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Hinduism
in
India
 Hinduism
in
India
MODERN AND CONTEMPORARY
MOVEMENTS

Edited by
Will Sweetman
Aditya Malik

Series Editor
Geoffrey A. Oddie
Copyright © Geoffrey A. Oddie, 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any
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First published in 2016 by

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Hinduism in India : modern and contemporary movements / editors Will Sweetman

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1. Hinduism—India. I. Sweetman, Will, editor.
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ct!
dback,
u. Contents
ub.in
E India.
Introduction: Hinduism in India ix
Acknowledgments xvii

CHAPTER 1
The Emergence and Significance of the Term “Hinduism”  1
Geoffrey A. Oddie

CHAPTER 2
s Hinduism and Modernity  23
d. Will Sweetman
t CHAPTER 3
Hinduism and Law  41
Timothy Lubin
a CHAPTER 4
Hinduism and Economics  69
Thomas Birtchnell

CHAPTER 5
The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics: Historical Processes
Underlying Hinduism and Hindutva  95
Robert Eric Frykenberg
E CHAPTER 6
ng list. Media Hinduism  123
n Ursula Rao

CHAPTER 7
Modern Hindu Guru Movements  141
Michael James Spurr
k.
viii Hinduism in India

CHAPTER 8
Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground?  176
Aditya Malik

CHAPTER 9
Hinduism and Healing  194
Fabrizio M. Ferrari

CHAPTER 10
Possession  220
Elisabeth Schömbucher

CHAPTER 11
The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary
Indian Society  241
Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

CHAPTER 12
On Hinduism and Caste  271
Vinay Kumar Srivastava

About the Editors and Contributors 305

Index 308
 Introduction: Hinduism in India

Geoffrey A. Oddie

This book and Hinduism in India: The Early Period by SAGE

Publications are examples of exploratory studies of major religions
in the Asian region. They consist of original chapters contributed
by a deliberate complement of elite and emerging scholars (i.e., the
next generation of elite scholars). These are also international in their
scholarly representation and interdisciplinary in scope, including, for
example, chapters by historians, linguists, anthropologists, sociologists,
religionists, and others.
The chapters contain a great deal of material that offers a fresh and
original contribution to knowledge and understanding and which, in
that sense, will supplement and update entries in existing encyclope-
dias. Clearly, it is impossible to deal with all the issues and topics that
might be thought of as relating to Hinduism, especially as the term
Hinduism is an ill-defined, somewhat amorphous concept about which
there is no agreement and which, it could be argued, relates to a very
broad range of different topics. Continuous research in archeology,
anthropology, mythology, vernacular literatures, and history and
the development of new movements has greatly increased an ever-
expanding field of inquiry into the subject; and what we hope to do in
these books is not to offer any kind of overall survey, but to highlight
some of the issues and debates, to point to new research and interpreta-
tions, and to open up the field still more widely for further inquiries.
For the latter purpose, we have included bibliographies, which should
be useful not only for those wanting to develop a basic knowledge of
Hinduism, but also for researchers doing original research and want-
ing to know the latest publications in their particular field of inquiry.
Furthermore, some of the topics included here, such as Hinduism
and the modern media and the urban Hindu arranged marriage, are
x Hinduism in India

seldom considered among entries on Hinduism. At the same time,

some of the other chapters explore newly emerging and challenging
methods of interpretation. Clear examples of this are Bailey’s chapter
on “mythology” in Hinduism in India: The Early Period (referred to as
The Early Period hereafter in this section) in which he discusses “four
modes of approach to the study of Hindu mythology” and here, in this
book, Spurr’s analysis of the different interpretations of the modern
guru phenomenon.
The chapters here are intended primarily for those wishing to pursue
further reading and, especially, research—for those already familiar
with much in Hinduism, but who want to identify significant issues
to become familiar with more recent publications and to extend and
develop their own work. At the same time, it is expected that many of
the chapters will also prove accessible and useful for others, such as
students, workers in aid organizations, businessmen, and diplomats,
wanting to gain further knowledge and a deeper understanding of
major aspects of India’s religious and cultural heritage. It is espe-
cially for their benefit that Bailey, in The Early Period, has included
a commentary on some of the major and most influential concepts
that emerged in the history of early Hinduism. It is also for the sake
of those who are not well versed in Asian history that Sweetman, in
this book, outlines some of the major changes, including the advent
of colonialism and the increased influence of overseas communities,
in shaping Hindu ideas and practice in India during the modern era.
Given that the topic of Hinduism is such an extensive and ever-
expanding field of inquiry, it was decided that these studies should be
restricted to developments in India itself. There might, for example,
have been studies of Hinduism in Nepal or in different countries in
Southeast Asia, such as Cambodia or Indonesia, or still further afield
of Hinduism and the diaspora in places such as Britain, South Africa,
Canada, Australia, or the USA. Furthermore, linked with the obvious
need to restrict the number of chapters in the current publication
was an important methodological consideration. This is the fact that
in all studies of Hinduism, the actual context of developments is
all-important. Detailed studies of Hinduism outside of India, while
instructive, would have necessitated further discussion of the varied
contexts in which Hindu ideas and practices were established, and
perhaps changed, and have come to influence the lives of millions
 Introduction: Hinduism in India xi

outside of India itself; and this discussion would have added greatly to
the overall size of our project. Sweetman’s overview of the growth of
Hindu communities overseas (mostly during the period of the British
Raj) is a relevant and timely contribution. Some additional references
to Hindus overseas are for comparative purposes, for example, to illus-
trate differences in Hindu temple architecture in India and in Southeast
Asia or to compare Hindu gurus, some of whom live and flourish in
the USA. While these comparisons provide us with further insights
into the nature of Hinduism in India, another important issue that is
raised, for example, in Rao’s chapter, is the part played by overseas
Hindu communities in furthering particular views of Hinduism and
in the development of Hindu nationalist organizations and ideology
in India itself.
Our sense of the importance of the context not only influenced our
decision to focus primarily on Hinduism in India alone, but also the
decision to arrange chapters in two books—an arrangement that allows
for the influence of a changing historical context including the sequence
of events and developments over time. Hence, while The Early Period
focuses primarily on Hinduism in early India, chapters in this book
grapple with issues and changes that have taken place since about the
end of the 18th century (a) during the period of increasing European
contact and colonization and (b) in the postcolonial situation.
Another major consideration, apart from the context and clearly
apparent in many of the contributions, is a concern with the process
of continuity and change. The importance of continuities in the his-
tory of Hinduism, in Hindu philosophy and mythology, in teachings
and rituals, and even in the social system, emerges in discussions in
a number of chapters that follow. For example, one of the arguments
in Rao’s chapter is that while there have been enormous changes in
methods of communication in modern times, continuities have en-
abled Hindus to communicate “more of the same.” Also significant
is Srivastava’s reference to continuities in connection with caste, for
example, the ongoing influence of ancient Hindu texts, including the
idea of varna (caste [lit. “color”]), which continues to reinforce the
status of brahmans in India today.
But while there has been, and there is, continuity, there is also modi-
fication and change—developments that took place in early India, as
well as in subsequent centuries and up to the present time. Indeed, one
xii Hinduism in India

of the more difficult challenges for scholars is to discover or identify

what changes were evolving or taking place. Why did some traditions
persist, while others were modified or disappeared? How do we explain
the emergence of new ideas and practices including the particular con-
glomeration and complexities in what is called Hinduism today? In his
chapter on the Mahabharata and Dharma in The Early Period, Bowles
investigates changing ideas of dharma and sees these as reflecting the
rise and influence of the Buddhism, Jainism, and other religious move-
ments in early India. Spurr, in this book, also takes up the challenge of
continuity and degrees of change in his analysis of Hindu gurus, while
Lubin discusses the same process with respect to Hindu law in early
India, under colonial rule, and in India since Independence in 1947.
The issue regarding the influence of non-Hindu religious traditions
on Hinduism receives further attention in chapters by Oddie and
Frykenberg. The former suggests that contact with Islam heightened a
greater awareness among Hindus of their own religious traditions and
also explores the part Evangelicals played in coining and popularizing
the term Hinduism. Frykenberg examines the effect of the latter’s ac-
tivities on Hindu teachings and forms of organization also in the 19th
century. These themes, including the ways in which Hindu traditions
were created, modified, or changed as a result of religious movements
emanating from outside as well as within the subcontinent, might
have been explored still further, had it not been for the constraints of
space in the present publication. Indeed, there might well have been
further studies of the influence of other non-Hindu religious move-
ments (including Islam) on changes in Hinduism—if space permitted.
However, it also needs to be kept in mind that the influence of
non-Hindu religious ideas and movements was not the only reason
for changes in Hindu religious thought and practice. Changes in
Hindu ideas, teaching, and practice have been influenced not only by
specific religious movements, but also by more general and broader
developments that affected Indians. The internal migration of different
people, invasions from outside as well as within the subcontinent, the
emergence of different types of social structure and economic activity,
changing tribal and organized political systems (including colonial-
ism), and new types of transport and communication have all been
important elements affecting religious practice and teaching.
To take the last in the list of these external factors affecting
Hinduism, one might consider the impact of changes in transport
 Introduction: Hinduism in India xiii

and communication since the 1840s when the British pioneered the
introduction of the Indian railway system. The idea of pilgrimage took
on a new meaning, as pilgrims could travel more easily to holy sites
throughout the subcontinent. Improvements in literacy, the advent
of the newspaper, and, in still more recent years, the introduction of
electronic media have all had effects in creating a greater awareness
of the diversity of Hindu teachings and of Hinduism as an all-India
system. Films and television and the advent of the global communica-
tions’ revolution are not only affecting people in the cities, but also in
villages and in the more remote parts of the country. Here, one might
note Bailey’s comment on the rise of “the mythological” in Bollywood
cinema, and especially Rao’s detailed analysis of recent developments
in what she describes as “Media Hinduism.” This includes the intro-
duction and development of the mobile phone.
Another major issue that emerges in these books is the relationship
between what the anthropologist Robert Redfield once called “the
great and little traditions” or between brahmanic and folk Hinduism.
Are these separate traditions or are they in some way interrelated
and enveloped in an overarching whole? To what extent were village
Hindus in early or pre-modern India, as well as later, participating in
a wider world of Hindu mythology, rituals, and practice? Was there
such a thing as an all-embracing India-wide entity (equivalent to what
we now call Hinduism) during the pre-modern period?
The answer to these questions seems to depend partly on which
aspect of Hinduism one is exploring. Hence Bailey, in his chapter on
oral mythology in The Early Period, writes:

[T]he themes found in such myths are pan-Indian to the extent they
occur beyond vernacular sources in a variety of geographical areas.
There is another pan-Indian mythology found in the Puranas, which
is not localized yet shares common themes and motifs with localized
mythology. Both are necessarily interrelated and establish India as a
common mythological zone.

Furthermore, Branfoot, writing in the same book, notes the spread

of common forms of iconographic representation and remarks that
one of the striking features of early Hindu iconography is “the degree
to which deities are depicted in a similar manner across great geo-
graphical distances” before modern communications. On the con-
xiv Hinduism in India

trary, Michaels, also in The Early Period, is at pains to emphasize the

enormous diversity of rituals and, at one point in his argument, notes
that “regional theological tendencies are incorporated into traditional
myths to create a mixed genre.”
Oddie, in the first chapter of this book, notes some of the com-
mon assumptions among Hindu scholars, as well as commonalities
in Hindu practices well before the term Hinduism was introduced
and became current in the 19th century and in subsequent debate.
And yet what becomes clearly apparent among reformers and others
involved in subsequent discussion is the lack of agreement as to what
Hinduism was all about. Ferrari, who writes on Hinduism and heal-
ing, also underlines diversity and lack of agreement among Hindus
themselves. He remarks that even now “the deities, religious practices,
customs and laws transmitted from Vedic times through textual and
oral traditions as well as social conventions are understood in rather
different ways across Hindus living in the Subcontinent.” Hinduism is,
in his opinion, “a fractured tradition emerging from many and diverse
cultural stratifications.” Furthermore, traditions that may seem to unite
Hindus in a common pool of beliefs and practices are, in some cases,
a reflection of an even wider world of beliefs and practices among
people outside as well as within the subcontinent. For example, and
as SchÖmbucher makes it very clear, spirit possession has had a long
history in Europe as well as in India. Thus, while there may have been
signs of increasing commonality across India during the precolonial
period, there were also commonalties (including beliefs and practices)
outside the boundaries of what we now call India.
These are considerations that need to be taken into account when
dealing with the question of the emergence of the idea of Hinduism
in the late 18th century. How far was there already an actual con-
sciousness or sense of a shared ethos, as well as religious commonality
among Hindus prior to the introduction and use of the term by British
commentators in the late 18th and early 19th centuries? What effect
did the notion of Hinduism have on religious, political, and other
developments thereafter? Why is the term now used so widely in the
postcolonial situation? Oddie explores these issues in the first chapter
in this book that focuses on continuities as well as developments of
Hinduism in India in the modern and contemporary periods.
Last, but not the least, are issues of women’s status and role in
Hinduism. Bowles, Bailey, and Lubin, all have something to say (even
 Introduction: Hinduism in India xv

if briefly) about the subject, while Lahiri-Roy, in her essay dedicated

explicitly to women’s issues, explores the complexities and chang-
ing character and stresses of urban Hindu arranged marriages in the
contemporary society. She argues that “certain traditional patterns are
now being rearranged with the onset of urbanization, the influence of
Westernisation and increasing levels of female education.” But, she
concludes, “on certain levels change [in the women’s position] has not
really occurred so much as the same pattern has merely refashioned
itself along different lines.”
These chapters illustrate the extraordinary richness of what is now
called Hinduism, its religious and cultural diversity, including ritu-
als, asceticism, and forms of devotion that have survived and been
readapted to meet new challenges that have emerged throughout a
very long history of over two millennia.
To extend even further the readers’ sense of the complexity of
Hinduism, we have a final chapter in this book by Srivastava on the
relationship between Hinduism and caste—one of the basic issues in
studies such as these.
Note: While some of the authors in what follows have continued
the practice of using diacritics, others have chosen to dispense with
the practice, especially when referring to more modern developments.
 Acknowledgments

These books are the result of a long-term and complex process involv-
ing close and constructive collaboration between me and all three edi-
tors (Greg, Will, and Aditya). Indeed, without the editors’ enthusiasm,
hard work, and flexibility, these books would never have seen the light
of day. I also wish to thank all the contributors from different parts
of the world. Many of them are not only researchers but are also busy
teachers and administrators. Thanks are also due to Michael Allen
for his encouragement and advice during the early stages of this en-
deavor, and to all those at SAGE Publications in New Delhi who have
collaborated with us with suggestions and in the production process.
They include Ashok Chandran, Rekha Natarajan, Sutapa Ghosh, and
N. Unni Nair. For technical assistance, thanks to Robin Ford. Last but
not the least, very special thanks are due to my wife, Nola, for her en-
couragement, love, and support, for hosting a special weekend meeting
between me and all the three editors at Killcare on the central coast in
New South Wales during the early stages of this project. I also wish to
thank her for her suggestions and proofreading of my own material.

 Geoffrey A. Oddie
 Chapter 1
The Emergence and Significance of the
Term “Hinduism”

Geoffrey A. Oddie

Implicit in all of the chapters and discussion throughout these books

is the ever recurring question of what is “Hinduism”? Bailey’s com-
ment that it comprised “a religious, cultural, and social system” pro-
vides a solid basis for discussion on its rise and consolidation in early
Indian history. And what (more precisely) is meant by “Hinduism”
in this sense is the substance of much of what follows in both books.
However, the question still remains, when was the term “Hinduism”
first used? What did it mean when it was first developed and intro-
duced? And why has the term (apparently not used until the late 18th
century) become so popular, sacrosanct, and central in so much of
the debate about India’s history and society today?
The most widely accepted meaning of the term “Hindu” in the
pre-modern period of Indian history was a person or thing of Indian
origin. Both words, “Hindu” and “Indian,” used interchangeably in
some travel accounts, were coined by outsiders. The river Indus was
known in Sanskrit as “Sindhu,” and the Persians, who found difficulty
in pronouncing an initial “s,” called it “Hindu”—a word which, as
Heinrich von Stietencron explains, was applied “both to the river and
to the country through which the Indus flows.” Thus, for the Persians
the “Hindus” were the local or indigenous inhabitants who lived in the
vicinity of the Indus river. Later still, the term Hindu was extended in
meaning to include native inhabitants of the entire subcontinent. In the
meantime, the Greeks, who invaded and settled in parts of northern India
in the 3rd century BCE, coined the word India. Borrowing the Persian
word Hindu for the Indus river, they called it Indos and the country
through which it flowed, India. Thereafter the terms Hindu and Indian
2 Geoffrey A. Oddie

were synonymous, indicating the people and their place of origin, or

the things, such as language, customs, or artifacts associated with them.1
Subsequent Arab and European travelers and commentators on
Indian society had, therefore, a ready-made interchangeable terminol-
ogy. For example, if the translation is correct, the 8th-century Arab
commentator Al Masudi referred to Indians in one part of his descrip-
tion and to Hindus in another (Elliott and Dowson, 1867). This practice
was followed by Arab and Muslim travelers’ writing about India from
the 10th to the 13th centuries (ibid., vol. I: 27, 28, 97, 98) and also by
European observers of a later date. Among these were Francois Bernier
and Jean Baptiste-Tavernier (the well-known French travelers and
commentators on India in the 17th century) and the Englishman, John
Ovington, who following the same trend in his account of his visit to
Surat in 1689—referred to Indians in some parts of his book and to
“Hindoes” in other places (Ovington, 1929).
Use of the term “Hindu” for natives or inhabitants of India, even
including Indian Christians, persisted well into the 19th century. In the
introduction to his “Lectures on Tinnevelly Missions” delivered in 1857,
the well-known bishop and linguist, Robert Caldwell, declared that he
would be endeavoring to give a fair estimate of “Hindu Christianity”
(Caldwell, 1857 : 14) and in later comments remarked that the Tinnevelly
Christian community might be expected to occupy an eminent position
hereafter among “Hindu Christians”2 (ibid.: 65). The term “Hindu
Christian” was also adopted by Indian Christians themselves keen to
emphasize the Indianness of their faith. For example, in the very first
issue of The Bengal Christian Herald (first published in 1870), the joint
editors Kali Charan Banerjea and J. G. Shome declared that
In having become Christians, we have not ceased to be Hindus. We
are Hindu Christian, as thoroughly Hindu as Christian. We have
embraced Christianity, but we have not discarded our nationality. We
are as intensely national as any of our brethren of the native press can
be. (Baago, 1969)

Outsider Comments

For a number of non-Indian commentators, and from a very early

period, use of the term “Hindu” or “Hindoo” came to imply even
 The Emergence and Significance of the Term “Hinduism” 3

more than “native” or “inhabitant of India.” It was recognition that

Hindus were a distinctive people and led inevitably to further ideas
about their having a distinctive culture, including rituals and ways of
life. The term therefore began to take on additional and more com-
plex overtones. Indeed, Arvind Sharma, has, for example, argued that
there was, from a very early period, a certain degree of ambiguity in
the use of the word “Hindu” and that, while one has to acknowledge
“the primacy of territorial meaning,” at least one early Buddhist trav-
eler in India seems to have used the term “Hindu” with some kind of
“religious” connotation (Sharma, 2002).
For some Muslim commentators, the Hindus generally were a clas-
sic example of “the other” in a very broad sense—a potent reminder
that they were everything Muslims were not. This point was made
abundantly clear in the early years of the 11th century by the Muslim
scholar and traveler, al-Burini, who accompanied Mahmud into
northern India. In his account, al-Burini explained to his readers that
they should always bear in mind that “the Hindus entirely differ from
us in every respect.” They differed from Muslims in their language,
and in “all manners and usages … to such a degree as to frighten
their children with us, with our dress, our ways and our customs.”
Furthermore, in al-Burini’s view, Muslims believed in nothing in
which Hindus believed “and vice versa.” And, while Hindus seldom
debated theological issues, they directed “all their fanaticism” against
all foreigners. “They call them mleccha, that is, impure, and forbid
having any connection with them, be it by intermarriage or any other
kind of relationship, or by sitting, eating, and drinking with them,
because thereby they think they would be polluted.” Lastly, advert-
ing to what he claimed were the peculiarities of the Hindu “national
character,” he remarked that

[w]e can only say, folly is an illness for which there is no medicine,
and the Hindus believe that there is no country but theirs, no nation
like theirs, no kings like theirs, no religion like theirs, no science like
theirs. They are haughty, foolishly vain, self-conceited, and stolid.
(Embree, 1971)

For Europeans too, the idea of “the Hindu” was beginning to

imply much more than “the inhabitants or people of India.” Indeed, a
belief that the “Hindus” were the founders of a distinctive civilization
preceding the Muslim incursions was the basis of considerable
4 Geoffrey A. Oddie

European literature in the 18th and early 19th centuries. Orientalist

scholars such as Sir William Jones, Alexander Dow, and William
Robertson, and governors and administrators such as John Malcolm
and Mountstuart Elphinstone, all thought and wrote about the history
of the Hindu people and the nature of Hindu civilization, including
their language, religion, and social institutions. But though religion
was discussed, the Hindu was not defined solely on the grounds of his
or her religious allegiance (Marshall, 1970; Robertson, 1804; Malcolm,
1970; Elphinstone, 1849). The comparison was more between the
Hindus and people of other ancient civilizations (such as those of Egypt,
Greece, and Rome) than it was between Hindus and the followers of
other faiths. In other words, nationality, residence, or citizenship,
rather than religion, continued as the primary European focus and
basis of definition.
This territorial, racial, and general cultural notion of the Hindu
was also reflected in the 19th-century comment (Oddie, 2003) and
in English and French dictionary definitions, even when the more
limited (specifically religious) idea of the Hindu as “the follower of
Hinduism” was becoming increasingly popular. British dictionaries
even as late as the middle of the 19th century continued to insist on
a basic territorial and racial definition. Thus, according to Barclay’s
Universal English Dictionary published in 1848, Hindus were “the
people inhabiting Hindustan, also called gentoos”—gentoo being a
Portuguese term for gentile or heathen.3 In the words of the author
of the entry in the Imperial Dictionary published in 1851, Hindoo
or Hindu referred to “an aboriginal of Hindoostan or Hindostan”4
(Ogilvie, 1851). However, while these dictionaries limited themselves
to the territorial and racial definition, the notion of “the Hindu”
in some other references was beginning to change. Colange in The
People’s Encyclopedia published in 1875 described the Hindu as
“a native of Hindostan,” and in an article on Hindustan, made three
further points: (a) the great bulk of the inhabitants of Hindustan are
Hindus, (b) they are followers of the Brahmanical religion, and (c)
they are separate and different from the Muslims (Colange, 1875).
Comment on their religion was an increasingly important ingredient
and an indication of the way in which the concept of the Hindu was
continuing to develop especially in Britain.
 The Emergence and Significance of the Term “Hinduism” 5

The Hindu in Hindu Self-understanding

If these are the comments of outsiders, what were the feelings

and views of the “Hindus” themselves? To what extent were they
developing a self-conscious sense of their own cultural, social, or
religious identity? In particular, was there a growing belief that they
had common religious traditions or a faith different from that of
Europeans and other outsiders?
There has been extensive comment on these issues in recent years,
and any detailed analysis of the arguments and evidence advanced is
not possible here. Suffice it to say that as a result of the work of a range
of scholars, it is now possible to see more clearly general trends and
regional variations and to suggest some very tentative conclusions. First,
studies focusing on different parts of the subcontinent such as those of
Nainar Jagadeesan, von Stietencron, and Sanjay Subrahmanyam have
highlighted the extent of religious diversity and fragmentation that
appears to have prevailed among people subsequently described as
“Hindus” in different parts of the subcontinent prior to the coming of
Islam (Jagadeesan, 1997). Especially well documented is the intensity
of the Vaishnavite–Saivite conflict in south India, which, it has been
argued, is best thought of as between two mutually exclusive and dis-
tinctive “religions.” Moreover, not only does there appear to have been
an absence of Hindu religious unity during the centuries prior to the
appearance of Muslims, but according to Andre Wink in particular,
when the Muslims first arrived, they collaborated with the locals so
that any alliance system that developed tended to cut across the foreign
versus indigenous peoples division (Wink, 1990). In other words, rivalry
was between class or special interest groups rather than between clearly
defined religious communities comprising the incoming “invaders,”
on the one hand and the local people (Hindus) on the other.
Recent research does, however, suggest that after the initial stages
of Islamic conquest and settlement in different parts of India, and for
reasons that may or may not be related to the stimulus of these events,
Hindu scholars, including those who created Hindu texts, were begin-
ning to develop a sense of Hindu religious unity—at least at a philo-
sophical or intellectual level. In his book Unifying Hinduism, Andrew
6 Geoffrey A. Oddie

Nicholson tells the story of what he describes as “a remarkable shift,”

arguing that the seeds were planted for the now familiar discourse of
Hindu unity by a number of influential philosophers in late medieval
India (Nicholson, 2010).
Alongside this ongoing philosophical development as described in
Nicholson’s work was the further pressure of outsiders, encouraging,
among all kinds of Hindus, a further sense of the religious difference
between themselves as “insiders” or residents of India and the
foreigners. This process was accelerated by the introduction of what
Cantwell Smith has described as the more formal, rigid, and structured
form of Islam, culminating in the policies of Aurangzeb in the 17th
century (Smith, 1981). Indeed even before the introduction of these
measures that heightened Hindu awareness and helped to undermine
the status and position of Hindus within the Mughal administration,
there is some evidence that indigenous commentators and writers
were beginning to think of themselves as “Hindus.” Talbot’s work on
Telugu inscriptions associated with the rulers of Vijayanagara, Joseph
O’Connell’s examination of Bengali Gaudiya Vaishnava texts dating
from the second half of the 16th century, and Balkrishna Gokhale’s
discussion of Marathi devotional literature produced during the period
of Shivaji’s conflict with Mughal rulers, shows that during the 16th and
17th centuries, usage of the term “Hindus” by Hindus was gradually
spreading as they began to compare themselves with Islamic intruders
(Gokhale, 1984; O’Connell, 1993; Talbot, 1995).
This sense of difference was not always based on what might be
described as religious markers—recognition of difference also being
based on language, dress, housing, forms of social organization, and so
on. O’Connell in his study of the Bengalis’ use of the term “Hindu” goes
so far as to argue that none of the references to the term really reflect a
sense of corporate religious or confessional identity separating Hindus
as a whole from the Muslims among them. The result of Gokhale’s
research on the situation in western India during the period of Shivaji’s
encounter with Mughal rulers is, however, very different. In his study,
Gokhale notes the cumulative effect of Mughal policy on Hindu religious
life and practice and the effect this had on Marathi commentators who
reflected increasingly their own sense of religious identity and difference
that separated them from Muslim opponents. Alongside this research
and these developments that are documented especially in Gokhale’s
study of Hindu responses to the Muslim presence in Maharashtra are
comments by insiders such as Kabir (1440–1518) (Vaudeville, 1974: 186)
 The Emergence and Significance of the Term “Hinduism” 7

and Guru Arjun (1563–1606) who used the term “Hindu” and “Muslim”
in a religious sense but who denied they belonged to either camp
(Oberoi, 1994).
While these developments suggest that, at least among some Hindus,
there was an emerging consciousness or sense of being Hindu in a religious
sense, it is still not clear just how far this consciousness was confined to
certain classes or groups of people in the population of people. There
were the Hindu scholars, and others influenced by their ideas (the type of
people referred to in Nicholson’s work) who recognized the connection
between different schools of philosophy or practice in different parts of
India. And, as we have argued, contact and conflict with outsiders was
also an important factor in raising awareness of the importance and value
of one’s own religious ideas and customs. But how common was contact
with outsiders (including Muslims) in the life of ordinary, lower caste, or
tribal people throughout the subcontinent? And, what about those who
were not well versed in Hindu theology or speculation and who were
not participants in the life of “the reflective few”? Scholars may point
to phenomena like the great India-wide pilgrim routes throughout the
Indian subcontinent and to similarities in Hindu rituals, mythology, and
worship in many different parts of the subcontinent.5 But again similarity
in stories, rituals, and practice is not the same thing as “an awareness” that
other Hindus all over India speaking different languages were sharing in
the same thing. A far greater and more widespread conscious conviction
(or feeling) that Hindus all over India were indeed sharing in a similar
corpus of tradition, practice, and belief did, however, develop especially
among the Western-educated classes during the period of colonial rule.
Indeed, to fully understand this growing conviction, including the coining
of the term “Hinduism,” and its increasing usage by both Europeans and
Western-educated Indian elites during the period from Ram Mohan
Roy to Independence in 1947 and after, it is necessary to briefly examine
developments in Europe—especially during what has been described as
the European “Age of Discovery.”

Europe and the Indian Ocean

One of the key European concepts of the 17th and 18th centuries was
the idea of religion.6
8 Geoffrey A. Oddie

The term religion comes from the Latin religio. For the Romans
religio or religion meant “ceremony, custom, or tradition.” Among
early Christians, religion was not merely outward practice or custom
but implied certain attitudes and belief, especially inner conviction.
However, this stress on inner conviction was eventually matched, or
even overshadowed, by a long process of objectification—religion
became something, which could be expressed objectively in written
creeds, doctrine, or stated belief.
This notion was bound up with the idea of a foundational scripture
or written text. Each religion was supposed to have its priests or
scholars who could interpret and guide its followers.
During the European Enlightenment, religion was thought of
(perhaps even more generally) as an objective reality—rather like
natural objects (rocks, animals, and plants) that could be explored,
compared, and classified through scientific enquiry. A religion was
“a system” with shape and boundaries—one religion being clearly
divided from another.
An illustration of this approach can be seen in William Carey’s
influential pamphlet An Enquiry into the Obligation of Christians to
Use Means for the Conversion of the Heathens, first published in 1793.
Carey divides the world among followers of different religions and
presents the reader with four basic categories: Judaism, Christianity,
Islam, and Heathenism—the latter being seen in Africa, the Americas,
and Asia—including Australia and New Zealand (Oddie, 2006: 14).

Age of Discovery

In the meantime, other developments were taking place as a result

of the European discovery and exploration of the new world. As
Europeans gained a greater knowledge of new regions and extended
their power and influence, especially eastward, their somewhat vague
and generalized idea of “Paganism” proved less and less satisfactory.
This is because there seemed to be differences between Paganism in
for example between India and Africa, or between India and China,
or between other regions and the South Sea Islands. Hence, there
was an increasing need to differentiate between the different types
of Paganism or Heathenism. Ultimately for many early travelers,
 The Emergence and Significance of the Term “Hinduism” 9

readers of the burgeoning genre of travel literature,7 officials, and

missionaries who were attempting to describe religions in India,
it was not good enough to use unqualified general terms such as
“Paganism” or “Heathenism.” What was needed was the evolution
of a further and more precise system of terminology—such as
“Indian paganism,” “Hindu idolatry,” or “the Hindu system,” and
from the notion of an Indian or Hindu system, it was but a small
step to the idea of “Hindooism”—a term that was eventually spelled
as “Hinduism.”

First Use and Significance of the Term

“Hindooism” or “Hinduism”

The evidence so far uncovered shows that Europeans (or rather

Britons) used the word “Hindooism” at least 29 years before Ram
Mohan Roy (the first well-known modern Indian reformer) used it in
1816.8 Charles Grant, an Evangelical and subsequently a Director of
the East India Company, employed the term in a letter written from
Calcutta to a friend in England in 1787. He also used it a number
of times in his well-known Observations written in 1792. Grant was
not only a convert to Evangelical Christianity, but was closely allied
with Protestant missionaries, including the Baptist missionaries who
settled in Serampore in 1793. Some years after Grant used the term
“Hindooism” in both his private and official capacity as a Company
employee, William Ward of the Baptist mission employed it in his
diary in 1801. Joshua Marshman, another member of the Serampore
trio, also used it (as an alternative to “the Hindoo system”) in his
diary in 1802. Indeed, evidence that Ram Mohan Roy met with
William Yates, another Baptist missionary, in 1815 and visited the
Baptist mission at Serampore in the following year leaves open the
intriguing possibility that he (Ram Mohan Roy) borrowed the term
“Hindooism” from the Baptists.
The adoption and increasing use of the term “Hindooism” (later
Hinduism) was significant especially for the Hindus themselves as it
was a clear acknowledgement by Europeans writers and others that
Indian religion could be compared with the other four religions of
10 Geoffrey A. Oddie

the world. According to Europeans, “Hinduism” was part of the same

genus and could be classed with Christianity and other religions. The
criteria that applied to Christianity as a religion could also be applied
to “Hinduism” as well as to Islam and Judaism. And just as one could
define Christianity by its characteristics, one could define “Hinduism”
in the same way too. India’s religion was therefore acknowledged, even
by foreigners, as one of the units in a comparative and global religious
approach. Indeed, the emergence of the term “Hindooism” was one
further step in the growth of the notion of “comparative religion.”
In fact, it was the basis of an idea that could be carried even further
and used by members of rival Indian elites wanting to establish the
superiority of their own particular tradition by claiming for it a status
as one of the great “religions of the world.” One of the beneficiaries
of this idea was, for example, J. M. Nallasvami Pillai (an exponent of
Saiva Siddhanta). As Bergunder has so clearly shown, Pillai argued
that his tradition, as well as Hinduism, could be considered a global
and universal religion alongside the other great religions of the world
(Bergunder, 2010).
Furthermore, embedded in the notion that Indian religion or
“Hinduism” was one among a number of world systems was the idea
that it shared with them certain common characteristics. It was first
and foremost an objective “system,” which like all religious systems
was an echo of the Christian model. All religions including “Hinduism”
had boundaries that separated them from other rival systems; and
marking the boundaries between “Hinduism” and other religions
eventually became one of the functions of the census commissioners
of a later date. Religions were unified systems internally coherent with
parts, which depended on each other, so, for example, “Hinduism”
involved inner-workings such as one might find in the workings of
a clock—and a missionary like Dr Alexander Duff could argue that
if you undermined or destroyed one part of the system, the whole
mechanism would cease to function.9 In all religions, according to
this view, there were elites (usually priests) who controlled everything
from the top down. There were sacred texts or writings (which priests
or indigenous scholars could interpret) and there was a belief system
or a “creed,” including something like an essence or hard core of belief
(in the case of “Hinduism,” usually “Pantheism”) that was its chief
characteristic. But also, according to Europeans, religions had their
 The Emergence and Significance of the Term “Hinduism” 11

particular institutions and were also responsible for the tone and kind
of values permeating society.
While the European idea of “Hinduism” incorporated long held
brahmanical views of the overall system, it also introduced less
familiar features drawn from Christian experience and history. This
was the emphasis on creedal belief. Europeans in the census and
other writings often used the term “creed” as a substitute for religion
and Indians themselves began to describe “Hinduism” in the same
way. Hence, Bengali reformer Debendranath Tagore published in
his paper a “confession of faith” and Lala Lajpat Rai (1865–1928)
who founded a new branch of the Hindu reform association known
as the Arya Samaj, included, in his account of the movement, “Ten
Principles to which every Arya is required to subscribe” (Rai, 1967).
This he assured his readers is “the simplest of creeds, to which no
Hindu, at any rate should have any difficulty in subscribing.” Gandhi
and other Hindus also used the term “creed” in their speeches
and writing.
Furthermore, the European emphasis on “a creed,” as one of the
central components of religion, began to influence indigenous Indian
terminology so that by the end of the century, a term like “dharma”
that had come to have almost the same meaning as religion or “religious
creed.” It is perhaps sufficient to quote the words of Bankimchandra
Chatterji, the well-known author and patriot who, writing at the end
of the 19th century, declared that “the word dharma has been used
with different meanings. Several of the meanings have no use for us.
The meaning in which you now use the word dharma that is simply a
modern translation of the English word Religion. It is no indigenous
thing” (Brekke, 1999) 10
In addition to the influence that the idea of “Hinduism” had on
indigenous concepts associated with religion, was its importance for
individual as well as corporate identity. It gave to Hindus, especially
to those who were becoming better educated, a fresh new India-wide
sense of identity—a stronger sense of belonging to an India-wide
movement, which could be compared with other systems elsewhere.
Individuals became proud of being “Hindu” in a religious sense, even
though they were not necessarily sure of its meaning.11 Indeed, it
might even be argued that the term helped unite Hindus in feeling
and sentiment in a way they hadn’t been united before. And yet,
12 Geoffrey A. Oddie

paradoxically, and at the same time, it also created division. While,

on the one hand, Hindu leaders in the newly emerging colonial so-
ciety all felt they were followers or even champions of “Hinduism,”
they disagreed, sometimes vehemently, as to what it really meant.
Indeed, use of the term played an important part in the process of
sectional religious, political, and other forms of mobilization. It was
a deep-seated and sometimes emotive label that could easily be used
as a tool or slogan by both Indians and Europeans in propaganda and
in efforts to gain support and influence others. As V. D. Savarkar, a
consummate propagandist and exponent of the idea of “Hindutva,”
pointed out, “When various things get mystically entwined with the
word that signifies it, the name seems to matter as much as the thing
itself” (Savarkar, 1942).
When out preaching and in their books and pamphlets, missionaries
used the term for comparative purposes, comparing Christianity
with “Hinduism” to the detriment of the latter.12 In Britain and the
USA, the term was also a very effective instrument in propaganda—
missionary societies for much of the 19th century contrasting all that
was diabolical in “Hinduism” with the purity of the Christian faith. A
constant stream of missionary material representing “Hinduism” as
something like a chamber of horrors, underlined the urgent need for
social reform and evangelism that would save the poor heathen from
the consequences of a truly horrific religious system.13 Furthermore,
the perceived contrast between “Hinduism” and Christianity was one
of the factors that encouraged young men and women to participate
in missionary activities.
East India Company officials used the term to consolidate British
rule along the lines suggested by the editors of The Invention of Religion
(2002) when they observe that colonial officials formalized religious
practices and doctrines “in order to define political constituencies and
claim authority” (Peterson and Walhof, 2002). In India many of them
thought of “Hinduism” as Brahmanism, and could bask in the idea
that they were not only consolidating British rule but were helping to
forge a grand India-wide unity symbolized by “Hinduism.” This was
to be done through the maintenance of Hindu temples and ceremonial
and by endorsing the efforts of scholars dedicated to uncovering and
explaining “Hinduism’s” ancient teachings.
 The Emergence and Significance of the Term “Hinduism” 13

Use of the Term in Ongoing Hindu

Public Controversy

As noted in earlier comments, the term “Hinduism” had its special

uses in different types of conflict within Indian society. In the first
place, the Brahmans had their own reasons for welcoming a greater
use of this type of terminology. They could argue that of course they
were the custodians of India’s entire religion, namely “Hinduism,”
and that they knew what its texts and tenets were, and what needed
to be preserved in Hindu tradition. Indeed, the increasing use of the
term, together with the widespread assumption that “Hinduism” was
in fact “Brahmanism,” probably strengthened the overall control of
the Brahman elite who were so often the consultants employed in
socio-religious as well as legal affairs.
Second, there was the increasing ease with which Hindu religious
and political leaders more generally used the term “Hinduism” in
their bid for power and support and in the elimination of rivals.
Two trends are clearly apparent from the time of Ram Mohan
Roy through to Independence. One tendency was to take the high
ground and claim that one’s own particular version of “Hinduism”
was the correct one and that all other versions were wrong. The
other approach was to brush over differences and use the idea
of “Hinduism” to unify all Hindus in the struggle against the
missionaries and British rule.

