations are based on these utilitarian motives. Quite often these foreign disciples are attracted to the Nāth sampradāya because of its yogic history. Yoga is, indeed, one of the key areas of investment for several religious centers, a significant strategy for long-term returns, especially considering that it has been estimated that in India “the sector for yoga and other traditional health and spirituality practices has an annual turnover of INR 120 billion (US $1.8 billion)” (see Gautam, Dograam 2018, 24). Consequently, as pointed out by Chakraborty, “Hindu ascetics seem to have recognised both the recent boom in the fitness industry in India and the global market for yoga and Hindu spirituality” and are “trying to carve a niche for themselves in the fitness industry by packaging yoga for the educated, professional classes and promoting it as a means of empowerment through which people can take control of their bodies and their health” (2006, 387). Given these considerations, this chapter aims to contribute to our understanding of yoga in postcolonial India through two specific case studies. First, it will focus on the activities of Yogī Vilāsnāth, who not only has a fruitful publishing history but is also one of those Nāths deeply involved in the dissemination of the sampradāya abroad through the practice of yoga. Second, it will describe the activities of Yogī Śivanāth – educated in yoga at the Lonavla Institute and perhaps the only sādhu who can recite the Haṭhapradika by heart as well as quote Rajneesh (Osho) – who has a vivid 21 See Bouillier (2017, 258-97) on the new relationships between Nāth Yogīs and devotees deriving from the new need for support in the form of cash donations from wealthy lay devotees.

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interest in popularizing a Nāth history of yoga and its practice among lay people, while presenting a form of standardized modern approach to yoga. 2.1 Yogī Vilāsnāth Yogī Vilāsnāth, born in 1957 in Nasik (Maharashtra) was trained in Physics and worked in this field until 1991.22 However, during the 1991 Kumbh Melā he decided to get initiated in the Nāth sampradāya by Yogī Ānandnāth, moving to Guru Gorakhnāth Mandir in Haridwar. According to his web site, “he is widely known in the Tradition owing to his extensive knowledge, his practice of Hath Yoga, Nath Tradition’s books and paintings … Yogī Vilasnathji had been next to his Guru for over 24 years and with his blessings has written many important books on Nath’s practices, particularly well-known is ‘Shri Nath Rahasya and Shankhadaal’ which contains almost all of mantras and rituals of Nathas, and nearly every Nath-Yogi has this book”.23 His publishing activity is indeed worth noting: on his website, at least fifteen books are listed, on topics that range from secret teachings to the practice of fasting and worship. The latest, Śrī Nāth Sampradāya ke Tīrth Sthal, deals with “religious places, their secret traditions, important affairs, history, stories of the Nath Sidhas’s [sic], Nath’s yoga, Hath yoga, their social work, their festivals and related rituals and their addresses with contact no. and photos with locations in map”.24 He refers to various spiritual paths and obviously to haṭha yoga. Since yoga has become a globalized practice, his activity and the fact that he can speak some English made him a useful bridge towards those communities of foreigners and yoga groups which have developed an interest in gurus and traditional orders connected with yoga practice, such as the Nāth sampradāya (see Bevilacqua, 2020). This happened in the case of M. Nāth, now an accomplished guru, who initially went to India in search of Nāth Yogīs to deepen his knowledge of yoga. Later he became a world-famous teacher and today he has more than a hundred students in various countries (such as Israel, Latvia, Spain, and the USA) through which he spreads the sampradāya’s teaching of yoga and the Nāth tradition. Yogī Vilāsnāth was invited several times by M. Nāth to visit Russia, where he held various satsangs in Tumen and Moscow. Yogī Vilāsnāth has since travelled more widely in Europe and now has many students in Poland, 22 http://www.guruvilasnathji.com/guru-Yogī -vilas-nath-ji/ (last consulted February 8, 2020). 23 Idem on the website. 24 http://www.guruvilasnathji.com/books/ (last consulted February 8, 2020).

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Ukraine, Germany, and Italy, some of whom he has also made darśanīs, which means they have the highest level of initiation, marked by the wearing of earrings in the cartilage of the ears. During his visit to Germany, he was named a member of the “European Academy of Tibetan Medicine and Yoga as a[n] Honorable Doctor of Yoga Philosophy”.25 As noted by Stuparich (forthcoming), he acknowledges the practice of mantra yoga, tantra yoga, haṭha yoga, laya yoga, nāda yoga, jñāna yoga, and so on as specifically Nāth paths, highlighting in his works the importance of mantra performance and tantric rituals to attain the supreme goal (paramārtha), as well as siddhi and mokṣa. Therefore, his approach falls within mainstream parameters of a pan-Indian soteriological discourse. When we met at the 2019 Allahabad Kumbh Melā, while talking about haṭha yoga he claimed: “Haṭha yoga’s masters were from our sampradāya. The original haṭha yoga is ours. Others have just taken from us”. When I asked about the many books he published, which were neatly exhibited in front of his tent in the Kumbh Melā camp, he justified his production claiming that it was a result of his spiritual practice: he had visions of the majority of his books, therefore they were the direct result of his meditative experience. He also recognized that thanks to these books he is becoming famous. He said: “That book I wrote, Nāth Rahasya, I do not know how many people after that have taken dīkṣā and became sādhus”, and here he was especially referring to foreign disciples. This “easy” approach towards foreigners could be compared with that towards rājās or noblemen in medieval times: special individuals who were given mantras and taught practices, even skipping some steps, because their “status” – and patronage – justified such an approach. Vilāsnāth’s activity is not completely supported by the sampradāya and other Nāths have brought various counts of criticism against him. For example, Yogī Vijay Nāth, whom I met in his āśram on the northern edge of Kolkata, complained about the compromise to the secrecy of the practice, caused by Vilāsnāth. He said that in the past, some yogic kriyās were out of the hands even of many sādhus, while today many secret teachings have been written down in books that everyone can read. However, he also recognized that these teachings are not effective until they are completely explained and experienced by the disciple through the teaching of the guru, the only one who can provide the full meaning of a text. Another quite critical Yogī is Śivanāth, who in 2018 told me: “This yoga-spreading activity is not correct because even a thief can do yoga today, this decreases the importance of yoga itself”. 25 http://www.guruvilasnathji.com/guru-Yogī -vilas-nath-ji/ (last consulted February 8, 2020).

