Reminiscences of an Academic Seer: Prof. Gopala Sarana

The late teens to early twenties perhaps constitute the period of major choices in life. While you traverse on the path of higher studies, your world-view, philosophy of life and your aims-all get crystallised. Though multiple agents may influence your life and decisions, somehow there are some who have much more long-lasting impact. My own case is no different. In an era when India was undergoing one of the most tumultuous changes after independence, causing much of philosophical ambiguity as well as conflicting visions for someone like me, Prof. Gopala Sarana emerged as an anchor that could help reconcile with all the differences. One may argue that the discipline of anthropology has inherent capacity to integrate pluralism (don’t we call it the ‘science of leftovers’?), but in an environment obsessed with syllabus and prospectus (like any state university, the University of Lucknow was also the victim of this malaise), it takes a lot of courage to help develop a culture of debate, discussion and critical analysis. That perhaps is one of the many achievements of
Prof. Gopala Sarana during his leadership at the Department of Anthropology.

I distinctly remember my first important brush with this culture of debate. It was a discussion on the difference between custom and law. The city of Lucknow hitherto known for its composite culture was witnessing its steady erosion in the wake of the Ram Janmabhoomi movement, which culminated in the demolition of the Babari Masjid. The horror of distrust and communal belligerence fueled by leaders who had nothing to do with Avadh or for that matter with Lord Rama or the first Mughal king  was challenging collective conscious (if there was one left!). And in his discussion Prof. Sarana started criticising the domineering attitude of Western development thinkers. Unable to stand the contradiction, I asked him: ‘Don’t you think the same attitude exists here, where we try to belittle everything coming from a tribal group and claim superiority of the Sanskritic thought? Don’t slogans like ‘Ek dhakka aur do, Babari Masjid tod do‘ reflect the spirit of domination of the upper caste Hindu North Indian?’ It ensued into a dialogue between the two of us where interestingly all the other students were just bemused spectators (one of them complained afterwards of wasting the time of the class). We finally had to cut it short when we both realised that we need to get back to ‘syllabus’! This debate did not end there though. I kept going to meet him and express my views in his cabin. Despite being overworked (which he always was in my view but not in his own), he always had time to hear me. What a privilege to have an intellectual of his caliber as your sounding board! He even read and commented on a long response I had written on the book ‘Indian Controversies’ authored by the pamphleteer Arun Shourie (adjective courtesy Ramchandra Guha) in which this great scholar as per Madhu Trehan’s understanding had shown his utter lack of understanding of his own religion. To my surprise and relief Prof. Sarana agreed with my views. It was nothing but respect that he commanded-and interestingly never demanded!

One of our first exposure to academic research and writing used to be through the weekly seminars where the MA students had to present a review of literature based paper which was generally followed by critical discussions (except on papers related to linguistics). This maybe a usual practice in many universities but was unique to the Department of Anthropology at Lucknow University). His greatness was in making us realize the sheer simplicity of academic writing. Given the paucity of latest books in the University, he used to share his own books with us for the seminar papers. It was so empowering to realise that one was capable of comparing views of E.A. Hoebel and Max Gluckman or be critical of Kathleen Gough’s definition of marriage by referring to scholarly works and not mere text books. Perhaps the most liberating experience in academics! Despite the diversity of branches and topics, Prof. Sarana was the unifying force, playing the supervisor, the devil’s advocate and even the learner (I still remember his urge to know more about HLA testing from a student majoring in physical anthropology). My own paper on linguistic communities and special parlances was kind of ripped apart and maybe that is why I am still so obsessed with linguistic and discursive approaches!

Many of the university inmates associated Prof. Sarana with idiosyncrasies and obstinacy. But it is perhaps the combination of these two that has benefited us the most. His first strong belief was that it is the first year of undergraduate studies (BA-I) that is the most important and hence all the good professors should teach the same. Secondly, the syllabus was never to be a slave of resources including absence of requisite number of faculty members. Effectively, this meant a broad spectrum of students and subjects he had to cater to. His day would start with discussing evolutionism or functionalism with an undergraduate class, law or politics with another then move to linguistics for MA-I, advanced theory for MA-II and then ethnography for final year of graduation. Then would be the time of meeting him for books and seminars and in effect he was always involved with students. It took a toll on his research and publications. As one of the few Indians who contributed to anthropological theory, he perhaps did not have a point to prove to the world. But in this ‘publish or perish’ scenario, he steadily was no longer in the reckoning despite his great contributions, especially to reinterpretation in anthropology. Another idiosyncrasy associated with him was his obsession to teach all papers in Hindi. It is this obsession that perhaps gave us one of the best books on prehistory in Hindi which he co-authored with the legendary DN Majumdar. The sheer creativity in adapting archeological terms to Hindi is remarkable. From shalkan for flaking to uhapohatmak itihaas for conjectural history-I do not know how many such Hindi terms were coined by him!