1. Divisive religious models. Ram Mohan Roy, who founded the

Brahmo Samaj in 1828, drew a distinction between the “real
Hindooism,” which he promoted through his reform move-
ment and “the superstitious practices that deformed the Hindoo
religion,” and that had nothing to do with “the pure spirit of
its dictates.”14 Lala Lajpat Rai, one of the leaders of the Arya
Samaj founded in 1875, was equally emphatic in claiming to
represent the true form of “Hinduism,” while Gandhi, who was
not always thought of as a religious reformer, also developed
his own special definition of “Hinduism.” Indeed it was his idea
of “Hinduism” as moral action which, as Jordens has argued,
14 Geoffrey A. Oddie

distinguished him from many other Hindus involved in the

nationalist movement.15 The particular and crucial moments
during which his adherence to his own model of “Hinduism”
furthered division rather than building unity among Hindus
are a topic for further investigation.
2. Unifying models. In contrast to these more divisive models
was the notion of an inclusive and all-India religious system,
which could be used to unite people against foreign missionary
intervention and also colonial rule. One example of this
approach can be seen in pamphlets published by the Hindu Tract
Society. An aggressive and increasingly influential organization
founded in Madras in 1887 to defend “Hinduism” against
Christian missionaries, it placed a great deal of emphasis on the
need for unity. For example, the writer of Tamil tract No. 2 asked
readers if the missionaries converted Moslems to Christianity.
Replying to his own question he remarked that

the Moslems realize that the danger to the Moslem is a danger

to all of them and thus safeguard their religion. Is it not due to
this realization and unity among them that the Moslems are not
converted to Christianity … Hereafter Hindus should not fight
among themselves, calling themselves Thenkalais, Vadakalais,
Saivites, Vaishnavites, Advaitins, Visistavaitins and Dvaitins;
they should act as one man and oppose the Christian religion.16

As is well known, Vivekananda also used the idea of “Hinduism”

in his campaigns in ways that tended to unify Hindus of all traditions
and from all walks of life.17 His central message, emphasizing the
universality of the Hindus’ spiritual yearning for God, irrespective
of social status or religious sophistication, not only eliminated
differences within “Hinduism,” but nurtured in Hindus a sense of
pride that European colonizers and even Christian missionaries
could learn from them.
Finally, there were at least two general developments encouraging
the high caste Hindus’ sense of belonging to “Hinduism” and the need
to defend it from all its enemies.
One of these was an ongoing conflict with Christian missionaries
and fear of conversion especially through mission schools. In the mid-
19th century, for example, the conversion of high caste individuals,
 The Emergence and Significance of the Term “Hinduism” 15

usually young men in mission schools, created enormous upheaval and

ferment especially in cities such as Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras. The
local English language papers were increasingly concerned with the
task of defending what they described as “Hinduism.”18 Furthermore,
this fear of conversion was heightened by a suspicion that the colonial
government itself was implicated in a sinister attempt to bring
“Hinduism” crashing down. Measures such as the suppression of sati,
legislation giving converts the right to retain ancestral property, and
the attempted introduction of the Bible in government schools were
seen by some Hindus as a widespread and common threat and solid
proof of the government’s evil intention of destroying what was now
coming to be called “Hinduism.” Newspapers, tracts, and pamphlets
all tended to reflect this new polarity between Christianity on the one
hand and “Hinduism” on the other.
Another factor in heightening communal awareness and in pro-
moting the idea of an India-wide “Hinduism” was the introduction
of the Census in British territory in 1871 and also into the Princely
states 10 years later.
Religions were classified in the usual British way—the people being
put in boxes and clearly divided from one another. There were now
clear lines of division between people of different religions.
The method of counting Hindus in particular was highly
problematic. According to the Census Commissioner in 1891, this
was done through “the process of successive exclusion” whereby
“Hinduism” was defined as “the large residuum that is not Sikh, or Jain,
or Buddhist, or professedly animistic, or included in one of the foreign
religions, such as Islam, Mazdaism [Zoroastrianism], Christianity or
Hebraism.”19
But in spite of their problematic nature, especially of the figures
on the number of Hindus, the returns were taken very seriously by
a growing number of politically conscious Hindus in the 1920s and
1930s. They became increasingly alarmed by figures that seemed to
suggest a decline in the number of Hindus as a result of conversion to
Christianity and Islam. One outcome of this was the establishment of
the All-India Hindu Mahasabha. It was founded in 1915 specifically to
defend Hindu interests and in opposition to the secular and religiously
inclusive Indian National Congress.20
16 Geoffrey A. Oddie

But while there were Hindus who were becoming increasingly

conscious of the need to defend “Hinduism,” there were still millions
of others who didn’t know what “Hinduism” was all about. Indeed,
it appears to have been the higher castes and educated (and usually
urban classes) who were those mostly influenced by British categories
and the notion of religion.
In his introduction to the Madras Census of 1921, the Census
Commissioner remarked that

the chief hindrance to the obtaining of accurate returns is the fact that
the terms used to classify the religions are unfamiliar to the people
of the country, and do not really suggest what is meant in common
parlance by religion. The worst instances are the terms “Hindu” and
“Animist”. No Indian is familiar with the term “Hindu” as applied
to his religion. If asked what his religion is, he usually replies with
the name of the sect (e.g., Saivite), to which he belongs … the word
“Hindu” implies not only certain religious beliefs but also a certain
nationality and almost necessarily a certain social organization.21

Postcolonial Debates and Ideas of Hinduism

Since Independence, the idea of being “Hindu” or of “Hinduism” has

remained problematic—the meaning of these concepts being hotly
debated not only among scholars but also among Indian people more
generally—for practical as well as for religious and other reasons.
One practical issue has been the new central government’s criteria
for assisting the “backward” sections in Indian society through what
is sometimes called a policy of “compensatory discrimination.”22
The new rules involving an assessment of who is or is not a Hindu
were applied to both the scheduled castes (including people who are
now called dalits) and the scheduled tribes. The most frequent and
widespread disputes have been in relation to both central government
and, more recently, state government policies of educational and
other forms of assistance for dalits. While Hindus, Sikhs, and now
Buddhists are considered eligible for grants, Christians and Muslims
are not (Smith, 1981: 234; Oliver and Vicziany, 1998). This means
that unless several million Christian dalits and many more millions of
 The Emergence and Significance of the Term “Hinduism” 17

Muslim dalits declare themselves “Hindus,” they are in no position to

receive assistance.23 This policy, which has been described as essentially
“discriminatory,” has in recent years been somewhat modified in some
parts of the subcontinent. But the essential point here is that for very
practical reasons one’s stated religious affiliation, including the term
“Hindu,” has now become even more important than it was under
colonial rule.24
In the meantime, some tribals (now adivasis) have also been po-
litically active—resisting the way they are represented as Hindus in
the Census. In 1951, the government of India dropped the separate
category for “tribals,” listing them as “Hindus”: a practice that has
been followed ever since.25 This change in official policy has focused
further attention on the question of how far the various tribal groups
do in fact think of themselves as “Hindus” or followers of “Hinduism.”
Referring to the results of his recent research in Jharkhand, in central
India, the anthropologist Alpa Shah (2010) notes that “Fearful of the
Hindu nationalists who seek to incorporate adivasis into mainstream
Hinduism, Jharkhandi activists have been ... promoting a separate
indigenous religion comparable to Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism
that is sometimes called Sarn and sometimes Adi-dharam”. The per-
sistent rejection of what some tribals regard as a false category is also
reflected in one of the more recent incidents when representatives of
some adivasi organizations met in West Bengal in January 2011. They
demanded that a distinctive religious code be organized for them in
the census—some of them claiming, for example, to be followers of
Sari Dhorom or some other tribal (non-Hindu) religion.
Apart from the census and these practical issues, a second
development, much of it since Independence, has been the increasing
level of debate, especially among both Indian and non-Indian scholars
(anthropologists and others) interested in the nature and boundaries
of “Hinduism” in its postcolonial or contemporary environment. Even
if there is still no consensus, these controversies have certainly helped
refine new ways of looking at the phenomena as a whole. Redfield’s
thesis that civilizations, as distinct from primitive societies and cultures,
are made up of distinctive but interrelated parts is widely accepted and
reflected in the notion of “the great” and “little tradition”—the great
tradition being associated with the specialists and dominant elite and
18 Geoffrey A. Oddie

the little tradition with the peasantry and “unreflective” many. This
idea of levels is also reflected in the work of M. N. Srinivas (a brahman)
who put forward his well-known thesis involving what he described
as the process of “Sanscritization” whereby tribals and lower caste
Hindus adopt the practices and beliefs of higher caste Hindus. While
there can be little doubt that this process is continuing to happen,
commentators would do well to reflect on the opposite process whereby
tribals or lower caste Hindus influence religious ideas and rituals from
below (Hardiman, 1987). One clear example of this was the practice
of “hook-swinging” in the 19th century (Oddie, 1995). Though it was
apparently introduced in a much earlier period and practised very
largely by tribals and lower caste Hindus, it was eventually adopted
and performed by some higher caste Hindus.
Among other somewhat different attempts to overcome difficulties
in defining “Hinduism” Heinrich von Stietencron stresses, not the
notion of levels in Hinduism, but the idea of separate parts. He writes,

[w]hat we call Hinduism, is a geographically defined group of distinct

but related religions, that originated in the same region, developed
under similar socio-economic and political conditions, incorporated
largely the same traditions, influenced each other continuously,
and jointly contributed to the Hindu culture. Therefore, it is only
by distinguishing the various Hindu religions from “Hinduism”
that comparability with other historical religions can be ensured.
(Sontheimer and Kulke, 1991)

While this is certainly a helpful way of looking at the different Hindu

religious traditions, it raises the question of what is meant by “Hindu
culture” and how one distinguishes Hindu culture from Indian culture
more generally. How does Hindu culture differ from Christian and
Muslim culture in India? If, for example, Muslims recite some of the same
folk tales as Hindus, does this make them Hindus?26 And what of Christian
theologians and others who incorporate Hindu practices in their forms of
worship?27 There may be certain common forms of culture in India, but
this doesn’t necessarily make them “Hindu” in a strictly religious sense.
A third development, and one that is especially important for the
way in which Indian people perceive themselves and interpret notions
of “Hindu” and “Hinduism,” is the breath-taking scale and rapidity
of social, economic, and other changes. As a result of increasing
 The Emergence and Significance of the Term “Hinduism” 19

literacy, improvements in road and rail connections, the activity of

modern political parties (which debate aspects of Hinduism as well as
Hindutva), and especially the revolution in communications, including
the use of television and mobile phones, the isolation endured by village
people is rapidly breaking down. Issues of identity or self-definition
in an increasingly complex (even amorphous) world are perhaps
more important than ever. Indeed one suspects that when the census
takers recently revisited the villages and asked the usual question
about religious affiliation (for the Census of 2011), there was a higher
proportion of people either conscious of being “Hindu” in a religious
sense or familiar with the term than there had been when the Madras
census was taken in 1921. It is also likely that the term “Hinduism,”
once largely restricted to the Indian elites, is now much more widely
known and used among ordinary people.

Notes

1. For these and other details, see especially Basham (1954, 1975). See also Von
Stietencron (1991).
2. The term “Hindoo Christian” was also used by non-Christian Hindus in a peti-
tion published in UK Parliamentary Papers, Commons 436(27): 1852–1853.
3. For comments on the meaning of the term “Gentoo,” see especially Grose (1772)
and Hamilton (1828).
4. The similarity in the meaning of “Hindu” and “Indian” is implied in other con-
temporary observations. Thus according to James Forbes, author of Oriental
Memoirs. (1834) the “Hindoos” were “the aborigines of Hindostan,” vol. 1, p.
236 (London: Bentley).
5. For comment on Hindu mythology, see Hinduism in India: The Early Period,
Chapter 3.
6. See especially Smith (1991), Harrison (1999), Oddie (2006).
7. For readers of travel literature which illustrated and discussed different forms of
“Paganism” see especially, Masuzava (2005).
8. For the details which follow see especially Oddie (2006: 71–72, 171) and Killingley,
Dermot. 1993. Rammohan Roy in Hindu and Christian Tradition, the Teape
Lectures (1990) Newcastle upon Tyne: Grevatt and Grevatt, Ch. 4.
9. On Duff’s views of Hinduism, see especially Oddie (2006), Ch. 6.
10. See also Oddie in Frykenberg (2003: 163).
11. On one occasion at the University of Sydney one of the Indian students said to me
“Sir, I’m a Hindu, but tell me, what do I believe?” He was proud to be a follower
of “Hinduism” even though he was not sure what it was.
20 Geoffrey A. Oddie

12. Oddie in Frykenberg: 164–166. However, it needs to be kept in mind that not all
Protestant missionaries either propounded or shared in these views. For mission-
ary criticisms of the dominant view that Hindus shared one holistic system, see,
for example, the remarks of Robert Caldwell in Oddie (2006), Ch. 9.
13. See especially “Hinduism in Missionary Society Literature,” in Oddie (2006), Ch. 7.
14. Killingley, op. cit.
15. See especially Jordens (1998).
16. Tamil Tract, No. 2, July 1887, “What Hindus Should Carefully Consider,” Hindu
Tract Society Pamphlets: Theosophical Society Archives, Adayar, Chennai.
17. The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda, Calcutta: 1958–1963. See especially
his address on “Hinduism” at the Parliament of Religions, vol. 1, pp. 6–21.
18. See especially, Oddie in Frykenberg (2003: 166–173).
19. Census of India, 1891, Vol. 1, India, Report, 157. The same problems and method
of exclusion were referred to in the Census of 1921. See Census of India, 1921,
Vol. 1, India, Report, 108–113.
20. For the origin and meetings of the Hindu Mahasabha, see especially the Indian
Annual Register, 1924–1940.
21. Census of India, 1921, Vol. X111, Madras, Part 1, Report, p. 57.
22. For details, see especially Webster (2009).
23. For Christian reactions to this policy, see, for example, Christianity Today, February
9, 2011.
24. In his otherwise impressive study of popular Hinduism and Society in India during
the postcolonial period, Christopher Fuller (like many others) is unquestioning
in his attitude toward census figures on the number and proportion of Hindus in
India’s population in 1981 and somewhat later (see Fuller, 2004). However, what
is not known and needs to be established, is the actual number of Christian and
Muslim dalits—perhaps millions—who, for the sake of social and other benefits,
declare themselves “Hindus” in the official records.
25. From 1881 to the Census of 1911 there was a separate category for “Primitive” who
in 1911 were said to represent nearly 3.24 percent of India’s total population. In
the census of 1921 this category was abolished being replaced by “Tribal.” In 1941
“Tribal” became “Tribes” when it was claimed that they numbered more than 25
million representing 6.59 percent of the total population. See Oddie (1991).
26. See Malik’s findings as reported in this book.
27. See especially Baago, Kaj, op.cit. and Boyd (1969).

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Oxford University Press.
 Chapter 2
Hinduism and Modernity

Will Sweetman

All religions change over time, but in the modern period the pace
of change has accelerated greatly. While never static, Hinduism has
changed more rapidly in the last two centuries than in the preced-
ing two millennia. In this section of the book, Tim Lubin, Thomas
Birtchnell, Robert E. Frykenberg, and Ursula Rao examine how these
changes have played out in the realms of law, economics, politics,
and the media, and Michael J. Spurr examines the role in the modern
period of the gurus who have often been at the forefront of changes in
Hindu practice.1 This introduction will set the scene for their chapters
by considering some aspects of the modern world, which have pro-
voked profound shifts in Hindu thought and practice. For India in
the modern period, it is inevitable that we should have to consider the
impact of colonialism upon the forms of Hindu practice. Similarly,
although migration—both within and beyond India—has long been a
factor shaping Hinduism, migration of Hindus in the modern period,
often facilitated by colonialism, has occurred on an unprecedented
scale and it is therefore important to examine the consequences,
particularly within the Hindu diaspora in Asia.

Colonialism

The British East India Company first gained power in Bengal in the
second half of the 18th century and gradually extended their control
across India. For a period of almost two centuries, the British were
the dominant political force in India. This had profound implications
for Hinduism, not least because the king had traditionally played an
24 Will Sweetman

important role in Hindu religion. At Independence in 1947, the Indian

subcontinent was divided along religious lines, with the creation of
the Muslim states of Pakistan and Bangladesh. The legacy of colonial
division has also been important within India itself, as we shall see,
and so the effects of colonialism on Hinduism have endured beyond
the end of the colonial period.
The emphasis on the importance of colonial rule and its effects
carries with it the danger of neglecting other causes of change in the
modern period. In the modern period, there has been a strong tendency
for both Hindus and others to present Hinduism as an ancient and
unchanging tradition. When colonial rule was being established in the
late 18th century, European observers often represented Hinduism as
an ancient religion whose development had been arrested at an early
stage, so that it had failed to progress in the way that other religions
had. Modern Hindus often refer to Hinduism as sanātana dharma,
translating sanātana as “eternal” and emphasizing its unchanging
essential character. Ironically, the widespread use of the expression
in this sense is itself a modern phenomenon. While the expression
appears in ancient sources, it is only in the 19th century that it came
to be used as a way of referring to Hinduism as a religion (Halbfass,
1988: 344), and those who popularized the terms were in fact very
active in reformulating Hinduism in response to the challenges of the
modern world (Dalmia, 1997: 2; cf. Zavos, 2001).
This image of Hinduism as unchanging, or unchanged until the
onslaught of colonialism, does not cohere with the historical evidence.
For example, around the turn of the 16th century, three teachers
had emerged in different parts of India, and founded movements
that changed the religious landscape of India not only then, but also
subsequently. In Bengal the Vaiṣṇava teacher Caitanya (1486–1533)
revived devotion to Viṣṇu; in western India, in Gujarat and the sur-
rounding states, Vallabhācārya (1473–1531) founded another Vaiṣṇava
bhakti tradition and at the same time the first Sikh Guru, Guru Nānak
(1469–1539) was active in Punjab. Andrew Nicholson has recently
argued that one important development that has widely been taken
to be an effect of colonial rule—the idea of Hinduism as a unified
religion—was in fact already underway in the work of late medieval
Hindu doxographers who sought to defend the unity of orthodox
Hindu philosophical traditions over against Jain and Buddhist het-
erodoxies (Nicholson, 2010).
 Hinduism and Modernity 25

Not only is colonialism not the only source of change, but its effects—
and those of Caitanya, Vallabhācārya, Nānak and the doxographers—
were also limited, and in many places Hindus continued to carry out
rituals according to centuries-old handbooks and to express devotion
in ways, which would be recognizable to the compilers of those texts.
There are important parallels in Hindu thought between the god
and the king, and the same word, deva, is used to refer to both. The
supreme deity is often imagined as the king of the gods, with other
deities forming his court. The rituals for anointing a human king are
similar to those for consecrating a divine image, and the king’s role
in upholding order and ensuring divine protection of the kingdom
depended in part on his place as the patron of ritual. The displacement
of the king by colonial rulers and then by the secular government of
independent India therefore had a profound impact on Hinduism.
It is important to note, however, that in many parts of India, Hindu
kings had already been displaced earlier by Muslim rulers. A series
of Muslim rulers of Turkish and Central Asian origin had begun
conquering parts of north India from the 11th century. By the 13th
century, their successors had established the Delhi Sultanate, which
was to dominate much of India until the rise of the Mughals in the
16th century. While Hindu kingdoms survived in some parts of India,
notably the south, for many parts of India rule by non-Hindus had
been the norm for centuries.
To differing degrees, the Mughals had taken on aspects of the tradi-
tional ritual functions of Hindu kings, and when in the 18th century the
British began to emerge as the dominant force in India they too took
on some of these roles. From the late 17th century onward, Company
officials in Madras participated in public religious festivals, processing
through the streets together with local notables in the manner of both
Hindu gods and kings (Frykenberg, 2000: 6).2 The Company also seems
to have made attempts to legitimize its rule by invoking traditional
authorities. Coins minted by the Company in Madras from the mid-
17th century bore an image of Śrī Veṅkaṭēśwara, the form of Viṣṇu
worshipped at the great temple at Tirupati to the north of Madras.
The coin was known as a “pagoda” from a Portuguese word which,
while its derivation is obscure, was also widely used to refer to Hindu
temples (Deyell and Frykenberg, 1982). An 18th-century Sanskrit
document includes Europeans among those who made endowments
to temples in Madras (Frykenberg, 1988). In 1805, the Company
26 Will Sweetman

agreed to requests from officials and priests of the Jagannāth temple

in Orissa, recently added to the Company’s territories, to administer a
tax on pilgrims to the temple as the Mughals and Marathas had done
before them (Cassels, 1972).3 In the following decade, the Company
passed regulations in both Bengal (1810) and the south (1817) making
it responsible for the administration of all public religious institu-
tions—from temples and monasteries to pilgrim rest houses—and the
endowments, which supported them. While the regulations required
only that the Company’s agents ensure that the endowments were
properly managed and applied to those purposes for which they had
been intended by those who established them, in practice this meant
that the Company became responsible for superintending the manage-
ment of tens of thousands of temples and other religious institutions
(Frykenberg, 2000: 8–9).
As the Company’s territorial possessions and administrative respon-
sibilities had grown in the later part of the 18th century, its leaders had
become convinced that the loyalty of its Hindu and Muslim subjects
depended upon the assurance of freedom in the exercise of their reli-
gion. In 1772, the first Governor General of Bengal, Warren Hastings,
recommended that Hindus and Muslims should be governed accord-
ing to their own laws in matters of marriage, inheritance and religion,
and this became law from 1780 (Rocher, 1993). Subsequent Governor
Generals extended and reaffirmed this policy of “non-interference.”
This policy was nevertheless to have a number of important, if indirect,
consequences for Hindus.
In order to be able to administer Hindu law, Hastings commissioned
a group of Hindu scholars to produce a summary of the principles of
Hindu law contained in the dharmaśāstras. A group of Hindu scholars
prepared a Sanskrit document, which was then summarized in Persian,
the language of Mughal administration, before being translated into
English in 1776. This text marked the beginning of a series of scholarly
works undertaken with the support of the Company and in pursuit of
its goals. It was followed in 1794 by a direct translation from Sanskrit
into English of the Mānavadharmaśāstra by a judge of the Supreme
Court at Calcutta, William Jones. Jones, famously, complained at
having to rely in administering Hindu law on the advice of Hindu
scholars whom he believed to be biased, and therefore learned Sanskrit
in order to be able to read Hindu law for himself.
 Hinduism and Modernity 27

While the nature of these texts made them unsuitable for the
practical administration of law, they represent a shift from oral
authority (and the authority of custom) to written and printed
authority, which was to have important consequences not only for
Hindu law but for Hindu religious practice as a whole. Davis notes
that in classical and medieval India, the “first order of practical legal
discourse” was ācāra, customary law, and not the texts of Dharmaśāstra
(Davis, 2008). Rocher argues that the accepted customs that constituted
ācāra were preserved orally in the form of precepts in the vernaculars
of different regions. Although these sayings are the ultimate source of
the often contradictory collections of statements on different topics
in the Sanskrit Dharmaśāstra, Rocher argues that the dharmaśāstras
were “divorced from the practical administration of justice” (Rocher,
1993: 267). Thus the British despite attempting to administer Indian
law in the manner in which they believed their Indian predecessors
had done, in fact elevated the dharmaśāstras to a position that they
had never previously held. While the practical difficulties in ruling by
Dharmaśāstra meant that in fact it was not until 1864 that the British
were able to dispense with the services of the Hindu scholars whom
Jones so mistrusted, nevertheless the new primacy of textual authority
was of the greatest importance as we shall see below in relation to the
debates on satī.4
The formal study of Indian religious and legal literature by Britons
in the employ of the East India Company also had another equally
important, if less direct, impact on Hinduism. The works of Jones and
others in his circle inaugurated a tradition of formal study of Hinduism,
which was to change the Hindus’ understanding of their own past. The
picture of Indian religious history, which eventually emerged from this
tradition of study, has been influential even among the many modern
Hindus who reject some of its basic features.
Frykenberg has argued that the Company’s involvement in the
administration of Hindu temples, the codification of Hindu laws and
other sacred texts, helped create Hinduism as a public religion, and
one that was “heavily brahmanical in its orientation,” not least because
the textual tradition, which it privileged was largely brahmanical
(Frykenberg, 2000: 11).He concludes that the “euphemism of “religious
neutrality” (or “non-interference”)” masked a de facto “Hindu Raj”
(Frykenberg, 2006). In the early decades of the 19th century, there
was certainly a growing body of opinion in Britain that saw matters
28 Will Sweetman

in this light, regarding the Company’s involvement with Hinduism as

a “connexion with idolatry” intolerable for a Christian government.
Since the late 1780s, the Company had resisted efforts to require it
to provide official support for Protestant missions in India. As the
campaign gathered strength after the turn of the century, its supporters
increasingly drew attention to aspects of Hindu practice tolerated by
the Company, which they knew would excite disapproval at home.
The pitch of debate was raised considerably following the shock of
the Vellore Mutiny in 1806, which resulted in the death of about a
hundred Europeans. Although the immediate cause of the mutiny
by Indian soldiers in the Company’s Vellore garrison in Tamil Nadu
was changes in dress regulations, the Court of Directors found that
the deeper cause was the troops’ fear that “the next step would be, to
force them to become Christians.”5 Opponents of missionary activity
were quick to point out that any sign of official support for missionaries
would give credence to these fears. Missionaries and their supporters
responded vigorously, giving rise to a pamphlet war in which the
Company’s involvement with Hinduism was subjected to intense
scrutiny (Fisch, 1985).
In 1811 Claudius Buchanan, a former chaplain to the Company
in Bengal, published an account of his travels in India, which
contrasted the “obscene” and bloody rites of Hindus in Bengal with
the “moral conduct, upright dealing, and decorous manners of the
native Christians” converted by German missionaries in south India
(Claudius, 1811). His lurid account of the death of a Hindu who had
sacrificed himself beneath the wheels of the huge festival car of the
Jagannāth temple concludes by noting that the temple remained
a source of revenue for the East India Company, demonstrated by
an extract from the official accounts of the temple’s expenses. An
eyewitness account of the burning of three wives of a Brahman, one
of whom had to be carried to the pyre, concludes by laying the blame
on the Company for their acquiescence, claiming that their Muslim
predecessors had not hesitated to intervene in similar circumstances.
When its charter was renewed by parliament in 1813, the Company
was forced to accept the establishment of an Anglican bishopric in
Calcutta and the insertion in its charter of a “pious clause,” first
framed 20 years earlier, insisting that the country had a duty to
promote the “religious and moral improvement” of the Indians.
While the Company retained the right to expel from its territories
 Hinduism and Modernity 29

anyone it considered unfit, and continued to restrict the activities

of missionaries, especially in the Madras Presidency and in border
areas, the passing of this clause was celebrated by the supporters of
mission as a victory and the next 20 years saw significant growth in
the number of mission stations, if not of conversions (Carson, 1991).
Nevertheless, the “pious clause” also contained a caveat, which en-
shrined in the Company’s charter for the first time “the principles of
the British Government on which the Natives of India have hitherto
relied for the free exercise of their Religion,” requiring that they “be
inviolably maintained.”6
The significance of this caveat can be seen in relation to satī, which
the Company moved to regulate in the same year as the principle of
religious freedom was safeguarded in its charter. Against the claims
of opponents of the practice, both British and Indian, the Company
asserted that satī was “recognized and encouraged by the doctrines of
the Hindoo religion.” Acknowledging the “fundamental principle of
... the most complete toleration in matters of religion” the Company
decided that it could not prohibit Hindu women from committing
satī, but that it should seek to ensure that they did so only “in those
cases in which it is countenanced by their religion; and to prevent
it in others.” Thus, in 1813 the Company instructed its magistrates
to issue directions to the police, which noted that according to “the
expositions of the Hindoo law, delivered by pundits ... the burning a
woman pregnant, or one having a child of tender years, or a girl not
yet arrived at full age, is expressly forbidden in the Shasters; and also,
that intoxicating a woman for the purpose of burning her, and burn-
ing one without her assent, or against her will, is highly illegal, and
contrary to established usage.”7 It is notable here that alongside the
opinions of Hindu scholars, and “established usage,” the Company’s
directive invokes the authority of the śāstras. Textual authority, and
especially that of “the most ancient laws of the Hindoos,” notably the
Mānavadharmaśāstra, was again invoked in 1828 when the Company
drafted a regulation to ban satī altogether.8 The British may thereby
have been able to satisfy themselves that they had not “interfered” with
the religious practices of their Hindu subjects, but many Hindus saw
the matter differently.
Their sense that Hindu tradition was under threat grew later in
the century when the British legislated again on matters, which many
Hindus now regarded as part of their religious practice protected by
30 Will Sweetman

the policy of non-interference. The most contentious issues were those

which related to women, notably the legalization of remarriage for
Hindu widows in 1856 and the raising of the age of consent in 1891.
Although there were a number of aspects of Hindu tradition, which
the British presented as evidence for the degraded state of Hinduism
and its need of the civilizing mission of colonialism,9 increasingly
it was the condition of Indian, and especially Hindu, women that
became emblematic for both the colonizers and the colonized. For the
British, the plight of Indian women was a sign of the need for their
enlightened rule; in the domestic sphere Indian men denied their
women the freedom they demanded for themselves in the political
sphere, thereby—according to the British—revealing themselves to be
unworthy of it. While Indian reformers used similar arguments, Tanika
Sarkar has argued that for them the condition of women represented
also “a possibility for self-transformation and self-fashioning which
was absent in all other realms of life in which the state ruled arbitrarily”
(Sarkar, 2001a: 551).
For those who resisted reform, early marriage, and a ban on
remarriage were important in order to guard the purity of offerings
made to ancestors, and thus formed an essential part of the free
exercise of their religion. From the 1870s, their arguments also took on
a nationalist tone. Women came to represent the only part of Indian
culture untouched by colonial rule, a realm in which custom had to be
preserved if Indians were to retain any autonomy and authenticity. In
1873, in the wake of a court decision that confirmed some implications
of the 1856 Widow Remarriage Act, which seemed to Hindus to
undermine their understanding of marriage, one Hindu wrote:

We are but a half-civilised, poor, sorrowful, subjected, despised

nation. We have but one jewel, our chaste women, and that is the
treasure of seven realms, a priceless jewel ... this so-called subjection
of our women produces this sacred jewel of chastity which still glows
radiantly throughout the civilized world, despite centuries of political
subjection (Sarkar, 2001: 557).

Tanika Sarkar notes the growing colonial dominance of all spheres

of public life and enterprise in the latter part of the 19th century and
argues that the resultant “shrinking scope for self-expression through
‘male’ enterprise, alongside the militant nationalist self-organization
of the late nineteenth century, gave the Age of Consent debates their
 Hinduism and Modernity 31

extraordinary charge [and produced] the first stirrings of a modern

anti-colonial agitational nationalism” (Sarkar, 2001b: 229–230). She
finds the roots of the momentous political changes that began in this
period in the “immunity enjoyed by personal laws” that was a conse-
quence of the policy of non-interference. In independent India, Hindu
nationalists have continued to present women as the custodians of an
authentic Hinduism besieged now not by the colonial state, but by
the secular state, which was its legacy.10 In the late 1980s, as Hindu
nationalists moved closer to political power at the national level, these
claims were played out in public around the death of a young Rajasthani
woman on her husband’s funeral pyre.