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2.2 Yogī Śivanāth Yogī Śivanāth gained a BA in English Literature in 1970 and taught English from 1971-1972. In 1973 he decided to be initiated into the Nāth sampradāya with mahant Viṣṇucaraṇa Nāth. After that, he went to Lonavala and studied at the above-mentioned Kaivalyadhām, also known as Gordhandas Seksaria College of Yoga and Cultural Synthesis, established in 1921 by Svāmī Kuvalayānanda for the training of yoga instructors.26 There, Yogī Śivanāth did a one-year diploma course in yoga education. Then he spent three years in Mumbai at the Chinmaya Mission studying Vedānta, Upaniṣads, and other major works. To follow a proper sādhu life, he moved to Haridwar and Rishikesh, living for seven or eight years in āśrams belonging to different orders. In 1989 his guru died, so he had to go back to Orissa and became a mahant. He continued travelling because his main karma is, according to him, to give pravacan (talks) about various topics connected to the Nāth dharma and siddhānta (doctrine): haṭha yoga, mantra yoga, kuṇḍalinī yoga, ajapā japa (inner repetition of the mantra or god’s name), and the like. Regularly, he has given pravacan in Orissa, Assam, Tripura, and Manipur, particularly addressing the enormous community of householder Nāths who live in these areas.27 Yogī Śivanāth claims that there are householder Nāths in all the states of India, but according to him, in those states just mentioned, many Nāths have cut the connection with their sampradāya because of Caitanya Mahāprabhu, the sixteenth-century saint, who converted them to Vaiṣṇavism, as well as Rāmakṛṣṇa and his disciple Vivekānanda, who gave dīkṣā to many householder Nāths. Śivanāth aims to bring them back to their svadharma (own duty) through lectures and, these days, his teachings about yoga and haṭha yoga are important triggers, considering their global importance. His activity, according to him, has been successful and as a result new Nāth temples have been constructed. He has many disciples in Bengal, as well as international followers in Spain, Holland, the UK, Bangladesh, and Nepal. He also gives dīkṣā considering initiation the only way through which one can learn properly, creating a strong link between the guru and the disciple. 26 Svāmī Kuvalayānanda was also trained in combat techniques and gymnastics, but he also studied yoga and in 1921 established the teaching and research institute Kaivalyadhām in Lonavla, near Mumbai. As we have already mentioned, he used modern science to measure the physiological effects of āsana, prāṇāyāma, kriyā and bandha, using the findings to develop therapeutic approaches to disease (Singleton 2010, 115) 27 According to Yogī Śivanāth, in Manipur there are forty lakh people and among these twelve lakhs are householder Nāths.

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These activities complement, in part, those described in this volume by Bordeaux and Ondračka. It is likely, in this case, that the re-conversion of householder Nāths towards their “original” sampradāya aims to create a new patronage for the order’s needs. One way to encourage householder Nāths to participate in the life of the sampradāya, in an attempt to bring them back to their roots, is through the Yoga Śivir in Gorakhpur, a yoga camp which, at Śivanāth’s request, I attended in June 2018. 2.3 The Yoga Śivir in Gorakhpur I am not going to deal with the history of the Gorakhnāth temple in Gorakhpur since it has been developed by Marrewa-Karwoski in this volume. I will rather focus my attention on the practice of physical yoga (i.e., haṭha yoga), promoted there. After the improvement in the policy of the temple under Digvijaynāth (in charge from 1934-1969), his successors, first Avedyanāth and now Ādityanāth, sponsored publications about the sampradāya referring to the age-old dimension of the sect, insisting on its link to yoga, seen as a Hindu cultural specificity (Bouillier 2017, 278) As mentioned before, the temple has a productive publishing program, which prints works on the history of the place, the sampradāya, and yoga,28 but it also has a Yoga Samsthān (institute) in the main building of its college – the Śrī Gorakṣanāth Sanskrit Vidyāpīṭh, which was established in 1958.29 The Yoga Samsthān, built in 1982 for the wish of Yogī Avedyanāth, has the purpose of teaching “Nāth yoga”, which consists of all the disciplines of yoga in their theoretical and practical aspect. The purpose of such a yoga would be to develop “spiritual, mental and physical powers” so that the trainees can “get involved in the works of family, society and nation”,30 a nationalistic approach to yoga which was in line with the trends of the time, trends that foreshadowed the contemporary attitude demonstrated by Modi’s Indian government. Despite the label Nāth-yoga, the yoga teacher of this samsthān is not a Nāth, but rather a householder from a Yādav family whose position there 28 Since the link to the publishing section of the temple website is broken, I include here a (probably incomplete) list of its books, available at: https://www.exoticindiaart.com/book/ publisher/gorakhnath+mandir+gorakhpur/2/ (last accessed February 10, 2020). With the exception of the works attributed to Gorakhnāth and the latest mahants of the temple, the other authors are never Nāth Yogīs. 29 http://mpspgkp.in/about.aspx (last accessed February 10, 2020). 30 http://www.gorakhnathmandir.in/yog.aspx (last accessed February 10, 2020).

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is hereditary. There are separate physical yoga classes for girls and boys. The room is quite simple; there is a slightly raised stage for the teacher, and behind it there is a painting of Gorakhnāth as avatār of Śiva, and a board with a list of daily activities (including āsanas and exercises), prāṇāyāmas, and kriyās to be performed only on Sunday (ṣaṭkarma, mudrās, etc.). The place can host up to sixty people, who can also learn yoga as a college subject, together with Sanskrit. These courses follow the Uttar Pradesh Board program. Mr. Yadav was also the main teacher of the yoga śivir I attended. As Alter claims, “The practice of organising yoga camps (shivir) for the general public and for specific institutions … most likely dates back to the early twentieth century when the yoga teachings of Swami Vivekananda and Sri Aurobindo were being integrated into the practice of postural, embodied yoga (2008, 36)”. The word śivir is most often translated as “camp” and, continuing with Alter’s explanation, “it is used to refer to events in which a combination of lectures, demonstrations, and group participation is used to promote yoga and other ‘cultural’ traditions. As such, the term is most often used in contexts where various groups and institutions are involved in promoting ‘Hindu ideals’ or ‘Vedic heritage’ (or both)” (ibid., 36), because “shivir are simply rich and textured examples of culture being constructed and reconstructed through institutionalised practice” (ibid., 38). The yoga śivir of Gorakhpur, organized by Yogī Śivanāth, can be interpreted as one example of cultural reconstruction because Nāths try to re-appropriate for themselves the practice of yoga through propaganda and rhetoric in which it is stressed that, historically, they have properly developed such a practice. However, as we will see, the yoga sponsored and taught appears very similar to modern yoga and the śivir similar to those of Bābā Rāmdev.31 According to Yogī Śivanāth and Mr. Yādav, the first yoga śivir of Gorakhpur was organized in 1995 by Avedyanāth, the guru of Yogī Ādityanāth, the present mahant and current Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh. Śivanāth said that Avedyanāth was a real yogī rāj who used to wake up at 3.30 a.m. and then, after the morning cleaning session, used to practice āsanas and prāṇāyāma for two to three hours, before doing his sādhanā. According to him, Ādityanāth also follows this morning routine. Avedyanāth is also said to have written a book on āsanas, but I could not find it in the library. 31 Bābā Rāmdev is a prominent yoga guru who has risen to prominence thanks to his yoga camps and television shows, and to his ayurvedic products. Given his deep involvement with politics, his activities and mass performances are integral to Indian nationalism, since they aim to simultaneously bring about the health of the individual and the health of the entire nation (Sarbacker 2014, 352).

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Although Avedyanāth had the idea for this śivir, Śivanāth was and still is the real organizer, the one who selects the speakers. The śivir used to be organized in September, during the śukla pakṣa32 of the month. However, once the International Day of Yoga was established in 2015, it was decided to move the Gorakhpur śivir close to that day, June 21. I attended the śivir in June 2018. It lasted from June 15 to June 21, and about ninety-eight men of very different ages and backgrounds participated. Yogī Śivanāth told me that this gender segregation (only men allowed) was the order of Yogī Ādityanāth: since people were to stay in the temple it was complicated to make arrangements for women as well. But, obviously, I was allowed to participate, highlighting the fact that my role as “international guest” (as I was called on the last day in a public conference) was more important than my gender. After their registration, the participants of the śivir received a folder with white papers, a pen, and a plastic thread so that they could do sūtra neti, a nasal cleansing technique. The daily routine of the śivir began at 5.30 a.m. with the teaching of ṣaṭkarmas, which were explained and executed in the open air. This was followed by two hours of vyāyāms (aerobic exercises) and āsanas. This physical session was organized inside a wide hall, where a stage was set up. On the stage was Mr. Yādav with two of his students. They remained on the stage all the time, demonstrating how to do the various postures, but never going among people to correct them. Nobody had a yoga mat: people were only provided with layers of sheets that were untidily placed on the floor. A few of the men, who knew already how to do the postures, showed off a bit, without following the instruction. It seemed that people participated mainly to learn how to lose weight and get fit: rarely did all the participants attend the theoretical sessions of the śivir. After this physical practice there was, indeed, one hour of pravacan. The first day, children from various schools attended, but slowly the participation grew limited. Some of the speakers were not even experts on their topics and several times Yogī Śivanāth, who always intervened with a last session, had to rectify something factually incorrect. Although he had previously said to me in Orissa that various Yogīs and sādhus were going to attend and talk at the śivir, in fact, the speakers were all householders, and not one Yogī from the maṭh or other temples came. There are a variety of reasons why this might have been: maybe those Nāths who seriously practice yoga as sādhanā 32 This fortnight is the bright, waxing half of the lunar month, where the moon grows in size, and it ends in the full moon.