At some crucial moment in life, I gave up my post-graduation in anthropology and moved to human resource management. But the experience with Dr. Sarana had more or less decided the career path for me: it had to be academics. When I sometimes reflect on my own teaching style, I realise that it is neither a good B-school professor nor a good sociologist (the discipline in which I finally ended up) who is facilitating the sessions. It is actually a very poor emulation of Prof. Sarana that is being thrust on the students as their instructor. He remains the one who shaped the academic perspective and professional values for many of my seniors, batch mates and juniors. There is no dearth of academicians who are doing great in their field and owe a lot to him. His is an example perhaps very similar to the sociologist Dhurjati Prasad Mukerji, who despite his limited publications, left an indelible impact on several generations of sociologists through his lectures and class interactions.

I hardly could interact with him after my shift to sociology. On an occasional meet, he would encourage me to work hard on my thesis, read more and focus on publications. He had retained his wry sense of humour and remained critical of those who compromised with academic integrity and spent time in networking. I moved out of Lucknow in due course and used to occasionally hear about how he was more or less moved into oblivion by the academic circles.  This was the time when he published his last major book Explorations in Method and Theory in Anthropology.

Around two years back I got the news of his death. The memories of those four years of association flooded my mind and countered all my comforts of the materialistic world in a B-school. In this confusion there was at least some respite. His teaching had given me the courage to seek ‘social-cultural’ in every aspect. I was hence fortunate enough o got a chance to teach subjects like social development, cross-cultural management and management learning through history and art. It is as if his spirit pervades when many of his students teach in the class.  I definitely was lucky to be in the right department at the right time. Even in my own mediocrity, I always see hope of betterment due to the self-confidence given by Prof. Sarana.

Belief Systems in India: The Perpetually Post-modern Macrocosm

Belief Systems in India: The Perpetually Post-modern Macrocosm

The endless definitions, descriptions and epithets for the Indian cultural as well as religious experience have all found their negation given the baffling diversity that has emerged out of our unique experience of dynamics. If the anti-colonial as well as immediate post-colonial mainstream refrain was of ‘unity in diversity’, it then moved to the descriptions of ‘mosaic’ (like under the ‘People of India’ project of Anthropological Survey of India in the 1980s). One term that was much (ab)used to show the co-existence was ‘tolerance’ on the part of an arbitrarily defined mainstream. But then, the endless ethnic clashes including caste based massacres and expressions of communal hatred brought forth the fact that not all here is about any one group’s magnanimity. It is perhaps an endless series of expressions and counter-expressions in the realm of culture, where the dominant and the marginal co-exist. The hegemony of one does not always mean the others moving into oblivion. The continuity and perpetuations always get reinvigorated or at times complemented by new trends, which can range from the destructive to disruptive to the innovative or at times, integrative.

But then, this very pluralism is the raison d’etre for the continuity of the multi-faceted tradition. Be it the concept of ‘ neti’ (this is not the ultimate truth) in classical Sanskritic tradition, the belief in ‘ekam sad, vipram bahudha vadanthi’ (the scholars interpret the same ultimate truth in different ways) under the Vedantic knowledge, the heterodox sections of institutional religions like Islam and Christianity or the simple experience of inter-faith folk and local shrines, even the best of the demagogues and ideologues have to realise-we can just agree to disagree. Indeed, what the Western World has seen as the post-modern in terms of critique of the monolithic definition of ‘rational’ and the respect for difference, could be traced in India to the most ancient times. It is perhaps a salutation to the collective unconscious of each group as well as individual that we could accept this multiplicity which may well have been discounted as chaos in many other regions.