Migration

Sea-borne trade and military expeditions, notably under the Chola

kings of South India, took Hindus to Southeast Asia where they left
archaeological evidence and traces of cultural influence. In later times
too, communities of traders established themselves in various places
around the Indian and Pacific oceans, including East Africa. There
was nevertheless a taboo on crossing the seas for high-caste Hindus
and a powerful attachment to India as a pure land, lying at the center
of the cosmos, surrounded by concentric seas. Despite these historical
instances of Hinduism spreading beyond the Indian subcontinent, and
the survival of communities in parts of Southeast Asia—notably Bali
(Ramstedt, 2004)—large-scale migration of Hindus is for the most part
a modern phenomenon and, initially at least, was very closely bound
up with the history of the British empire (cf. Sinha, 2005: 19–20).
In the 19th century, following the abolition of slavery, many Hindus
and other South Asians moved within the British empire to Southeast
Asia, Africa, the Caribbean, and the Pacific region, mostly to work
as contract or indentured laborers but also in some cases to pursue
commercial and educational opportunities. In the early 20th century,
migration from India slowed, but following the Second World War,
many members of Hindu communities outside India undertook a
second migration, most to Britain. In the 1950s and early 1960s many
moved from the Caribbean to Britain, largely for economic reasons,
and in the late 1960s and early 1970s many Hindus left East Africa
32 Will Sweetman

in the wake of the policies of Africanization followed in countries

that were themselves newly independent of the imperial power. From
the mid-1970s, migration to Britain slowed, consisting largely of the
reuniting of families as wives and other dependent relatives followed
Hindu men to Britain. There has also been some other movement
of Hindus and other South Asians from Britain and other places to
the USA, Canada, and Australia. The number of Hindus in the USA
grew rapidly following the lifting of immigration restrictions in 1965,
primarily through migration of professionals, and the number of
Hindus there (including converts to Hinduism, who would be in the
minority) has recently been estimated at more than 1.2 million, now
more than twice the number in Britain, which once had the largest
population in the Western world. Later smaller waves of migration
came about as a result of political upheavals in various parts of
the world, notably the military coups in Fiji in the late 1980s, and
the conflict in Sri Lanka. Since the 1970s, there has been a further
significant movement of skilled and semi-skilled Indian laborers to
work in the oil industry and related infrastructural development in
several countries around the Persian Gulf. The vast majority of these
have come from the southern states of India, especially Kerala. For
the most part, these countries have not allowed Indian workers to
obtain citizenship, so the diaspora communities here have a different
character than those elsewhere.
Steve Vertovec emphasizes that Hindu practice outside of India
differs not only from practice within India, but also from place to place
outside India (Vertovec, 2000). This reflects the different histories of
the communities, their different regions of origin within India, as
well as differences in the new cultural context within which they have
developed. Even within one country, the differences among Hindu
groups can be significant, for the same reasons. Despite sharing a
history of twice migrating, Indo-Caribbean Hindu migrants to
Britain differ from those who migrated from East Africa. Among the
latter group, Gujarati-speaking Hindus differ from Punjabi speakers,
even though both are mostly engaged in small- to medium-scale
businesses. Both groups would have different practices from more
recent direct migrants—many of them professionals—from other
parts of India. It is nevertheless possible to identify some common
 Hinduism and Modernity 33

strategies that have emerged among these very different groups, not
least a heightening of the importance of religious adherence as an
element of identity and the emergence of a kind of “ecumenical”
Hinduism, which is only found outside of India. A number of scholars
have challenged the tendency to regard diaspora Hinduism as a
departure from an idealized Indian Hinduism regarded as normative.
Not only are diasporic communities sometimes more conservative
in practice, but they deserve also to be taken seriously as religious
communities in their own right, and not only as off-shoots of a more
“authentic” Indian Hinduism.
We will here briefly survey some of the patterns that scholars have
identified in different diasporic communities, before considering how
far these patterns are to be found in the Hindu diaspora in Asia.

New Homelands

With the exception of some countries with long-established

communities such as Nepal, Hindus outside of India live as minority
communities. Only in Mauritius, Fiji, and two Caribbean countries,
do Hindus constitute more than 10 percent of the population. In
a study of these countries, and other communities constituted
primarily by movement of indentured laborers in South and East
Africa, Paul Younger characterizes the development of Hinduism as
the construction of “new homelands.” These new complexes of rituals,
values, and mythic stories developed quickly for two reasons. First, in
each country there were concentrations of migrants from particular
regions of India who shared a common religious culture. Second, the
relatively weak colonial administration of the plantations opened
up spaces for the development of religious institutions. By contrast
with later migrants to Europe and North America who have sought
a continuity of practice with Indian traditions, and with migrants
to regions closer to India, the isolation and—in some cases—loss of
language forced upon these earlier migrants created a more decisive
break with “ritual routines” (including the ritual order of caste) of
India (Younger, 2010 : 11).
34 Will Sweetman

Five Strategies of Adaptation

As emphasized earlier each diaspora community—and even each

group within those communities—has developed differently.
Raymond Brady Williams has identified five strategies of adaptation,
which he argues are characteristic of Indian religious groups in the
USA (Williams, 1992). Although not directly applicable to other
diaspora communities in the West, the typology is useful, and similar
strategies have also been identified by scholars working on those
communities.11 The earliest migrants to the USA mostly came alone,
and lived where there were few other Indian migrants. Williams
characterizes their religious practice as individualism, whether
through private acts of devotion or through a disregard for religious
practice altogether. As numbers of migrants increased, associations
based on national identity were formed following the model of many
earlier migrant groups to the USA. Although these organizations were
primarily secular in nature, the pervasiveness of Hindu elements in
Indian culture and arts meant that Hinduism became in many respects
“the unofficial religion of many of these associations,” even if this was
contested by some members of the association. Williams nevertheless
characterizes this as a national strategy of adaptation and distinguishes
it from an ecumenical strategy, which emerges when explicitly Hindu
associations began to develop. In the centers and temples established
by such groups,

Emphasis is placed upon all-India Hindu “great tradition,” on

devotion to major deities, and upon some elements of the Sanskrit
tradition. Study and devotional groups use universally accepted
Hindu texts, such as the Bhagavad Gita and the Ramayana. Languages
used are Sanskrit for rituals and English for instruction, commentary,
and business. Sectarian leaders on tour from India are incorporated
as guests during the annual calendar of events, but primary leaders
are developed from within the immigrant group. The sacred festivals
observed are those from the calendar observed throughout India.
(Williams, 1992: 239)

As the numbers of migrants increased, it became possible for

groups defined by ethnic (regional–linguistic) differences to emerge.
Shared language, cuisine, dress, and forms of religious practice gave an
 Hinduism and Modernity 35

ethnic strategy of adaptation a powerful appeal, particularly for first-

generation migrants. Finally what Williams characterizes as a
hierarchical strategy is based on “loyalty to a living religious leader
who provides a unity for the group beyond ethnic or national loyalties”
(Williams, 1992: 241). As in the case of ISKCON or Sai Baba groups,
devotion to the guru draws members with ethnic and national back-
grounds, but the unity of such groups is dependent on the presence of the
guru or successful negotiation of the period following the guru’s death.12

The Hindu Diaspora in Asia

Within Asia, the most significant Hindu diaspora communities are

in the “old diaspora” countries on the Malay peninsula.13 In absolute
terms Hindus in Malaysia, where over 80 percent of the 2 million
ethnically Indian Malaysians are Hindus, constitute the largest of
the Hindu diaspora communities formed in the modern period. The
number of Hindus in Singapore is much lower in absolute terms, but
the 150,000 Hindus there constitute a similar proportion of the total
population (5 percent in Singapore, 7 percent in Malaysia).
The Indian diaspora communities on the Malay peninsula were
largely formed during the century between the abolition of slavery
in the British empire in 1834 and the Indian government’s ban on
migration of unskilled labor in 1938. The majority of migrants were
poor, low-caste, rural Tamils recruited to work on rubber plantations.
There were, however, also Tamils from the higher-status vēḷāḷa caste in
both India and Sri Lanka who filled lower-level clerical positions in the
colonial administration, the railways, and on the plantations. A third
Tamil group was the Ceṭṭiyār entrepreneurs who acted as financiers,
traders, and also investors in the plantations and other enterprises.
Small numbers of Tamil brahmins had also migrated to Singapore and
Malaysia from the late 19th century. From the 1920s, the rise of the
anti-brahmin movement in Tamil Nadu greatly increased the numbers
of Tamil brahmins migrating to many parts of the world, including
Southeast Asia (Clothey, 2006 : 10–11, 118–120), and their prominence
among highly mobile professional groups has sustained their growth.
Although there have also been migrants—mostly merchants—from
other religious groups and from other parts of India, a substantial
36 Will Sweetman

majority of the Hindu diaspora in Malaysia and Singapore have long

been Tamil Hindus, and a substantial part of the remainder—Telugus
or Keralites—are also of South Indian origin.
Religious practice has been a key element in the strategies by which
Tamil Hindu migrants have sought both to maintain their identity
as Tamil Hindus in a new cultural context and to make sense of their
new identities as Malaysians or Singaporeans. The construction of
temples, in the distinctive South Indian style, has been central to these
processes. Temples serve not only as highly visible manifestations of the
presence of a community, but they also create a space, both literally and
symbolically, for the community to express its self-understanding. In
Tamil Nadu, temples play a central role in defining habitable space and
hence constituting a village as a place. The construction of permanent
temples in Malaysia and Singapore thus reflects not only the size and
financial strength of the diaspora communities that erect them, but also
the incorporation of their new—and now permanent—place of residence
into an established and sacralized cosmos. While temples continued to
serve some of the same functions as they had in India—notably as “sites
for displaying and constituting dominant social hierarchies” (Mines, 2005
: 18), they also took on new significance. In Malaysia and Singapore, life-
cycle rituals are performed less often or in attenuated forms, but when
they are performed the primary site for their performance has become
the temple, rather than the home. Participation in temple activities is also
a way for those approaching the age of marriage both “to be visible to
prospective partners and to be seen as apt embodiments of the tradition
from which a partner is being sought” (Clothey, 2006: 25). As elsewhere in
the diaspora, temples have also served as cultural centers, where language
is passed on and traditional arts are celebrated.
The designation of one of the Batu Caves, just north of Kuala
Lumpur, as a shrine to Murukaṉ has also served to incorporate the
Malaysian peninsula within the Tamil sacred geography. The Tai
Pūcam festival, celebrated in January–February, has also served as
a way for Hindus to stake a claim in the public sphere. The festival
is a public holiday in four Malaysian states (although not a federal
holiday), and is prominent in official attempts to promote tourism
in Singapore. The incorporation of other Hindus, and also some
non-Hindus, in the festival contributes also to the sense that this
is a Malaysian and Singaporean, and not merely a Hindu, event.
Although Tai Pūcam, like other Hindu festivals, expresses a broader
 Hinduism and Modernity 37

sense of participation in a Malaysian or Singaporean identity,

it also reveals a hierarchical ordering within the Tamil commu-
nity in a manner that is similar to that of festivals in Tamil Nadu
(Younger, 2002 : 7–9).
Although in general caste consciousness is greatly attenuated in the
diaspora, and the more so the further in space and time communities
are removed from their place of origin in India, caste or caste-like social
stratifications remain relevant for Tamils in Malaysia and Singapore—
especially in relation to the choice of marriage partners—and this
hierarchical ordering is also reflected in festivals there, including Tai
Pūcam. Ceṭṭiyār merchants, who had become devotees of Taṇṭāyutapāṉi
(Murukaṉ at Paḻaṉi) in India and established temples for him in
Singapore and Malaysia, have been patrons of the festival since its early
days. The temple car in Kuala Lumpur makes a stop outside the Ceṭṭiyār
Taṇṭāyutapāṉi temple, although the festival is formally sponsored by the
Mahāmāriyammaṉ temple. Like many such temples, this is controlled by
piḷḷais or vēḷāḷas, in alliance with other groups such as tēvars and kauṇṭars,
who had served as recruiters or administrators on the plantations. Those
who participate most fervently in the ritual vows for which the festival
is renowned—carrying kāvaṭi and other forms of sacred wounding, or
inviting possession by the deity—are mostly drawn from the descendents
of the dalit or adi-dravida groups who came as unskilled laborers to work
on the plantations. In the early period of migration, the latter groups were
refused admission to temples controlled by the higher castes.14 Despite
their inclusion in the festival, debates have continued over which forms
of religious devotion represent “authentic” Tamil Hindu tradition. Both
Ceṭṭiyār and the orthodox Śaiva Siddhānta Jaffna Tamils, who sought
to distance themselves from “the more extreme forms of penitential
participation,” (Clothey, 2006: 190) and reformers from the 1940s to the
1990s, have tried and mostly failed to dissuade the predominantly low-
caste devotees from piercing their skin. A similar process of the partial
dissolution of caste boundaries, but also continuing struggle for control
among different groups, can be seen in the gradual transformation of
Muṉiāṇṭi, a fierce god traditionally worshipped by low castes, into
Muṉiśvaraṉ, a form of Śiva (Sinha, 2005; Clothey, 2006: 69; Collins and
Ramanathan, 2014: 23). Religion thus remains central to the attempts
of Tamil Hindus in the diaspora to work out their identity both within
and outside their own communities.
38 Will Sweetman

Notes

­­  1. David Miller argues for the centrality of the guru in shaping change in Hinduism:
“The dynamic, sacred center of Hinduism, is, in fact, the enlightened guru, whose
charismatic leadership creates the institution for philosophical, religious, and social
change” (1977: 527).
2. Frykenberg has documented many examples of this sort in articles over more than
20 years.
3. Cassels notes that the Company had first authorized collection of a pilgrim tax
in 1784, but that the Jagannāth tax was the first time this was done as a matter of
policy.
4. Textual authority has remained important in legal decisions in independent India,
although customary practice is also authoritative. See Fuller (1988).
5. Papers relating to East India affairs, p. 4. Parliamentary Papers 1812–1813 (194).
6. Bill for continuing in East India Company Possession of British Territories in
India with certain Exclusive Privileges, p. 14. Parliamentary Papers 1812–1813
(327) II. 1239.
7. Papers relating to Hindoo Widows and Voluntary Immolations, pp. 31–33.
Parliamentary Papers 1821 (749) XVIII. 295.
8. Correspondence relative to Burning of Hindoo Widows on Funeral Piles of their
Husbands, p. 130. Parliamentary Papers 1830 (178) XXVIII. 783. The actual
regulations, passed in Bengal in 1829 and Madras in 1830, note only that satī is
“no where enjoined by the religion of the Hindoos as an imperative duty.”
9. For example, hook-swinging, which the British sought to discourage in various ways
before banning it in Bengal in 1865 and Madras in 1894. The debates over hook-
swinging reprise a number of the themes in the debates over sāti. See Oddie (1995).
10. As Lubin notes below, they have also charged the state with being only “pseudo-
secular,” citing its failure to intervene similarly in the cases governed by Muslim
personal law.
11. See the chapters on South Asians in Australia, Britain, and Canada in Hinnells
(1997).
12. For a discussion of the issues in the case of ISKCON, see the essays by Jan Brzezinski
and Irvin H. Collins in Bryant and Ekstrand (2004). The death of Sathya Sai Baba
in 2011 will likely raise similar issues for his organization. For a study of Sai Baba
movement in Malaysia, see Kent (2007).
13. There are, of course, significant numbers of Hindus in other South Asian countries
(Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, and Myanmar), but these are not considered
here as the history and experience of these communities is different from those
who were constituted by migration in recent times. (For overviews of Hinduism
in these countries, see the chapters on them in Jacobsen, 2009.) The Ministry of
Overseas Indian Affairs uses the term “old diaspora” to distinguish communities
established in the colonial era from those “new diaspora” countries which were
largely formed by migration after Indian independence.
 Hinduism and Modernity 39

14. In 1935, the Hindu Mahajana Sangam, which had fought for temple entry, gained
control of the Queen Street Māriyammaṉ temple and a nearby hilltop temple
where the festival procession ended (Collins and Ramanathan, 2014).

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 Chapter 3
Hinduism and Law

Timothy Lubin

Introduction

Hinduism—the web of distinctive devotional traditions in South Asia

and the Brahmanical institutions and theology that have provided
a systematizing influence over the centuries—has at every stage in
its history intersected with the legal realm. In antiquity, in law as in
religion, the Brahmanical priesthood sought to unify and systematize
what where otherwise oral norms and customary practices, setting
themselves up as authorities. As Brahmins promoted themselves as
officials and advisors to rulers, their earlier focus on ritual and per-
sonal conduct was broadened to include precepts on administrative,
civil, and criminal law; while continuing to acknowledge the valid-
ity of customary rules observed by particular groups or in certain
regions, which probably operated without written codes and quite
independently of Brahmin dharma professionals. Although the re-
sulting system, which came to be called Dharmaśāstra, the “Science
of What Is Right,” was probably not usually invoked directly outside
of high-caste circles and the royal courts, it provided a durable and
refined model of law that influenced legal practices across India and
had an impact beyond the subcontinent as well.
Under Muslim kingdoms from the 13th century, and later during
the age of European colonial intervention, a growing swath of affairs—
especially criminal and administrative law—was brought under newly
introduced legal systems. The consequence of this is that indigenous
legal traditions, including those of the Sanskrit Dharmaśāstra, came
42 Timothy Lubin

more and more to be associated with the cultural mores and religious
commitments of those whom the Muslims and then the Europeans
classed as “Hindu.” This was particularly so because the jurisdiction
of this indigenous law was restricted to the adjudication of disputes
and the ritual rehabilitation of wrong-doers within Hindu groups, and
the administration of Hindu religious institutions. The colonial British
courts encouraged this trend by attempting to codify Hindu law (or
aspects thereof) in the manner of English Common Law, relying at first
on Brahmins and the Sanskrit Dharma canon, but gradually seeking
to purge Hindu society of what the British viewed as cruel or immoral
customs by legislating against them.
Independent India’s secular law today has inherited from colonial
law both a certain ambivalence in its approach to matters of religion
and a commitment to progressive social reform and multicultural-
ism. This has been steadily resisted by a countervailing political
movement that idealizes Hindutva (“Hinduness”) as a national ethos
that should be publicly and legally recognized (an idea formulated
by Savarkar [1923]). In various ways, the notable court cases and
landmark enactments reflect this contest between those who would
remodel the polity to reflect a unified modern “Hinduness” and
those committed to a religiously neutral, pluralist, and egalitarian
political ideal. The struggles of Hindu communities outside India
to secure their legal status and rights, and at the same time their
distinctive social identity, have favored the consolidation of a more
uniform transnational form of Hinduism, and have inclined many
diaspora (and convert) Hindus to sympathize with the Hindutva
movement in India.
In what follows, I shall briefly review the interaction between reli-
gion and law in premodern periods before presenting in more detail
the complex developments since the 17th century up to the present
day. This will include the creation of “Anglo-Hindu” law, colonial
administration of justice (including the legal treatment of disapproved
Hindu practices), and the gradual restriction of Hindu law to matters
of family law; legal treatment of Hindus and Hindu institutions under
secular law in modern India and Nepal; and Hindu religion under
modern secular law outside South Asia. Throughout, the emphasis
will be on the fruits of research from the last 30 years or so, especially
current developments.
 Hinduism and Law 43

Dharmaśāstra and Premodern Indic Law

In its origins, Dharmaśāstra resulted from a progressive broadening

of scope in the canonization of rules (sūtras) of proper action. The
earliest such rulebooks (the śrautasūtras) dealt only with high Vedic
liturgy, then all the rites and ceremonies of household life were similarly
codified (in the gṛhyasūtras). Finally, the tradition produced rulebooks
governing all aspects of the personal conduct and social relations. These
dharmasūtras, are also the first works to prescribe rules of royal con-
duct and state policy. These became the starting point for a vast, highly
textualized scholastic discipline that produced compendia of versified
maxims, commentaries, digests, and treatises, constituting almost the
only juristic literature in South Asia.1 In spite of its orientation to the
concerns and values of the Brahmin priestly class, Dharmaśāstra was
intended to apply to all “civilized” people (as defined in terms of those
very values).
Thus, Dharmaśāstra resulted from the fusion of two distinct spheres
of Brahmanical activity: ritual codification and political science. From
the former, it took its sacral character, its focus on correct action, its
deference to the Veda, its ethical foundations, and many other traits;
from the latter, it adopted an ideal of kingship and the state, and most
of its approach to legality and the legal process. The circumstance of
this fusion cannot be known in detail, but it appears to have happened
in the last couple of centuries BCE as Brahmin preceptors sought to
define roles for themselves in the royal courts of urbanizing north
India. Brahmins indeed succeeded in being accepted by most rulers
and much of the social elite as authorities in judicial and administra-
tive affairs well beyond the temple sanctuary, and they were commonly
appointed to office in these spheres. It is said religious and legal ide-
als and obligations became thoroughly interwoven precisely because
Brahmins were broadly able to define the terms of legitimacy in both
theology and jurisprudence.
Turkic forays into north India after 1000, culminating in the establish-
ment of the Mamluk kingdom at Delhi in 1206, meant that Islamic law
began to constitute another textualized, religiously grounded law being
practiced in India. The precise impact of this development is difficult
44 Timothy Lubin

to trace, but it is noteworthy that from about this period, a new genre
appears within Dharmaśāstra: the topically arranged digest. Works
of this type would have been useful both in śāstric education and as a
reference work for those called upon to give an opinion on a particular
legal or moral question. If nothing else, this may reflect a heightened
awareness of Dharmaśāstra as a canon to be treated encyclopedically
in a way similar to the treatment of classical authorities in Islamic law.
More explicit signs of interaction between Hindu and Islamic law
appear in the late medieval period. One example is the self-conscious
“restoration” of Hindu legal institutions under the Marāṭhas in the
17th century largely involved a translation of the legal and adminis-
trative institutions of the Muslim Bāhmānīs who preceded them into
Dharmaśāstra-based analogs (Gune, 1953). In this period at least,
Islamic courts are known to have invoked customary Hindu law in
cases involving Hindus, in one case agreeing to a “change of venue” to
a dharmasabhā (Brahmin court) in Paithan (Smith and Derrett, 1975;
discussed by Eaton, 2005: 145–150).
The most exhaustive treatment of Dharmaśāstra will long remain
P. V. Kane’s eight-part History of Dharmaśāstra (1962–1975). Lingat’s
one-volume survey (1972) also remains a useful point of departure,
but in the last 30 years many of the core texts have been revisited on
the basis of more manuscript material and innumerable advances in
our knowledge of Indian history (esp. Lariviere, 1981, 1989a; Olivelle,
2000, 2005a, 2009; Rocher, 2002). Olivelle (2010) has reassessed the
chronology of this literature based on his critical studies of several
major texts. Mathur (2007) has made an interesting, if overreaching,
argument that the medieval dharmaśāstra writers helped make the clas-
sic dharma tradition responsive to changes in society and legal practice,
and established vyavahāra (judicial process) as a secular legal system.
The articles collected by Nanda and Sinha (1997) attempt to draw
classical Hindu law into comparative discussions of legal theory. More
recent studies of particular topics have dealt with the scriptural bases
and conceptual framework of legal authority (Lubin, 2007, 2010;
McCrea, 2010), the ritual aspects of Dharmaśāstra (Yelle, 2010), and
the complementary political roles of literature and Dharmaśāstra
in a medieval Indian court (Cox, 2010). Two scholars have worked
simultaneously on a set of medieval Sanskrit texts dedicated to ex-
pounding dharma for Śūdras, the lowest of the four ideal social ranks
 Hinduism and Law 45

in Dharmaśāstra (Benke, 2010; Vajpeyi, 2010), and Aktor (2008, 2010)

had sought out the śāstric foundations of “untouchability.”
In sum, the Brahmin proponents of Dharmaśāstra, along with their
patrons in the political and social domains, were the chief architects of
an overarching vision of moral and legal rectitude (dharma), theoreti-
cally grounded in revealed sacred knowledge (viz., śruti or the “Veda”).
Hence, the Dharmaśāstra literature carefully subsumes customary
norms (recognized as broadly valid) and elements of civil law (drawn
largely from the tradition that produced the Arthaśāstra, plus prescrip-
tions for the production of legal documents) within a fundamentally
religious framework, in which Brahmin authority (derived in principle
from the Veda itself) is deemed preeminent. The state, in the person of
the king, is assigned the highest executive and judicial authority, but
Dharmaśāstra asserts that the authority is constrained by the king’s
duty to rely on Brahmin advisers and to adhere to the dictates of
dharma, which transcend human wisdom. Violation of that duty—of
the “king’s dharma”—was said to entail grievous consequences ac-
cording to the operation of the universal law of karma.
We do not know how widely Dharmaśāstra was applied “according
to the letter of the law”; probably its maxims were invoked verbatim
mainly in Brahmin circles, though hardly any direct evidence of this
survives. However, Dharmaśāstra certainly attained wider influence
as an ideal of sacred moral authority and legal principle. As such, it
managed to establish a conceptual and even terminological structure
that permeated legal practice through most of South and Southeast
Asia, and continued to resonate through the 19th century in India
(Lariviere, 1996, 1997) and Nepal (Michaels, 2005). Legal traditions
in these regions that reflect the influence of Dharmaśāstra (directly or
indirectly) tend today to be called “Hindu law” (Davis, 2010a).

State Law and Customary Law

As influential as Dharmaśāstra was, especially in providing a cosmo-

politan idiom and conceptual framework for law “on the ground,”
much of the work of law could be and surely was done without it (see
the studies in Kölver, 1997; Davis, 2010b, which attempts a historical
overview). Public administration was regulated on different levels by
46 Timothy Lubin

different authorities: local affairs and private disputes were handled

by local and regional councils; caste assemblies and trade guilds,
governed by customary norms and oral maxim; matters of state and
appeals in “hard cases” were dealt with by state-appointed officials,
including Brahmin judges. Litigation over land rights and commer-
cial or financial transactions relied on the testimony of witnesses and
(increasingly) on documentation. Such documents might be produced
on palm leaf, cloth, bark, or paper; in certain cases, copies were also
inscribed on stone or copper plates, and most surviving examples of
older records are of this type. Where concrete evidence was lacking
or as a last-ditch appeal to a “divine witness,” oaths and ordeals were
recognized as legally valid (Lariviere, 1981).
This “civil law” mostly remained uncodified, with the single and
very important exception of the Arthaśāstra (“Treatise on Polity”)
attributed to the legendary Brahmin minister of the third-century
BCE king Chandragupta Maurya (but dating in its current form
probably to the first or second century CE). Kangle (1965–1972)
remains authority on the Arthaśāstra, providing a good text, trans-
lation, and Scharfe’s (1993) analysis of its political system refines
earlier estimates of the work’s date and composition, and refers to
the 12th-century Malayalam commentary. As for the Arthaśāstra’s
treatment of religion, Olivelle (1987) notes the social roles (instead
of their spiritual attainments) of ascetics, including the possibil-
ity of employing them for espionage and undercover intelligence.
Through a nuanced analysis of the work’s textual structure, McClish
(2009) shows that it initially lacked those sections which promote
“Brahmin exceptionalism,” which were inserted at a later stage as
“part of a broad re-assertion of Brahmanical privilege in a new po-
litical context.”
Both Dharmaśāstra works and Kauṭilya’s Arthaśāstra recognize
the validity of customary norms and of the non-Brahmin, non-state
institutions that apply them. Direct evidence of specific instances,
however, comes mainly from inscriptions. The scholarly literature
on the epigraphy is vast but surprisingly little of it discusses the legal
functions or effects of such records. Nagaswamy (1978) was one of
the first to look at south Indian inscriptions as legal records, though
his essays are thinly annotated and greatly overstate the degree to
which the epigraphy reflects śāstric models. More nuanced work
 Hinduism and Law 47

in this direction has been done by Davis (1999, 2002, 2004a, 2004b,
2005). Karashima (1984, 2008) has greatly refined our understanding
of Tamil epigraphical legal and administrative terminology. Lubin
(2010) attempts to clarify the authority and distinctive legal functions
of inscriptions and legal records. In late medieval India, compilations
of model legal documents began to circulate. One of these, the
Lekhapaddhati from Gujarat, has recently been studied in illuminating
detail (Strauch, 2002; Prasad, 2008). An archive of legal documents
preserved in Nepal has been published by Kölver and Śākya (1985).
Valuable and sometimes contrasting epigraphical evidence is also
available from many parts of mainland and coastal Southeast Asia, to
which Hinduism and Indian legal models spread beginning around
the seventh century CE. In Indonesia, Burma, and Thailand this spread
also gave rise to the composition of “Dharmaśāstras” composed in
the local languages and codifying local customary law (inflected by
Buddhist ideas in Burma and Thailand). For Javanese and Balinese
materials, Hoadley and Hooker (1981, 1986) and for Khmer epigraphy,
Ishizawa (1986) offer useful overviews. This is being improved upon
now by Creese (2009a, 2009b) and Griffiths and Soutif (2010–2011).
Non-śāstric evidence of legal practice, including the adjudication
of disputes, is also available from the 17th through the 19th centuries,
especially for western India, thanks to the Marāṭha “Daftar” records.
Many of these cases have been examined by Wagle (1970, 1980, 1982,
1987, 1995, 1998, 2005) and O’Hanlon (2009). Even today, some
examples of the persistence of non-official law have been noted (e.g.,
Galanter, 1981, 1989; Vincentnathan, 1992; Bavinck, 1998), and some
Hindus still treat the temple as a “court of last resort,” seeking divine
justice when human justice falls short (e.g., Malik, 2010).

Hinduism and Law in the Colonial Era

The beginning of the colonial era marks the most important rupture
in Indian law and in religious life. On the one hand, the East India
Company of London, and other European trading companies, compet-
ing for influence in the subcontinent, gradually brought more and more
territory under direct or indirect control. The eventual centralization
48 Timothy Lubin

of rule and law under the British set in motion a radical change in the
relationship between Hinduism and law. It was in this period that
Hinduism was first explicitly conceived of as a single religion of that
name, a religion, moreover, possessing its own system of law.
The dominant perspective on law in India during and just following
the colonial period was set by Marc Galanter, J. Duncan, M. Derrett,
and Ludo Rocher. Galanter, in a series of articles from the 1960s, ar-
gued that British law was able to thoroughly displace and supplant the
indigenous forms of law, despite being dissonant with social mores and
traditional structures. Even the separate personal law codes developed
for Hindus and certain other religious groups on the assumption that
they would provide continuity with indigenous norms ended up being
a major change. Rocher (1972) explained this by noting that Indians
found ways to take advantage of the new system, which at least had the
merit of resulting in speedy, clear-cut decisions enforced by the state.
Werner Menski reaches almost diametrically opposite conclusions:
he argues that traditional “Hindu law”—not Anglo-Hindu personal
law, but a coherent indigenous tradition—survived and remained
vital during the colonial period by going “underground, populating
the realm of the unofficial law” (2003: 24). Menski’s depiction of the
Hindu law is highly idealized and based on an interpretation of the
classical tradition that has been pointedly criticized by many reviewers
(see especially D. Davis, 2004c).
The Judicial Plan of 1772 established the policy objective of govern-
ing the Hindus by their own laws so far as those could be known. The
British cast about for something that looked like a law book and settled
on Mānava-Dharmaśāstra, which was duly translated into English
by Sir William Jones, a judge in the Supreme Court of Judicature in
Calcutta, published in 1794 under the title Institutes of Hindu Law: or,
the Ordinances of Menu. Generally referred to thereafter as the “Laws of
Manu,” this most venerable work of Dharmaśāstra became overnight
the basis for a system of black letter law administered to Hindus by the
colonial government (Rocher, 1993). British authorities thus treated
the Sanskrit maxims as if they were a code of statutes and applied them
to all “Hindus” in place of the customary norms that they were used
to, and then (partly realizing their error) attempted to codify Hindu
customary law through the principle of judicial precedent, and the
exigencies of court-driven social reform. The extraordinary confection
that emerged was gradually refined and merged into an adaptation
 Hinduism and Law 49

of English law, eventually providing the basis for the legal system of
independent India.
After the revolt of 1857, the British crown formally absorbed India
into the Empire. This change brought a shift in administrative policy. The
British abandoned the earlier effort to codify a sort of Indian common
law, and enacted uniform criminal and civil codes for the whole land.
Only one area of the law was exempted from this: that portion of colonial
(and contemporary) Indian law that bears the name “Hindu law” are
the statutes and decisions pertaining to Hindu marriage, annulment,
divorce, adoption, succession, and inheritance. Only in this domain
was it felt necessary to defer to the customary norms of the population.
Sturman (2010) notes that, in essence, “religious” law was reduced to
family law. Sturman sees in this the seeds of the politicization of family
law and Hindu law that would follow, continuing to the present day.
Apart from this special codification of Hindu family law, Hindu
religious institutions and practices were (and are) regularly subjected
to legal process, both criminal (in the case of practices deemed corrupt,
immoral, or otherwise illegal) and civil (in the case of disputes over
caste status and rights, administration of religious endowments, Hindu
personal, and family law, etc.). The government after 1858 set out to
suppress customs and religious practices that it regarded as unsavory or
socially disruptive. Accordingly, laws were passed in various jurisdictions
regulating or criminalizing “suttee” (the putative self-immolation of a
widow—the satī or “good wife”—on her husband’s funeral pyre: Mani,
1998), the giving of girls to temples to dance before the image of the deity,
to whom they are “wedded” (called by the British “temple prostitution”
because of the dancers’ non-marital relations with priests and others:
Parker, 1998; Kodoth, 2001; Jordan, 2003), and “hook-swinging” (a vo-
tive act of suspending oneself by hooks in one’s skin, a common form of
collective piety during festivals: Oddie, 1995; Dirks, 1997).
Recent studies have elucidated the legal aspects of the colonial
preoccupation with “thuggee” (ṭhagī). Historians had by the 1990s
demonstrated that what British authorities depicted as ritualistic acts of
murderous Kali-worship was really just a form of gang banditry. Singha
(1993) suggests that this spectacular issue provided a “providential”
opportunity to introduce new legal mechanisms and commit greater
resources to deal with other forms of banditry. Lloyd (2006) analyzes
the evidence offered by William Sleeman, General Superintendent of
the Thuggee Department in the 1830s, that thuggee constituted a form
50 Timothy Lubin

deviant religion; he shows that Sleeman’s lurid descriptions of thug-

gee devotion to Kali picked up on contemporary characterization of
Hinduism as grotesque, immoral idolatry. Wagner’s special contribution
(2007) is his attempt to disclose the thugs’ perceptions of themselves (or
self-representations, anyway) by studying the personal accounts of some
convicted thugs who became informants (“approvers”) for the British.