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preferred to delegate this general teaching to others; probably some Nāths who possessed good knowledge were not invited, to avoid competition. Every day a general topic was discussed, such as yoga and svasth (health), yoga and vigyān (science), yoga and prāṇāyāma, and so forth. However, a few important concepts were repeated daily. One was the confrontation between Patañjali, the author of the Yogasūtra, and Gorakhnāth, a topic I heard Yogī Śivanāth talk about in different places.33 Although he proclaims Patañjali as the first sage to have brought to light the importance of yoga, nevertheless in his talks, Śivanāth judges Patañjali’s explanations to be limited: he gave a definition of āsanas but he did not say how to do them or what their purpose is and, furthermore, he listed only four meditative āsanas.34 Gorakhnāth, on the other hand, may be credited with further developing the sūtras and the yoga sādhanā. Gorakhnāth explained various typologies of āsanas (those for meditation and those whose purpose is to remove diseases), mentioning eighty-four postures and their use. This strict link between yoga and the Nāths would be evident from the fact that there are two postures under the name of Gorakhnāth and his guru Matsyendranāth (gorakṣāsana and mastyendrāsana) but there is no āsana under Patañjali’s name. While Patañjali did not pay attention to the body, Gorakhnāth stressed that for doing sādhanā a healthy body is necessary. This stance is especially important considering the global fame achieved by Patañjali in transnational yoga. Patañjali’s work, indeed, is invoked as an authoritative source; it symbolizes the “ancient authenticity of modern aspirations” because it is considered in “many modern and transnational milieux as the ur-text of yoga” used “to sanction and legitimize contemporary practice” (Singleton 2008, 77). Śivanāth’s considerations would seem to be an attempt to revise the role of Patañjali and replace it with Gorakhnāth’s teachings. Another recurrent issue was the role of yoga in creating a healthy body and a peaceful mind. Yoga was described as a cikitsā (cure) for everyone, to remove rog (disease). That is why people from all over the world, and also Muslims, Śivanāth stressed, are practicing yoga. Through yoga, man (mind) and ātmā (soul) can be at peace, because when the body is balanced then the man follows it. Yoga is then a gyān (knowledge) that works on ātmā, body and man. Āsanas and mudrās are called śarīr vigyān (knowledge of 33 The first time was in Mangalore in 2016, during a Nāth festival in which the rāj yogī of the place was elected (see Bouillier 2008), then Śivanāth repeated to me the same concepts when I went to his āśram in April 2018. 34 In reality, Patañjali does not mention any specific posture: it is in the Bhāṣya (commentary) of the Yogasūtra that twelve āsanas are mentioned.

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the body), while dhāraṇā (concentration) dhyāna (meditation) and samādhi (absorptive contemplation) are man vigyān, the knowledge of the mind which he strictly connects to psychology. The “scientific” nature of yoga was also pointed out: the sūkṣm (subtle) body, described following the tantric body structure with its five mahābhūts (elements), five guṇas (qualities), and six cakras, was developed to correspond to the sthūl (gross) body and its glands. Yogī Śivanāth, drawing on a knowledge which comes from a modern, scientific approach to yoga and which results from his period at the Kaivalyadhām, explained the connection between physical glands and cakras, mostly using English specialized medical terms, and providing examples of how āsanas can be used to encourage these glands to work properly.35 Through these physical acts the body conquers its health, the mind is affected, and in consequence so is the subtle body, so that one can proceed with the main aim of yoga, which is mukti or mokṣa, liberation. For this reason, following the path outlined by Svātmārāma in his Haṭhapradīpikā, Śivanāth stressed that haṭha yoga is a necessary step for obtaining rāja yoga, the highest stage of yoga practice, during which Śiva and Śakti, jīvātmā and Paramātmā meet, creating the Yoga, the union. According to Śivanāth, this is an important teaching of Gorakhnāth that cannot be found in Vedas or other texts.

3 Yoga and power in contemporary India On the last day of the śivir, June 21, the International Day of Yoga, a major conference was organized and among various speakers, Yogī Ādityanāth was also present. Yogī Ādityanāth, who is the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, arrived in Gorakhpur one day before to carry out his role of mahant of the temple – a mahant with special powers and a traditional attitude. On this day, he organized a darbar: as in the past, in the Gorakhnāth temple is still alive the tradition of the mahant giving a public audience to local people who want to submit to him their problems or complaints. Although he is quite a controversial political figure, people attending the śivir were full of praise towards him, stressing his “yogic nature”. They talked about his busy daily schedule based on sādhanā and political duties, which were both carried out with seriousness and motivation. His lifestyle, his engagement, his total focus on his activity without caring about other people’s opinions, 35 For example, he said that āsanas such as sarvāṅgāsana and śirṣāsana are helpful to increase the power of the pineal gland, with sarvāṅgāsana increasing the power of the thyroid as well.

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were all considered proof of his yogic strength and his commitment to the wellbeing of the society and Hindu religion. During the conference, Yogī Ādityanāth recalled Patañjali’s Yogasūtra definition of yoga as cittavṛittinirodha (“cessation of the fluctuations of the mind”), stressing the importance of yama (“duties”) and niyama (“rules”) as fundamental for building up an inner purity that leads to purity in behaviors. He also pointed to the ṣaṭkarmas as necessary kriyās for the body to obtain a pure state and therefore jivan santulan, a balanced life. He stressed that yoga was created by the Nāth paramparā not with individualistic aims, but rather for the wellbeing of humanity, and the fact that today yoga is spreading all over the world will create a kind of international Bhārat paramparā (“Indian lineage”), which has its apex in the recognition of the International Day of Yoga. This last statement needs to be contextualized with a word about the political role of the International Day of Yoga. The International Day of Yoga was first proposed by Prime Minister Narendra Modi during his speech at the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA), on September 27, 2014. He supported his proposal by claiming that yoga is an invaluable gift of India’s ancient tradition, which embodies unity of mind and body and provides a holistic approach to health and well-being. He also claimed that it is not about exercise but about discovering a sense of oneness with the self, the world, and nature. As pointed out by Gautam and Droogan, politicians’ interest in yoga has become clear since the 2014 election, and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) has increasingly used yoga “as an important symbol and narrative in cultural nationalist discourse at home, and soft power and cultural diplomacy projection abroad” (2018, 18). The establishment of an International Yoga Day would be one of the results of such a policy.36 Gautam and Droogan have explained that Modi’s approach is innovative in his blend of “exclusivist Hindutva (traditionally associated with the Hindu right) with the democratic state-focused cultural nationalism utilised by Nehru and the Congress party for decades immediately prior to and after independence”, a new religious cultural nationalism that “can be mobilised both domestically and internationally, particularly through the promotion of popular and ‘friendly’ cultural touchstones such as yoga” (ibid., 20). As reported by McCartney, mentioning Singh (2014), “Prime Minister Modi is fond of asserting that due to India’s cultural capital as the ‘home of yoga’, it is the self-appointed ‘world 36 In 2014, the former Department of Indian System of Medicine and Homeopathy established in 1995, was elevated to a federal Ministry under the name of Department of Ayurveda, Yoga and Naturopathy, Unani, Siddha, and Homoeopathy (AYUSH).