The blending or the elite and the popular in most expressions of belief is not something unique to India. Indeed it was way back in the 1950s that the anthropologist Robert Redfield had expressed the working of the complementary forces of universalisation and parochialization during his studies in the American continent. If the first paved the way for a classical elite tradition to be disseminated to all the smaller traditions, the other was the counter force that made the universal classical tradition to adapt and adjust to the immediate cultural and belief context of the local tradition. Such syncretic forces however did not have to wait for the large spread of religions from the Fertile Crescent in India. Syncretism has been the hallmark in most of the belief, scientific or aesthetic expressions of India. If the Agamic tradition shows balance of folk, perceived heretic tradition and the classical, even scientific treatises like Varahmihir’s Brihatsamhita discuss the omens and temple architecture and sculpture traditions along side the discussions on astronomy. Bhakti traditions have found their own unique expressions which have a syncretic as well as differentiating manifestation. The dynamics of the beliefs is perhaps best seen in practices under various popular traditions than in the philosophy. Ritual perhaps is the best reflection of the spiritual. That is why even the best of universalistic impositions and the most boisterous of the glitz of designer religions and their couture lines have not been able to completely efface the multiplicity of belief systems.

The outstanding example of the dynamics of belief system interactions is perhaps the existence of communities like Ramdev Pirs who follow both Hindu and Islamic traditions. But such examples are not the only expressions. The clash and collaboration between faiths can be found in most endogenous traditions. One much discussed among the same would perhaps be the clash of the Smarthas and the Vaisnavas. Be it the clash of the ideologies (one of the first being the countering of Sankara’s Advaita by Ramanuja’s Visistadvaita) or the clash of cults and sects (like the antagonism between the Sankara and the Sri Vaisnava order or the clashes between the Bairagis of Ramanandi tradition and the Naga sects who are associated with Sankara’s tradition), they have all shaped much of our need to retain and express our unique identity. Hence being a Vaisnava Iyengar is not merely about following an ideology or mode of worship but is also about having a unique cuisine and a host of unique cultural expressions that would differentiate them from the Smartha Iyer.

The need to assert the uniqueness could take different forms, like the Vaisnavas in Coastal Andhra worshipping Vishnu’s chief lieutenant, Visvaksena during the Ganesa festival or the Ligayats in AP, Karnataka and Maharashtra going in for burial of the dead rather than cremation. The same dynamics is perhaps reflected in Islam of India, where the one time heterodox Sufism has been the force for its rapid spread. A belief that was rejected in the land of its origin due to its incompatibility with the predominant expressions of the faith became the most potent expression of Islamic traditions in South Asia. India also has a good presence of the minority Ahmediya sect that has seen its persecution almost all round the Islamic world. Perhaps the best example of the indigenous expression of Islam is the adaptations to practices like matrilineal systems among the Mappilas and the acceptance of caste order among most Muslim communities. That however does not mean that the more puritan as well as liberal traditions are lacking. Ahmedias co-exist with the Wahabis and the traditional schools of practice vie with the other interpretations. The devotional fervour towards symbols like Alam among Shiites flies in the face of all the claims of Islam being averse to diversity. The co-existence of Namdharis and Nirankaris along with the Akalis Sikhs is a similar reminder of our endless capacity to maintain our unique identity.

The differences have also been countered by the universalistic forces, and much of the unification under one umbrella has been the work of the predominantly mainstream elitist forces. The unification of most of the Vaisnava traditions in the four Schools-Sri (including the Ramanuja tradition which itself draws its line from the 12 Azhwars), Brahma (including Madhva and Gaudiya schools), Rudra (the Pushtimarga of Vallabh) and Sanak-Sanandan (Nimbarka’s order, which includes the poet Jaideva) is one such effort. Similarly, the Tantric orders of all six Deva traditions present a unique blend of folk magico-religious practices, rituals of non-mainstream ritualists and the Sanskritic Agamic traditions, which purportedly emerge directly from the Nigam or Vedic religious practice. However, even such efforts have not been able to undermine the unique expressions. Much of the cults and orders that emerged beyond the four-fold Vaisnavism (including the Ekkhoron Nama Dharma of Srimant Sankardev in Assam and the Ramanandi Srivaisnavism in Central North India) have found their unique place and have led to unique expressions like the famous Satriya tradition in Assam, the beautiful lyrics of Hitaharivansha tradition in the Braj region or the Sakhi tradition of Krishna worship. Under Saivism, the linkages that have been established by Classical scholars between the Saivasiddhantha and Kashmiri Saivism do not come to obstruct the unique cultural expressions of the traditions in the two regions. Even those shrines and deities that have been metamorphosed to universal icons from local traditions (like Sitala, the Goddess of smallpox in most of Northern and Eastern India) have retained their own local symbols and ritual practices.