Hinduism and Law in Independent India

Following partition of British India into the independent states of

India and Pakistan, the vast majority of Hindus found themselves
governed by a newly created secular state that recognized the cultural
and religious diversity of the population. The British colonial legal
regime was largely carried over intact, but it Immediately began to
be modified in accordance with the aspirations of the new govern-
ment. The Constituent Assembly, elected just prior to Independence,
had as one of its main tasks the drafting of a constitution. Although
the resulting Indian Constitution (1950) explicitly ensures “the right
freely to profess, practice and propagate religion” (Article 25), this
provision was a matter of bitter debate in the Assembly from the start.
Some members, such as Lokanath Misra and K. M. Munshi, strenu-
ously opposed a right to propagate, seeing such a right as “paving the
way for the complete annihilation of Hindu culture, the Hindu way
of life and manners” (Misra, in Constituent Assembly Debates 7: 824).
Munshi at first proposed legal restrictions on conversion, although
he gradually came to accept the right to proselytize provided that no
force, deception, or “enticement” be used.

India’s Constitutional Secularism

Although the word “secular” was not added to the description of

the Indian state in the preamble of the Constitution until 1976, the
document was shaped by secularist ideals (as described by Mitra
and Fischer, 2002). Those ideals differ somewhat from American
constitutional secularism in that the state is empowered to interfere
 Hinduism and Law 51

in religious affairs so long as it shows “equal respect” to all religions.

The ideal is often expressed as “fairness toward all religions”
(sarvadharma-samabhāva) and “religious neutrality” (dharma-
nirapekṣatā). Unlike the American model, which strives to minimize
government involvement in matters of religion by declaring the state to
be neutral in such matters, India’s secularism accepts legal intervention
so long as it is even-handed (Mahajan, 2008). Galanter (1965, 1971)
has noted that, in practice, what this means is that American courts
end up favoring religions in which commitment is a private, voluntary
matter, tolerant of the presence of other religions in India, the state is
openly willing to make normative judgments to deal with the greater
presence of groups for whom religion is a determining factor in public
practice and social organization, though it is supposed to apply those
overriding norms even-handedly to all religions.
Jacobsohn (2003) calls this conception of constitutional secularism
“ameliorative” in the sense that the machinery of law is empowered
to interfere in religious matters only where religion impedes social
progress (as in caste prejudice, the treatment of women, and “com-
munalism,” the fostering of conflicts between social groups, especially
where those groups are religiously defined).
All along, and increasingly since the 1980s, however, India’s secular-
ism has been sharply criticized by certain commentators and politicians
on the political right. A group of essays edited by Rajeev Bhargava
(1999, 2008), Baird (1993/2005), and a recent essay by Amartya Sen
(2005) have cataloged the wide range of attitudes to secularism in the
Indian context. Cossman and Kapur (1999) argue that “the debate over
the meaning of secularism is very much a debate over the meaning of
equality.” Because of this, even the Hindu nationalist movement has
“staked out its own claim to secularism” by downplaying the religious
foundations of Hindutva and faulting the Congress Party for undermin-
ing its own ideal of religious neutrality by favoring religious minorities.
Hence, many on the Hindu right insist that India should be officially
recognized as Hindu, based on its heritage and its national character.
Some go so far as to charge that the state is in fact “pseudo-secular,” that
is, anti-Hindu, systematically favoring minorities, especially Muslims.
The chief examples cited of this lack of neutrality are the rewriting of
Hindu law according to social reformist criteria while neglecting to
reform Muslim personal law in the same way; exempting Muslim-
majority Kashmir from numerous laws; and bowing to pressure from
52 Timothy Lubin

Muslim groups (e.g., rescinding the Shah Bano decision, protecting

the Babri mosque in Ayodhya from being destroyed and replaced by
a temple to Rama; Narula, 2010).
Rajeev Dhavan, a prominent Indian jurist, noting India’s extreme
religious and ethnic diversity, identifies the three basic ingredients of
secularism: “religious freedom, celebratory neutrality, and reformatory
justice.” At the same time, he recognizes that it is an ideal that is always
being negotiated in a changing and often volatile political environment,
in the context of a fraught history, and that India is in a position to
“lead the way for the rest” of the world in the quest for viable secular-
ism (Dhavan, 2001: 320). R. Sen (2007, 2010) offers perhaps the most
comprehensive and balanced assessment of Supreme Court’s role in
interpreting India’s secular constitution. In deciding cases involving
religion, the judges have not hesitated to offer their own readings of
India’s religious history and doctrines. Lariviere (1989b) has gone so
far as to argue that they have usurped the role of the pandits.

The Hindu Code Bills

The vague echoes of Dharmaśāstra and Hindu customary law that were
still discernable in “Anglo-Hindu law” under British rule faded soon
after Independence. The Indian National Congress had reluctantly
consented to retain the separate “personal law” codes for Hindus
(including Sikhs and Jains), Muslims, Christians, Jews, and Parsees,
but one of the first projects after passage of the Constitution was to
reform the Hindu Code. The debates, beginning in 1952, were heated,
and it was decided to break the proposed bill into four parts, which
were eventually passed: The Hindu Marriage and Divorce Act, 1955;
and the Hindu Succession Act, the Hindu Minority and Guardianship
Act, and the Hindu Adoptions and Maintenance Act, all of 1956
(Sontheimer, 1964a). Williams (2010; more extensively: 2006) argues
that the national discourse on modernizing reform focused on pro-
tections for women, which in turn had the effect of reconstructing
Hindu law (and national identity) “in gendered terms” (p. 119), and
exclusively by means of the apparatus of the state. Agnes (1999) and
Solanki (2011) offer contrasting assessments of the broader question
of women’s rights under religious personal laws.
 Hinduism and Law 53

The personal law codes became a charged political issue again after
the Shah Bano judgment,2 in which the Supreme Court’s opinion (writ-
ten by a Hindu judge) made so bold as to interpret Islamic scripture
to propose a reinterpretation of Muslim law, in the process awarding
a divorced woman additional financial support. Following an outcry
from Muslim groups, the government back-pedaled by passing the
Muslim Women (Protection of Rights on Divorce) Act, 1986, which
exempted Muslims from Section 125 of the criminal code, and so
nullified the Shah Bano decision. Since then, many Hindus (with the
encouragement of Hindu nationalist groups) have cited this as another
example of “appeasing” religious minorities, to the detriment of “op-
pressed” Hindus, who docilely accepted the earlier rewriting of the
Hindu Code (Narula, 2010). Since this controversy, Hindu national-
ists have campaigned vigorously for passage of a uniform personal
law code as a way of depriving Muslims of their special dispensation
in this area. The essays collected in Larson (2001) examine the Hindu
law code in the larger context of the separate personal laws and the
problems they pose to a secular state.

Religious Status and Conversion

One of the most vexed areas of Indian law on religion is the regulation
of religious identity and affiliation. Personal religious status become
legally salient in three interconnected ways: in the application of the
“personal laws,” in determining who can benefit from affirmative action
quotas (“reservations”) (Jenkins 2010), and in the legal treatment of
proselytization. The greatest difficulties arise where change of religion,
or more than one status, is involved.3 Viswanathan (1998) in fact ob-
serves that debate about conversion in India has largely been about
civil and political rights, and the colonial and Indian courts have seen
fit to define the terms of membership in one religious status or another.
The Constitution explicitly protects the right to “profess, practice,
and propagate” religion. In the late 1960s, however, several states
began to pass legislation that in effect restored the restrictions on
conversion that had been proposed by K. M. Munshi and then
dropped. These laws, rather disingenuously and ironically called
“Freedom of Religion Acts,” criminalized proselytization alleged to
54 Timothy Lubin

rely on “force,” “allurement,” or “fraud” (under Articles 295A and

298 of the Indian Penal Code). Orissa and Madhya Pradesh were the
first to introduce such laws in 1967 and 1968, respectively.4 Such laws
in effect distinguish between the intransitive and transitive uses of
the verb “convert”: anyone is free to convert to another religion, but
strict limits are placed on how one can convert someone else, that is,
bring about (or abet) a conversion.
These laws were challenged in Rev. Stanislaus v. State of MP (AIR
1977 SC 908). A Christian priest alleged that the state did not have
authority to make such a law, and that it infringed on the rights
guaranteed by Article 25; another petitioner had made the same
claims about the Orissa law. The Madhya Pradesh High Court had
upheld their act; the Orissa High Court had found “inducement” too
vague and agreed that Article 25 was infringed. The Supreme Court,
however, affirmed the right of the state governments to pass the acts
for the overriding purpose of maintaining “public order,” and found
that Article 25 was not infringed. The latter finding, as explained in
Chief Justice A. N. Ray’s opinion, relied on an eccentric and poorly
reasoned distinction between “propagating” (an “effort to transmit
or spread the tenets of his religion,” presumably among those already
belonging to it) and “converting” someone to one’s own religion
(likewise “by an exposition of its tenets”), on the grounds that the
latter impinges upon the “freedom of conscience” guaranteed by
Article 25 (Stanislaus, p. 911).
In the Freedom of Religion laws, the criteria of force, fraud, and
inducements were applied very loosely, treating the promise (explicit or
implied) of social or material benefits, or even the promise of heavenly
rewards, as inducements or fraudulent promises violating the spirit of
true conversion and even constituting a form of force in themselves.
A recent development is a ruling by the Madras High Court recog-
nizing as valid for the purposes of affirmative action a woman’s claim
to be Hindu on the basis of her Hindu religious practices, despite her
having been born a Christian.5 This decision is interesting because it
does not rely upon any sort of institutional confirmation of her accep-
tance by a Hindu group, but validates her personal actions. Moreover,
unlike most judicial tests of religiosity, the judgment gives probative
force to the performance of rites, rather than focusing on professed
beliefs. In any case, R. Sen (2010) concludes that the net effect of the
 Hinduism and Law 55

Niyogi report, state-level legislation, and court decisions has been to

“attenuate” the rights promised by Article 25.

Caste Panchayats

Prior to the penetration of British legal institutions during the colonial

period, most legal cases were handled in the first instance by one of a va-
riety of local bodies, collectively referred to as panchayats (pañcāyat in
Hindi). Article 40 of the Constitution, included as a sop for Gandhians
in the Constituent Assembly, who were keen to preserve an element of
local self-governance, attempted to institutionalize an element of local
justice by creating “justice councils” (nyāy pañcāyats) intended to mir-
ror the old traditional village or caste panchayats. These hybrid institu-
tions failed, mainly because the hearing format too closely matched that
of the standard courtroom, and government-driving staffing policies
clashed with traditional leadership patterns (Galanter, 1972).
At the same time, the traditional “folk law” panchayats survived in
some places as a court of first resort. Studies over the last few decades
have shown that such institutions were most likely to remain vital in
villages remote from urban centers, especially those in which the lower
castes continued to find employment in their traditional occupations,
and in single-caste villages (whatever their location) (Hayden, 1984;
Vincentnathan, 1992: 68–71).
Over the last decades, there has been a resurgence of caste pan-
chayats (and khap panchayats, regional assemblies of representatives
from local panchayats) in certain parts of rural north India as a means
of resisting a trend toward the loosening of taboos on intercaste mar-
riage. This resistance is framed in terms of the defense of sacred tra-
dition and the preservation of values and purity. In a series of highly
publicized cases, khaps have handed down death sentences leading to
extra-judicial killings carried out by caste members and families of the
condemned. One person was quoted as saying: “Khaps are like gods.
They can do no wrong” (Luthra, 2010).
Some khap leaders have looked beyond the immediate aim of
enforcing caste rules, and have called for the abolition of the Hindu
Marriage Act, which (in their eyes) has undermined the authority of
56 Timothy Lubin

their own ethical standards and customary law. In particular, they urge
that marriage within gotra, and “love marriage” in general, should be
prohibited by law (Chowdhry, 2004, 2009; Baxi et al., 2006).

Temple Administration

As the British took over as the rulers of India, they inherited some
functions they might not have chose for themselves. One of these was
responsibility maintaining and administering large temples formerly
endowed by the local ruler. Beginning with Regulation VII of 1817, the
government took upon itself the duty “to interfere summarily” to ensure
that the endowments of temples and mosques were administered and
used properly (Sontheimer [1964b] analyzes the legal principles, both
traditional and modern, invoked to resolve disputes over Hindu religious
endowments). In spite of growing pressure during the 19th century from
Christian groups in Britain to “withdraw” the government’s “patron-
age” of Hindu religion (in the form of funds allotted to temples and the
presence of officers at Hindu festivals), the Madras Presidency at least
was reluctant to cede its role. The shift to favoring self-government after
the end of World War I led to the formation of the Hindu Religious
Endowments Board in 1926, a move that was controversial because
it centralized management of all Hindu religious institutions in the
Presidency under an independent agency by government mandate.
In a monograph treating the situation in Tamil Nadu, Presler
(1987) examines the Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments
(Administration) Department (formed in 1952 to succeed the HRE),
and its efforts to change the authority and prerogatives of temple
personnel, to standardize temple landholdings and land use, and to
centralize ecclesiastical administration under the direction of the state.
A similar situation developed outside of India as well. The first
law passed by the British administration in the Straits Settlements
(Singapore, Penang, and Malacca) was the Mohammedan and Hindu
Endowments Ordinance of 1905, which created a board to manage
religious institutions of those traditions, a task earlier performed
by temple panchayats. Heretofore, disputes within the Hindu
 Hinduism and Law 57

communities over control and administration of temples were brought

before the British courts for arbitration (Sinha, 2011).
Legal control of temple administration in India was also taken as
an opportunity for progressive social reform. Large temples adminis-
tered by the state were considered to be public institutions and thus
open to all castes (Galanter 1964). Hence, when independent India’s
Constitution was drafted, Article 25 protecting the free exercise of
religion was qualified: “(2) Nothing in this article shall affect the opera-
tion of any existing law or prevent the State from making any law …
(b) providing for social welfare and reform or the throwing open of
Hindu religious institutions of a public character to all classes and
sections of Hindus.” Courts have also been called upon to ensure that
non-Brahmin priests are allowed to officiate.
The most contentious temple-related litigation in recent times
has been the long-running dispute over the Babri Masjid (Mosque)
in Ayodhya, otherwise known as the Ram Janmabhumi (“Birthplace
of Lord Ram”). A series of court orders had divided the space so that
Muslims could worship in one area while Hindu services were per-
formed in another by a court-appointed priest. This status quo broke
down in the early 1990s when the Bharatiya Janata Party, campaign-
ing on a Hindu nationalist agenda, revived the dispute as a national
issue, leading to the destruction of the mosque by a mob of activists in
1992, allegedly in collusion with the BJP-controlled state government.
A study by the Archaeological Survey of India provided expert testi-
mony that the mosque was built over the ruins of a temple (although
the study stopped short of asserting that the temple indeed marked
the birthplace of Ram, an incarnation of the Hindu deity). The case
was finally resolved by a 2010 decision by the Allahabad High Court,
which effectively handed a victory to the Hindu side.
It was in the context of this dispute that The Places of Worship
(Special Provisions) Act (No. 42 of 1991) was passed to outlaw the “con-
version” of places of worship from one religion to another. Another
recent legal intervention saw the Andhra Pradesh High Court issuing
a stay order to prevent the gold-plating of the sanctum of the famous
Tirumala Temple on the grounds that it would damage artwork of
historical value on the walls.
58 Timothy Lubin

The “Hindutva Judgments”

Closely related to the controversy and social unrest generated by the

Ayodhya dispute was a series of cases in which Hindu nationalist
politicians were charged with campaigning on an explicitly religious
platform and fostering interreligious hatred, “corrupt practices”
prohibited by Section 123(3) of the Representation of the People Act
(RPA, 1951). The law survived an early challenge on free-speech ground
in 1954. Decisions in a series of subsequent cases had the effect of
weakening the law however, as the courts gave candidates latitude in
how they express themselves on the stump, and found that the mere
presence of religious symbols did not necessarily constitute an appeal
to religious prejudice.
This trend reached its apogee with a set of seven cases decided by
the Supreme Court in 1996 (Cossman and Kapur, 1999; R. Sen, 2007;
Narula, 2010). In these cases, members of Hindu nationalist parties,
including Bal Thackeray, head of the Shiv Sena and Manohar Joshi,
chief minister of Maharashtra, were charged under Section 123 for
campaigning on the basis of “Hindutva.” Thackeray was found guilty
of encouraging voters to support his candidate because he was Hindu,
and of denigrating Muslims, but Joshi was exonerated despite his hav-
ing publicly declared that the first Hindu state would be established
in Maharashtra.
Of more consequence was the court’s acceptance of the Hindu na-
tionalists’ defense that Hindutva is a cultural ethos, a “way of life” dis-
tinctive of Indian culture, rather than a religion, strictly speaking. This
is the very argument made by Savarkar (1928), although J. S. Verma,
writing for the court, did not allude to him directly. The significance
was not lost on Arun Shourie, a minister in the BJP-led government
and a prominent spokesman for the movement: “The Court accepted,
indeed adopted in to the definition of Hindu, of Hindutva which the
RSS and BJP have been maintaining is what they have meant when-
ever they have used these expressions” (quoted in R. Sen, 2010: 24).
Verma’s decision has been criticized for undermining the intent of the
RPA and giving official endorsement to a divisive political ideology,
but it was also hailed by some liberals, including Ronald Dworkin, on
free-speech grounds.
 Hinduism and Law 59

Hinduism beyond South Asia

Encounters between Hindu religion and the law happen not just in
South Asia but in many parts of the world. The last few centuries have
seen a Hindu diaspora emerge. These movements of population hap-
pened in waves, for different reasons at different times. During the
colonial era, the major cause was indentured servitude: Indians were
sent to far-flung parts of the British Empire as laborers. Their descen-
dents comprise large segments of the population of Fiji, Singapore,
Malaysia, South Africa, parts of East Africa, Guyana, and Trinidad.
Since Indian independence, South Asians have migrated voluntarily
to England, various Commonwealth countries (especially Canada
and Australia), and increasingly the United States. In each of these
settings, Hindus must negotiate the local legal system, both as regards
their personal status and the status of their religion. Krishnan (2010)
provides a compact survey of the subject.
While sociological and ethnographic studies are available for many
of these cases, works treating the legal situation directly are relatively
rare (Menski, 2007 is a recent exception). Younger (2011) provides a
good general account of the Indian communities in several parts of the
diaspora, focusing on social and religious patterns, including the ways
in which the self-representation of Hindus in these countries contrib-
uted to the formation of a transnational form of Hinduism as a world
religion. Younger includes some discussion of the legal dimensions of
this process. He notes, for instance, that the legal recognition of Hindu
marriage laws from the 1850s helped north Indian Hindus in Mauritius
“live in their own world” more than other immigrant populations there
(p. 51). Hindu religious leaders in Guyana in 1927 sought and won
official recognition for a Council of Pandits, which performed legal
weddings, secured the legalization of cremation, and eventually came
to represent the interests of the Indian community more broadly (pp.
80–84); the Sanatana Dharma Maha Sabha founded in 1952 in Trinidad
played a similar role (pp. 108–110). Gandhi’s legal activism in colonial
South Africa is well-known; among other things, it led to the passage of
the Indian Relief Act of 1914, which legally recognized Hindu and Indian
Muslim marriages. In East Africa too, Anglo-Hindu law remained in
effect long after it had been replaced in India (Derrett, 1963).
60 Timothy Lubin

A unique monograph on law and Hinduism in the diaspora was

inspired by Presler’s work on the administration of South Indian
temples (1987). Sinha (2011) provides a detailed study of the legal
position of Hindu religious institutions in the Malay peninsula and
in independent Singapore.
A quite different situation is found in Indonesia, where the tiny
Hindu minority (concentrated today in Bali and parts of Java) dates
back more than a thousand years, to the period when Hinduism
was adopted as the state religion by local rulers under the influence
of Indian traders settled in ports on the coasts of Java and Sumatra.
Living today in a country that is 99 percent Muslim, Indonesian Hindu
leaders have sought official recognition for their traditions (known as
adat hindu) by formulating a formal “religion” (Agama Hindu) that
can be regarded as legitimate in light of Islamic criteria (monotheism,
revealed scripture, etc.) and recognized in the courts (Ramstedt, 2004).
Religion meets law in other ways for “second-wave” immigrant
Hindus in places like the United Kingdom and the United States.
Hindus have recourse to host countries’ laws to establish religious
institutions, gain sanction for religious practices (such as an ill-fated
attempt to have open-air cremations allowed in England), and settle
marital disputes based on Hindu-law marriages sanctified in India.
Women married in India under Hindu marriage law and wishing to
bring criminal charges in India against a spouse for alleged harassment
or fraud under Section 498A of the Indian Criminal Code may first seek
a civil ruling against him in American family court, which can then pro-
vide a res judicata to support the criminal charges (Chhibber v. Nangia,
Henrico County Circuit Court of Henrico County, Virginia, 2011).
But the law can also provide a venue for Hindu groups to try to win
official recognition for a particular representation of their religion. For
example, groups affiliated to the Hindu American Foundation filed
suit in 2005 against the California State Board of Education to make
changes to sixth-grade textbooks’ depiction of Hinduism and Indian
history (Kurien, 2007: 204–206).
Besides diaspora Hindus, converts to Hinduism in the West also
sometimes have recourse to the law to seek accommodation for their
religious practice. In one case in England, members of ISKCON (the
“Hare Krishnas”) argued that their public Krishna lila should be per-
mitted because it was more “like a nativity play” than mere “public
entertainment” (Sullivan, 2006).
 Hinduism and Law 61

Notes

1. The Buddhist monkhood produced extensive codes of rules and a comparably vast
jurisprudential literature but it was limited in jurisdiction to members of the order,
dealing almost exclusively with internal discipline and institutional administration.
2. Mohammed Ahmed Khan v. Shah Bano Begum (AIR 1985 SC 945).
3. An early Supreme Court case, Chatturbhuj Vithaldas Jasani v. Moreshwar
Parashram (1954 SCA 395), overturned the disqualification of a candidate for a
seat reserved for Scheduled Castes due to his conversion to the Mahanubhav Panth.
4. They were followed by Arunachal Pradesh (1978), Tamil Nadu (2002, repealed
2004), Gujarat (2003), Chhattisgarh (2003), Rajasthan (2006), and Himachal
Pradesh (2006). Similar laws had been passed in some princely states prior to
Independence. Unsuccessful attempts were made to pass anti-conversion bills at
the federal level (1954, 1978).
5. Chandra v. M. Thangamuthu & Anr. 2010 INSC 705 (September 7, 2010).

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 Chapter 4
Hinduism and Economics

Thomas Birtchnell

Introduction

The question “what is Hinduism?” has been asked and answered about
as many times as the question “what is Economics?” so that it appears
doubly brave to try to broach the two together. In this survey, an
open view of Hinduism and economics is encouraged that sees both
as composed of complex institutions, exchanges, customs, beliefs,
and people. Of course facets of religion, like ritual or scripture, are
not contingent on social, political, and economic change; however,
people and their everyday lives are equally interconnected with both
economics and religion so that both can co-exist and act upon each
other (Flood, 1996). A starting point in this summary is that economics
includes infrastructure, well–being, charity, philanthropy, and other
“soft” factors. While it is true that economists have dabbled in religion,
as inputs in economic modeling or as values in quantitative surveys,
these efforts have tended toward understanding religion as a closed
phenomenon outside of economic activity. Yet, in the case of India,
as Deepak Lal has documented in detail in Hindu Equilibrium (2005),
what might appear to be economic stagnation by some accounts—
principally neoliberal—is in fact evidence of the ongoing social order
and continuity of a Hinduism spanning over millennia. According to
Lal, this social equilibrium was in many ways disrupted by the colonial
order and sensitivity is demanded in appraising Hinduism from this
longitudinal perspective.
70 Thomas Birtchnell

There is now a large and respectable body of historical work that

paints a graphic, in depth and scholarly picture of the changes wrought
by colonialism and the origins and adaptations of the many scriptures
and encounters that informed popular ideas of Hindu practices and
beliefs. But Hinduism is also a religion that continues to be practiced;
a religion that is vivid, colorful, and engrossingly complex. Hinduism
is visible across India and throughout the world and is composed of
interlocking, mutual beliefs, and practices. The cosmopolitan media-
tors and gurus that are the faces of this sprawling religion are not only
religious icons, but political and economic agents. For example, there
is a real connection between the global circuits of religious celebrities
and the transnational identities of gurus and other religious elites in
the popular imagination.
Academic projects that pursue thematic understandings of religion
and economics are now informed by major shifts in the social sciences
landscape that offers new techniques for understanding “how truly
social economic life” is (Centeno and Cohen, 2010: 3). As Ninian Smart
has made clear a broader, thematic approach to surveying aspects of
Hinduism agrees with a “dimensional analysis” of religion that includes
“economics” as one part of a number of dimensions within religious
systems that are not only constituted by texts (Bowen, 1998).
Much recent work involving economics and Hinduism is contained
within the scope of “Hindu nationalism” on one side and “Asian val-
ues” on the other. While incredibly useful and fruitful these areas are
only a small part of a bigger picture that moves beyond the conceptual
geopolitical boundaries of the State [India] or even of regions [Asia].
Scholarly opinion is being recast away from India or Asia as the
only geographical spaces for Hinduism. Instead there are many
“novel articulations” arising from the global context, in the diasporas
and also in popular culture reworkings in the West (Coleman, 2010).
Thus, while much research focuses on Hinduism as indigenous and
nationalist, embedded in “civilizational territories,” a growing body is
also looking at Hinduism as a value system that is global and “deter-
ritorialized” through global migration and flows of ideas and people
(Casanova, 2011). These reworkings also include management and
business contexts and (re)imaginings of how economics and Hinduism
relate to one another.
 Hinduism and Economics 71

Recent ideas of “Indovation” (Lamont, 2010), “consumptionomics”

(Nair, 2011), “spirinomics” (S. K. Chakraborty and D. Chakraborty,
2007) and a whole other range of portmanteau words all point to a
convergence of religious and economic values across geopolitical
and knowledge borders. Work seeking to excite and fuse aspects of
Hinduism with aspects of economics, business, and management make
an elegant balance to critical, academic work on chauvinism, values,
and Hindu nationalism.
From this big picture perspective, the economic aspects of Hinduism
shape flows not only of finance and currency but also of ideas and
beliefs. In this survey, four areas that represent the current state of
play in Hinduism and economics have been identified and reviewed:
infrastructures, values, mediators, and developments.
First, it is now widely recognized that infrastructures order religion.
Within India infrastructures, like the Ayodhya temple complex, are
central focus points for dispute and worship. But beyond this orthodox
idea of infrastructure is a whole array of economic considerations:
planning and logistics of events, exchanges, and pilgrimages; these all
involve trade, finance, money, and investments.
Second, economists have engaged with the values of Hinduism in
order to understand alternative management, business, and corporate
practices as ways of modern, economically prudent, living. Hinduism
has not only traveled through migrant track ways via itinerant labor
flows to key diasporas, but also via the media, elites, popular culture,
and fashion. The Asian values genre recognizes that alternative ways
of living have economic values. It is no coincidence that with the surge
of economic valency in India and China, there has been heightened
attention to cultural and spiritual values. With this growing attention
has arisen forecasting of how issues, including ‘energy use’ sustain-
ability, and climate change might be articulated and even tackled
through spiritual practices such as austerity, asceticism, vegetarianism,
and care for the environment, acted out by the rising and aspirational
middle classes.
Third, much has changed in assessments of how Hinduism is
practiced by key actors and, often cosmopolitan, mediators between
religion and economics. In one of the first assessments of Hindu prac-
tices and religious beliefs Nirad C. Chaudhuri’s Hinduism describes
quite vaguely, but cannily in a section titled “Gain from Religion” how
72 Thomas Birtchnell

those who “left the world and adopted a religious life or vocation lost
nothing by giving up worldly occupations and cutting themselves adrift
from society ... on the contrary they ensured an alternative means of
livelihood … which brought even substantial wealth to many of them”
(1979: 303).
Much recent work embellishes and gives weight to the characters
who not only derive incomes and livelihoods from their Hindu prac-
tices, but as well shape dialogues and discourses; lobby for economic
and social equalities; and influence how economic and religious in-
terests are tolerated, reported, and protected.
Fourth, development, charity, and philanthropy are major aspects
of global economic activity and are in many cases channeled and en-
acted through religious means. Religious beliefs also serve to mobilize
and bring attention to development issues in global contexts among
overseas communities, diasporas, and informal networks.
Starting off, the next section surveys recent work on the economic
aspects of logistics and events that take place in religiously primed “sa-
cred” infrastructures. These spaces, while not always obviously sacred,
underpin religious activity and in turn economic flows, providing a
context in social space for religious expressions and values. Sites such
as the Vatican, for example, not only serve to focus and house religious
entities, but also are economic states in their own right.

Sacred Infrastructures

Sacred infrastructures are zones of activity where economic and divine

considerations overlap and intermingle in organized, logistical, and
coordinated ways. In these infrastructures, the practices of religion
take place and are facilitated. People’s practices serve both divine
and pragmatic ends, for instance to “change the circumstances of
their lives—the quest for better jobs, educational opportunities, etc.
are often expressed ritually” (Clothey, 2006: 197). As urbanization
encroaches within India on what was once rural, the sacred and the
civic are becoming interstitial and class and religion are no longer fixed.
Instead, India’s economy resembles what Barbara Harriss-White calls
“tessellation” (2004), with only a small proportion of society involved
in the high status occupations of trade or other religious functions.
 Hinduism and Economics 73

What was strictly demarcated as religious, the temple or ghat, is now

in many cases breached by urbanization. Furthermore, many religious
Hindu infrastructures that appear eccentric and anachronistic, in fact
are in many ways insulated from economic and political power and
elites, or at least have some sense of control over their own resources
and status (Milner, 1994). Smriti Srinivas offers in Landscapes of Urban
Memory (2001) many engaging examples of how these infrastructures
play out in urban conurbations such as Bangalore, where temples and
places of worship are dispersed around the residential, industrial,
and economic landscape. Temples and shrines sit side by side and are
dwarfed by high rises, bus terminals, and sports complexes. Here then
the sacred is also a “contested” space in the way nature is imagined for
leisure, work or industry (Macnaghten and Urry, 1998).
Many popular tourist destinations also constitute sacred infra-
structures as areas where different rules and economies play out and
where religious expressions are not only sought, but also provided for.
Rishikesh, Hardwar, and other pilgrimage towns are all examples of
sacred infrastructures where the touristic imagination stands side by
side with “locals” or “pilgrims.” Tourist boards are well aware of the
economic draw cards that these sacred infrastructures pose.
Donations and gifts constitute important economic flows in Hindu
sacred infrastructures. Hindu religious sites are concentrated areas for
exchange between worshippers and deities. Goods including words,
texts, goods, and gifts are freely transacted and require logistics. These
economic exchanges can be sources of power and influence for media-
tors such as priests, politicians, and kings; these entities are governed in
turn by the “ethics of reciprocity” (Mines, 2008: 144). Thus, temples are
not just sites of worship but also contain complex economic processes
that spread out into wider society and politics.
Sondra Hausner in her ethnography Wandering with Sadhus (2007)
traces the movements of sādhus around the extensive “pilgrimage cir-
cuits” that exist to India’s major religious centers. Hausner highlights
that the long held notion that these individuals lead ascetic lives pays
no heed to the financial transactions and donations that they subsist
off. Gathering in particular ashrams, centers with explicitly religious
functions, sādhus can become involved in large sums of transfers, hold-
ing bank accounts, and deriving business from tourists and pilgrims.
Sacred hubs have long attracted mendicants seeking a living as
well as attention to their religious practices. Under British rule, Caleb
74 Thomas Birtchnell

Wright describes devotees moving to Benares to become sādhus “in

order to secure a livelihood, as well as a large stock of religious merit”
(1853: 70).
Sacred infrastructures like Hardwar become micro-economies that
harvest incomes from tourists and pilgrims. At crucial points in the
religious calendar, such as the Kumbh Mela, the sprawling arrays of
competing land use and patterning are overwhelmed and become sa-
cred infrastructures that are composed of a myriad of economic units.
These units facilitate both sacred and mundane commodities. Pilgrims
constitute clients in these vast sacred infrastructures where donations
are collected, converted, divided, and exchanged for food, clothing,
water, and dwelling. Hausner describes the processes by which sādhus
negotiate with “Mela administration” in order to sponsor construction
of tents, buy firewood, and pay for feasts for officials.
Lucy Norris’s Recycling Indian Clothing (2010) provides just such a
compelling account of how religious practices, such as donation and
charity—which appear to be personal and strictly non-secular—can in
fact be tied to complex economic systems of tourism and manufactur-
ing based on reciprocity and trust. Clothes are both highly symbolic
and functional and have different meanings in touristic and religious
contexts. Furthermore, clothes serve as catalysts for trade as religious
goods in themselves. Thus, away from the temple emerge pilgrim sites
that also serve as touristic sites: these are “new religious architectures”
that include stores, online tourist guides as well as online and physical
distribution networks.
The idea of “new religious architectures” corresponds with the
growth in transnational and online avenues of religious organization
and collaboration that allow global, flexible, networked “religiosity,”
including economic trade, as an alternative or complement to physi-
cal temple-going or worship. Peggy Levitt introduces the term for the
activities of transnational migrants and indicates not only physical
structures that are often the “be all and end all” of religious architectures
in civic space, but the hidden and anonymous exchanges that occur
on websites; across chat forums; and also in spaces like airport prayer
rooms, where new sets of rules govern conduct according to different
hierarchical standards.
In new religious architectures, online moderators, site designers, and
community mediators play just as important a role as priests. Hinduism
is thriving in cyberspace (Scheifinger, 2008) and in the process new
 Hinduism and Economics 75

standards of politics and hierarchy within religious organizations are

emerging. But access to the Internet, let alone English language skills, is
the privilege of only a minority of Hindus in India—thus new religious
architectures benefit most the affluent, cosmopolitan, and globally
mobile middle and upper class and urban groups (Chopra, 2006).
Online communities occur profoundly to facilitate demand by mi-
grants and overseas diasporas, so they can stay “connected” with India.
Satisfying a similar audience, other types of economies have emerged to
meet this demand in diasporic hubs. Vineeta Sinha describes a surge in
local trade of religious objects and paraphernalia that has emerged with
the growing popularity of a local deity “Muneeswaran” in Singapore’s
“Little India” district. As one businessperson claims, “Muneeswaran
is good for business” (Sinha, 2005: 182). Traders in this industry, the
majority not devotees, become religious experts in the same way as
the moderators of online forums discussed above, advising followers
on the details of religious devotion.