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guru’ (viśva-guru) that has the ‘necessary’ moral superiority (i.e., dharma) that will save the world from consuming itself” (2017, 2). The establishment of the Ayush Ministry (Ayurveda, Yoga, Unani, Siddha, Homeopathy), which received independent status in 2014, has the purpose of “rebranding and promoting yoga in what is a battle to reclaim yoga as something distinctively Indian. The aim is to increase India’s cultural pride and its share in a multibillion dollar spiritual-health tourism market” (McCartney 2017, 6). While supporting the spread of yoga practice, however, Yogī Ādityanāth does not try to propose himself as or associate his image with that of a yogaāsana-practitioner,37 nor is he directly involved with the Ayush Ministry: his charisma lies in a more traditional idea of a Yogī, and in his case also on the routinized yogic political charisma created by his predecessor (see Marrewa-Karwoski in this volume).

Conclusion In this chapter I briefly described what I called the re-appropriation of haṭha yoga by the Nāth sampradāya. Despite the huge competition in the yoga world, with all its political implications, the Nāth sampradāya can nonetheless easily reclaim its historical connection with the haṭha yoga practice through its gurus and the important works attributed to them, thus endowing itself with a certain aura of yogic charisma.38 As case studies, I have discussed the activities of an individual, Yogī Vilaśnāth, and a center of power, the Gorakhnāth temple, alongside a Yogī connected to it, Yogī Śivanāth. Vilaśnāth aims at presenting himself as a charismatic, powerful guru, able to receive the gift of knowledge through his meditative practice, which he is ready to share with a wider audience. Although manifesting a quite traditional, esoteric approach towards the practices, he is also willing to disclose secret teachings of the sampradāya, seeking to gather a community, especially a community of foreigners, carving out for himself a specific, international role. The Gorakhnāth temple in Gorakhpur, instead, presents the sampradāya using satsang and books in Hindi, while promoting yoga practices that are 37 Despite this, during the 2017 International Yoga Day, he was on stage together with Bābā Rāmdev performing āsanas. See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhfSvmPsHk8 (last accessed December 2020). 38 Like other traditional orders, the sampradāya remained quite closed and “suspicious” about sharing its teachings and giving initiation, until the 1980s when some foreigners began to be initiated as well (see Bevilacqua 2020).

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mostly focused on health benefits, in line with the general trend of modern yoga and the yoga śivir of Bābā Rāmdev. At the same time, the temple policy remains cautious as far as initiations are concerned: householders are invited to practice and listen, but the teachings remain quite general and superficial, although imbued with a Hindu/Nāth specific identity. It seems, then, that this public re-appropriation, which is influenced by modern yoga and new cultural and political trends, results from the need to access new forms of patronage. Just like in the past, when the authors of haṭha yoga texts began to address a householders’ audience, leaving aside a stricter ascetic background to support their monasteries, today’s Nāth re-appropriation of haṭha yoga is not aimed at recruiting new ascetics; rather, it is exclusively addressed to householders or foreigners, who are seen as a source of devotion and donation.39 It is not difficult to speculate that this re-appropriation of yoga/haṭha yoga will assume several forms, adapting to different circumstances to support the sampradāya’s survival and, eventually, through new forms of patronage, to increase its importance and power in India and abroad. How much this will influence the practice of the ascetics, until now orally preserved and conveyed through the paramparā, only time will tell.

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39 For a different approach of the sampradāya towards yoga, see, for example, the sahaj yoga – a simple yoga “consisting in a natural but controlled breathing” – proposed by the Amritnath Ashram in the Shekhavati region, supported mainly by Marwaris from the surrounding areas (Bouillier 2008, 219-22).

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Index Ādarś Yogī 109, 114, 119, 121, 125, 127 Ādināth 11, 12, 36, 37, 39, 284 Ādiśūra 177–179 Ādityanāth, Yogī 17–18, 32, 43, 47, 71–75, 77, 113, 296–298, 300–302 Aghorīs 38, 209 ajapā japa 295 Akhil Bhāratvarṣīya (Avadhūt Bheṣ Bārah Panth Yogī Mahāsabhā) 46, 250 alchemy/alchemical 10, 11, 13, 15, 39, 45, 60, 64, 90, 93, 94, 105 Allama Prabhu 88–89 All India Hindu Mahāsabhā (Hindu Mahāsabhā) 47, 108, 122–124 All–India Rudraja Nath Brahmin Association 22, 163, 166 Amaraughaprabodha 284 Amṛtakuṇḍ 287 Amṛtasiddhi 35, 59, 284 Apna Dham (apnā dhām) 261–263 Āsaf–ud–Daulā (Asaf–ud–Daula) 106–107; nawāb of Awadh 106–107, 125 āsana 284, 287, 288, 295, 299 asceticism 39, 56, 58, 65, 93, 105, 115, 176, 183, 264; see also tapas, renounciation; and royal power 23, 57, 90, 207 ascetics 9, 11, 15–16, 18–20, 24–26, 33, 37, 42, 44–45, 49, 57, 61, 63–65, 69–71, 76, 90, 94–96, 104, 106, 110, 115, 132, 134, 142, 168, 171, 174, 176, 181–182, 186–187, 200–201, 211, 213, 246, 250, 257, 263, 266, 283, 286, 289, 292–293; see Daśnāmī; fallen ascetic 49, 133, 171; hypocrite ascetic 140; Islamic 66, 142; see also Nāth; non–celibate 132, 169,173; order 98, 134, 151–152, 154, 289; see also Rāmānandī; see also Śaiva; wandering ascetics 17, 70, 218, 282; warrior ascetic 125, 185, 209, 246, 254; see also Yogīs Assam 21, 131, 138–140, 150–151, 166–167, 175, 295 Assam–Bengal Yogi Association (Asam–Baṅga Jogī Sammilanī) 167, 172, 174–175 Asthal Bohar 46–47, 264 Āśutoṣ, Tarkasiddhānta 138 Ātreya 87, 88, 90, 92–94, 99 Aughar 13 Avaidyanāth (Avedyanāth), Yogī 47, 71–72, 75, 108, 110, 123, 290, 296–298 Avalokiteśvar (Lokeśvar) 198, 206, 209 Awrangzēb (Aurangzeb), Emperor 39, 66, 71 Āyas Devnāth (Devnāth), Yogī 45, 69, 75–76, 287 Ayodhya 47 Ayush Ministry 301–302