The encounter of belief in India is an experience and with our limited perceptual abilities each of us draws their unique interpretations. To some of us the difference also means a lot of contradiction and conflicts, making us aspire for a clear line of community belief. It is perhaps such line of thought that has led some of us to side with the hegemonic expressions for universalisation. But time and again, each of these efforts has seen its limitations. This of course does not mean that new ideas or beliefs or any past reinterpretations should be seen only with cynicism. It is the readiness for acceptance of any new expression of faith or belief that makes us so adjusted to differences and ambiguity. And it is this spirit that has made us look beyond even the worst of communal clashes. Faith will always have its own new interpretations and expressions, for there is no end to the search for ultimate truth. As Goswami Tulasidas has said:

So janahu jehi dehu janai, Janahi tumahi, tumahi ho jai.

(‘You (God) can be understood only by the person to whom You reveal Yourself-and once anyone knows you, that person becomes You’).

So this search for truth will go on until every Nara (human) finds Narayana (God).

The Downpour of Festivities

The Downpour of Festivities

Living as a metaphor of cyclical time gives special meaning to seasons in Indian aesthetics. The seasonal cycle asserts the principle of continuity and sequntiality-so significant for survival in the midst of change. The hope of rejuvenation and perpetuation of life inspire a sense of acceptance rather than annoyance for the changing seasons. The hope and acceptance is perhaps best reflected in the myriad views we have about the rainy reason. Described as the de facto spring of the predominantly agrarian society by Prof. A.L. Basham, the rainy season spanning the four months of monsoon activity heralds a cornucopia of emotions and expressions. In a tradition that finds divinity in everything, the disparate sentiments of awe, admiration, fear and gratitude merge in celebrations all around India.

The reveling in this enchanting song from the lyre of the world (as Tagore may have called it) takes different hues based not just on the diversity of region but also of purpose. On the basis of purpose, the first prominent group of festivals expresses the hopes of fertility. Second group of festivals focus on rising above the feelings of uncertainty coming in the wake of the season and the last relates to adjusting with the adjustment with the period of inaction due to rains. While the first group of festivals is best reflected in the folk spirit, the last is generally confined of classical elitism. The chasm of purpose however does not dampen the spirit of celebrations. The folk-classical continuum blends the celebrations of the masses.

The celebration of fertility is perhaps the hallmark of the rainy season festivals. Most festivals in the season herald the incipient rejuvenation, which culminates in full fledged celebrations of fertility with the arrival of mild winters (Sharada in the classical tradition). The celebrations begin as a precursor to the rabi season, by honouring the Earth Goddess. Be it the Ambubachi or Ambuvachi of Bengal and Assam or the Raja Parba of Orissa, the focus is on venerating the earth before her fertility is exploited by agriculturists. As a mark of respect for Mother Earth, the folks do not ‘touch’ or ‘hurt’ Her by walking barefoot or lighting the hearth. The veneration of divine fertility reaches the zenith at the Kamakhya Temple on Assam where both folk and Sanskritic streams find a confluence under the aegis of Agamic traditions. The festival at the temple draws devotees from all over who wait for the reopening of the temple after three days of closing to herald the phase of fecundity. A similar fertility refrain is there in the festival of Lai Haraoba in Manipur which dates back to the Pre-Vaisnava days of the state. Beginning at the onset of summers, the festival continues for four months with enactment of myths and rituals of divine creation by special ritual experts, culminating during the rainy season. Even the overwhelming spirit of Gaudiya Vaisnavism in the Manipur valley has not been able to diminish the significance of Lai Haraoba for the mainstream Meitei community of the Manipur valley.