Rebranded Values

It has widely been considered that “South Asian religions have, since
the 19th century, been structured by Westerners in opposition to
capitalist values and economic culture” (Mines and Lamb, 2010:
219). Indeed, many early commentators, mostly missionaries, were
convinced that a pervasive unworldly indolence was manifest in
India, stymieing economic growth and a productive work ethic and
demanding intervention.
The “indolence in which they are destined to spend their lives, ren-
ders them totally useless to society” (Staughton, 1811: 133) a character
“attributable to the climate, to indolent habits engendered by the heat,
and to the impure histories of their gods” (ibid.: 216). More scholarly,
authoritative and detailed accounts also adopted this perspective on
Indian “character.” Sketches of Native Life and Character in Southern
India describes the Madras Sepoy, whom while courageous, was
undisciplined suffering from “laziness, want of smartness etc.” that
stemmed from the otherworldly “gift” of “indifference to life” (1869:
23). Caleb Wright adopted this idea in his Lectures on India noting that
Hinduism stemming as it did from customs instituted by the gods are
76 Thomas Birtchnell

“therefore incapable of improvement” and the “effect of this belief is

to keep everything stationary. There is no progress in knowledge—no
change for the better in any department of life” (1853: 52).
These accumulated ideas about India’s indolent work ethic bled
into US foreign policy in the mid-20th century informing decisions
about aid and development as well as notions of economic potential,
such as the “Hindu Rate of Growth” (Birtchnell, 2009). With India’s
dramatic economic growth in the 1990s, interest grew in articulating
Hinduism as a productive work ethic by globally mobile elite in the
diasporas and by the rising middle class in South Asia, aligning it with
other religious value framings. Local, everyday practices of “making
do” like jugaad have been dramatically reappraised from risky, unsafe,
corrupt values to management and business contexts that demand a
“can do” approach (Birtchnell, 2011). As well, jugaad has encouraged
the Indian middle class to celebrate values that are exercised at the base
of the pyramid and to try and export them as an Indian approach to
living and working.
Excitement about Asian economies has seen an institutionaliza-
tion of studies of religious, philosophical and spiritual values and
practices and new interests in how they might relate to business and
economics. For instance, there has been a surge of new investments
in branded “Confucius institutes” in universities globally, cropping
up in elite institutions across Europe, Britain, America, Argentina,
Brazil, Australia, Israel, and New Zealand. These global clusters rep-
resent official recognition of the value framings presented by global-
ized economists and management thinkers but also a rebranding of
Asia’s religions from nationalist contexts to global ones. Organizations
such as the India Council for Cultural Relations as well as various
M. K. Gandhi-themed institutes, most notably the Gandhi Institute of
Technology and Management, emerging from within India point to
similar potential trends in future around Hindu values.
In the 1990s, a considerable debate emerged around “Asian values,”
a term that really reflects growing awareness of the impact of culture
on economics, business, and management contexts. Part of this debate
was a direct challenge and reorientation of classic ideas that religious
values and practices in Asia negatively affect economic values and
practices. Interest in Asian values accompanied the opening up of
India and China to the global economy and complemented forecasts
of changing demands of affluence, consumption, living standards,
 Hinduism and Economics 77

and well-being across Asian middle classes. Taking a lead from this
interest, many experts now combine predictions of a faltering US
hegemony with the renaissance of multicultural states like Singapore
and Malaysia as producers of cosmopolitan mediators between China,
India, and the “West.”
There are many arguments that dispute whether Asian values are a
real-world phenomenon, instead pointing out that religions and na-
tional values often cause divisions across and within regions; that Asian
values are in many cases also Western values; economic change can
be due to deeper processes; and that promoting Asian values debates
often tacitly supports chauvinism, insularism, and nationalist agendas
(Winter and Chang, 2008: 25). Hinduism occupied a minor but im-
portant place in this debate. A principle idea was that understanding
certain national, regional, or cultural values might unlock the secrets
of new markets, including India’s, with values including “filial piety,
collectivism, consensus-seeking, discipline, and respect for authority”
(Beugelsdijk and Maseland, 2011: 70). These indigenous values indi-
cated to some analysts alternative [non-Western] forms of modernity
and development pathways, growth models, and ultimately global
economic futures.
A key player in the Asian values debate where Hinduism is con-
cerned is Kishore Mahbubani, the past Singapore Ambassador to the
UN. Mahbubani, sensing the emerging interest and theoretical invest-
ments taking place in overseas diasporas around the array of Chinese
values from Guanxi to Confucianism in management and business
thinking, has sought to construct a pan-Asian values system sympa-
thetic to Hinduism. Rather than skirting around internal religious
tensions in India, Mahbubani cites these divisions or what he terms
“Balkanization” (Mahbubani, 2009), as evidence of coordination and
coexistence that demonstrates India’s cohesion rather than division
and Hinduism as a unifying force in the diasporas.
Hinduism is portrayed as compatible with this pan-Asian values
debate due to its presence alongside a range of other religions internally
and for its compatibility with democracy. Within India’s nationalist dis-
courses, Hinduism as a political force is necessarily balanced with more
pragmatic, economic considerations, of “urban shopkeepers, white-
collar workers, and the post-liberalization upper middle class” as “too
much rioting and looting is bad for business” (Lutgendorf, 2007: 327).
78 Thomas Birtchnell

As John Zavos has made clear, Hinduism, while tied up with nation-
hood, has developed as a modern religion resting on an interaction and
overlap of ideas that are also mutually informative not only to Indians,
but also to a global audience (2005). Hinduism was exported very early
on to the US in its modern development by key mediators like Swami
Vivekananda and exemplified for its scope over the “outer” domain
of materialism and the “inner” domain of the spirit.
Ideas of Hinduism as a productive, pan-Asian, globally important
set of “Asian values” go hand in hand with other global “hybrids” of
Hinduism that impact upon flows and circuits of people, ideas, and fi-
nances from outside of India but distanced from nationalist discourses.
These “hybrids” include spiritual exercises like yoga and meditation
that are seen as productive, particularly in occupational settings (van
der Veer, 2007). Global hybrids that reference Hindu beliefs and
practices, but do not share chauvinist overtones, interestingly have
also found a place in the development of indigenous management and
business settings that imagine Hinduism as a global “value” and as a
global “hybrid”. In short, these two areas of interest both represent a
“rebranding” of Hinduism to be compatible with economics.
But this debate has represented a sea-change for economists and
management experts concerned with Hinduism’s relations to economic
development, productivity and work values, and Hinduism as a “way of
life.” A concerted effort to critique classic notions that Hinduism was
anathema to economic growth emerged in the late 1980s and it became
acceptable to assert “Hinduism is not a blockade in material progress
but actually aids it” (Madan, 1989: 58). It is now common in business
and management research to assert that Hinduism “acts as a buffer to
absorb stress and the other negative fallouts of the globalization pro-
cess” for employees and workers and that “reflections on religion, and
religious scriptures need to be assimilated with the values of industrial
democracy to make Indian organizations more effective” (Rai, 2005:
388). Some research even shows that business people are directly influ-
enced by Hindu spiritual beliefs and practices in their decision-making
and daily work performance (Fernando and Jackson, 2006). Therefore,
Hinduism is not now banished to private life or “compartmentalized”
(Singer, 1972) but instead is pragmatically integrated into personal
practices as well as institutional programs and relationships.
The rebranding of Hinduism indicates it is no longer understood as
oppositional to consumerism and material accumulation: “the focus
 Hinduism and Economics 79

upon materiality, though here in the form of accumulation, is therefore

just as strong in economics as it is in Hinduism” (D. Miller, 2005: 2):
practitioners of Hinduism are as equally likely to accumulate “stuff”
as anyone else (D. Miller, 2009: 69). The rebranding also represents a
new relationship between spirituality and affluence within India. As
former CEO of Procter and Gamble India, Gurcharan Das highlights
in The Elephant Paradigm:

During the 1990s, Indians seem to grow more religious, despite ris-
ing prosperity. The growing middle classes seemed avidly preoccupied
with a rising standard of living, social mobility and the pursuit of ma-
terial goods, pushed relentlessly by the global economy and commu-
nications. At the same time they continued to vigorously pursue their
age-old spiritual paths towards living the meaningful life. I happened
to meet a large number of young entrepreneurs during the 1990s, and
I discovered, to my surprise, that almost all had a serious religious side
to them. It is a mistake to think that people must necessarily grow less
religious with prosperity. (2002: 86)

The rebranding is in part due to global manifestations of popular

practices like yoga and meditation and rise of sacred infrastructures to
facilitate these interests. Thus in modern India even a “big business-
man … a tall, clean-shaven, middle-aged man in a three-piece suit”
with a Mercedes and a real estate business can be a “highly advanced
yogi” (Ali, 2004: 138).
These popular Hindu practices are not only limited to yogis, CEOs
of major corporations also draw on these virtues. Vijay Eswaran,
Executive Chairman of the Qi Group, wrote In the Sphere of Silence
(2005) drawing on his background as “a Malaysian who grew up in a
meditative Hindu tradition that reflected his family’s Indian origins”
(Maidment, 2007: 1). The book promises both personal development
and economic success through a technique not dissimilar to the mouna
vratham that Eswaran learnt on his grandfather’s knee.
The work of the Calcutta Indian Institute of Management’s (IIM)
Center for Human Values is a profound example of the use of Hindu
ideas and practices in management contexts. Financed by donors and
grants from a range of Indian institutions, including the House of
Tatas, the introduction of indigenous ethics courses into mainstream
MBA syllabuses at IIM demonstrates that there is local demand
for contextual ethics. Thus, Hindu “indigenous culture was now a
80 Thomas Birtchnell

resource to be tapped for the long-term success of an organization”

(Iterson, 2002: 165).
S. K. Chakraborty proposes the introduction of a Vedantic
management system based on, though not limited to, scriptures such
as the Vedas, the Smritis, and the Puranas, and the writings of Gandhi,
Vivekananda, Tagore, and Aurobindo. Distilled into a concrete system
of values, which he dubs “Spirinomics,” Chakraborty believes that this
rich cultural heritage has the capacity to “transform the workplace
into a spiritual/moral gymnasium” to revolutionize management
ethics and to promote positive leadership behavior “through sacred
sadhana” (1998: 152).
Recent observers of Hinduism acknowledge that ritual and
belief blend seamlessly with a cosmopolitan lifestyle and modern
work ethic. It is far from reality that Hinduism impacts negatively
upon productivity, diligence, and the other attributes required in
the Protestant worldview associated with capitalism. Just like other
religious practices, Hinduism is just another part of everyday life and
even complements it as the case of Ramachandran illustrates:

The purpose of his weekly temple visit is over, and Ramachandran

must return home quickly. Once there he changes out of his dhoti and
shawl and puts on the black pants and white buttoned shirt of his work
attire. After drinking only a glass of water he mounts his bicycle to ride
to the shop where all day he repairs the computers that are so essen-
tial to maintaining business in contemporary India. As he solders the
memory boards of broken mainframe hardware, he is content in the
memory of his link with his Goddess and with the rituals that bring
balance to his life. (Hawley and Narayanan, 2006: 36)

As this example shows the early writers on Hinduism and economics

greatly exaggerated the deleterious impacts the value system had on a
work ethic. Furthermore, Hinduism is not only a source of conflict and
chauvinism in modern India, it also provides meaning and continuity
to everyday life. But, the notion that Hindu values might benefit an
everyday working life needs to be greeted with caution as well, as it is
also overstated in recent attempts to marry management with religion.
What is really at stake in this discussion of Hindu values and
economic life is the shift to cosmopolitanism in India and China
(Tyfield and Urry, 2009) and the surge in transnational movements,
particularly among elites. The next section looks at how these elites
 Hinduism and Economics 81

have shaped global understandings of Hinduism and “mediated” with

communities and nudged its acceptance and appreciation.

Cosmopolitan Mediators

In 2010 a scandal arose around US “Tea Party” political leader Mark

Williams’s comments on plans to build a 13-story mosque and Islamic
cultural center at Park Place and Broadway close to the site of the
2001 attacks on the World Trade Centre buildings. Williams made
the bizarre statement that the “monument would consist of a Mosque
for the worship of the terrorists’ monkey-god” (Hutchinson, 2010: 1).
When criticized in the media for this diatribe, however, Williams was
quick to apologize—but only to Hindus:

I described the “god” worshiped by terrorists as “a monkey god”.

I was wrong and that was offensive. I owe an apology to millions
of Hindus who worship Lord Hanuman, an actual Monkey God.
Moreover, Hanuman is worshiped as a symbol of perseverance,
strength and devotion. He is known as a destroyer of evil and to in-
spire and liberate. Those are hardly the traits of whatever the Hell
(literally) it is that terrorists worship and worthy of my respect and
admiration not ridicule. So, again, to my Hindu friends I offer my
sincerest apologies for my horrible lapse and my insensitivity. It
was unintentional, inexplicably ignorant and I am ashamed at my
offense toward you. (Goldsmith, 2010: 1)

What this excerpt shows is that despite many theological and

ecclesiastical differences between Hinduism and Christianity (poly-
theism, animism, etc.), there is a wider sense of tolerance in the US
around Hinduism.
However, this has not always been the case. In the 19th and early
20th century, considerable anxiety was expressed about Hinduism
in the US media and by commentators such as Thomas H. Kennedy
in The Wrathful Patriot in an invective not dissimilar to Williams’.
It was an economic as well as moral threat highlighted in accounts
of “vicious customs,” “wresting pittance” and the taking of “some
poor domestic’s place” by “the heathen Hindoos [that] menace all
the West” (1914: 18).
82 Thomas Birtchnell

Wendell Thomas observed that Hinduism was “invading America”

not only through the growing presence of “swamis and yogis” but also
“a goodly throng of academic lecturers and organization directors
… slowly but surely conducting Hindu ideas into the very center of
American culture” (1930: 13). Thomas also noted that the practice of
yoga and Vedanta was popular among businesspeople and not at all
incompatible, instead advocates preaching compatibility with “mod-
ern business methods and financial ambition for success” (ibid.: 167).
Yet as cosmopolitans followed these itinerant flows of labor, the
landscape began to shift and Hinduism played an important role in
this change. Many religious celebrities, championing Indian political
causes, were sponsored by academics and religious studies scholars in
the US and the UK. Fora were provided that combined both debate
about India’s political and economic independence as well as more
esoteric, religious concerns.
In 1955, Phillip Ashby of Princeton University wrote in the US
journal The Christian Century

a respected and eminent Indian Christian, high in the councils of

world Christianity, recently said to me that he is convinced the Hindu
… argument that all religions are equally valid may sweep the world
in the next twenty-five years. He found this thesis congenial to the
contemporary European and modern mind … [The Hindu] considers
himself to be the representative of 20th Century understanding, and
the Christian, along with the Moslem, to be the epitome of the reli-
gious exclusiveness and bigotry which much disappear in the modern
world. (Life Magazine, 1955: 80)

Hinduism in India changed as well to accommodate this global

vision of modernity and religion. Even in the early 20th century, as
Patricke Wolfe reminds us, elite globally active mediators like Tagore
were key players acting “as a conduit between enlightened Europe
and a regressive Brahmin elite, who were awakened and vitalized by
his campaign to reform Hinduism” (2005: 238). And in more modern
settings, like the Malaysian diasporic context, the increasing political
role of the middle class in the US and West has seen an increase in
secularism and a decline in religion. However, in India this is far from
the case; the middle class has instead been shaped by caste, region,
language, and religion (Fernandez, 2006).
 Hinduism and Economics 83

The religious principles of Indian community groups in the US are

diverse and scholars have grouped them into five rough categories:
secular Hinduism, non-sectarian Hinduism, Bhakti or Devotional
Hinduism, Reformist-Nationalist Neo-Hinduism, and Guru-
Internationalist-Missionizing Neo-Hinduism (Larson, 2009: 193).
Within these groupings are also many exceptions and attempts at a
pan-American identity. For instance, the Northern California Hindu
Businessman’s Association published the “Nine Beliefs of Hinduism”
as a summary of views accepted by all types of Hinduism in America
(Eck, 2000: 234). But this does not account for divergent groups that
maintain orthodox views apart from the mainstream, but also continue
to grow globally.
Indian migrants recognize the ISKCON movement as a global re-
ligion making it impervious to many of the conflicts stemming from
minority politics in Hindu migrant communities. ISKCON’s integra-
tive strategies put it in stark contrast to the recent confrontations be-
tween conservative Australian Hindu organizations and the Gay and
Lesbian Mardi Gras over cultural appropriation of Hindu imagery and
symbolism (Velayutham and Wise, 2001). ISKCON is, in this sense, a
transnational organization that does not suffer from the nationalist and
political ambivalence of officialized Hindu organizations. Indian migrant
professionals have played a key role in championing ISKCON in the
US by providing funding and drawing attention away from donation
scandals that plagued its initial inception (Vande Berg and Kniss, 2008).
The internal tolerances to a contemporary lifestyle as well as its pre-
existing place in US society—the movement was founded in America
by an Indian immigrant—has made ISKCON a popular option for
many Indian migrants to satisfy their desires for religious fulfillment
as well as remaining true to cosmopolitan US identities. At the root
of ISKCON’s current manifestation is its tolerance and inclusion of
outsiders, particularly Westerners, in its pursuit of global conversion
and universalistic recruitment goals. Its worship of one god, Krishna,
makes it more amenable to Christian groups in adopted countries.
From this perspective ISKCON temples have become “locations for
micro-level transnational interactions and processes” that have led
to “new innovations in religious identities and practices for Western
devotees, Indian immigrants, and for ISKCON itself” (Vande Berg
and Kniss, 2008: 99).
84 Thomas Birtchnell

Apart from ISKCON, there are other unorthodox “new age” cosmo-
politan streams of Hinduism. Helweg describes migrant US entrepre-
neur Rajiv Malhotra’s start-up based on his observation that Americans
are fascinated with Indian religion as well as the cultural consumption
in the US of things in “packages.” Arbitrage is the capitalization of the
imbalance between a price differential between two or more markets.
Thus management consultants are “individuals who span national
and cultural boundaries capitalizing on the arbitrage of knowledge
from one country or culture to another” (Semadeni, 2001: 44). In
this respect, cosmopolitan mediators become “culture arbitrageurs”
of Hinduism (Birtchnell, 2013). For example, utilizing his family
business networks in India Malhotra created “Guru kits,” collections of
wood sandals, incense, saffron, wood beads, and an Instruction Book
on how to meditate, with names and addresses of Gurus and ashrams.
The merging of cultural attractions takes advantage of the fact that
“migrants and people with extensive contacts outside their realm of
influence are most likely to be entrepreneurial” (Helweg, 2004: 24).
Mediation does not only occur though obvious religious representa-
tives (priests, kings, acolytes), but through community, political, and
social elites who can lobby and acquire vested interests in order to
“nudge” for policies that favor religious issues (Thaler and Sunstein,
2009). “The Hindu gods of metropolitan Washington D.C., like the
Hindu gods of the cities of Houston or Pittsburgh or Nashville, live in
a substantive holy house that nonetheless is and yet is not at home on
the land on which it stands” (Orsi, 1999: 105). Therefore, cosmopolitan
middle classes are themselves mediators of Hindu values and practices.

Hindu nationalism is helping unify the new bourgeoisie … who make

up the neo-rich in the countryside. The new entrants to the modern
economy are increasingly getting linked to global economic institu-
tions, especially since the beginning of liberalization in 1991. It is these
newly upwardly mobile classes/castes, caught between their tradition-
al inhibitions and modern allures, that are largely responsive to Hin-
dutva’s calls for a ‘Hindu modernity.’ (Nanda, 2003: 32–33)

On a global scale there are many important economic consider-

ations to the “guru phenomenon” that has accompanied the spread
of Hinduism to the West. As David Smith describes, gurus are often
defined through key historical and political moments: the peace move-
ment and the Vietnam War, the Beatles discovery of Indian music and
 Hinduism and Economics 85

the spread of drug culture in the West (2003: 168). It is within all of
these movements that economic transactions and trade occur, often
through global networks.
Many “new age” alternative values are linked to cosmopolitan
transnationals who combined political will with religious values, like
M. K. Gandhi (Birtchnell, 2012). Chandrashanker Shukla shows in
Gandhi’s View of Life that he drew not only on his teachings but also the
philosophical thought of Walt Whitman, Victor Hugo, Oscar Wilde,
and Will Durant, to list a few; binding them together as a complete
pragmatic set of ethics. These ethics include “plain living,” “voluntary
simplicity” rejection of the “ideal of the High Standard of Living,” and
the idea that “superabundance of wealth tends to cramp the soul” the
abatement of which will be “not merely for the individual good, but
for corporate good also” (1956: 121).
Lisa McKean makes the reciprocal link between Hinduism and
economics explicitly in Divine Enterprise, an ethnography of mendi-
cancy in India:

Gurus—spurious or genuine—are key players in the business and

politics of spirituality. The activities of many gurus and their orga-
nizations during the 1980s and 1990s are related to the simultaneous
expansion of transnational capitalism in India and growing support
for Hindu nationalism in India and abroad … as producers and pur-
veyors of spiritual commodities, gurus assist in propagating Hindu
nationalism, an ideology that relies on referents to Hindu India’s un-
paralleled spiritual prowess and moral authority. (1996: 1)

The “guru phenomenon” is also a story of global mendicancy. Hugh

B. Urban’s depiction of Osho the “Guru of the Rich,” or Bhagwan Shree
Rajneesh’s, failed business enterprise based on his spiritual teachings
demonstrates the global contexts of the guru phenomenon. Osho found
considerable success and scandal in the US before returning to India. He
clearly demonstrates that many renderings of Hinduism are detached
from orthodoxies and institutional religions or political agendas unique
to India, instead allied more to “spiritual logics” of late capitalism framed
by the global capitalist market (2005). Many well-known “gurus” are
concerned with the application of Hinduism, and ideas that stem from or
reference it, to modern life including management and business contexts.
Many gurus attempt to ally the underlying moral and ethical tenets in
Hindu contexts to the modern ailments and conditions viewed as globally
86 Thomas Birtchnell

detrimental to health, productivity, and the environment. The Maharishi

Mahesh Yogi’s ideas have been tailored to economic and business
contexts as Transcendental Meditation (TM) by its advocates. According
to Jack Forem “the evidence is convincing that TM increases a person’s
effectiveness in his chosen field of work” and that Hindu practices
and philosophies like meditation, yoga, and scripture can have real
“economic” consequences (1973: 164). Here, unlike Shukla’s integration
of Gandhi’s thought to the modern condition described above, TM and
Maharishi Yogi’s values offers methods (self-actualization) for those
seeking rather than rejecting higher standards of living, such as “high-
ranking executives” of “multinational corporations” (1973: 174).
Another grade of management and business advocate is the pragmatic
guru Deepak Chopra, who combines religious ideas in books like the
Seven Spiritual Laws of Success (2009), heavily sourced from Hinduism,
with management teachings. Chopra is an entrepreneur in his own right,
the CEO of an international brand that revolves around his teachings and
workshops for senior business people, which yield considerable profits.
Chopra very successfully mediates for a secularized version of Hinduism,
a “Hindu lite” (Raj, 2008) that is decontextualized from nationalism and
includes many unorthodox “new age” practices: meditation, yoga, and
metaphors that draw on modern life and concerns. Like many economic
elites Chopra is also an active philanthropist. The next section explores
further the links between philanthropy, business, and Hinduism through
a focus on “development devotees.”

Development Devotees

In Hinduism giving is part and parcel of an implicit code of behavior

defined by values of generosity, hospitality, philanthropy, and char-
ity that mobilize faith-based communities as means for spreading
faith and facilitating religious recruitment (Maharaj et al., 2008: 85).
Development is part and parcel of economic flows and religion plays a
pivotal role in structuring and facilitating development goals. Religious
representatives engender and foment trust in the community in the
performance of their duties; crucially, this is why their ranks are drawn
from the political, social, and economic elite. Such affordances mean
they also are involved in formidable economic transactions.
 Hinduism and Economics 87

As well as administrating financial flows key players attract and

motivate sources of wealth, in many cases around major events in the
social conscience. In the 2005 tsunami many religious NGOs facilitated
community activities in accordance with Hindu rituals of death (G.
Miller, 2005). Organizations like the Hindu Forum Disaster Relief
Task Force as well as ISKCON raised large amounts of donations
in disaster appeals (BBC News, 2005). The religious philanthropic
sector represents a huge source of support and a main driver of
economic effort in crises. It is no coincidence that many NGOs in
India, and in the rest of the world, are also religiously affiliated and
work alongside official aid organizations. A database of Worldwide
Hindu Development Organizations available from the International
Information Resource Centre shows there are more than 5000 such
NGOs worldwide (Gulzaar, 2009).
Hindu religious organizations are also sources of donations and
philanthropy within their own activities for a range of causes, secular
and non-secular. Crucially they are also recipients of economic flows
through development channels. Smriti Srinivas highlights the vast
spiritual networks of the global Sai organization, which consolidates
wealth through over 9,000 official centers of devotion in India and
2,000 in over 130 countries outside of India. Religio-urban complexes,
including Puttaparthi in Bangalore attract considerable regional and
transnational economic flows. The key guru in the Sai organization,
Sai Baba, received support, funds, and materials from many business
donors throughout his career: bestowers from coffee planters and real
estate developers to the Hard Rock Café franchise’s Isaac Tigrett. The
funds that derive from local and international devotees are fed through
the conduit of the Sai organization into a whole platform of causes:
housing development, hospitals, and museums (Srinivas, 2008: 63).

Conclusion

To claim that one is a student, researcher, or commentator on both

Hinduism and economics is to apparently betray interests so diffuse
that they appear hopelessly irreconcilable. Surely Hinduism is all about
asceticism, otherworldliness and in short non-economic activities? Is
not Hinduism much too diverse and complex to sustain compelling
88 Thomas Birtchnell

generalizations? Are not economics, management and business the

preserve of secular, professional, and other irreverent pursuits?
As demonstrated in this chapter, a concerted effort to understand
the bigger picture of Hinduism cannot ignore economic aspects.
Rejection of the juxtaposition of Hinduism to economics has now a
lineage that is irrefutable, well debated, and authoritative. There is thus
a great arsenal against simple notions of what constitutes religious
identity. However, in many instances in the contemporary world
this apparent or real juxtaposition has been the key to the spread and
perpetuation of many beliefs, customs, and scriptures associated with
Hinduism amongst many different national, community, and ethnic
interests. Not only this, but non-secular interests still play a role in
how investments are made, in motivations for economic activities,
and in the structure and spread of diasporas and communities outside
of national boundaries.
The successful mobility, flows and circuits of knowledge, talent,
capital, and people to and from South Asia and the consequent com-
panionship of many non-secular interests perhaps explains why there is
a new and urgent demand for clarity in how these apparently disparate
areas relate. That the linkages of religion and finance can spread by
repeated and progressive exposures—often documented in popular
culture—globally to alternative ways of being stemming from the Indian
subcontinent is a great lacuna that has only recently been broached.
As powerful community groups and diasporas have dispersed and
formed across the world so too have advocates of Hinduism petitioned
for equality, freedom to worship, and formal recognition. It is no
coincidence that many of the first migrants in the 20th century from
India to the US and the UK were on religious tours aimed at informing
both a keen academic and popular audience. Temples have been built
and communities come together. But as well underneath these very
obvious signs of religion have been personal and quasi-secular interests
that have only spread tacitly and awkwardly. These tacit interests need
equal weight in analyses of religion and business.
Hinduism, like any other “religion” or belief system, is not only
about traditions, scriptures, and myths, but key players, practitioners,
movements, and fashions. It is also about creative and academic com-
mitments and expressions as well as merely pragmatic concerns for the
sustaining of tradition and family obligations. Further, beliefs are not
only present in long lineages of kinship and community bounded by
 Hinduism and Economics 89

caste, class, or region; but also present in collisions between cultures,

alternative practices, and lived experiences. A great deal of what many
commentators might deem “Hinduism” is instead explorations and
inquiries into how personal beliefs that stem from traditional values,
and often are not incompatible with formal religious expressions and
communities, can be combined with secular interests and indeed lives
that are bound to business obligations. There are radical beliefs and
pedestrian ones, intensely personal and also communal ones. Just as
those who might be identified as “Christian” might be evangelists,
members of the Twelve Tribes of Israel, or simply Sunday church-
goers or religiously demarcated school students; those identified with
Hinduism are equally mixed, complex, and difficult to cluster.
It is now not enough to understand Hinduism and economics
through traditional community and caste origins and the extant re-
search on “the old association of business with an exclusive Vaishya
order” (Damodaran, 2008: 3). Portrayals of Hinduism as a rarefied,
detached, kinship-oriented, and exotic set of practices too often ig-
nore the considerable presence the belief system has in communities,
politics, and certainly economic relations globally. Once the methods
within Hinduism might have been seen as “getting away from the
world” (or otherworldliness) for colonial officials, missionaries and
many scholars who, like Voltaire, Max Mueller, or Max Weber, had
never travelled to India (Birtchnell, 2009). Hinduism now represents
in popular imaginings and practices a method for being in the world,
living in the moment and “finding oneself” and in so doing making
oneself more productive and capable of living in the world. It is also
an avenue to traveling to India. Therefore, it is vital that research on
Hinduism and economics is sensitive to both contemporary and tra-
ditional threads.
While much of the excellent scholarly, historical research is valu-
able, there is much to be gained through an optic that centers on recent
transitions to a global business order; new and recast technologies of
communication, mobility and finance; and the affordances that stem
from anonymous, long distance networks in the diasporas. The refocus-
ing represents a starting point for a much more pertinent approach to
how issues of livelihood, well-being, investment, finance, management,
and development revolve around or involve Hinduism as collective or
individual acts of devotion and avocation.
90 Thomas Birtchnell

To identify with “Hinduism” is to be defined as “Hindu” by census lists,

government reports, management groups, community organizations and
a whole gamut of other political, economic and demographic human and
non-human interests. Therefore of interest are not only the translations
and interpretations of scriptures such as the Bhagavad Gita but also vol-
umes of sales or numbers of reprints globally, not in terms of the spread
and diffusion of Hinduism, but in terms of economic expenditures and
commitments by organizations and individuals. Furthermore, artworks
and practices within temples are indeed valuable subjects, but so too are
the distributions of temples in key financial districts in the US or UK,
their geotagging and clustering on business-oriented websites, and the
support networks and economic financings derived from economic elites.
While the explosion of concern and media attention toward Islam
and “Islamification” in Britain, America, Germany, and Australia has
not been matched by the definition and classification of Hinduism as
a distinctly threatening or imposing social force, there remains still
specific bodies of people that are not spared the rigorous demarcations
of demographics, measuring both income and religious affiliation,
and who find themselves so treated by default rather than choice. The
formal, bureaucratic binding and defining of individuals according
to religious identity—and strategies to avoid this attention—is also
another area that demands research.
The student or researcher of the links between Hinduism and busi-
ness can be reassured that there are indeed many overlaps and new
areas that historical abridgments fail to capture. In surveying the tacit
and overt “sceneries” of global Hinduism through the optic of econom-
ics it becomes immediately obvious that sacred infrastructures are sites
of business activity, a focus for financial investments, and areas of com-
munity exchange. Globalized acolytes are key players in business and
management philosophies and at the same time profoundly spiritual
benefactors; and development disciples’ visions of equality, education,
and common dignity often overlap with economic interests. Business
elites, government representatives, talented migrants and celebrities
are as important if not more in spreading Hinduism outside of South
Asia as part of their life-projects. Much recent academic interest in
Hinduism and economics has been in bridging these apparently ir-
reconcilable domains.
Alongside debates about the production of a coherent and stable
catalogue of Hindu laws, sects, and ritual practices is an interest in the
 Hinduism and Economics 91

same so-called laws, beliefs, and practices as methods of personal fulfill-

ment and aesthetic interest (Pennington, 2005). Thus, the organized
demonstrations of Hare Krishna devotees in a London street or the
spiritual revelations of the Beatles can be linked to economic groups of
practitioners, volunteers, donations and investments of time, energy,
talent, and income. And it is these sorts of unpackings that much re-
cent work in the social sciences has fruitfully pursued, in the areas of
history, sociology, anthropology, and cultural studies.

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 Chapter 5
The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics:
Historical Processes Underlying Hinduism
and Hindutva*

Robert Eric Frykenberg

Between the logic of an integrating constitutional pluralism and the

more fissiparous logic of a sacralizing, if not totalizing, kind of “civic”
religion, operating within both parliamentary and extra-parliamentary
processes, political structures of India as a secular state have suffered
dangerous stresses, and yet have survived—so far. Stresses and
tensions, between what Romila and Romesh Thapar (Thapar, 1997)
called “Syndicated Hinduism”—a modern construction or “invented”
tradition that required a special kind of secular pluralism leading to the
increasing political integration and stability of the India Republic—and
a no less modern or “invented” tradition linked to Hindutva, the Sangh
Parivar, and militant Hindu nationalism, have produced profound
contradictions within political systems of South Asia. The roots of these
contradictions—from both analytical and historical perspectives—lie
deeply imbedded in ancient lore. The historiography of these opposing
logics, and mentalities and rationalities arising therein, are the focus
of this chapter.
Two classic paradigmatic logics can be seen as reflecting traditions
of political life in India since ancient times. One is irenic, diplomatic,
inclusive, contractual, structurally integrating, resorting to force only as
a last resort, and the other is aggressive, exclusive, violently expansive,

* In some measure, ideas expressed herein are inspired by Griffin (2008). This chapter
is a condensed recension of my contribution to the volume in which Griffin’s work
appears (Frykenberg, 2008).
96 Robert Eric Frykenberg

and voracious, relying on force rather than consent, contract, or law.

The historiography of these countervailing processes, or tendencies in
political logic, has ever been in a dialectical tension with each other.
They are epitomized in the polar opposition of two ancient concepts:
mandala-nyāya (“logic of circles or spheres”) and matsa-nyāya
(“logic of fish”) (Spellman, 1964: 156–159).1 The first was a formula
for socio-political inclusion and integration by means of persuasion
and brokered agreement. The second was a formula for political
absorption, conquest, and dominion, by means of aggressive force
and violent subjugation. These polarities serve as useful paradigms
for understanding the parallel historiographies of Hinduism and
Hindutva. Both were “Hindu” in the elemental or generic sense of
the term. Both pertained to anything and/or everything “native”
to the Indic continent (or subcontinent). All cultures, ideas, and
institutions lying within lands surrounded by the continent’s walls
of mountains and moats of oceans were, are, and have always been
inherently “Hindu.”
Initially, the term “Hindu,”2 itself an alien designation, was a label
for all things located in the land beyond the Indus. First used by
Persians and Greeks (Yavanas), and then by Muslims and Europeans,
the term was adopted by the British from the 1770s onward, eventu-
ally coming into nearly universal (if vague) usage. They came into
vogue at about the same time as, or soon after, the Government of
India was first formed in 1772. Now universally recognized, albeit not
always with consistent or precise meanings, they can be seen as con-
sequences of the parallel processes by which the over-arching political
systems of India (or South Asia) were gradually and painstakingly
molded together under the shade of a single imperial umbrella. These
events provide a framework for understanding the historiography
for both Hinduism and Hindutva, as we now know these terms.

The Historiography of “Syndicated” Hinduism

The historiography of events leading to an inclusive, modern, and

tolerant “syndicated” Hinduism that, by its inner logic, was reflected
in peculiarly Indian forms of “non-interference,” “religious neutrality,”
and “secularism,” which can be seen within a series of parallel and
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 97

interlocking processes, both intellectual (ideational or ideological)

and institutional or structural.