Bahr al–hayat 287 Ballāla Carita (Vallāla Carita) 22, 138, 140, 165–168, 174–190 Ballāla, Sena 22, 163, 165–167, 177–190 Balnath Tilla 105–106 Balvir Singh Thapa 233–234; see also Prapannācārya Banarjī, Akṣayakumār (Banerjea Akshaya Kumar) 107–114, 117, 120 Bāppā, Rāwal 65, 68, 71 Bārahpanth(ī) 12, 217–218, see also panth Barthwal, Pitambar Datta 13 Bengal 5, 21–22, 49–50, 62, 107–108, 117, 131–153, 163–175, 177–178, 184–190, 201, 207, 222, 295; pre–Mughal 135, 142–143, 146; Mughal 143–144, 146 Bhagavantanāth, Siddha/Yogī 23, 38, 45, 67, 198, 214–216, 218, 220, 222 Bhairava 38, 49–50, 182, 209, 214, 233 bhakti 13, 15, 42–43, 50, 65–66, 94, 261 Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) 24, 47, 72, 75, 251–252, 291, 301 Bharatiya Yoga Samsthan 290; see also Yoga Samsthān Bhartharī (Bhartṛhari) 20, 56–57, 63–65, 69, 75–76, 171, 184 Bhaṭṭa, Ānanda 140, 180; see also Ballāla Carita Bhaṭṭa, Gopāla 179–180,189 Bhaṭṭa, Bhavadeva 141 Bhikṣāvṛtti: maṭh 20, 81, 94–97; rāya 95, 97–99 bhoga 35, 87 bindu 35, 37, 49, 284, 288 Bipradās, Piplāi 141 Bouillier, Véronique 10–14; 16, 19, 32, 38, 44–45, 48, 50–51, 61, 66–67, 71, 76, 82, 105, 132–134, 151, 168, 198–205, 206, 208–218, 221, 224, 239, 243, 245, 250–251, 256, 264, 284–285, 291–292, 296, 299 Bouy, Christian 13 Brahmacarya 48, 57; brahmacārī 231; balbrahmacārī 235 Brahmavaivartapurāṇa 136–140, 143 Brahmins 14, 19, 22, 62, 68, 93, 143, 145, 150, 165, 167–168, 173, 175–178, 183–185, 188–189, 251; Nāth 22, 163, 166, 176, 179–181, 189; Yogīs 22, 163, 189; see also Rudraja, kulīn Brahmanisation 23; see also Sanskritization breath control 10, 265, 284, 288–289; see also prāṇāyāma Briggs, George Weston 11–13, 43, 50, 109, 152, 168, 198, 202, 205, 255–257, 286 Br̥ haddharmapurāṇa 136–137 British Raj 17, 26, 106

308 Index bubhukṣu 35, 87–88 Buchanan, Francis 149, 164–165 Buṅga (Bugma) 198, 206, 208 Cakrabartī, Mukundarām 143 cakrapūjā 201–204, 206, 208, 213 Cāndāyan 44 Caṇḍīmaṅgal 143–144 Candra rulers 135 castes 9, 19, 22–23, 45, 48–50, 107, 131–144, 149–150, 163, 165–168, 171–175, 177, 179, 182, 187–190, 200, 217, 231, 251, 254, 260, 266; see Brahmins; see Gaṅgāputra caste; see Goldsmith; see Jugi caste; see Kṣatriya; see Kāyastha; mixing of classes 136, 138; Other Backward Castes (OBC) 50, 163, 172–173, 175, 188; see Śūdra; Veṣadhārī 139–140; see weaver caste Caughera 220 Cauraṅgī (Cauraṅgināth), Siddha 20, 44, 56–57, 83–85, 88 charisma 24, 47, 116; religious 24, 26, 243; routinized 16, 302; yogic 22, 24, 227, 302 charitable trusts 24–25, 250, 261 Chatranāth (Chetranāth) 216, 219–221 Chauhan, dynasty 255–256 Chayals see Muslim Rajputs Citrāṅgi, queen 83, 86 Communal strife, communalist propaganda 17, 72–73, 114 Congress Party 121–124, 242, 301 Dabistān–e–Māzaheb 12 Dādūpanthīs 41 Daśnāmīs 59, 152, 168, 208, 288 Dalits 72, 172, 183, 188, 190, 257, 261 Dang 197, 210, 215, 219, 231, 237–238, 240–241 darśan 13, 42, 202; see also earrings Darśanīs 42, 200, 203, 205, 218, 294; Darśandhārī 200, 203, 206–207, 210 Dattātreyayogaśāstra 35, 60 Debnāth, Upendra Kumār 176, 181–185 Deccan 11, 83, 98 della Valle, Pietro 16 Deorāj, prince 64–65, 69 Devasthan Department 251, 256, 259, 263 Devī 45, 242; see also Manasā Devi Patan 233 dharma 24, 26, 64, 74–75, 82, 91, 182, 228, 232, 234, 241, 302; dharmaśāstric 138, 141; Hindu (hindū dharma) 21, 117–118, 121, 125, 237, 245–246, 260; Nāth 184, 295; Sanātan 24, 114, 251, 258 Dharmagirī 185–186 Dhinodhar 286 dhūnī, (dhūṇā) 244, 250, 260, 262 dhyāna 58, 300 Digvijaynāth, Yogī 12, 21, 44, 46, 70–71, 103–104, 107–110, 113, 115–125, 235, 296

dīkṣā 13–14, 36, 44, 48–49, 57, 63, 65, 88, 108–109, 111–112, 125, 132, 230, 292, 294–295, 302–303 donation 66, 200–201, 203, 205–206, 212–213, 262, 307 earrings 13, 42–43, 50, 230, 294; see also darśan, kuṇḍal election 17, 236, 301 East Indian Company 22, 106, 147–148 festival: chariot festival of Śrī Lokeśvar of Bugma 198; see also Gogameri Melā; Navarātri 44; Śivarātri 95, 174, 181, 183, 235 foundation: foundation myths/legends 44, 76, 285; of āśram/monastery 235, 242 gaddī 46, 109, 115, 122, 217, 259, 264 Galta 15, 42, 66 Gambhīrnāth, Bābā/Yogī 60, 73, 107–115, 117–120, 124–126; Gambhīrnāth hagiography 114, 116, 118, 120 Gambhīrnāth–Prasang, book 109 Gaṅgāputra, caste 139 Garhwal 57 Gaurana 81–84, 86–95, 99, 145 globalization 252, 291 Gogājī 24, 250–258, 260–261, 265–266, 268–270; epic 253, 255–256; hagiography 250–251, 260, 263, 26–270; temple 263; tomb 24, 250–251, 256; worship 257, 269 Gogameri 24, 249, 255–257, 265–270; Gogameri melā 253–254; Gogameri pilgrimage 252–253, 255; Gogānaumī 256–257 Gogāmeṛī Times 260–262 Gold, Daniel 14, 16, 19, 27, 41, 43, 45, 49, 62, 64, 68–69, 71, 75–76, 105, 133, 164, 168, 170–171, 184, 190, 245, 249, 250–251, 270 Gold, Grodzins Ann 14, 16, 19, 28, 49, 57, 63, 250, 257, 259, 265 Goldsmith, caste 179, 180–183; see also Suvarṇa Baṇiks Gopalnāth, Yogī 110–111 Gopīcand (Gopīcandra), Yogī 20, 44, 56–57, 62–63, 69, 75, 134, 145, 164, 170–171, 244; songs 164 Gorakh Bānī (Gorakhbānī) 13, 37, 105, 109, 285, 288 Gorakhnāth, Yogī 9–11, 19, 23–25, 31, 33, 36–37, 41, 44, 48, 67–68, 73–74, 76, 104, 145, 152, 169, 205, 207, 223, 227, 234, 242, 244, 250, 253, 258–261, 265, 267–270, 283, 285, 288, 297, 299–300; Gorakṣanāth 23, 88, 107, 198–201, 203–205, 207–212, 222 Gorakhnāth Mandir Press 104 Gorakhnāth maṭh 60, 73, 103, 106, 108–109, 114, 119, 121, 125, 235; temple 17, 25, 70, 108–111, 117, 120, 123, 282, 290, 296, 300, 302;