The restrictions and uncertainties that come with the onset of monsoon lead to unique coping mechanisms. For the classical tradition, the coping starts with dealing with the inaction and isolation especially for those in the ascetic order. The solution has been found in the observance of four months of stay at one place and contemplation (better known as chaturmasa). On the more worldly side, Harishayani Ekadashi which marks the beginning of the four month rainy season, is observed as the beginning of the four month resting period for gods, especially in the Vaisnava tradition. The priests then concentrate on the propitiation of Shiva during the following month of Shravan. Another important festival in the Sanskritic stream is the Guru Purnima, where the disciples traditionally used to offer gifts to their Guru. The festival may have lost its fervour with the ubiquitous modern educational system but the vestiges survive in areas of classical music and dance where the Guru-Shishya tradition is still alive.

In the folk aspect the coping assumed new dimensions-they relate to the adjustments with being away from loved ones and adjusting to the challenges of the rains. From the plains of the North to Tamil Nadu, the months of the rain are marked by the return of married daughters to their father’s home in many regions. This period of separation from the spouse on the one hand and reunion with the family of orientation for the married women on the other finds many customs and rituals associated with it. It includes the special celebrations for the women, including customary recital of folk songs and laying of swings. The men on the other hand often shun any shaving or bodily decorations or comfort for the month of Shravan. The coping also extends to deal with contingencies of the rainy season including managing the resources need for agriculture and home. It also means being prepared for the impact of drought or floods. The answer to coping with contingencies is found in fairs prior to onset of heavy rains-which help people stock for the rainy season. A plethora of magico-religious performances ranging from the mimetic magic practices of the tribal groups to the Sanskritic sacrifices for rains deal with the anxieties.

One major group festivals that reflects the unique blend between aspirations of fertility and the anxieties of the rain relates to snake worship. As a creature that can move without limbs and slide into subterranean zones full of mythical wealth, the snake is eulogized as the custodian of wealth. The enigmatic nature of its existence and its association with hidden regions even above the ground makes it a unique symbol capable of giving the boons of fertility. To complement the sentiment, the power of its venom makes it an object of awe especially with the rise of incidents of snake bite due to the tilling of the soil and the better proposition for thee snake to hide above the ground due to the resurgence in greenery. Festivals like Mansa Puja in Bengal and Naga Panchami in Northern, Central, Western parts of India, apart from some regions in the South (particularly Kerala). With the popularity of the snake shrines in traditional Nair tharawads (households), snake worship has a cult status, with the presence of snake icons especially of the divine serpent Anantha (also known as Sesha) in many households. At even more classical level, the Naga Vasuki temple at Prayag becomes a major draw of pilgrims on the occasion of Naga Panchami, where this predominantly folk festival gets its swig of the Sanskritic tradition.

The coping with contingencies is often a feminised phenomenon in most patriarchal societies, with India being no exception. In most of the above festivals, women have a major role to play. Mansa Puja in Bengal is basically a female affair. Indeed, even the ritual experts for snake worship in Kerala are sometimes women. The special festivals of married women to pray for the long life of their husbands and the welfare of their household are found both in the North and the South. Among this genre of festivals is the major tourist draw of Rajasthan-Teej, marked by over 24 hours of fasting apart from lot of purchase of jewellery and clothes and with special processions to mark the divine love of Shiva and Parvati. In the South the Varalakshmi Vratham is a similar occasion of fasting and praying for the welfare of the family. The unmarried girls have their own share of folk festivals which apart form Naga Panchami includes the commencement for the preparation for the worship of Goddess Sanjhi in Central North India, which finally commences during the fortnight of ancestors.

The festivals of rainy season are not just confined to folk stream and there are mainstream religious celebrations especially in form of various major congregations. The first important congregation is the Ratha Yatra of Jaganath Puri. In much of Eastern, Central and Southern India there are similar Jatras and celebrations associated with major temples. One significant one among them is the famous Palkhi procession of the Varkari tradition that culminates with a huge congregation at Pandharpur in Maharashtra. Equally significant is the pilgrimage during Shravan to the Baidyanath Dham in Deoghar (now in Jharkhand). As one of the putative sites of Baidyanath jyotirlinga (the twelve sites with a special ‘essence’ of Shiva), it becomes a major congregation where the pilgrims are conspicuous with their orange/ochre attire. The biggest festival in the religious realm is perhaps the celebration of the birth of Krishna on Janmashtami or Gokulashtami. The festival of Ganesha that follows about 10 days after Janmashtami is celebrated with religious fervour not just in the South and in Maharashtra but has its own unique form in the North-where it si known for the throwing of stones on other persons’ roof as a means to get away form the curse of viewing the moon on the day of the festival. In much of Central North India Ganesha Chaturthi is known as Dhela Chauth.