Intellectual and Ideological Integration:

Indology or Indian Orientalism

India’s first Governor General, Warren Hastings (1773–1785), the only

person ever to hold that position in the next 174 years of British rule
who was not from British nobility, launched one of the most ambitious
ventures of cultural exploration and recovery in all of history. He gave
personal encouragement and official support to this vast enterprise. This
became known as “Orientalism”—or, to be more precise, “Indology.”3
Out of this enterprise came some of the earliest constructions of such
concepts as “Hindu” and “India.” Hosts of scholars, both European and
Native Indian, became avidly engaged in this venture of discovery—a
project of uncovering, describing, surveying, preserving, and studying
the entire corpus of artifacts, which constituted the cultural heritage
of India’s ancient civilization, a heritage that R. C. Majumdar would
later claim had been all but forgotten. Later, after Napoleon’s conquest
of Egypt, this kind of venture would also be extended to exploring
other civilizations of Asia and the Near East. Modern “Orientalism”,4
as a by-product of the Enlightenment, gained worldwide recognition
and academic respectability. Chairs of “Indology” and Sanskrit were
established at major universities around the world. “Hindoo” then
became a generic label for describing all manifestations of life—
social, ritual, or cultural—within the Indian continent. While it was
mainly applied to “high” cultural and religious traditions, as defined
by Brahmans within the Sanskritic (and Vedic) literatures, the term
also came to include any and all forms of ritual and social practices,
institutions, and values “native” to India.5
As far as can be determined, the earliest actual use of the term
“Hinduism” (originally spelled “Hindooism”) dates from the 1770s.
Geoffrey Oddie traces the term “Hindooism” to the year 1787, and
to the writings of Charles Grant.6 Whether or not anyone, European
or Indian, had previously ever conceptualized the possibility of there
being a single and unified pan-Indian system of religious ideologies
and institutions, remains a matter of controversy and debate. Charles
98 Robert Eric Frykenberg

Grant was already occupying a high seat, as chair of the Company’s

Court of Directors in London, when, two decades later, a manuscript
describing “Hindu Manners, Customs, and Ceremonies” arrived from
Madras and when, a decade later, it appeared in print.
This manuscript has long been linked to the Abbé Dubois, a French
missionary of Pondicherry. But, thanks to the late Sylvia Murr (1987),7
we now know that this manuscript, Mœurs, Institutions et Cérémonies des
Peuples de l’Inde, so long attributed to the Abbé, for which the East India
Company’s Madras Government of Lord William Bentinck paid 2000
Star Pagodas in 1806/7 and first published under the title Description of
the Character, Manners, and Customs of the People of India; and of their
Institutions, Religious and Civil, Translated from the French Manuscript,
London, 1817, was in fact plagiarized. This fact in itself, however much
Dubois may have personally benefited, makes this work all the more
significant, for instead of dating from the reign of Louis XVIII, it actually
dates from that Louis XV, a full century earlier. Indeed, thanks to Murr,
we know that it was the work of Gaston-Lauren Cœurdoux, an earlier
missionary who also worked in South India. Yet, the question of whether
this remarkable work ever suggested the pre-existence in India of an
ancient and single and universal system of religious and social institu-
tions or whether there only existed a fractured collection of segmented
religious and social institutions remains one that was never answered.
Nor, even now, is this a question that is settled with finality. What does
emerge from Cœurdoux’s work is a perspective revealing that whoever
claimed to rule, whether Hindu or Muslim, “all posts of confidence were
held by Brahmins” (Dubois, 1906: xxiii). As such, the work remains a
valuable apologetic for ideological and institutional integration of all
India under the sway of single authority.
Behind all that was “Hindu,” in the sense of the high traditions
being uncovered by Indologists stood the influence of twice-born
(dvīja) scholars. Most of these were servants of the Company or local
gentry from high-born families related to Company officials. All, from
the very beginning, had long been connected, in one way or another,
with the rise of the Indian Empire. Champions and defenders of all
things “Native” (i.e., “Hindu” or “Indian”), these persons came, at least
initially, from that class of indigenous notables which best understood
the cultural and social foundations of political power. No class was
more intimately involved in the pursuit of Indology than they. Having
already long served as official “dubashis,” “munshis,” and “vakils,” it
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 99

was they who played a vital role as teachers and translators for each
new generation of European servants of the Company.8 As diplo-
matic agents, go-betweens, and interpreters between the Company and
various levels of Indian rulership, from the highest of lordly princes
(Mughals and Maharajas) down to petty village zamindars, they played
a pivotal part in the construction of both the Empire and of modern
“Hinduism.” This Warren Hastings well understood.
Not surprisingly, therefore, it was also from the ranks of Indians
themselves, mainly Brahmans, that many if not most advances in
Orientalist and Indological understanding came. In concert with
Indologists and Sanskritists around the world, Indian scholars cease-
lessly unearthed, translated, interpreted and published fresh findings.
In fields of ancient history, philosophy and religion, the “wonder that
was India” was constantly being rediscovered.9 Epitomized by Max
Müller’s The Sacred Books of the East, a huge series of 50 volumes that
began to emerge between 1879 and 1910, over a century after Warren
Hastings had first launched such efforts; this project came to fruition in
the work of such scholarly giants as R. C. Majumdar, K. A. Nilakantha
Sastri, and Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan. These scholars symbolized hosts
of nameless predecessors whose works of collection, transcription, and
translation provided a vast corpus of intellectual and philosophical
substance for a newly reifying high religion now called “Hinduism.”
More than that, since political logic called for eclectic and syncre-
tistic impulses necessary for continuing processes of imperial (and
national) integration, this official (Orientalist) Hinduism emphasized
and hallowed doctrines of restraint and tolerance. Unveiled by Swami
Vivekananda before the Parliament of World Religions at Chicago in
1893, this newly discovered or invented “Hinduism” achieved recogni-
tion among theologically liberal thinkers in the West; and legitimation
as a full-fledged “World Religion” (Ziolkowski, 1990: 11–12).

Institutional Integration: State Administration of

Sacred Sites and Temples

The second process, no less significantly, arose out of legislation

decreeing that, henceforth, imperial governments in India would take
direct responsibility for the care, maintenance, and support of all pukka
100 Robert Eric Frykenberg

Native (“Hindoo”) religious and charitable institutions. The imperial

Raj, even as the shadow of its authority reached across the entire
Indian Ocean, made itself the guardian of all endowments, temples,
places of pilgrimage, sectarian academies (mutths), ceremonies, and
festivals (Frykenberg, 1977). Bengal Regulation X of 1810 and Madras
Regulation XVII of 1817, and a comparable Regulation for Bombay
Presidency, brought many scores of thousands of proper temples,
pilgrimage centers and monastic institutions (mutths), great and small,
under official protection, management, and tax exemption. By this
means, almost unbeknownst to Britain, the Indian Empire became,
for all practical purposes, a de facto “Hindu” Raj. This officially (if
“silently”) sponsored policy of “Hinduization” (or what would now
be called “nationalization”) of all cultural and religious institutions
in India, was later assailed by opponents in London. Subsequently
modified by legislation in 1863 and 1926, it was never ended and, in
many respects, still continues to be in force to this day (Presler, 1987).
Government-appointed officials administered temple endowments
(devasthanams, etc.). They made temple repairs or renovations, and
oversaw rituals (through the agency of dharmakartas, pujaris, and
stanikars). They bestowed homage and worship (puja), and also of-
ficial recognition and titles (such as rasika or sampradayika) on each
deity. Europeans and Indians alike made generous private donations
to deities, contributing to ostentatious public observances. Ceremonies
conducted within temples, under the direct or indirect supervision of
the state auditors, silently if not formally, legitimized the Hindu cosmic
order (dharma) of separate temple calendars. In the South, neither
the largest and oldest temples, such as those of Tirupati, Srirangam,
Madurai, Kanchipuram, or Cuddalore, nor the meanest and tiniest of
new shrines springing up beside dusty roadways and thoroughfares
escaped close attention. Colonial officials, who were Hindu, not only
controlled temple revenues and expenditures, but watched over ritual
practices.
Soldiers of the empire, including Christians, Muslims, and Sikhs,
stood on parade and saluted local deities, attended blood sacrifices, and
marched in processions (yatras), remaining prominently visible at all
great religious festivals (often in defiance of private consciences). Civil
officials collected tolls from pilgrims and taxes at fairs and festivals,
and commandeered huge drafts of involuntary labor from hundreds
of thousands for the pulling of enormous temple cars (rathas), turning
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 101

their heads when someone, propitiously, “happened” to be crushed

beneath the huge wheels of Lord Jagganatha.10 Even temple dancing,
music, and prostitution, involving hundreds of thousands of devadasis,
came under the eye of the government. All these activities came, at
least in some measure, within the rubric of this second or “official”
kind of Hinduism.

The Historiographies of Reform and Reaction

Two other processes, in reaction to the two processes just described, can
be seen as giving rise to the sacralized political religion of Hinduism, as
we know it today. The first of these, initiated and supported by forward-
looking Europeans (Westerners) and Indians alike, was progressive
and reformist. The second, radically romantic and reactionary, was
revivalist as well as militantly nationalistic and potentially totalistic,
leading directly to the rise of Hindutva and allied movements of the
Sangh Parivar.

Hindu Reform: Toward an Inclusive Humanity,

Neutrality, and Secularity

Well before the Company’s Raj gained full paramountcy over the
subcontinent, there were leaders in India, both European and
Native, who denigrated what they saw as inhuman practices, and
protested against human sacrifice, infanticide, and widow burning.
Enlightenment ideologies and impulses, both religious and secular,
led a radical ideal that every segment of mankind on earth, whatever
its current condition and wherever this existed, shared cardinal
features of a common humanity shared and ought, therefore, to enjoy
certain fundamental human rights. This radical conception—seeing
a common humanity within all mankind—was given further impetus
by revolutionary movements in the West. However different in nature
and origin, both the American and the French Revolutions stemmed
from Enlightenment ideals, both religious and secular, that in turn
102 Robert Eric Frykenberg

harked back to Reformation ideals and policies of religious toleration

evolving out of the Peace of Westphalia in 1648.
One branch of social protests in India was religious. It was a
by-product of the modern missionary movement, generated by the
Evangelical Christian awakenings in the West. Whereas earlier pioneer
missionaries, inspired by the irenic ideals of German Pietism, had been
loath to interfere with local customs and traditions that they encountered,
later missionaries were more intrusive, striving for what they saw as
“human” rights. While still lacking official support for their work from
the East India Company, later generations of missionaries cautiously
joined Indian Christians in protesting against practices that they felt were
intolerably “inhuman” and against oppressive behaviors perpetrated
by its local officials. Even before the Company was finally forced by
Parliament, in 1813, to accept the inclusion of the so-called “pious
clause” in its charter making the “religious and moral improvement” of
the Indians incumbent upon the Company,11 there were some European
officials in India who wanted to bring about cultural and moral, if not
social, reforms. Charles Grant and John Shore (aka Lord Teignmouth),
themselves recent converts to Christianity who had risen to high
positions (within the Company’s Court of Directors and the Government
of India), argued that official support for Christian missionaries into
Company domains would help to bring about a moral transformation
in India. Claudius Buchanan, a Company chaplain of Evangelical
sentiments within the Church of England, did the same. As the first Vice-
Provost of the newly founded Fort William College, he had been ordered
to investigate moral conditions throughout India, His report, Christian
Researches in Asia, published in 1811 (and in later editions), was critical
of “Hindoo” (i.e., “Native”) institutions. But, among various architects of
“Hindooism” as a vast and monolithic system of religion, no individual
did more than William Ward. This member of the “Serampore Trio”12
produced a four volume work entitled Account of the Writings, Religion,
and Manners of the Hindoos, including translations from their principal
works. In this work, published at Serampore in 1811, and reappearing in
a third edition in 1817–1820 not long before his death, he systematically
“constructed,” or “invented,” “Hinduism” that had never before existed
(Oddie, 2003, 2006). Responding to this work, Raja Ram Mohan Roy
and other progressive notables among the Calcutta gentry (bhadralok)
joined officials and missionaries in a campaign to eradicate decadent
“Hindoo” customs and institutions, especially female infanticide and
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 103

widow burning. Roy, in reacting to Orientalist scholarship and negative

views of “Hindooism” strove to redefine high religious traditions of India
in grand, Brahmanical, and monistic, if not monotheistic, terms, doing
so through organizing a progressive reform society known as Brahmo
Samāj (1828). Such was his influence that he is still credited with being
“the father of modern India.”13
It is useful to recall that, prior to the 1790s, Christians already had
a long history in India. Thomas (Syrian and/or Orthodox) Christians
of Kerala had flourished as integral parts of local, indigenous cultures
for nearly 18 centuries. “Hindu” forms of Christianity had been deeply
rooted in the Indian soil long before critical attitudes among some
missionaries from the West gained currency. Moreover, some among
the most gifted earlier generations of missionaries from Europe, both
Catholic and Protestant, had made acculturating contributions to
indigenous (Hindoo) cultures, customs and institutions, doing so in
comprehensive and positive terms.14 Leaders among newer Christian
movements in South India at the end of the 18th century—located
in Tarangambadi (Thanjavur), Tirunelveli, or Thiruvananthapuram
(Travancore)—petitioned Parliament for protection from persecu-
tion by government officials. This they did as “Hindu” (or “Native”)
Christian subjects of the Company.
For the most part, however, attacks against official support for the
“Hindu Establishment” within the Company-ruled Indian Empire
came to nothing. In one remarkable case, several hundred European
(Christian) officials who were outraged by what they saw as government
participation in “heathen” practices and rituals organized a formal
protest. Their “mutinous conspiracy” brought an immediate and swift
response. The Anglican Bishop of Madras (Daniel Corrie) was sharply
reprimanded; the commanding general in Madras (Peregrine Maitland)
was forced to resign; and scores of other devoutly Christian European
officials, civil and military, were obliged to leave the country. Some of
the dissidents who returned to London organized the “Anti-Idolatry
Connexion League” and launched a pamphlet campaign against the
evils of the Company’s “Hindu” empire. Years of lobbying for “religious
neutrality” followed (Carson, 2012). Such concessions as were made,
in legislation of 1863 and 1926, turned out to be hardly more than
cosmetic. Various “Hindu Charitable and Religious Endowments
Boards” that exist in India today are the products of this long process
of amalgamation, and of modest reforms that came in its wake.
104 Robert Eric Frykenberg

A number of other, similar reformist movements in India followed,

not all of which can be traced here. These included cultural, educational,
and social reform movements. In South India, these included the
Madras Literary Society, the Madras Native Society, the Madras
Hindu Association, and the Madras Mahajana Sabha. Prominent in
Western India was the Prarthana Samaj of Ranade. During the 1880s,
the gentry of Madurai launched a reform movement for the “reform,”
if not abolition, of all devadasi institutions, and endowments, within
Hindu temples. Among Telugu gentry of what we now know as
Coastal Andhra, Kandukuri Veerasalingam led movements for the
amelioration and liberation of women, especially higher caste widows,
from various forms of thralldom (Leonard, 1991). As newer forms of
voluntarism entered “public life,” voices became more strident. Against
reform movements, reactionary “Hindu” forces mounted campaigns
for the preservation of “Sanāthana Dharma”—the “Old [Hallowed]
Religion” (or “Established Tradition”).

Hindu Reaction: Toward Exclusivist and

Militant Communal Dominance

But it was yet another kind of process that redefined the concept of
“Hindu” much more radically.
Responding to, and building upon, the developments described
above, and growing in tandem with them, were movements that became
the true progenitors of modern Hindutva. Extremely conservative,
but also romantic, reactionary, and revivalist in character, they were
defensive, chauvinistic, and xenophobic, especially in response to
Western influences and negative attitudes of some foreign missionaries
and officials, as well as Indian social reformers, toward ancient
and hallowed “Hindu” cultures. These kinds of movements arose
despite the fact that some European (British) officials enthusiastically
propitiated local deities and made endowments to local temples,
that some missionaries, such as theological liberals and Unitarians,
enthusiastically embraced “Hindu” ideas and philosophies, and that
Indian social reformers were themselves often attached to cultural
legacies inherited from India’s past. What really disturbed reactionary
traditionalists were radical conversion movements and social reform
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 105

movements that threatened ritual purity and hallowed customs of

social apartheid, not only in distinctions between clean and polluting
(untouchable) castes and tribes, but also between men and women of
the same caste. Conversions and social reforms, in short, undermined
traditional social structures (varṇāśramadharma: “color-ranking-
order”) upon conceptions of ritual purity (free of pollution) and sacred
blood and earth.
Increasingly aggressive, especially after the 1920s, the most ex-
treme of this collection of movements, now known as the Sangh
Parivar (i.e., roughly: “Family or Kindred Societies”), would even-
tually exhibit what may even be seen as fascist and fundamentalist
tendencies. Responding to what were interpreted as invidious attacks
against indigenous institutions and against the purity of sacred birth
and sacred earth, some high-born elites, especially Brahmans of
Maharashtra and of regions in the north, resorted to various forms
of resistance, both overt and covert. Activist, agitative and aggressive,
and organized in defense of the “old order” (sanathana dharma),
local and regional leaders formed voluntary associations. They initi-
ated and organized petition drives (arzi-s), launched public protests
(hartals), and formed violent forms of unrest (riots, insurrections,
etc.). In doing so, even as they demonstrated, they discovered latent
strengths hitherto never fully realized, enabling them to mobilize re-
sources of political power within traditionally dominant social elites.
In so doing, they embarked upon programs of constructing, defin-
ing, and then demonstrating a new kind of “Hindu” consciousness.
This was a new kind of self-conscious “Hinduism” such as had never
before existed, at least in quite the same form.15 Those who did these
things came from reactionary elements among the very same classes
of notables and some of the very same families that, in earlier genera-
tions, had served the Raj, either directly, as officials, or as providers
of financial and professional services that were essential sinews of the
Empire. They reacted against any and all efforts to tamper with social
customs or to undermine traditions, especially in matters pertaining
to family practices and rituals. These were “Hindus” in a new sense.
They sharply defined and increasingly emphasized salient features
of the world that they themselves had helped to build—a system that
they now wished to preserve and reify. What they saw endangered
and threatened were sacred elements of their own birthright and
their own native land.
106 Robert Eric Frykenberg

These militantly nativistic kinds of “Hindu” reaction became, simul-

taneously and more avowedly, “political” and “religious.” Borrowing
methods from those Christian missionary societies which they viewed
as most threatening, they mobilized as many supporters as possible.
They took concerted actions against anything and everything which
disturbed local sensibilities or local traditions, especially against what
they saw as government interference in indigenous ceremonies, cus-
toms, institutions, or rituals. Established customs and traditions that
had long held sway within each high-caste or “twice-born” birth group
(jati), each domestic or sectarian community, especially those that had
held sway within families and local domains—domains too sacred and
sensitive to be “touched,” or “polluted,” by outsiders—were precisely
what they felt most needed to be defended. Strangely, these were the
much endowed “Hindu” charitable and religious institutions described
above, that the government had taken under its administration since
1810 and 1817.
The first glimmers of this kind of reaction can be seen as early as 1799,
when dominant elites in Tirunelveli Country, aided by local warlords
and Marava clubmen from Shivaganga, tried to stop to massive conver-
sions to Christianity that were taking place among the lowly Shanar
(later known as Nadar) community. When whole villages had turned
Christian, converting village temples into prayer-school halls, some
violators of the old order were stripped and driven into the jungle to
die. Surviving refugees, in turn, established separate “villages of refuge”
for Christians. These defensive enclaves, in the face of further pogroms,
multiplied and prospered. Prominent among movements of “Hindu”
reaction that organized during the 1820s, 1830s, and 1840s, were the
Vibuthi Sangam (Sacred Ashes Society) in Tirunelveli, the Chatur Veda
Siddhanta Sabha (or Salay Street Society) of Madras, and local branches
of the Dharma Sabha (from Bengal). Later movements in Western and
Northern India such as the Arya Samaj (1875) of Swami Dayanand
Saraswati and the Nagari Pracharini Sabha (1893) of Shyam Sundar Das,
Ram Narayan Mishra, and Shiv Kumar Singh (Jones, 1976; King, 1994).
Late 19th-century movements, in turn, inspired militant anti-cow-killing
campaigns in Bengal, Maharashtra, and Punjab, the extremist rhetoric
of Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay, the ideas of Swami Vivekananda
(Narendranath Datta), the symbols of Bal Gangadhar Tilak, and the
mystic spirituality of Shri Aurobindo (Ghose).
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 107

The most militant kind of reactionary “Hinduism,” embracing a

monolithic “Hindutva community” was also a modern invention.
Envisioning a “Hindu consciousness” hitherto unimagined, it arose,
in Romila Thapar’s view, “when there was competition for politi-
cal and economic resources between various groups in a colonial
situation” and “a need to change from a segmental identity to a
community which cut across caste, sect, and religion” (Thapar, 1989:
229).16 What emerged out of movements of the 19th century was a
growing sense of community that became increasingly self-conscious
about its anxieties and aggressive about its aspirations. Leaders of
this “imagined community” then claimed to be sole representatives
of India’s “majority.” With India’s “sacred destiny” as its legitimizing
legacy and its sole possession, militant “Hindus” demanded domin-
ion over all other communities in India. “Hinduism” as a “Hindu
community” and “India” as a Nation-State thus became modern by-
products of the Raj. Thus it was that the mobilizing of new systems of
loyalty, forged out of the same “Hindu” elements previously used by
the East India Company for constructing the Imperial State served to
buttress post-imperial constructions of the National (or Nation) State
in two forms: one secularizing (in uniquely Indian ways) and another
sacralizing. The latter, in turn, threatened and undermined many of
those contractual substructures of obligation which had previously
served to construct and undergird the socio-political constitution
of modern India itself: Hindutva matsya nyāya, in short, threatened
to devour the local and All-India structures of a secularizing Hindu
mandala nyāya.
Proto-Hindutva forms of Hindu reaction to reform movements
led to ever more militant Hindu ideologies and organizations. None
of them were, initially or explicitly, “Hindutva” (at least as that term
later became known). Yet, these earlier reactionary movements led,
step by step, in that direction.

The Historiography of Hindutva

At its heart, Hindutva or “Hinduness” became a reactionary political

religion—a sacralizing form of Hindu fundamentalism and/or militantly
Hindu nationalism. The first openly fundamentalist Hindu agency was
108 Robert Eric Frykenberg

the “Hindu Sabha.” This Punjabi association, “ardent and watchful

in the interests of the Hindu community,” was formed in 1907. This
was followed by the Hindu Mahasabha in 1916 and the Rashtriya
Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) in 1925. Two new institutions served as
preconditions: (1) the All-India Census and (2) the rise of representative
government. These, together, hastened self-conscious movements of
social mobilization that, in turn, led to communalism and to nationalism.
The earliest censuses, begun in the 1820s, were local. From
1871 onward, the decennial All-India Census, defined, refined and
standardized communal, occupational, social, and religious categories
(Barrier, 1981). Actually administered by local cadres of the civil
service, most of whom were Brahmans, it codified and ossified the
stratified social structures (varnashramadharma) so that virtually
all who were not Christians, Jews, or Muslims, became “Hindus” by
default. Altogether, twice-born (dvija) castes—Brahmans, Kshatriyas,
and Vaishyas—made up hardly more than 15 percent of the population
(5 percent in each category). Shudras throughout the subcontinent
came to between 35 and 40 percent; and polluting (avarna) and
aboriginal/tribal (adivasi) or peoples came to some 20 percent; and
Muslims, Christians, and Jews came to another 20 to 25 percent of the
total population of the empire. Census figures revealed, for all to see,
that the “pure,” “twice-born,” or “Aryan” castes, were a minority whose
hitherto dominant position with a representative system of governance
could become precarious. Census categories and concepts, therefore,
were manipulated in such a way as to include hitherto excluded
untouchables and tribals as “Hindus” and to exclude hitherto included
culturally respectable communities of Indian Christians and Muslims.
By such arbitrary means, an immutable and permanent “Hindu
majority community” was created. Census definition “inclusion” or
“exclusion” from the “Hindu fold” became a powerful instrument
that, in turn, exacerbated a growing “communalism” (Barrier, 1976).
The second process raised the unthinkable specter of a possible
subjection of the high-born. The evolution of constitutional institutions
promising democratically elected representative self-government, first
in local councils and then, progressively, to higher levels made clear
this possibility. By the 1870s and 1880s, Indians were already beginning
to gain seats in Parliament, in Executive and Legislative Councils,
and on the benches of various High Courts. The time was coming,
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 109

Sir Sayyed Ahmad Khan pointed out, when “representative Indians”

who were predominantly “caste Hindus” would rule the land and when
most of these would be militantly anti-Muslim. Census figures and
democratic elections, taken together, could spell trouble. Thus, both
Hindu elites and Muslim elites, could sense the possibility of future
conflict. What punctuated such concerns was a newly rising incidence
of Hindu–Muslim riots.
Perhaps no single person was more influential, or symptomatic of
rising Hindu militancy, than Vinayak Damodar Savarkar. It was he who
re-discovered and re-invented the term “Hindutva” or “Hinduness.”
Savarkar was a Chitpavan Brahman of Maharashtra who, after going
to England to study law at Grey’s Inn, had engaged in revolutionary
activities and written a book about the 1857 Mutiny or Rebellion of
North India entitled The Indian War of Independence (London: 1909).
Arrested in 1910 after being implicated in the assassination of a British
official, he had been transported for life to the Andaman Islands and
remained in Indian prisons for 27 years. It was while incarcerated
in Ratnagiri Prison (1922) that he penned his most famous work.
Hindutva: Who Is a Hindu? (first published in 1923 but not appearing
in English until 1942 and still in print), which became the Hindutva
bible. By the time of his release in 1937, Savarkar had acquired a near
cult-like status as a rishi among his devoted followers.
The All-India Hindu Mahasabha, a reaction to formation of the All
India Muslim League, came into being in 1915/16, as an adjunct (or
caucus) of the Indian National Congress (which, at that time, allowed
multiple memberships).17 By the 1920s, despite the Lucknow Pact
(1916) and concessions on “separate electorates” made by the INC,
jihads of the Khilafat movement and Mappilla massacres of Hindu
landlords in Malabar provoked violent Hindu reactions. Hindutva
disenchantment with Gandhi increased after the killing of 22 policemen
by Hindu mobs at Chauri Chaura in early 1922, which led him to call
off his non-violent satyagraha (or campaign of non-cooperation). In
1923, Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya called for “means to arrest the
deterioration and decline of Hindus and to effect an improvement
of the Hindus as a community.” From Varanasi, he called Hindus
to demonstrate kshatriya valor and to develop academies (akharas)
for training in martial skills. Lala Lajpat Rai worried that Gandhi’s
tactics were only weakening Hindu solidarity and engendering a “slave
110 Robert Eric Frykenberg

mentality.” Hindu–Muslim riots kept mounting in scale, intensity and

violence throughout the 1920s.
It was Savarkar who, while in prison, re-discovered or developed
the ideology of “Hindutva” or “Hinduness.” Hindutva became syn-
onymous with militantly chauvinistic and nativistic nationalism. What
emerged was a truly fundamentalist and modern political religion
par excellence.18 Centered in sacred cultures and countries, peoples
and places, Hindutva defined essentials of an extremely militant
nationalism and fount of inspiration. Hindus, Savarkar proclaimed,
were the original people of the land. Aryan blood had forever formed
a single nation (rashtra). Sacred “birth” and “earth” had made India
(Hindusthan). Fundamentals of “Hindutva,” had been imprinted
within genetic codes of sacred blood and sacred soil which, indeed,
evoked cosmic sacred sound from whence all being and knowledge
(veda) originated. Any true Hindu would feel the pulse Hindutva’s
timeless “antiquity” and “unity” (sanghatan). This “inner text” bound
India’s peoples to their divine fatherland (pitrubhu) and divine country
(punyabhu). This “holy land,” watered by eternal rivers (Indus, Ganga,
Brahmaputra, Yamuna, Saraswati, Narmada, etc.) flowing from the
holy “Home of Snows” (Himalayas), reached down to where three
eternal and sacred seas mingled at Kanya Kumari.
What Savarkar preached, Kesnav Baliram Hedgewar, another
Chitpavan Brahman, practiced. He founded Rashtriya Swayamsevak
Sangh, or “RSS”, in 1925. What India lacked, in his view, were
overarching Hindu institutions that could build Hindu solidarity
throughout India. Linguistic, regional, and social fragmentation
had opened the country to Muslim and European subjugation.
Disillusioned with tactics of non-violent non-cooperation (ahimsa and
satyagraha) underlying Gandhi’s campaigns, he dedicated himself to
restoring “essential unity” (sanghatan).19 This could only be done by
inspiring deeper cultural, psychological, and religious changes within
society. This called for a carefully planted and deeply rooted movement
of totalistic transformation within the entire society. To bring about
radical commitment to profound, if not radical, transformations
within each person’s heart and mind, he began building a local
“brotherhood” of “national volunteers” (sevaks) made out of totally
dedicated individuals (Frykenberg, 1980, 1988, 1993, 1994). True
believers had to be able to transcend personal agendas and petty or
narrow-minded rivalries. Each carefully built cadre of totally
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 111

transformed and committed persons would serve as foundation stones

for slowly building a totally new kind of organization, something
truly national and revolutionary. Only by awakening a new self-
consciousness—through rigorous self-discipline and a new sense of
community of “Hindus”—could this be accomplished.
Following suggestions made by Sister Nevedita,20 he decided that
each small squad would “congregate and pray together for 15 minutes
every day, and Hindu society will become an invincible society.”21 He
recruited teenage schoolboys and college youths, idealistic lads not
yet corrupted by worldly concerns nor preoccupied with domestic
burdens—picking them carefully after scrutinizing their capacity for
total, unquestioning loyalty and obedience. Each coterie of utterly
dedicated followers was then trained in martial style and rigorously
indoctrinated. Bound to each other by exceptionally strong emotional
and political ties, each peer group grew up together in such a way as its
own shared memories and sentiments would last a lifetime.
The first sevaks trained at a fencing academy or gymnasium (akhara)
in Nagpur. All were Maratha Brahmans who nursed historical tradi-
tions of having once been great warriors and rulers. At the Hedgewar
Bhavan, the RSS headquarters, Hedgewar personally supervised
prayers, body-building exercises, martial drills, and textual learning.
Stories about exploits of great Hindu heroes, such as Shivaji, Rana
Pratap, or Nana Sahib, were told and retold. Emotional ties were
deepened by means of outings, picnics, and sporting events. Each
person was meant to gain an élan, a sense of self-importance, and
proud independence; and, as the group sensed its superiority, it was
disciplined to do anything on command, at the beck and call of the
supreme commander.
The first regimented shakha (brigade or “branch”) came into being
in 1926. Other shakhas followed, each composed of “enlightened”
swayamsevaks (“dedicated-servants” or “volunteers”). The number
of akharas, martial arts academies extolling kshatriya ideals, jumped
from 230 to 570 (Anderson and Damlé, 1987: 35). Each new shakha,
disciplined in daily “character-building” exercises designed to be
physically, mentally, and spiritually rigorous, learned to use hand
weapons (brass-bound quarter-staffs, swords, daggers, and spears); and
took part in forced marches, forest camps, and weekly discussions. Each
was to reflect warrior (kshatriya) ideals and norms, mandating instant
112 Robert Eric Frykenberg

readiness for “action” or “service” (seva) and to take part in daily oaths,
prayers, and salutes. A few of the very best and most dedicated were
given “life oaths” and rituals of fealty before the Guruji or Supreme
Sangh Guide (Sar-Sanghchalak), the saffron-colored Banner (Bhagva
Dwaj),22 and the Maruti Deva (Hanuman), as well as to Shivaji’s guru
Ramdas Swami.
Formally inaugurated during Dasara (September) 1925, on the
annual festival for celebrating Rama’s victory over Ravana, the name
Rashtriya Swayam Sevak was publicly proclaimed at the Ram Navami
of 1926. At that event, uniformed volunteers of the first shakha, in
knee-length khaki shorts, white shirts, black hats, and quarter-staffs
(lathis) marched, sang verses from Ram Das, poured drinking water
for thirsty pilgrims, and drove away corrupt pandarams and sadhus.
But the public reputation of the RSS did not become fixed until 1927,
after the first training camp for swayamsevaks and after the outbreak
of communal rioting in Nagpur. Circulating “news” that Muslims were
planning an attack, 16 RSS squads moved into “respectable” neigh-
borhoods to provide “protection.” When not a single Hindu locality
was attacked, Hindutva’s reputation for valor was established. The
Hindu Mahasabha then invited uniformed RSS brigades to its Bombay
session. Thereafter, number of swayamsevak recruits multiplied and
shakha brigades proliferated. Between 1931 and 1939, the number of
shakhas grew from 60 to 500, with 60,000 active members (roughly
half Marathi speakers). After 1929, an elaborate hierarchy of RSS
leaders and officials began to emerge. These came by promoting elite
swayamsevaks, ranked by year, to squad leaders (gatanayaks), ordinary
and superior instructors (gata- and mukhya shikshaks), secretaries
(karyavahs), celibate staff commanders (pracharaks of different ranks:
local, regional, national), and directors (sanghchalaks: city/district and
regional). All were under the ultimate authority of the RSS’s Supreme
Guide (Sar-Sanghchalak).
Despite all its political activism and regimentation, the RSS scru-
pulously avoided involvement in provincial or national politics.
Indeed, outcries of consternation, criticism, and disappointment over
avoidance of involvement in electoral politics did not disappear until
after Independence. Savarkar, after his release from prison in 1937,
expressed his disgust over this “purely cultural” agenda and predicted
that the RSS would never amount to much. Anna Sohani resigned after
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 113

uniformed RSS squads were ordered to avoid provocatively marching

in front of mosques on Fridays so as not to incite violence, especially
when Muslim paramilitary groups, such as the Khaksars, were being
violently provocative, as also Akali Dal Sikh forces. When one General
Secretary (G. M. Huddar) resorted to armed robbery and landed in
prison, he was reprimanded. When the RSS refused to join the Hindu
Mahasabha in agitations against the Nizam’s Dominions in 1938–39,
relations cooled. When the RSS avoided overt anti-British actions dur-
ing World War II, refusing to militarize Hindus or to undermine loyalty
within the Indian Army, Hindutva relations deteriorated still further.
Hedgewar died in 1940. He was succeeded by Madhav Sadashiv
Golwalkar. The new Supreme Leader (Sar-Sanghchalak), being an
ascetic ex-teacher and ex-sunnyasi, was even less interested in open
politics. His We, or Our Nationhood Defined, a 1938 summary of
Savarkar’s Rashtra Mimansa, spelled out Hindutva ideology:

The non-Hindu people in Hindustan must either adopt the Hindu

culture and language, must learn to respect and hold in reverence
Hindu religion, must entertain no idea but glorification of the Hindu
race and culture: i.e., they must not only give up their attitude of intol-
erance and ungratefulness towards this land and its age-old traditions,
but must also cultivate a positive attitude of love and devotion… In a
word, they must cease to be foreigners, or must stay in this country
wholly subordinated to the Hindu nation, claiming nothing, deserv-
ing no privileges, far less any preferential treatment, not even citizen’s
rights. (Golwalkar, 1947: 55–56)

After Independence in 1947, Hindutva suffered a severe setback.