309

Index

see also Gorakhpur temple; Gorakhnāth Temple Trust 25, 110 Gorakhnāthīs 12, 37, 48, 60, 133, 203 Gorakhpur 17, 21, 25, 32, 44, 46–47, 70, 72, 103–104, 106–111, 113–117, 120–123, 125–126, 235, 281–282, 289–290, 296–298, 300, 302; maṭh/temple 71–72, 106, 109, 125 Gorakhtila 24, 250, 258, 260–262, 264–270 Gorakhtila Dhuna Trust (Dhuna Trust) 24, 250, 259–260, 262–264, 266–267, 268, 270 Gorakṣaśataka 36, 285, 288 Goraṇṭakuḍu 90–92 Gorakkuḍu 90, 93 Gorkha 23, 38, 67–68, 197–198, 207–213 grace, divine grace 15, 41, 66, 115, 117–120, 214, 266–268 Guhyeśvarī temple 208–209 Gujarat 12, 22, 48, 138, 144, 147, 149, 165, 261, 286–287 guru: and modernity 17, 21, 32, 46–47, 70–73, 103 118, 121, 123, 132, 281, 290; and succession 71, 216, 221, 260 hagiography 9, 20, 25, 39, 60–61, 66, 70, 73, 75–76, 112, 169, 227, 232, 243, 260, 267, 270; Nāth hagiographies 24, 38, 55–57, 59, 62, 145, 232–233, 243; Sufī hagiographies 41; see also Gambirnāth; see also Gogājī; see also Naraharināth Haṃsanāth Pīr 217–218 haṭha yoga see yoga Haṭhapradīpikā 36, 284, 300 Hindu nationalism 9, 23–24, 122–123, 227, 249, 251; nationalist narrative 261; nationalist politics 121 Hindu Yuva Vahini 47 Hindu–rāṣṭra 227, 234, 236 Hinduism 67, 116–117, 131, 154, 174, 237–238, 250–251, 291; defense of 116, 118, 121, 234; political 118; protection of 116, 126 Hindutva 18, 47, 72, 123–124, 239, 252, 301 Hīrānāth, Yogī 214, 218–219, 221 householder: and ascetics 25, 48–49, 132; Yogīs 9, 19, 31, 48–49, 145, 152–153, 167, 186–187, 211, 233; Jugis 141–146; Nāths 13, 18–19, 21–23, 25–26, 131, 133–134, 151–154, 163, 165–166, 168, 170, 176, 180, 187, 190, 295–296; Vaiṣṇava Yogīs 23; see also Yogīs Ima Mātā 227, 228, 242 immortality 9, 36, 55, 68, 90, 126 initiation see dīkṣā International Day of Yoga 25, 32, 73, 300–302 Īśāvāsyopaniṣad 231–232 Islam 32, 114, 125, 134, 170, 257, 263; converting to 250–251, 255–257 jagā-bhāṭas 144 Jagadīśvarnāth, Yogī 216–217, 221

jāgaraṇ 265 Jakhbar Nāth, monastery 39, 66, 71, 105–106 Jālandhar (Jālandharnāth), Siddha/Yogī 37, 62–63, 68–69, 75–76, 104, 203 jamāt 12–13 Jaṅg Bahādur Rāṇā 216–217, 235 japa ( jap) 38, 209, 295 jāti 136, 138, 175; Juṅgi–jāti 140; Kaibartas 173–174, 188; see also caste Jayasthiti Malla, king 198–199, 201, 204–205, 222 Jayaprakāś Malla 44, 206–209, 213, 223 jīvanmukti 35 Jodhpur 45, 68–70, 199, 261, 287; see also Marwar Jogī (Jogi) 11, 18, 22, 42, 48, 66, 104, 133, 139–140, 147, 149, 163, 168, 170, 172, 174, 176 Jogī Hitaiṣinī Sabhā 174 Jogī Sakhā, journal 174–175, 189 Jugi (Jugī) 22, 131, 133, 149, 164, 174–175; see also caste; kusariyā jugī 206 Kadri monastery 16, 49 Kaibartas see jāti Kānhapā, Yogī 62 Kānphaṭā, kānphaṭā 13, 42, 108, 133, 182, 200, 230; Kanphaṭṭās 200 Kāpālikas 10, 199–200 karma 34, 74–75, 295; karma yogī 18, 24, 26, 74–75, 227–228, 235–236 karma yoga see yoga Karnataka 17, 49, 97, 177, 252 Kāśīnāth, Yogī 233–235, 237, 240–242 Kāṣṭhamaṇḍap 68, 199–204, 208, 222–223 Kathmandu 44, 56–57, 68, 201, 203, 205–207, 212, 217–218, 220–223, 227, 234, 238; Kathmandu Valley 23, 38, 67–68, 197, 199, 202–203, 207–210, 212–214, 221–222 Kaula Śaivism, traditions 10–11, 35–36, 283 Kāyastha 172, 177–178, 181 Kerala 48–49, 153, Khecarīvidyā 39, 87 kingship 90, 92, 125; Nepalese 47 Kṣatriyas 81, 84–88, 94, 173, 177, 255 Kṛṣṇadās Payohārī 65–66 Kṛṣṇakandāra, ruler 90–91 kulīn 163, 167, 178, 181, 184–185, 189; kaulīnya 178 Kulīnism 167, 177–179, 185, 189 Kumbh Melā 238, 289, 293–294 kuṇḍal 13; see also darśan Kuvalayananda, Svāmī 290, 295 Kusle (Kusales, Kusalyās) 200, 202–203, 205–207, 211–213, 223; see also Yogīs laya yoga see yoga legitimacy 14–15, 26, 82 liberalization 291, 188 Liṅga, king 96

310 Index Liṅgayya, king 96, 98 Loknāth, Yogī 218–222 magical feats 26, 61; see also power, siddhi Mahābhārata 14, 34, 39, 286, Mahārāṇā Pratāp Degree College 109 Mahmud of Ghazni 261, 263 Mahudi gate of Dabhoi 12, 287 Malla kingdoms 68, 207, 212; Hindu Malla kings 23, 44, 197, 205–209, 211, 213, 221–223; see also Jayasthiti Malla, Jayaprakāś Malla Mallikārjuna, temple 94, 97 Mallinson, James 10–17, 29, 34–36, 39, 43, 49, 56, 59–61, 87, 98, 133–134, 151, 153, 168–169, 254, 283–285, 287–288 Manasā 141–142 maṇḍalāi 23, 197, 213–219 maṅgal–kābya 141–143 Mānikacandra, king 62, 134 Mānsingh, king 45, 56, 68–70, 75–76, 105, 199, 244, 287 mantra 15, 36–38, 41, 47–48, 228–229, 233, 235, 242, 293–295; see also japa Marwar 16, 56, 68–69, 75–76, 287 Mastnāth, Yogī 69; Mastnāth monastery 264; see also Asthal Bohar Matsyendranāth (Matsyendra), Yogī 11, 17, 36–37, 62, 74–76, 82–86, 89, 169, 182–183, 198, 205–206, 209, 212, 283–284, 287, 299; Macchendranāth 171; Mīnanāth 85–86, 88–89, 92, 99, 134, 145 Maynāvatī (Maẏanāmatī), queen 62–63, 134, 145 meditation 17, 33, 68, 229, 244, 267, 299–300; see also dhyāna, samādhi miracles 41, 45, 65; miraculous deeds 214– 215; miraculous graces 258 Modi, Narendra 32, 301 Monserrate, Antonio, Father 105 Montgomery, Martin 107, 149 mokṣa 87, 245, 294, 300 Mṛgasthalī (Mrigasthali) 23, 204–205, 208, 212, 217, 220, 222–223, 227, 234–235 mudrā 13, 42; see also darśan, earrings, kuṇḍal; as yogic practice 284, 288, 297, 299 Mughal rulers 66, 72, 106, 143, 146–147; empire 22, 106, 131, 147, 244; patronage 16, 106 mukti 70, 300; see also mokṣa Muktiśānta 94–99 Mummaḍi Devayya Śānta 96–99 mumukṣu 35–36, 87–88 Muslims 11, 32, 39, 72, 104, 117, 123–124, 143, 145, 171, 173–174, 188, 190, 255, 257, 261, 269, 291, 299; anti–Muslim 108, 122, 123; Bengali 171; Rajput 251, 253, 255; rule 66, 107, 124, 177, 285