The rainy season heralds the biggest festival of Kerala-Onam, to mark the return of the mythical king of the land, Bali to know the welfare of his people. The 10 day festival is marked by not just celebrations inside of the house with special rituals and feasts but its public expressions in form of boat race and dances has now made Kerala and essential part of the tourist itinerary during the otherwise lean tourist months of monsoon.

The list of celebrations is endless and it is hard to capture a glimpse of all in a mere article. But it is this endlessness of celebrations that makes India a land of constant intrigue, enjoyment and celebration. As proverbs in many languages say, India is a land where there are eight festivals in seven days of a week.

Confused Ramblings

Salutation to the Aspirations of Fecundity

As the summer recedes and the elite tradition observes four months of inaction

(Chaturmasya), putting even gods to sleep, the folk stream of various regions gushes

forth to rejuvenate the stakeholders in an agrarian society. It is especially so for the

Dalitbahujans, who herald the new phase of hard work with veneration for the various symbols of fertility. The foremost among them is perhaps the festival of divine menstruation celebrated with particular fervour in Eastern India. Be it the Raja Parba of Orissa or the Ambubachi of Bengal and Assam, the festival epitomises the ambivalence to the concept of fertility in the interactions of the Sanskritic and the folk traditions.

Recognising the positive linkage of menstrual phenomenon to fertility, the folk honour the earth for at least three days by not touching it with uncovered feet. They even avoid the lighting of the hearth, living on uncooked food. But with a high degree of Sanskritisation, the taboo attached to menstruation has seeped into this festival as well, bringing out the conflicting attitudes to it. At the more textual level, the left-handed Shakta Agamas express this folk-elite divide best when despite their palpable bias towards Sanskritic tradition, they discuss the offering of the menstrual blood or the Kha-pushpa. It is often mentioned that the best such offerings come from the either the young virgins (whose coming of age heralds new hope of fertility) or females of the Dalitbahujan communities. Explaining the recognition of the latter in the Sanskritic Tantra texts, Prof. NN Bhattacharya points out, “…all women belonging to the so-called lower castes are regarded in the Tantras as naturally initiated.” But as we move to the more patriarchal upper caste milieu, the ideas of taboo (which to some extent can be seen in the concept of avoidance of the earth even in the folk traditions) subsume those of fertility.

The contrasting influence due to the caste factor is conspicuous when we look at such celebrations in two major Shakthi peethams that claim to house the Mahamudra of Sati-the Kamakhya temple in Assam and the Chengannur Mahadeva temple in Kerala.

At Kamakhya, the festival coincides with the general celebrations of Ambubachi around the seventh of Ashadha as per the Bengali/Assamese calendar. As a great seat of Agamic learning and worship, the festival here retains its high regard for its fertility aspect. People avidly wait for the end of the three days of the Goddess’ periods when the temple doors are closed, and once they are re-opened, they rush to worship the divine symbol of fertility with several kinds of offerings. Special offerings are also made to the Kumaris and the blessing of the Goddess comes in the form of red cloth.

At Chengannur, the phenomenon of thripooth or menstruation of the Bhagavathi idol is not confined to once a year but the biggest draw is the one that falls first time in the year as per the Malayalam calendar. Here, with the temple’s allegiance to the Travencore Devaswom Trust and the presence of a Nampoothiri priest, the vestiges of the folk aspect are found more in the role of special ritual experts (including women) in confirming the Goddess’ periods and the role of the washerwoman in the ritual cleansing of the clothes. But most of the rituals relate to the ritual cleansing and restoration of the Sanskritic sanctity of the idol. Yet the fact remains that for the worshippers, the Goddess’ divine prowess emanates from this phenomenon itself. Like most such traditions, the traditional elitist disdain for menstruation as symbol of impurity has once again failed to discourage the people’s faith in its divine occurrence even in a largely Sanskritised cultural milieu.