Gandhi’s assassination (January 30, 1948) by a former sevak (Nathuram
Vinayak Godse)23 the RSS was outlawed and many thousands of mem-
bers jailed.24 Golwalkar strove thereafter to improve the public image
and restore the strength of the RSS. RSS kar sevaks aided thousands
of refugees during the Partition and wars with Pakistan (1950, 1965,
and 1971) and China (1962). They assisted Vinobha Bhave during his
agrarian campaign of persuading landlords to give land to the landless.
The Emergency of 1975–1977 came as a boon. Despite again being
outlawed, the RSS went underground and expanded rapidly. After
Indira Gandhi’s return to power in 1980, communalist difficulties
mounted, she played the “Hindu card” by consulting sadhus, going
114 Robert Eric Frykenberg

to pilgrim sites, and extolling “Hindu hegemony.” Her assassina-

tion in 1984—following the release of Sikh Sant Bindrranwale from
prison in October 1981, militant Sikh capture of the Golden Temple in
Amritsar, and military violation of the Akal Takht in Operation Blue
Star—provoked a wave of Hindu revivalism (“Hindu jagaram”). But,
unable to surmount Rajiv Gandhi’s landslide “sympathy” victory at
the polls, RSS forces bided their time, gathered recruits, and sharpened
their political weapons.
By 1989, the RSS could claim that it commanded over 1.8 mil-
lion disciplined kar sevaks, distributed in over 25,000 well-drilled
shakhas, and 18,800 urban and rural centers. By then, Hindutva
forces were ready to bid for greater political power. The successors of
Hedgewar and Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar, had formed subsidiary
agencies, including the Bharatiya Jana Sangh (1951), the Vishwa
Hindu Parishad (1964), the Bharatiya Janata Party (1980) that would
win control over the Government of India from 1998 to 2004, and
the ever more violent Bajrang Dal youth movement of the 1990s.
Most of these agencies were led by Chitpavan Maratha Brahmans
of Puné and Nagpur, one exception being the Non-Brahman Shiv
Sena (Shiva’s Army), led by Bal Keshav Thackeray. This anti-Muslim
movement, coming to prominence in the 1960s, gained control of
Mumbai (Bombay); and, with the BJP, of Maharashtra. In 1984,
all Hindutva organizations joined together to form the “Dharma
Samsad”—or “General Dharmic Council,” with the aim of establish-
ing the Righteous Realm, Reign and Rule of Ram Rajya. These agen-
cies then began to speak of themselves as belonging to the “Sangh
Parivar” (or the “Family of Societies”).
From 1989 onward, Hindutva campaigns were led, step by step,
toward a major climacteric. Their aim was to demolish the Babri
Masjid in Ayodhya and to replace it with a Rama Mandir, on what
was purported to be the sacred birthplace of Lord Rama. A gigantic Sri
Ramjanmabhumi Mukti Yagna was mounted, with huge rath yatras
using processions of modern vehicles to circulate around all of India
so as to demonstrate Lord Rama’s sovereignty over all the continents.
Tens of thousands of kar sevaks (service volunteers) marched brandish-
ing swords and tridents (trishuls). Despite the assassination of Rajiv
Gandhi, and the ineffectual accession of the Congress “Old Guard” of
P. V. Narasimha Rao, forces of the Sangh Parivar were confident that
their day was coming.
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 115

This dawned on December 6, 1992. A wave of new Ayodhya

campaigns culminated in the demolition of the Babri Masjid. On the
morning of December 6, a throng of over 200,000 kar sevaks arrived at
the site. In the early afternoon, well-drilled groups of kar sevaks began
to systematically demolish the mosque. The small numbers of police-
men who had been posted at the mosque by the BJP state government
stood aside. By evening, the destruction had been completed and the
mosque no longer existed. The event shook the whole country, both
governing structures and people, as nothing in a half century (Hansen,
1999: 181–185). The Prime Minister of India, P. V. Narasimha Rao,
never erased the stain of having done nothing to stop the carnage. An
Aruvelu Niyoji Brahman Telugu scholar from Karimnagar (Andhra
Pradesh) who had faithfully served Indira and Rajiv, his inaction spoke
more loudly than anything he could say. Terrible killings followed:
Hindutva-engineered pogroms, euphemistically labeled “riots” soon
broke out across the land. How many tens of thousands died, mainly
from poorer and weaker Muslim bastis, will never be fully known.
World media recorded the grisly details in all their misery. Muslim
and Christian communities throughout the land, especially the weak
who lived in remote villages and shanty-towns, suffered the most.
Brimming with new confidence, Hindutva forces believed that the day
of Ram Rashtriya was about to arrive.
This day came, at least partially, with the election of 1999. The BJP
was able to form a coalition government called the National Democratic
Alliance. It gained control of key portfolios such as the Home, Finance,
Education, and Foreign ministries. During the next five years, a totalis-
tic, majoritarian, and authoritarian agenda of “saffronization” aimed to
“Hinduize” all institutions and to bring minority people “into the Hindu
fold” by whatever means necessary. Hindutva historians, insisting that
all forms of life, including mankind (manusha) and Aryan people and
civilization itself, had originated in the Indo-Gangetic plain, attempted
to re-write all school textbooks. Marginal people, including aboriginal
or polluting communities, were to be forced to remain in that perpetual
submission from which they had so long tried to extricate themselves.
People incapable of being “saffronized”—for example, Muslims and
Christians—were demonized. India was to be cleansed from all alien,
or non-Hindu, elements. Those refusing to submit would suffer. This
campaign came to a climax in February 2002. Some 10,000 Muslims of
Gujarat, mainly inhabitants of Ahmedabad, were done to death. The
116 Robert Eric Frykenberg

future of Christians and Muslims in India looked bleak. What might

have happened had not an over-confident BJP-led government sought
a new electoral mandate in 2004 can only be imagined.
How, then, can Hindutva be assessed as a political religion? As
a movement it was totalizing, if not totalitarian, in its impulses and
inner structures. This sacralization of politics can be seen, not just in
Savarkar extolling of Hitler’s cultural nationalism, but in how he was
outdone by words of Golwalkar:

German national pride has now become the topic of the day. To
keep up the purity of the nation and its culture, Germany shocked
the world by her purging the country of the semitic races—the Jews.
National pride at its highest has been manifested here. Germany has
shown how well-nigh impossible it is for races and cultures, having
differences going to the root, to be assimilated into one united whole,
a good lesson for us in Hindustan to learn and profit by Golwalkar.
(1947: 27)

From this standpoint … the non-Hindu people in Hindustan must ei-

ther adopt the Hindu culture and language, must learn to respect and
revere Hindu religion, must entertain no idea but the glorification of
the Hindu nation. They must not only give up their attitude of intoler-
ance and ingratitude toward this land and its age-long traditions, but
must also cultivate the positive attitude of love and devotion instead;
in one word, they must cease to be foreigners or may in the country
wholly subordinated to the Hindu nation, claiming nothing, deserv-
ing no privileges, far less preferential treatment, not even a citizen’s
rights. (Golwalkar, 1947: 52; Basu et al., 1993: 26)

Between Hindutva and European Fascism, especially in Italy

and Germany, but less clearly in Spain and Soviet Russia, one
can see differences. Not until fascists fully took control of a state
apparatus could fascist agendas be fully realized. Yet, by 1945, the
totalistic fascism achieved in Italy and Germany, had self-destructed.
Hindutva, in contrast, grew gradually over 80 years. To date, it has
never achieved totalitarian power. We have yet to see what Hindutva
forces might do if they gained an absolute majority and total control.
India, founded on a pluralistic and “secularistic” foundation, has
retained its constitutional structures and federal states. These have
functioned within such highly segmented and plural cultures that
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 117

total authoritarian control was very difficult to achieve. No resorts

to extra-constitutional action, mobilizing mass agitations and riots,
have succeeded in bringing totalitarian close to successful attainment
of such goals. M. K. Gandhi perfected the tools for mobilizing extra-
constitutional campaigns of “non-violent” protest. Yet, from 1919
onward, not one of his campaigns ended without outbreaks of violence;
and ultimately, he was murdered in 1947 for having betrayed Hindutva
by making concessions to the Muslim community.25 Thus, despite
threads of fascism harking back to the beginnings of Hindutva, these
were never woven into a country-wide fabric of authoritarian, or
totalistic, governance—perhaps because Hindutva forces never gained
total control over the machinery of governance.
Taking the long view, it is the language of this “reconstituted tradi-
tion” that forged political instruments of ruler, colonial and national
alike. “Traditionalization”—starting with Indological ventures and
“Hindu Raj” at the end of the 18th century—began “by assuming an
overriding hegemony of Brahmanical texts over Indian society, and
firmly incorporating that hegemony into the law-making process”
(Rajagopal, 2003: 394). This repeatedly made it possible for regimes to
revaluate and “reform” cultural, social and political structures. Raised
to the next level by Hindutva forces, this enabled them to develop
and refine an ideology designed to assure Brahmanical hegemony
within Ram Rajya.
Yet, in reshaping public consciousness so as to conform to Hindutva
vocabulary, Hindutva governments became riddled with complexities
and contradictions. Events leading from rath yatras to Ayodhya,
Bombay riots, and Gujarat pogroms, were managed to the advantage
of Hindutva. By skillfully deploying resources and tactics so as to
occupy spaces left vacant by less active, less attentive, less visionary
or less ruthless opponents, Hindutva forces pursued their vision of
Hindu Rashtriya (or Ram Rajya). Taking possession of central squares
of Indian politics, they deployed double-edged, Janus-faced, and
apparently contradictory tactics. Using tactics perfected by Gandhi
during the 1920s, they tried to create a “parallel nation” and a “parallel
state” apparatus along with a vocabulary for its utilization. They strove
to capture institutions of civil society (e.g., communications, education,
entertainment, media, etc.) so as to broaden their hegemony. Despite
shifting tactics, directors of Hindutva managed to hold together
118 Robert Eric Frykenberg

divergent voices, at least enough to meet each challenge; and, at least,

for a time.

Notes

1. These ideas, intricately elaborated in Kautilya’s Arthasastra, as well as in the Danda

Niti and the Sukra Niti, juxtapose the two primary principles—“the enemy of my
enemy is my friend, etc.” vs “larger fish devour smaller fish and smaller fish devour
still smaller fish, and so on ad infinitum.”
2. Its twin, “India,” comes from the same root.
3. Not coincidentally, it was Hastings who not only encouraged such “bright young
men” as Charles Wilkins (1770), Nathaniel Brassey Halhed (1772), and Jonathan
Duncan (1772), but also Sir William Jones (1746–1794), founder of Asiatic Society
(Calcutta, January 15, 1784), a venture that encompassed studies of virtually ev-
erything concerning both man and nature within the geographical bounds of the
continent.
4. Irwin (2006) traces “Orientalism” during earlier ages going all the way back to the
Greeks, including under Alexander the Great.
5. Romila Thapar, writing about pre-modern India, points out the mistake of assum-
ing some sort of “inclusive Hinduism” existed when “the reality perhaps lay in
looking at it as a cluster of distinctive sects and cults, observing common civiliza-
tional symbols, but with belief and ritual ranging from atheism to animism and
a variety of religious organizations identifying themselves by location, language,
and caste” (Thapar, 1989: 229). No sense of community bound the population
together. Small communities, birth groups and religious sects—now explained
in Brahmanism, Shramanism, Shakti-ism, Puranic Shaivism and Vaishnavism,
Bhaktism, etc.—separated “high” or textual cultures from innumerable local,
“low” or popular religious cultures: a “mosaic of distinct cults, deities, sects, and
ideas” adjusting and distancing themselves from each other. What bound com-
munities to each other, if at all were manufactured structures of Statecraft. These,
while often positive and supportive of local religious and sectarian institutions,
had to remain “impartial,” “neutral,” or “secular.” In this logic, Kautiliya’s ideas
find much in common with ideas of Machiavelli and Hobbes.
6. Oddie (2006: 72). Cf. Grant (1812–13). Citing Morris (1904: 105, 110), Oddie in-
dicates that, in a 1787 letter to Thomas Raikes, Grant assumes that he understands
the term “Hindooism.”
7. Alas, for revealing that the authorship claimed by Jean-Antoine Dubois was a
hoax, she suffered years of academic banishment (by Louis Dumont).
8. Raghavan (1957, 1958). This Sanskrit text, “Sarva Deva Vilāsa” (translated as “The
Celebration of the Gods”), described how the Raj itself was a product of divine
intervention, as seen in endowments made by Company dubashis.
9. Basham (1967: xxi, 568) reflects this view. This process of “unearthing” India’s
antiquity is still going on, despite its having been so hotly contested by disciples
 The Sacred in Modern Hindu Politics 119

of Edward Said. A thorough and incisive dismissal of Edward Said’s Orientalism

is found in Irwin (2006). It is time for this “unfairly maligned honourable pursuit”
to be restored to its former honor and respectability.
10. The very term “juggernaut,” coming from Jagannath, Lord of the Universe and
avatar of Vishnu, entered the English vocabulary, denotes any relentlessly destroy-
ing vehicle, force or object of devotion, whereby devotees sometimes immolated
themselves beneath giant wheels the deity’s Great Car at Puri.
11. For the text of the clause, see Carson (2012: appendix 4).
12. These were the British Baptist missionaries—William Carey, Joshua Marshman,
and William Ward—who were instrumental in inspiring missionary voluntarism
throughout the English speaking world.
13. Robertson (1995) is the best comprehensive and penetrating study to have emerged
so far. Both Roy’s Brahmo Samaj (Brahma Society), and the Prarthana Samaj
(Prayer Society, 1868), of Mahadev Govind Ranade were nativist precursors of
an inclusivistic, and tolerant, Hinduism. Neither was a precursor of more militant
and exclusivist Hindutva.
14. Two examples exemplify this perspective. The first is Dubois (1817). As Hindu
Manners, Customs and Ceremonies (Dubois, 1906), translated again and edited with
notes, corrections, and biography by Henry K. Beauchamp; with a prefatory note by
F. Max Müller, it remains a classic. The late Sylvia Murr has shown that this work
was plagiarized from the much earlier 1776–1777 work of the Jesuit Gaston-Laurent
Cœurdoux entitled Mœurs et Coutumes des Indiens. cf. Murr (1977) and Sweetman
(2003: 125–153). The second is Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg’s manuscript, Genealogie der
malabarischen Götter, sent to Copenhagen, Halle and London in 1713 which reveals
an open appreciation for South Indian institutions and learning (Jeyaraj, 2005).
15. Marathas, led by Maharashtrian Brahmans (Chitpavans), perhaps recalled resis-
tance against Mughals in the name of Ram Rajya under the banner of Shivaji (who
proclaimed himself Chhatrapati of such a realm).
16. Bayly (1985) examines the role of religious difference in communal conflicts arising
from shifts in political and economic power in the pre-colonial and early colonial
period from 1700 to 1860.
17. For those who, all along, felt that the Hindu Mahasabha was not “orthodox”
enough or who felt offended by the reformist appeals of the Arya Samaj, there
was the Sanathana Dharm Sabha; or, later on, the Ram Rajiya Parishad.
18. A radical and militant, albeit selective, reaction to changes perceived as threats
(from an alien, hostile, modernist, secularistic forces) which are seen as contradict-
ing “The Truth” (of a world view) found within a literal or strict interpretations
of a scriptural text. In this case, this text was imprinted in genomes and in cosmic
sounds of Brahma (stemming from the Rigveda, as conveyed from the mouths of
sages or prophets). See Andersen and Damlé (1987: 76) and Hansen (1999).
19. Hingle (1999) provides a later review of his life.
20. Alias Miss Margaret Elizabeth Noble, author of Web of Indian Lives (New York:
1916), an Irish nationalist and feminist, who was also one of Swami Vivekananda’s
noteworthy disciples.
21. From an interview with G.S. Sudarshan, General Secretary of the RSS, given to
Tapan Basu et al. (1993: 16, 54).
120 Robert Eric Frykenberg

22. This symbol, allegedly belonging to Ram and used by Shivaji in his “proto-nation-
alist” campaigns against Mughals, gave the movement a strongly Maratha bent.
23. Godse felt that Gandhi had insulted the Hindu Nation, weakened it by advocating
ahimsa, and, by his fasts, had catered to Muslim fanatics (Andersen and Damlé
1987: 51; from 1969 interview with Gopal Godse by Damlé).
24. We now know from Noorani (2002) that Savarkar himself was complicit in the
planning of this assassination.
25. Noorani (2002: 95–139) convincingly shows that Savarkar, who very carefully
orchestrated the assassination, cleverly remained in the shadows and, as much as
possible, hid tracks that might lead to him. This work is dedicated “to the victims
of the Pogrom of Gujarat 2002, and to the media, print and electronic, which did
India proud.”

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Swayamsevak Sangh and Hindu Revivalism. Boulder: Westview Press.
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Columbia: South Asia Books.
______. 1981. The Census in British India: New Perspectives. New Delhi: Manohar.
Basham, A. L. 1967. The Wonder That Was India. London: Sidgwick & Jackson.
Basu, T., P. Datta, S. Sarkar, et al. 1993. Khaki Shorts and Saffron Flags. New Delhi:
Orient Longman.
Bayly, C. A. 1985. “The pre-history of ‘communalism’? Religious conflict in India,
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Carson, P. 2012. The East India Company and Religion 1698–1858. Woodbridge: The
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Dubois, J-A. 1817. Description of the Character, Manners, and Customs of the People
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______. 1906. Hindu Manners, Customs and Ceremonies, Oxford: Clarendon Press.
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of the Role of Inams in the Rise of the Indian Imperial System.” In R. E. Frykenberg
(ed.), Land Tenure and Peasant in South Asia, 37–53. New Delhi: Orient Longman.
______. 1980. “On the Study of Conversion Movements: A Review Article and a
Theoretical Note.” The Indian Economic and Social History Review 17: 121–138.
______. 1988. “Revivalism and Fundamentalism: Some Critical Observations with Special
Reference to Politics in South Asia.” In J. W. Bjorkman (ed.), Fundamentalism,
Revivalism , and Violence in South Asia, 20–39. Riverdale: Riverdale Press.
______. 1993. “Hindu Fundamentalism and the Structural Stability of India.” In M. E.
Marty and R. S. Appleby (eds), Fundamentalisms and the State: Remaking Polities,
Economies, and Militance, 233–255. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
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Historical Perspective.” In M. E. Marty and R. S. Appleby (eds), Accounting for
Fundamentalisms, 591–617. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
———. 2008. “Hindutva as a Political Religion: An Historical Perspective.” In R. Griffin,
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in Honour of Professor Stanley G. Payne, 178–220. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
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on the Affairs of the East India Company with Minutes of Evidence Volume I,
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India. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
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institutions et cérémonies des peuples de l’Inde, de l’abbé Dubois? Purusartha
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______. 1987. L’Inde philosophique entre Bousset et Voltaire. Paris: École française
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Culture 13: 9–15.
 Chapter 6
Media Hinduism

Ursula Rao

Hinduism entertains a long relation with media. Religions have

always used a wide range of media to communicate knowledge and
stimulate experience. Religious texts, paintings, or ritual gestures
and their activation in performances provide rich material for
religious studies. Electronic media have opened a new chapter in
this discussion. The new media are noted for their ability to increase
the mobility of religious symbols, cutting across physical distances
and circumventing, perforating, or reworking old social barriers
(Babb, 1995: 3–4). The internet in particular motivates new forms
of sociability and creates hierarchies that can be quite distinct from
those in the offline world.
The following chapter explores the scholarly discourse of the religious
and social reorientation of Hinduism in India and overseas that is
linked to the rapid spread of electronic media. The general trend of the
debate reinforces the notion that globalization promotes a paradoxical
process of simultaneous homogenization and diversification, of new
connectivity and fragmentation. The unifying force of a powerful and
intolerant Hindu nationalist movement parallels the developing of new
virtual communities of believers. On the other hand, we encounter
religious cyber-wars, the individualization of religious experience in
online rituals and the fragmentation of social spaces through religious
specialization and quickly changing religious fashions. In the following
chapter, political and devotional Hinduism are discussed separately,
following a typical divide in the available literature. The chapter begins
by examining the role of Hindu electronic media for the reworking of
the political culture and public sphere in and beyond India since the
1990s. The second section investigates electronically mediated religious
experiences, as well as the practices, traditions, and conflicts that shape
124 Ursula Rao

these experiences and their interpretation. I will demonstrate how a

traditionally generous acceptance of new technologies for religious
communication in Hinduism is extended to electronic media. The
omnipresence of religion in the new media has amplified opportunities
for religious innovation and contributed to the re-circulation of
Hindu image also outside traditional settings. It has produced new
consumption practices and contentious negotiations about validity
and meaning of religious experience and devotional activities.

Moving Gods and the Nation State

1987 produced a sensation that awakened public interest in emerging

forms of media Hinduism with a jolt. The year marked the first
screening of the popular Hindu epic Ramayana as religious soap (also,
dharmic serial) on Indian state television. Its extraordinary success
took observers by surprise. The nation regularly came to a standstill
on Sunday mornings, when people rushed to the next television set
to follow the serial that was celebrated as a ritual event. The airing of
the Ramayana and later the Mahabharata was, of course, not the first
successful attempt at mass circulation of religious content through
visual media. The making of religious soaps was only the latest chapter
in a historical development of approximately 200 years that had seen
the production of religious calendar art (Inglis, 1995; Lutgendorf,
Smith, 1995; Beckerlegge, 2001a; Pinney, 2004), devotional comics
(Pritchett, 1995; Hawley, 1996), and mythological films (Derne, 1995
in Babb; Das, 1980; Beckerlegge, 2001a). In the new millennium, we
also witnessed the proliferation of DVDs with cartoon-animated
versions of Indian mythologies (Maitra, 2008) and computer games
that feature Hindu deities and demons.1 The huge mass appeal of the
weekly broadcast of the Ramayana in the 1980s sets this enterprise
apart. There was an outcry by public intellectuals who feared that the
television epic would reduce a rich performative tradition to a sleek
consumer product (Thapar, 1989; Dalmia-Lüderitz, 1991). Others
countered that the television version did not replace other narrative
forms but enriched a plural religious universe (Lutgendorf, 1994).
Both types of arguments were well rehearsed by the time electronic
 Media Hinduism 125

media entered the religious market. The worry about and the desire
for a unified, standardized, and sanitized Hinduism was a key issue
in all phases of the encounter between Hinduism and its Western
“Other,” Christianity. This time the debate was driven not so much
by the anxieties over a changing religious practice but worries about
the consequences the serialization of the popular epic would have
for the secular texture and plural nature of Indian democracy.
The broadcasting of religious serials on state television foreboded an
end to the Nehruvian area of secularism. Doordarshan2 now officially
presented Hindu epics as tales that speak for the nation, provide
essential moral education, and ground collective identity (Lutgendorf,
1990; Lipner, 2001: 331–33; Rajagopal, 2001). The popularity of the
serial did indeed locate the narration in the heart of the nation. But
which narration? Visual codes, language, costumes, and chorography
promoted a particular north Indian brahmanical interpretation of a
widely consumed tale. The weekly ritual of viewing naturalized this
version, establishing it in the center of a new religio-political aesthetic
that provided the visual codes for the surging Hindu nationalist
movement (Mitra, 1994).
Politics after television is fundamentally transformed, argues
Rajagopal (2001) in his much cited interpretation of epic viewing.
The serial was aired at a time when disillusionment with the Congress
peeked. Slow development, massive social cleavage, political infighting,
favoritism, corruption as well as Indira Gandhi’s authoritarian rule, had
thoroughly discredited the children of the freedom fighters. Hindutva3
forces jumped into the void and promised a radical political renewal.
They seized the historical opportunity to reverse their image from that
of a communal alliance (charged with inciting religious violence and
discredited by the murder of Mahatma Gandhi) to that of the forbearer of
a new regime, that would be morally sound and distinctively Indian (read:
Hindu). Hindu nationalist forces cultivated the fantasy of ancient India
as an ideal golden age, governed by divine laws and blessed by the gods.
The retrograde utopia was nurtured by the television serial about the
adventures of a selfless god-king, his relatives, and adherence. The visual
presentation in a sentimental soap made their world utterly attractive
and let “sacrificial relationships, via personable Hindu icons, seem
painless and even desirable” (Rajagopal, 2001: 138). The propaganda of
the Hindu party, Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) suggested that an army of
126 Ursula Rao

devout servants of Lord Ram stood ready to bring about this ideal reign
once their leaders were elected to the parliament. However, the tale of
a new area, Mankekar (1999: 165) alerts us, was not the promise of a
benign regime. The public images affirmed that the nation demanded
sacrifices and barely concealed that the new order would be “predicated
on violence, repression, and exclusions” (Mankekar, 1999: 165).
Both in its utopian and dystopian aspect the political mobilization
of the Hindu Right was intricately linked to emerging forms of
media Hinduism, also beyond the screening of the Ramayana and
Mahabharata and outside the channels of state broadcasting (Rao,
2011). The Ayodhya movement4 in particular forged a new symbolic
language that reconfigured religious iconography to serve political
propaganda. The staring example is an altered depiction of the God
Ram. The popular calendar image of a benevolent and docile family
father was turned into an angry, virile hero on the posters of the
Ayodhya campaign (Kapur, 1993; Bhatt and Mukta, 2000). The new
images were circulated in print and electronic form. Media mobilization
through mobile video stations, Brosius (2002, 2005) demonstrates,
complemented the technique of mass recruitment through grassroots
organizations. In a circular movement, the electronic images were
re-introduced into performative space. Actors of religious characters
reincarnated as political leaders (Mitra, 1994) and politicians dressed as
deities. The latter is exemplified dramatically by the chariot procession
(rath yatra) of the powerful BJP leader Lal Krishna Advani (Davis,
1996). Moving in a Ram-like chariot, he deliberately blurred the
borders between human and divine identity, mobilizing for political
ends the Hindu notion of a porous human body that is open for divine
manifestation. The political project borrowed the aura from divine
heroes through extensive use of established religious visual codes and
wooed the viewer-devotee as a voter (Farmer, 1996; Guneratne, 1998).
Electronic media produce new religio-political identities through
which the always fluid boundary between religion and politics in India
is renegotiated. While this happens on a new scale drawing ever more
people into the project of national imagination it also re-produces
some of the salient features of the religio-political mobilization of the
independence struggle, when collective action in the public sphere
conjured up a national imaginary with strong religious overtones
(Freitag, 1989; Pandey, 1990). Yet, media Hinduism and a reinvigorated
Hindu nationalism instituted a dramatic departure into a new
 Media Hinduism 127

temporality and an altered spatial arrangement. The mobilization of

Hindu heroes no longer belongs to the anti-structure of ritual events
(katha), festivals (Ramleela, Diwali), or even protests. It had become
a mundane act of consumption firmly anchored in weekly routines.
The new religio-political symbols and ideologies are present not only
in public areas but in the intimate private sphere that partakes in a
new media public (Rao, 2011).
There is another crucial change. Hindu fundamentalism has gone
global. Worldwide anxious viewers consume news about the anti-
Muslim, anti-Christian, or anti-secular actions of aggressive Hindus.
More significant is the growing involvement of professional middle
class Hindus living in the West in long-distance nationalism (Glick-
Schiller, 2004). Political analysts (Mathew, 2000; Robinson, 2001;
Kurien, 2005) have demonstrated how the search for cultural roots and
identity can turn into a process of political affirmation. The internet
provides seekers not just with portals for religious experiences but also
with political propaganda and a well-packaged “truth” about Hindu
fundamentals. Hinduism is presented as an integral and at the same
time superior component of the multi-cultural landscapes of Western
democracies. Migrants appropriate the orientalist notion of Hindus as
embodying loft eastern spirituality, rendering Hindus simultaneously
different from and ahead of all other ethnicities and nationalisms. The
anonymity of the internet also provides space for the expression of
such counter-racism as religious hatred (Mathew and Prashad, 2000;
Robinson, 2001). It turns into an aggressive long-distance nationalism
where it insists on the implementation of a dogmatic Brahmanical
nationalism in India. Via membership in fundamentalist organizations
and donations for “religious” and “educational” projects, migrants
bolster Hindu Nationalists and support their project from a place
comfortably removed from the suffering aggressive nationalism inflicts
on the Indian public sphere (Hansen, 2001).
The substantial scholarship on media and Hindu politics
convincingly demonstrates the close link between virtual deities,
cyber-Hinduism and the ascent of Hindu nationalists to power in
the 1990s. The conversion between mediated publics and politics in
the 1990s has undoubtedly rung in a new area in Indian democracy.
However, its character is far from decided. Years in and out of power
(in the center and several North Indian states) has firmly established
the Hindu nationalist party BJP in the Indian democratic system. Yet,
128 Ursula Rao

the image of a heroic savior has crumbled under political pragmatism,

ideological disputes, corruption, and inefficiency. Today no single
religious soap or Hindu mass medium attracts the attention secured
by the television screening of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. The
novelty has worn off and the authorial voice of Doordarshan has given
way to a new plurality. What then remains today of the devotional
energy and the nostalgic impetus that underwrote the political tremor
of the 1990s? How do media and politics intersect at a time of rapid
circulation of a profusion of new religious media products? Or, how has
the prosperity of the new middle class and the celebration of neoliberal
ideologies changed the parameters of this relation? While the study of
Indian media enjoys unprecedented popularity, the topic of religion
remains marginal and it might yet take time before we can read a
political analysis of religious media during a period of disenchantment
with Hindu real politics (Rao, 2011).
Overall, scholarship of political media Hinduism has tended to
privilege the agency of propaganda over the analysis of complex recep-
tion processes. The discussion of religious conflict in India has only re-
cently begun to theorize the complex links between a range of desires,
traditions and connections that inform radical Hindu action (Rao,
2003b). Hansen (2001) and Eckert (2003) in particular analyze the
interconnection of low caste assertion, class conflict, and performative
politics for the success of aggressive Hinduism. Questions regarding
the role of the media in this nexus remain largely unanswered. What
motivates believers to join the ranks of Hindu fundamentalism? What
are the links between devotion, religio-cultural traditions, and poli-
tics? Some evidence allows us to glean the complexity of the question
at hand. Mankekar’s survey of television reception makes plain that
devotional viewing does not necessarily translate into approval of or
interest in aggressive Hinduism (Mankekar, 1999: 180–184). Similarly,
we know that cyber-Hinduism has many faces. Not all websites are
saturated with Hindu nationalist propaganda and not every internet
user searches for dogmatic certainties (Krien, 2005). More than being
a political platform the internet also offers access to religious texts,
portals for devotional activities, and also chat rooms for the discus-
sion of specialized religious interests (Helland, 2007). It is time to
move on from the discussion of the interrelations between religion,
community, and politics, to trace some of the devotional practices
infused by media and informing their production and circulation.
 Media Hinduism 129

Virtual Deities

The discussion of Hindu practice mediated by advanced technology

is still in its infancy, empirically as well as theoretically. Once again,
good starting points are the legendary television epics, which made
public the devotional attitude believers bring to religious films in
India. News reports informed that women in particular underwent
ritual cleansing before watching the Ramayana. Devotees paid
actor-deities respect by burning incense before the television or
presenting food to the virtual deities (later redistributed as prasad
[divine leaving], see Lutgendorf, 1990, 1994: 411–412; Mankekar,
1999; Rajagopal, 2001: 93–94; Beckerlegge, 2001a: 92). Performative
elements of the television production support such “devotional
viewing,” through the use of popular iconographic codes, the playing
of devotional music (bhajans) as soundtrack or the intersecting of
photos from well-known temples and sacred sites (Mankekar, 1999:
187–204). The pious act of viewing is a form of puja, comparable to
daily acts of devotion offered before images or at house shrines and
temples (Fuller, 1992).
Like statues or photographs, actor-deities are treated as media that
invite divine presence and allow humans to communicate with deities
and receive their blessings through acts of superior seeing (darshan).
Diana Eck aptly described darshan as an exchange. The devotional
posture of the worshipper attracts the auspicious gaze of the deity, who
showers on him the benevolence of his divine substance (Eck, 1981, see
also Babb, 1981). In a strictly brahmanical sense, such viewing depends
on the sacralization of the medium. A ritual act of installation turns a
material object into an abode of a deity. However quotidian religiosity
is not constrained by the theological deliberations of high caste priests
and ancient scriptures. Hindus revere the divine in a wide range of
forms, from stones, to statues and posters (Fuller, 1992; Rao, 2003).
The academic interest in media darshan goes back to the 1970s when
a Bollywood blockbuster about the goddess Santoshi Ma (Goddess
of Satisfaction) surprised observers (Derne, 1995). Within a short
period the celluloid incarnation of a marginal regional goddess shot to
national prominence. A large number of women began to observe her
fast. Devotees undertook pilgrimages in her name and built dedicated
temples. Das (1980) ascribes this success to the apt story line that hit
130 Ursula Rao

a nerve by reflecting typical insecurities of lower middle class life

in that period. The frustration of daily struggles in a nation with a
stagnant economy was reflected in the diffuse and prolonged suffering
of the heroine Satyavati, who is tested in her devotion for the goddess
Santoshi Ma. A torment that lacks contours and a clear point of origin
could not be eliminated by one grant battle of a powerful feminine
force like Durga or Kali that in a brave stroke kills the source of evil.
It needed a benevolent, patient, and dependable goddess who attends
to innumerable daily ups and downs. Lutgendorf (2002) adds that the
film echoed not only anxieties but also aspirations. The audiences’
evaluation of their life was nurtured by longing for upward mobility.
Like the goddess, lower middle class women desired membership in
the inner circle of power, and like the heroine they struggled for a
life less constrained by male authority. However, the film was more
than a moral tale. It offered a solution to these common predicaments
by prescribing a simple and inexpensive weekly fast, which viewers
accepted as religious instruction to be taken literally.
While Das and Lutgendorf demonstrate how updating an ancient
myth allows for popular recirculation, the medium remains unreflected
in their analysis. There is the obvious issue of mass circulation and
its effect. More vexing are questions about the spiritual quality of
the medium. What are the deliberations that make new technologies
acceptable for religious use, frame rules for auspicious usage, and guide
the interpretation of the encounter (Campbell, 2005)? These questions
have gained significance in recent years that saw the rapid proliferation
of virtual deities and their spread across a wide terrain of electronic
platforms. Consider the following evidence.
A growing number of temples in India acquire television sets. The
transmission of images from the inner sanctum (Rao, 2003; Scheifinger,
2009: 281) or devotional films (Guneratne, 1998) increases the attrac-
tiveness of a religious site and helps control crowds, transforming an
impatient mass into an attentive audience. Guneratne (1998: 264–265)
reports that some youths in the famous Tirupati Temple (Andhra
Pradesh) were so absorbed watching a religious soap that they stayed
put even when called to enter the sanctum. There is a growing trend
to record ritual procedures on video for local programming, home
use, or community distribution (Beckerlegge, 2001b; Helland, 2007).
Most recently, there is a proliferation of websites that offer online puja
 Media Hinduism 131

or ordering facilities for puja in Indian temples. Helland (2007: 11)

reports about a website (www.westbengnal.com/puja/puya98) that
exhorts exiled Bengalis to wallow in the joy of Durga Puja through
visual consumption of the hectic festival activities in Calcutta. It will
bring home closer to migrants, Hinduism Today claims (April 1999;
cf. Helland, 2007: 11).
These virtual deities have provoked religious innovation. Take
for example Gillespie’s (1993: 53) comment about the reversal of
attitudes toward the Mahabharata. Many Hindus consider the private
consumption of the epic war as inauspicious and abstain from reading
the verses about the battle that rips a family apart in their own homes.
The same taboo has not been applied to the serial, which people
comfortably view in their living rooms, thus integrating a formerly
distant founding myth into the flow of everyday life. Scheifinger (2009)
speaks about the ease with which the East Indian God Jagannath
became available for global consumption. His temple in Bhubaneswar
(Orissa) is jealously guarded against non-ethnic Hindus to prevent
pollution and its potentially dire consequences. However, there is no
ban on online darshan of the now easily available electronic image.
These examples demonstrate that technical innovation promotes
cultural change. The emerging debate about the role of electronic media
for religious communication touches on three related perspectives:
(1) the quality of the religious experience, (2) its position in changing
community life, and (3) the impact of technology on authority
structures.
The latter point is rather straightforward and little surprising. The
harvest of new technologies catapults a novel class of technically savvy
people into powerful positions, thus impacting social stratification.
Scheifinger’s (2010) description of ordering facilities for online puja
beautifully illustrates the point. His case study is located in the famous
Kalighat Temple in Calcutta, where tensions between priests and
temple administration have a long history. In 1949, the priests lost a
court case against the temple administration, and were stripped of the
right to manage the temple, which they perceived as their hereditary
duty. No longer able to access the huge temple income, priests incurred
massive financial losses. Suddenly, their earning was confined to per-
sonal donations and fees for commissioned rituals. The tables turned
when enterprising members of the priestly families began operating
132 Ursula Rao

websites. Overseas Indians became keen users of the online ordering

facilities, connecting to their roots by leaving a material residue in their
sacred homeland without having to undertake the expensive and ardu-
ous travel. The priests counter-balanced their structural disadvantage
by successfully manipulating the internet. The new media breeds a
new market place for religious competition, which sets in motion a
recalibration of social relations pertaining to caste, class or gender in
the offline world also.
The question of validity and efficacy of the new technology is socially
contested and theoretically significantly more challenging. Scheifinger
answers the question of efficacy with a broad stroke: “[F]or some of the
authorities online darshan is identical to darshan at a physical site; for
others there is a qualitative difference between the two practices—with
the view being that the efficacy of online darshan is less” (Scheifinger,
2010). This seemingly redundant statement provides a mirror to the
inherent logic of an excessively plural and fluid religious universe in
which the significance, relevance, importance and validity of rituals is
entangled with question of power and social belonging (Sontheimer
and Kulke, 1989; Rao, 2003). The question of what is valid and for
whom is never quite resolved and a perpetual reason for argument.
Electronic gadgets and the internet provide new provocations that fuel
contentious conversations about religious conduct, sacred objects,
and ritual efficacy.
Karapanagiotis’s (2010) study is a case in point. Vaishnava devotees
in New Jersey treat virtual religious artifacts as sacred objects, yet
consider their location (within the computer) as highly problematic.
As a working tool and gadget for entertainment the computer offers
lots of distractions. The simultaneous consumption of religious and
non-religious content might pollute the sacred object or break religious
concentration. These concerns can be addressed through “cleansing
activities,” such as shutting down of all secular, distracting or offensive
windows or shifting the computer into a religious corner of the house.
Such purposeful activities of narrowing down the functions of the
multipurpose instrument are specifically adapted activities of framing
that create the preconditions for a ritual to take place and announce its
commencement (Rao and Köpping, 2000). It becomes apparent that the
lack of universal Hindu doxa must not be mistaken for arbitrariness.
Cultural context and religious enculturation provide crucial guidelines
 Media Hinduism 133

for distinguishing between sacred and profane, effective and non-

effective, authentic and fake.
Karapanagiotis provides one example of many, demonstrating that
devotees take for granted the portability of darshan from one medium
to the other (Herman, 2010: 152). Thus judgments of efficacy tend to
be unconcerned with the materiality of the medium, and focus on the
attitude of the devotee and aptness of the situation. “Is the goddess
present in a picture,” I asked the president of the Kali Temple in
Bhopal during research on urban Hinduism. His reply reveals the
typical laissez-faire attitude of Hindus. Non-believers are like illiterate
people who throw away a text because it does not confer any meaning
to them. A believer, however, reads the signs of the divine and finds
the presence of the goddess (Rao, 2003). Gillespie (1993) studied such
devotional literacy among a Hindu family in London. Together with
the Dhanis, Gillespie viewed two different versions of the Mahabharata.
They started with the theatrical interpretation of the British film and
theater director Peter Brooks, who used the Indian epic to create his
own art piece, staged by an intercultural ensemble. His interpretation
left the Dhanis bewildered and upset. Lacking the familiar cues, the
story was rendered incomprehensible. For the Dhanis, it conveyed
no deeper truth and showed an utter disrespect for their gods and
ancient heroes. In contrast, the Indian television screening of the story
evoked appreciation, pleasure, and devotion. The use of a popular
iconographic lingua rendered the film readable within the parameters
of an established religious discourse and thus communicated the
vibrant subjectivity of the deities.
Dismissed as kitsch by art critics, the serial charms devotional
viewers, who do not search for novelty or artistic refinement. Their
esthetic judgment follows a “religious taste.” The use of familiar visual
images from calendar art and well-known ritual gestures motivates
identification and moves the event into a spiritual realm ripe for divine
communication. However, the film does not merely reproduce what is
already known. The reiteration in serial format expands the parameters
of a religious lingua. Repackaged as soap opera, the religious myth is
turned into a melodramatic tale that emphasizes emotions and pro-
motes personal identification with the characters. Ludendorf (1994 in
Babb) argues that the new products advance a shift from the primacy
of hearing of divine adventures through sacred words to viewing them.
134 Ursula Rao