nād 49–50; nād siṅgī 230; nāda yoga 294 nāḍī 43, 284, 288 Nāgārjuna, Siddha 86–88, 90, 92, 99 Naraharināth, Yogī 18, 23–24, 47, 67, 199–200, 202–217, 221, 241 Narendradev, king 198, 205 Nāth literature 13, 134, 145–146, 152; Bengali 141, 144, 151 Nāth–Panth, periodical 260–262 Nāth: ascetics 22–23, 48, 133, 144,151–152, 164, 168; Bengali 21, 23, 134, 141, 144, 151, 168, 170–171, 187; Nine 11, 37, 81, 145, 202; panthīs 55, 58, 72; sampradāya 9–11, 13–14, 20, 25, 31–32, 46, 56, 76, 103–106, 109, 112–113, 115, 121, 125–126, 152, 186–187, 197, 230, 232–233, 243, 265, 281–284, 292–293, 295, 302; tradition 25, 49–50, 56–57, 59, 88, 134– 135, 145, 147, 152, 154, 187, 229, 245, 285, 289, 293 Nāth Yogī Rebellion 185–186 Navanāthacaritramu 17, 20, 81–82, 85, 87, 94, 97, 99, 145 neoliberalism 252 Nepal 16, 23–24, 45, 48, 67–68, 71, 76, 105–106, 169, 197–200, 203, 205, 208–210, 214, 217, 221, 227, 230, 235–239, 241–243, 285, 295 Nikhil Bhārat Rudraja Nāth Brāhmaṇ Sammilanī (NBRNBS) 22–23, 167–168, 172–176, 182, 187–190; see also All–India Rudraja Nath Brahmin Association Nujūm al–‘ulūm 12 Pāla, dynasty 21, 131, 150–151 panths: twelve 12, 13, 169; eighteen 13 Paścim Baṅga Rudraja Brāhmaṇ Sammilanī 175 Paśupatināth, temple 205, 208–209 Paṣupata 10 paramparā 12, 110, 289, 301, 303 Patañjali 14, 34, 59–60, 87, 132, 289, 299, 301; see also Yogasūtra patronage 10, 12, 16–17, 23, 38, 66, 70, 105–106, 197, 201, 204, 221–222, 237, 268, 291; lay, new form of 25, 281, 296, 303 Pharping 204, 222 Philosophy of Gorakhnath, book by Banerjea 109 Pinch William 42, 105–106, 115, 164 Pītambaranāth, Yogī 183–186 prāṇāyāma 284, 295, 297, 299 Prapannācārya 232–242 power: control of 16; electoral 104; mental 296; otherworldly 104, 107, 111, 113–114, 119, 124; physical 296; political 9, 16–17, 19–20, 32, 43, 45–46, 57, 60, 65, 67, 75, 103–106, 110, 120–121, 252, 282; projecting 213; ritual 256; royal 23, 57, 90, 92, 207, 216; social 21, 58, 197;

Index

soft 281, 301; spiritual 68, 115, 210, 214; suprahuman, supernatural 15, 60, 105, 114, 120, 259, 285; temporal 23, 25, 33, 87, 104–105, 121, 198, 210, 222; thaumaturgical 110, 119; worldly 87, 104, 105, 227, 243–244; yogic powers 14–15, 19–20, 34, 43, 56–57, 59–61, 64, 67, 72, 75, 81, 89, 114, 120–121, 125; see also siddhis prākara (Mallikārjuna temple) 94, 97–98 Prakāśakīya 108, 110 Prāyaścittaprakaraṇa 141 Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh, king 38, 45, 56, 67–68, 105, 207–215, 235 pūjā 22, 181, 201, 211–212, 232, 235, 262; dasnāmī pūjā 49; sevā–pūjā 252; see also cakrapūjā Punjab 15–16, 62, 66, 147 Rādhāgovinda Nāth, Dr. 147, 175 rāj (related to ascetic): rāj–guru 17, 26, 244; rāj–yogī 16–18, 26, 44, 74–75, 299; yogī–rāj 297 rāja yoga see yoga 17, 284, 300 Rajasthan 24, 44–45, 48–50, 57, 65–66, 68–70, 133, 170, 190, 199, 249–251, 254–257, 260, 289; householder/gṛhastha Nāth 50, 168; Nāth bards 171; Yogī 49 Rajputs 75, 255–256, 263; see also Muslim Rāmdev, Bābā 73, 297, 302 Rām Nāth Aghorī 38 Rāmānandīs 15, 59, 65–66, 209, 288, Rāṇā rulers 197, 215, 221–222; see also Jaṅg Bahādur Rāṇā Rānāgaũ 197, 215, 219–220, 222 Rangpur 197, 153, 164–165 Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh 24, 251, 291 raṣṭra–bhakta 227–228, 232, 245 Ratnāṅgi, queen 83 Ratannāth, Siddha 241; mandir 231 Rāthoṛ 255 rāyas 94–95, 99; see Bhikṣāvṛtti re–appropriation 281–282, 302–303 religious: charisma 24, 26, 243; identity 32, 118; tourism 252; transformation 249 remembered past 267 renunciation 24, 57, 75–76, 82, 87, 89, 227–228, 231, 243–244; see also asceticism Risley, Herbert 144, 163–164, 166, 168, 170, 172–175, 182–183; Risley’s report 22, 163, 166, 175 Rośan Alī, Bābā 107 Rudraja Brāhmaṇ Purohit Saṅgha 176 Rudraja 166, 182; Brahmins 22, 163, 174, 179, 189–190 Rudrāṣṭādhyāyī 232 Rupnāth, Yogī 24, 46, 249–253, 257–265, 268–270

311 sādhanā (sādhana) 15–16, 59–60, 73, 104, 110–111, 114–115, 233, 241, 243, 245–246, 286, 289, 297–300 sādhus 15, 42, 47, 62, 119, 229, 234, 246, 286, 292, 294, 298; see also ascetics Śāh kings 23, 67, 197–198, 208–212, 215, 222; see also Pṛthvīnārāyaṇa Śāh sahaja, sahajiyā 170-171 Śaiva: ascetics 10, 97, 200, 208; identity 153; initiation 95; bhakta 95; Tantra 35, 59, 66; tradition 14, 33, 60, 94, 98, 100 Śaiva–Śākta 12, 229 Śaiva Prakāśanī 175, 179–181 Śaiva Bhāratī, periodical 175, 179 Śakti 229, 300; śakti (energy) 44, 210 Salyan 197, 214–215, 218–220 samādhi (as yogic state) 17, 37, 49, 58–59, 76, 113, 205, 216, 258, 267, 300; as tomb 38, 48 saṃnyāsa 57, 109–110; see also asceticism, renunciation saṃnyāsīs 12, 106, 132, 152, 176, 209; see also ascetics, sādhus Sanātana Dharma see dharma Sanskritization 173–174, 188, 232, 234, 245 Śāntināth, Nāthyogī 108–109, 111–112 Sants 12, 41 Sāraṅgadhara 83–84, 86; see also Cauraṅgī ṣaṭkarmas 284, 286, 288, 297–298, 301 satsang 23, 42, 293, 302 śelī 13 Senas, dynasty 135, 165, 177, 188, 190; see also Ballāla Sena sevā 116, 236, 244–245, 250, 25–253, 258–258, 262, 264–268; sevā–development 24, 258–260, 265, 270; guru–sevā 252; samāj–sevā 245 sevaks 112, 264, 268 Shekhavati 47, 303 Siddhas/siddhas 9, 11–12, 36, 59, 64, 66, 73, 77, 81–84, 87–88, 89–90, 92, 94, 99, 140, 169, 284–285; Buddhist 13, 37, 169–170, 183, 188, 199; eighty–four 11, 36–37; evil, sinister 81, 92; Yogī 20, 36, 60, 81–82, 88, 99, 140, 210, 222; Tamil 48; tantric 26; Nāth 36, 59, 66, 70–71, 133, 170, 188, 190, 284; mahāsiddha 107–108, 111–112, 115, 118, 120, 183; power 92, 210; and sovereign 82–83, 89–90, 92–93, 99; 125 Siddha Siddhānta Paddhati 285 siddhadeha 83 siddhis 9, 11, 15, 17, 19–21, 31, 33, 35–40, 43–44, 50–51, 55–61, 66, 70, 72–77, 81, 87–90 103, 111, 113–114, 119–121, 126, 243, 285, 289, 294; khaḍgasiddhi 44, 208–209, 213; mahāsiddhi 87; vāksiddhi 84; see also magical powers siṅgī 13, 287; see nād Sirāj–ud–Dīn 106

312 Index Śiva 11–12, 38, 43, 83, 86, 88–89, 95, 229, 232, 261, 283, 297; Gotrā 174; temple 181–182 Śivānanda, Svāmī 290 Śivanāth, Yogī 23, 282, 292, 294–300, 302 Śivarātrimāhātmyamu 96 Śivasaṃhitā 35, 59, 87 Śivir 297; see also yoga Sreyonāth, Yogī 46–47 Śrīgāũ 197, 215–216, 219 Śrīnātha, author 95–98 Śrī Nāth Sampradāya ke Tīrth Sthal 293 Srisailam 20, 81, 93–100 succession 45, 71, 197, 216, 219, 221, 260 Śūdra 139, 164, 167, 172–173, 177, 189; Nāth as 172; see also Kāyastha, Kaibartas Sufīs 11, 13–15, 40–41, 44, 66, 72, 104, 107, 170–171, 184 Śukla Yajurveda 231–232 Sultanate 15, 165; Bengali 190 Sureścandra Nāth Majūmdār 175 Suvarṇa Baṇiks 173, 179–181, 188; see also Goldsmith Tantra/Tantric 36–37, 42, 59, 153, 229; Buddhist 35, 169; gurus 14; practices 15, 36, 41, 244, 294; traditions 10, 14–15, 36, 59, 87, 133,232; Śaivism 49 tāntrikā 59 tapas 14, 37, 39, 58, 60, 65, 233, 241–242, 283, 286 tapasyā 286–287 tattvas 35 Taranāth, Yogī 42, 65–66 Tawarikh Mansingh 69 textile industry 143, 147–149 Tod, James 69, 106, 127, 256 Tyāganāgārjuna, king 88, 90, 93, 99 Uttar Pradesh 17, 32, 47, 57, 66, 71, 73, 103, 113, 144, 170, 256, 265, 297, 300 Varmans 135 Vamśāvalīs 96,198, 204–205, 208–210; Gopālarājavaṃśāvalī 198, 204; Gorkhāvaṃśāvalī 67, 209–211, 213; Yogivaṃśāvalī 38, 214, 221 varṇa 136, 137, 141; see also castes Varṇaratnākara 144 Veṣadhārī see caste vibhūti 14, 33, 58–59, 111, 114; see also siddhis Vidyāraṇya, king 124–125 Vijayanagara 16, 96–97, 124–125 Vimalaprabhā 144

Vilaśnāth, Yogī 48, 281–282, 292–294, 302 Vīraśaiva 88, 94–96, 98–99; maṭh 94 Virūpākṣa 86, 88 Vishwa Hindu Pariṣad (VHP) 238–239, 291 Viṣṇu 41, 93–94, 229, 261 Vyāḷi, Siddha 90, 93 weavers 22, 26, 50, 131, 146, 148–150, 153, 165; caste 146–148, 163, 170 West Bengal Rudraja Brahmin Association see Paścim Baṅga Rudraja Brāhmaṇ Sammilanī White, David Gordon 10–11, 13, 15–16, 33, 36–37, 39, 59, 61, 64–68, 71, 73, 82, 98–99, 169, 171, 244, 251, 255, 283, 285, yoga 34, 37, 39, 56, 58, 61, 63–64, 82, 132, 147, 152–153, 168, 176, 221, 233, 281, 283, 289, 292, 296–297, 299, 302; haṭha yoga 9, 14, 17, 19–20, 24–25, 31–33, 35–37, 41, 55–57, 59–61, 183, 281–289, 293–296, 300, 302–303; karma yoga 17–18, 24, 75, 243, 245; laya yoga 284, 294; modern yoga 73, 132, 290; rāja yoga 17, 83, 284, 300; Yoga Renaissance 290; sādhanā 286, 289, 299; śivir 25, 281–282, 296–298, 300; tantric 35, 229; textual sources 13–14, 34, 60, 87, 153 Yogabijā 60, 66, 77, 284 Yoga–pracāriṇī 234 Yoga Samsthān 290–291, 296, yogasāmrājya 17, 92 Yogasūtra 14, 33–34, 37, 58–59, 87, 289, 299, 301 yogbal 33, 39 Yogī Mahāsabhā 12, 46, 290; see also Akhil Bhāratvarṣīya Yogīs: ascetic 133, 141–142, 145, 151–152, 168, 200, 202, 206; Bengali 49, 147, 171; see also Brahmin; Islamicized 190; Kānphāṭā, Darśanīs 42–43; and king 20, 32, 40, 44–46, 56, 98, 184–185, 204–205, 207–222, 244, 285; Gharbāri 211, 218, 222; Kusle 206, 223; lineages of 10, 284; mahāyogins 35; married 133, 231; gṛhastha 48–50, 132, see also householder; Nepalese 197–198; and political power 57, 71, 104; power of 22, 71, 75, 151, 210, 222; Rajasthani 49; sinister 40, 61, 82; and Sufī, bhakta, Sant 41, 66, 72; tantric 254; yogīcakra 201, 203; see also cakrapūjā Yug Puruṣ Mahant Digvijaynāth Ne Kahā 121, 123–124 Yuṅgīs 137–139; caste 139–140, 153