The “realistic” films allow viewers to consume the actions of their gods,
participate in their experiences, and identify with their predicaments
(Rajagopal, 2001). This “participation” is shaped through the lens of
a soapy production that lingers in “pure” emotions, thus creating the
stereotypical deities as hyper-human. Baudrillard (1994) uses the prefix
hyper to refer to a state of refinement, when an experience, quality, or
product is cast into an ideal form that presents itself as uncontaminated
by contradictions and complexities. I do not claim that Hindu media
consumers live in Baudrillard’s hyper-reality. I use his reference to
draw attention to a process of translation that turns a philosophical
ideal into a perfect life world doused in realism. The remodeling of
theology as historical truth or idealized reality, inspires the longing for
a pure space uncontaminated by the noise and mess of everyday life.
The disembodiment of the deities is followed by a progressive
disembodiment of the devotee. The worshipper’s avatar embarks on
instantaneous pilgrimages in virtual landscapes and conducts online
puja in cyber temples (Jacobs, 2007; Helland, 2007; Scheifinger, 2012).
Literature on internet Hinduism is still sparse. The few available
studies focus on topics typically found across the spectrum of
research on digital religion. These are questions of ritual efficacy and
religious authenticity, the changing character of communities and
social hierarchies, and emerging new religious identities (Campbell,
2012). The proliferation of virtual religion advances also in Hinduism
specialization, individualization, and pluralization. Above I have
discussed concerns over the purity of internet rituals. Here I will add
finding about new religious alliances through internet connectivity.
Herman (2010) argues that by rendering images mobile the internet not
only uproots them from specific sites, but through circulation re-embeds
them in new locations thus expanding the sphere of influence of religious
networks. Examples are web-related activities of the Shree Swaminarayan
Mandal in Downey, California. The temple committee maintains a
popular website that transmits images and sounds of congregational
activities through live streams. These arouse in viewers emotions of
devotion and create a sense of presence without bodily immersion. Critics
(Brasher, 2004; Jacobs, 2007) point out that such online activities lack the
full sensual experience of temple rituals. This, Scheifinger (2012) counters,
does not necessarily compromise the ritual experience, especially when it
focuses on the inner stance as a central aspect of personal transformation.
 Media Hinduism 135

In the new computer age, we can conclude with Herman (2010), that
participation and emotional co-presence does not require going to the
temple. The temple may simply come to the devotee, as it happens when
the phone company AirTel sends live streams of aarti rituals (light rituals
in temples) to the mobile phones of Indian customers (Hitvana, March 7,
2013). Distributed through Listserv, Swaminarayan’s e-darshan reaches
the mailboxes of followers punctually every Monday morning. Here the
webmaster acts as nodal officer who establishes, maintains, and manages
a community of believers and their exposure to ritual activities. Whether
we can justifiably speak about such virtual co-presence as constitutive
of a religious community is open for debate. For now it seems that the
spectrum for possible participation from distant spectator to involved
devotee is getting stretched. We also observe a growing specialization as
a twin process accompanying increased connectivity.
The Hindu diaspora, Naryana (2006) asserts, has surpassed an early
phase in which the distance to the homeland generated new generic
forms of Hinduism. Today, migrants use technology to maintain
contact with caste fractions, language groups, devotional sects, or
other niche communities. Specialization is also a trend in chat rooms.
Robinson (2004) evidences that religious internet forums concur-
rently split when conflicts between ideological fractions erupt. In
these compartmentalized landscapes, devotion itself is transitory as
Warrier (2003) points out. People with mobile lives regularly harvest
the internet for changing spiritual needs. The study of sectarian groups,
she suggests, needs to move from a focus on guru–chela (spiritual
teacher–devotee) relation to discussing this relation within the context
of life-trajectories marked by shifting devotional alliances.

Conclusion

It is still early days and while evidence of change is plentiful, there is

no bold attempt at theorizing the new condition, yet. However, there
are recurring topics that challenge theoretical assumptions. Notably
for Hinduism is the fact, that not much has changed. The discussion
of electronically mediated Hinduism seems far removed from the
concerns of early debate about new media and Christianity, which
136 Ursula Rao

considered mainly developments in Western nations. Set against

the theory that Western modernity and technological progress will
continuously advance secularization; the beginning of the media age
constitutes a great rupture. Late capitalism saw the re-enchantment
of the media sphere and the proliferation of religious activities, both
within and outside traditional religion. In India, public life has always
been saturated with religious activities and the boundaries between
politics and religion were never drawn with the same clarity as in
Europe. Thus my first thesis is that electronic media produces more
of the same. Seamlessly intergraded into a dazzling religious market,
they create new platforms for religious competition, new conduits for
divine communication, and new arenas for imagining and mobilizing
the political community.
Yet, media Hinduism is more than old wine in new bottles. I concur
with McLuhan (1964) that media have significant structuring effects.
Scholars noted that technological innovation in religious narration has
sentimentalized the relationship between humans and the divine. The
new hyper-realism feeds a nostalgic longing for a utopian paradise.
The viewers of Hindu soaps find themselves removed from this ideal
world, constituting a mere audience that looks on from its position in
the kalyug to gaze at an ideal transcendental space. This is a significant
innovation in a religious universe that treats the human world as po-
rous and expects divine presence in the here and now (Lipner, 2001).
Media religion’s capability to turn religious participants into spectators
marks a new position that has become part of quotidian religiosity in
sacred spaces that entertain with films, audio-animatronics, sound,
and light shows. The transformation of amorphous village gods to
anthropomorphic statues, and the mass circulation of the new religious
esthetic of calendar art are historical moments that have significantly
altered the religious imaginary. We now witness a novel innovation.
The simulacrum has become an intimate part of the religious landscape.
The images of simulated Hinduism are highly volatile. They
move rapidly between India and the diaspora, in and out of pop
culture, fashion worlds, ideological communities, and devotional
sub-cultures. Their consumption is not contained within an Indian
cultural or ethnic space, or devotional and religious settings. Studies
demonstrate that they perpetually re-perforate the ideal border
between religion and politics. They also recalibrate the relation
 Media Hinduism 137

between religion and entertainment. My study of Hindu temples

taught me that religion is thoroughly entertaining. Women eagerly
awaited the morning routine of devotional singing that permits them
to escape for a short while the constraining world of domestic duties.
Kids nag their parents to take them on holidays to distant sacred
sites and adolescents meet in the temple to engage in the titillating
games of flirting.
In the world of virtual communication, devotional experience is
reworked. It is no longer bound to specific sites or negotiated within
ethnically structured social settings. Mobile religious symbols and
virtual religious spaces can be activated anywhere and anytime. Hence,
the potential for religious innovation is amplified.

Notes

1. For example, http://www.computerandvideogames.com/article.php?id=213298

(accessed on February 4, 2010).
2. Doordarshan is the name of the state-run television channel. Literally it means
seeing far. Doordarshan had a monopoly in Indian broadcasting before economic
liberalization (1991) after which rules were gradually relaxed leading to a growing
diversification of the Indian television landscape.
3. Hindutva is an umbrella term that refers to all those individuals and organizations
that promote a Hindu nation. In the following text, I use it synonymous with
Hindu Right, Hindu Nationalism, and Hindu Fundamentalism.
4. The conflict was triggered and kept alive by Hindu radicals fighting for the
construction of a temple to Ram at the mythical birthplace of the god-king in
Ayodhya. This is a highly controversial issue since the site belongs to the Muslim
community and used to host a mosque, which was destroyed illegally by Hindu
radicals. Despite archeological evidence to the contrary, Hindu fundamentalists
maintain that a temple to Ram existed on the disputed site before it was destroyed
by the Muslim invader Babar, who is said to have built the mosque.

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 Chapter 7
Modern Hindu Guru Movements

Michael James Spurr

Introduction

Gurus have played a major role in Hindu religious life since Vedic times,
but the modern era has more than its share of prominent examples of
what some scholars have termed “great gurus—the mahāgurus” (Gold,
2005: 220). Facilitated by rapid transport, telecommunications and the
ever-broadening Indian diaspora, these figures have garnered India-wide
and even pan-global followings. Often, they are also controversial figures;
to their critics, they are megalomaniacs, hypocrites, charlatans, and even
felons. But this is at least partly in the nature of the role. The dichotomy of
enthusiasm and scorn in accounts of gurus dates back to at least seventh
century India (Smith, 2003: 168), and even modern scholars, while not
usually extreme in their views, tend to have been divided between these
two camps. Attraction and aversion are both powerful motivating factors,
and in my own case at least, had I not been a follower of contemporary
South Indian guru Sathya Sai Baba, I would have struggled to find the
motivation necessary to complete my recent doctoral thesis on him.
Smith (2003: 168) laments that there is “no extensive academic
survey of gurus,” suggesting that scholars sympathetic to the notion
of the guru tend to be drawn to one particular guru, producing studies
focused on that guru to the exclusion of the wider phenomenon,
and that unsympathetic scholars have a natural tendency to avoid
the phenomenon altogether. Smith himself produces a good, if brief
overview, referencing most of the previous scholarship, but in general
his observation seems to hold true. Certainly even the years since
142 Michael James Spurr

2003 have seen the production of several detailed studies of individual

guru movements as well as a number of volumes of collected studies
of individual gurus, but no comprehensive comparative analysis.
That said, the various collected volumes usually do contain some
sort of introductory or concluding synthesis (e.g., Copley, 2000;
Pechilis, 2004; Forsthoefel and Humes, 2005), and there are some
genuine exceptions to Smith’s rule. Jones (1989) contributes a
reasonably comprehensive and often overlooked volume on Socio-
Religious Reform Movements in British India. Aravamudan (2006),
while not presenting the type of synoptic survey idealized by Smith,
extensively references a significant number of modern gurus, cleverly
explicating them via the episteme of Guru English. In shorter works,
Shandip Saha (2007) surveys the influence of many Hindu gurus
in the west and Angela Rudert (2010), while undertaking doctoral
research on one particular guru, has truly broken Smith’s mould
in publishing an overview of recent scholarship on a broad set of
modern Indian gurus who she classifies as “New-Age.”
Now, in my own case, having focused my doctorate upon one guru,
I have an opportunity to branch out in addressing the wider topic.
An extensive survey is, however, beyond the scope of this chapter.
There is in fact a sense in which, as Halbfass (1988: 218) puts it in
relation to the many and diverse persons who significantly influenced
the formation and various formulations of modern Hinduism, it
would be “preposterous to attempt a complete or even representative
account.” And Halbfass is only referring to historical figures; he does
not even consider the many thousands of living gurus. In a recent
popular account, Ahuja (2006a; 2006b), fills two volumes with brief
overviews of 40-odd high-profile 19th- and 20th-century Indian
gurus, and a thorough analysis of even these figures would be a much
bigger undertaking. Partiality is not the only reason that scholars
generally choose to focus on only one guru.
What I can aim to do here, in keeping with the focus of this book,
is to identify some key conclusions, broad themes and contrasts
from the various approaches that scholars have taken in studies of
modern Hindu guru movements, and attempt to point to some gaps
or possible directions for future research. This in itself is no easy
task, as scholars from a wide variety of disciplines have addressed
the topic in a wide variety of ways. Jones (1989: 234) lists among his
sources works on “history, political science, anthropology, sociology,
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 143

comparative religion, and the history of religion,” and I would add

a multi-disciplinary dimension to this, variously incorporating
additional elements from such diverse fields as economics (McKean,
1996; Urban, 2003a), literary criticism (Hatcher, 1999; Aravamudan,
2006), urban studies (Srinivas, 2008), cognitive science (Ketola, 2008),
psychology (Storr, 1996), and even parapsychology (Haraldsson,
1997). Again, it will be impossible for me to do justice to all or even
most of the elements of these works (and there are many others also),
but I at least hope to reference enough major examples to facilitate
further investigations by interested readers and researchers.
I will begin with questions of definition, for those who are
“mahāgurus,” or who speak “Guru English” do not necessarily fall
within the definitions of “New-Age” or “socio-religious reform
movements.” And there are several other variously overlapping
categories that scholars have applied to the phenomenon at hand.
Even the highly conservative title that I have chosen for this chapter
bears some close examination.

Hindu Gurus

Traditional folk etymologies usually present the Sanskrit term guru

as if it were an acronym of its two constituent syllables. The most
popular variant associates “gu” with darkness (ignorance) and “ru”
with removal of the same, producing the meaning “spiritual teacher.”1
Modern scholars tend to prefer derivations from the more literal
meaning, “heavy,” invoking the weight of authority vested in such
teachers. There is also possibly a connection in this regard with the
traditional “belief that mighty or holy persons have a spiritual attribute
which is measured in quantity” (Ralston, 1989: 54), something which
is taken to an extreme in the theories and practices of tantric alchemy
(White, 1984).
The term guru has also been used for many centuries in India in
a more general sense as descriptive of well-regarded authorities in
a variety of fields of learning.2 Its current widespread international
usage in this sense, however, owes more to the impact on the
modern imagination of the stereotypically flamboyant modern
Hindu spiritual teachers typified by the narrower sense of the term.
144 Michael James Spurr

Something of the aura of self-proclaimed expertise radiated by these

figures obviously resonates with popular perceptions of high-profile
experts on all manner of modern subjects, and it is likely that there
are some genuine similarities in the psychodynamics underlying
both phenomena. Storr (1996) presents a psychological study of a
number of high-profile Western spiritual and psychological “gurus,”
and it would be interesting to expand this to include contemporary
self-improvement, new-age healing, management, financial, and
information technology gurus.
It is, however, the explicitly spiritual or religious and specifically
Hindu dimensions of this phenomenon that form the subject of this
chapter, and in this regard there is a gulf between these last figures
and modern Hindu spiritual gurus, in that the latter are usually
considered by their followers to literally be “descents” (avatāra) of
one or more traditional deities. Gurus themselves may not always
encourage this identification; their positions on the issue range
from outright denial to forceful affirmation (Bassuk, 1987; Spurr,
2007). But to their followers the idea that the guru is more than just
an exceptional human being is the rule rather than the exception.
Such views might be dismissed as wishful thinking on the part of
the followers or self-aggrandizement on the part of the gurus, but it
should be noted that in the advaita (non-dualistic) traditions upon
which most modern gurus draw, there is a strong sense in which
categories such as avatāra or even guru are not accorded genuine
ontological status, but are ultimately seen as dualistic constructs that
must be transcended in order to comprehend the non-dual reality.
Modern gurus of this persuasion often seem to use these concepts
as vehicles for abstract philosophical or theological doctrine, rather
than as simple identity statements, and in this sense, even when they
sometimes choose to reject the term guru as inadequately descriptive
of their spiritual self-understanding, they can justifiably be categorized
as gurus nonetheless (Sharma, 1993: 3; cf. Rudert, 2010: 640).
Likewise, though they exhibit a range of beliefs in relation to
their “Hindu” identity, and sometimes explicitly reject this also,
they can, despite some inevitable cross-fertilization, generally be
distinguished from non-Hindu Indian religious leaders (Gold, 1987:
173–199; Warren, 1999; cf. Aravamudan, 2006: 228; Rudert, 2010:
630, 635). While similar figures are found in Buddhism, Jainism,
Sikhism (Sharma, 1993), Islam (Barth, 1990), and Christianity
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 145

(Ralston, 1989), these have their own distinctive features. This is

not to deny that there is a good deal of diversity within modern
Hindu movements. Smith (2003: 167–180) notes that “there are said
to be tens of thousands of gurus” and “[g]urus are in fact difficult
to summarize.” But he is able to identify a number of common
“general characteristics” nonetheless, and a number of other scholars
have done the same. Babb (1986: 5, 206), for example, focusing on
just three modern Hindu guru movements, writes that “if there is
common ground between them, it is not a matter of ‘beliefs’… [nor]
a matter of what is sometimes called ‘worldview,’” but he points out
that “extreme diversity gives us the clearest possible contrast between
varying externals and the constant inner core,” and he proceeds to
articulate a social psychology of common “loosely floating images”
that embody definitively Hindu cultural and religious themes.

Modern Movements

The term “movement” also bears some consideration in this

connection, especially since, unlike the terms guru and “Hinduism,”
it has rarely itself been adopted by Hindu groups. In the present
context, “movement” obviously refers to any guru or lineage of gurus
with attendant teachings and followers, but its literal implication of an
agenda for change—a movement—is also significant. As is often the
case, an orientation toward “change” may simply be a fundamentalist
desire to return to what are imagined to be earlier and more
traditional means or standards of religiosity (cf. Jones, 1989: 2), or it
may be a move to propagate genuinely traditional teachings to new
audiences. But it is a change nonetheless. There is an alignment here
with the broader category of “new religious movements” that scholars
generally apply to groups that are either new to their geographic locale
or that “rework older historical traditions with novel conceptual and
ritual frameworks” (Srinivas, 2008: 338). In the present case, such
“movements” could be contrasted with the followings of numerous,
usually hereditary, family- or caste-specific gurus who are content
to facilitate the status quo or who primarily adapt to change rather
than actively promoting it. In addition to these, there are guru-
led groups that represent continuities (albeit with some inevitable
146 Michael James Spurr

reinterpretation) of institutionalized pre-modern guru movements

founded by the likes of Śaṅkara, Rāmānuja, Madhva, Vallabha, and
Caitanya.3
The question of the meaning and scope of the term “modern”
also arises in this regard. Some scholars find a convenient analogy
with standard definitions of “modern” Western history (i.e., since
approximately 1500 CE) in the fact that some features of the guru
movements of this era, arising from the milieu of Hindu–Muslim
encounters, parallel aspects of undeniably modern guru movements
arising from the later Indian–European encounters. At the opposite
extreme is a focus on just the last 50 years, as the profile of gurus
in the West was raised via the cultural revolution of the 1960s and
the intensification of the Indian diaspora to America and Europe
(Rudert, 2010: 635, 639). But scholars most often seem to date the
modern period in India from the time of the “full establishment
of British rule in the late 18th century” (Vanita and Kidwai, 2000;
cf. Beckerlegge, 2001: 68–69), and there seems to be reasonable
justification for this.4
As Jones (1989: 1, 212–215) points out, the “colonial milieu”
included such elements as the influence of British bureaucracy,
which was reflected in Hindu “religious societies fully equipped with
elected officials, weekly meetings, annual published reports, bank
accounts, sophisticated systems of fundraising, annual meetings,
executive committees, subcommittees, by-laws, and constitutions.”
The introduction of printing presses led to rapid “protestantization”
as the “availability of the printed text encouraged the creation of
creeds that summarized a complex set of teachings,” the vernaculars
stole the foreground from Sanskrit as media for religious expression,
and religious truth was seen to reside in the resultant printed texts,
depriving the Brahmans of their traditional monopoly in this area.
More controversial are claims that the substantial social service
undertaken by the new Hindu movements was a response to Christian
ideals (Beckerlegge, 2000a, 2000b; Srinivas, 2008: 143–144), but
certainly the institutionalization of such service was a colonial-
influenced novelty, and Christian missionary views undoubtedly drew
responses and had influence in other areas. Copley (2000: 9) writes
that Neo-Hindu movements “began to imitate the corporate life of
Christianity, its communal prayer, its monasticism … its concepts
of sin, guilt, the need for repentance and grace.” The influence of
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 147

18th century European spiritualism as manifest especially in the

Theosophy movement, of Unitarian Christian views, of English
education and of the English language itself, along with the rise of
romantic nationalism, further contribute to the distinctiveness of this
time period (Aravamudan, 2006).
Dating the modern period in India from the late 18th century
also makes it roughly contemporaneous with the advent of academic
scholarship on Indian religions. This itself is a distinctive element, as
the works produced by these scholars directly influenced a number of
modern gurus as well as promoting a broader “Oriental renaissance”
in the West, as “[w]riters, poets, and philosophers found inspiration
in the Oriental classics and modeled some of their work on the new
forms” (Singer, 1972: 24–26). The close temporal connection between
scholar and guru also provides opportunities for contextualizing
studies in ways that are impossible in relation to pre-modern
movements. Mass media and popular culture references to gurus can
be adduced for context (e.g., Smith, 2003; Aravamudan, 2006), as
can census data and other government documents (e.g. Jones, 1989),
and anthropological fieldwork often is invaluable (e.g., Babb, 1986;
Srinivas, 2006). Members of guru movements can themselves even be
asked to make a direct contribution, either by way of critical writing
(e.g., Bryant and Ekstrand, 2004), or by contributing information. In
one of the earliest scholarly accounts to focus exclusively on a modern
guru, Müller (1898: 60–61) prefaces his translation of some of the
sayings of the then recently deceased Ramakrishna (1836–1886) with
a biographical sketch requested directly from Swami Vivekananda
(1863–1902), Ramakrishna’s most prominent disciple.
Further to this, scholars may themselves be followers of gurus, or
may engage in debate with the objects of their study. Müller’s writing
on Ramakrishna was partly a rejoinder to views aired by the likes
of the Theosophical Society (see below), and Charles White (also
cited below) was himself a Theosophist. More recently, a number
of scholars have attempted to write in ‘discursive modes that are at
once “insider” and “scholarly”.’ Care needs to be taken in this regard,
but this at least provides a corrective to an unconscious propensity
for “an implicit denigration of the Other … a denial of the fact that
criticality, theory, and self-awareness are also concerns for religion(s)
in general” (Cabezón, 2006: 32–34, 28–29). It also provides a number
of other advantages (Spurr, 2007: 27–29), and my experience agrees
148 Michael James Spurr

with that of Hallstrom (1999: 12) when she writes: “my personal
immersion in the philosophy and practices of the Hindu tradition
has enhanced, rather than limited, my critical abilities as a scholar.”
The fact that scholars directly participate in the construction of
the “modernity” they profess to study is also significant and has been
problematized. Some scholars theorize “multiple modernities” in
which contemporary Indian modernity sits alongside rather than
being derivative of Western modernity (Srinivas, 2008: 340–341).
And this is a valid attempt to compensate for the “ethnocentric and
Eurocentric assumptions” upon which early Western modernization
theories were based. Smith (2003: 78–80) even goes so far as to
discount seminal sociologist Max Weber’s entire contribution to
the study of Hinduism due to its Eurocentric presuppositions. But I
would be hesitant to dismiss any early scholarly sources out-of-hand,
for their closer temporal connection to the early modern period
surely carries some advantage, and the prejudices that influenced
them did not necessarily compromise their collation of factual
information. Jones (1989: 228) points out, for example, that though
“J. N. Farquhar’s Modern Religious Movements in India (New York,
1919) …judged all groups in terms of whether or not they appeared
to be moving toward English Protestant Christianity,” it nonetheless
“contains a vast amount of reliable data.”
Smith also criticizes Weber’s “decision to concentrate on the
literate strata, on brahmans and monks,” but this is again perhaps
overly dismissive. While there certainly is much to be learned from
subaltern strata and other means of study (Smith, 1978; Srinivas,
2008),5 there surely remains at least some value in consideration of
the textual antecedents of modern guru movements. As Sarkar (1997:
317–318) observes, there has been some scholarly interest in “ways in
which elements of high textual culture could sink into and intermix
with predominantly oral practices.” He notes, for example, that,
though illiterate, Ramakrishna, “could have relatively easy access to
‘high’ knowledge, despite poverty and lack of formal education, as he
happened to be of Brahman birth … [and] could imbibe mainstream
Hindu traditions through watching folk theatre performances of epic
and puranic tales.”
At least the latter part of this applies to most modern gurus, many of
whom are not Brahmans. The textual outputs of the literate strata are in
any case hard to ignore, and Smith goes on to cite in his chapter on gurus
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 149

both Weber and one of his principal literate strata sources, Bhattacharyya
(1850–1899), president of the brahman council of Bengal, author of one
of the first modern appraisals of sects and guru movements.
Like that of Farquhar, Bhattacharyya’s study is a valuable source
of factual information, but it is inhibited by a distinct air of distain
for gurus. The “meaningless” mantras and phallic idols promoted
by tantric gurus and the repetitive recitations and erotic scriptures
of their Vaiṣṇava counterparts evidently offend his Victorian and
modernist sensibilities. He sees the modern guru phenomenon as
something of an aberration, driven by greed, and finds “no mention
of it in the ancient scriptures” (Bhattacharyya, 1896: 25–29). Clearly,
from his perspective, there is little continuity between the earliest
traditions and modern movements. But, however much of his
views may be colored by his Vedic Brahman background and other
prejudices, the question of the extent of continuity is an important
one, and one which many subsequent scholars have addressed.

Categories of Continuity

Weber (1916: 323–328), partly following Bhattacharyya, identifies

the roots of modern guru movements in what he sees as a decline
of earlier traditional (Sanskritic), hereditary and sectarian forms of
guru leadership, the rise of emotionalist bhakti, and earlier bhakti
displacement of the traditional role of the Brahmans, which paved the
way for charismatic religious leadership to emerge from the middle
classes in conjunction with their enhanced economic prospects under
British rule. Mlecko (1982) traces a more detailed text-based history
of Hindu guru concepts from ancient to modern times, and comes to
a similar conclusion.
Some scholars have explicitly theorized this question. Jones (1989:
3, 211–212), divides modern movements into “transitional” and
“acculturative”:

Transitional movements had their origins in the pre-colonial world

and arose from indigenous forms of socio-religious dissent, with
little or no influence from the colonial milieu …[and] made limited
adjustments to that environment … The emergence of acculturative
150 Michael James Spurr

movements within the colonial milieu was both a continuation of so-

cio-religious dissent, and a modification of this tradition. The context
was new as South Asians, who came into direct contact with the Eng-
lish … adjusted to the realities of British dominance. Those, who could
not ignore these new rulers but who depended on them for their social
and economic position, found ways to restructure their own cultural
heritage in order to retain a place within that heritage.

Similarly, Halbfass (1988: 219–222) reiterates the ideas of Paul

Hacker, who “divided modern Indian thought … into ‘Neo-Hinduism’
and ‘surviving traditional Hinduism’,” the main distinction between
which was not “any particular teachings,” but, rather:

the different ways in which they appeal to the tradition, the structures
which they employ to interrelate the indigenous and the foreign, and
the degree of their receptivity vis-à-vis the West …“Neo-Hinduism …
always implies reinterpretation.” … [Neo-Hindus] first adopt West-
ern values and means of orientation and then attempt to find the for-
eign in the indigenous: “… afterwards they connect these values with
and claim them as part of the Hindu tradition.”

A major focus of such “reinterpretation” is often identified in at-

tempts to reconcile Hindu ideas with the modern theories of evolu-
tion that were a hot topic at the time (Bevir, 2000: 163).
Other scholarly theorizations draw analogies with Western history
in writing of a modern “Hindu Renaissance” or “Reformation” (e.g.,
Bharati, 1970: 272; Choudhary, 1981: 79). Beckerlegge (2004:140) cites
Sarkar’s view that the “Hindu Renaissance” is largely a retrospectively
applied intellectual construct, and problematic for that reason, but
he does note that “reference was popularly made in 19th-century
Bengal to a ‘new age’ or ‘awakening.’” And while “Neo-Hinduism”
is also an academic construct, Halbfass (1988: 219–222) notes that
the term “Neo-Vedantism” did have some currency in India at the
time. The difference between these last two terms is not without
significance, however, for the underlying theology of the vast majority
of acculturative, Neo-Hindu, Hindu Renaissance movements is
extrapolated from the canons of advaita vedānta, which, while
influential, is but one of the major traditional philosophical schools.
One reason for this emphasis rests on the obvious suitability of
non-dualism for the task of countering Christian derision of Hindu
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 151

polytheism. The most commonly adopted position in this regard is one

that seminal Neo-Hindu Ram Mohan Roy (1772–1833) derived directly
from traditional advaita, whereby polytheistic image worship is seen
as an acceptable preliminary practice for those unable to comprehend
the non-dual truth (Aravamudan, 2006: 43; cf. King, 1999: 132).
Ironically, advaita was also encouraged by Christian missionaries as an
“easy ‘monistic’ target” over and against which to promote “the moral
superiority of Christianity.” And more politically motivated British
Orientalists, by whose works Ram Mohan was influenced, may have
promoted it as an antidote to the advance of French Jacobinism (itself a
potential prelude to French political expansion in India) or as a suitably
quietist “indigenous ideological bulwark against social activism” (King,
1999: 120–131). Ram Mohan’s significant monotheistic Sufi and
Unitarian influences also perhaps made advaita an attractive choice.
But, in any case, despite having almost no presence traditionally,
advaita soon became equated with Vedanta in his Bengali milieu, and
this milieu also gave rise to several other influential Neo-Hindu gurus.
Beckerlegge (2004: 309) notes that “[i]n nineteenth-century Bengal,
Vedanta was widely held to be synonymous with Advaita, and, by
1896, Vivekananda had come to identify ‘Vedantist’ with ‘Hindu’.”
Vivekananda’s guru Ramakrishna, however, was not so much
of this persuasion, and this indicates a problem with attempts to
differentiate two types of modern Hindu movements. As Copley
(2000: xiii) points out, “Jones speculates that quite often the leaders
were transitional and the followers acculturative.” But the fact of such
anomalies would not be apparent without drawing a distinction in
the first place, and it is often, as Halbfass (1988: 221) puts it, “useful
and convenient” to do so (cf. Srinivas, 2008: 336–337). Without
resorting to such categories, scholars would be forced always to
deal in particular instances, and, while some would no doubt argue
that this would be a good thing, it would put a limit on possibilities
for creative and illuminating conjunctions. Jones’s work is actually
very conservative in this respect, consisting primarily of historical
narratives constructed mostly from primary sources and broken
down by religious movement and geographical location. Other
scholars have reveled in being much less cautious.
One of the most creative scholarly works to reflect on gurus is
Aravamudan’s Guru English, in which he connects figures as diverse
as Ramakrishna, Mother Teresa, and Salman Rushdie, skillfully
152 Michael James Spurr

situating them within a common linguistic milieu. He presents “Guru

English” as, among other things, “a theolinguistics, generating new
religious meanings … [and] a literary discourse ... [using] multilingual
puns, parody, and syncretism.” He cites, for example, the “lame pun
… by Sai Baba,” which ‘suggests that bābā (colloquially, “father”) …
is literally the Lamb of God, because lambs when they bleat, say “baa-
baa”’ (Aravamudan, 2006: 6, 36). But while these are new religious
meanings, and while there is far more to Aravamudan’s “Guru
English” than mere punning, the phenomenon of folk etymology is
obviously far from new (recall the definition of guru cited earlier).
Similarly, while Aravamudan (2006: 50) cites influential Neo-Hindu
Keshab Chandra Sen’s criticisms of traditional theologies in which
“[t]he disjunctive Or reigns supreme; the copulative And finds no
place” as exemplifying ‘the closest example of a grammatical rule for
Guru English, a theolinguisitc prefiguration of E. M. Forster’s liberal
philosophy of “only connect,”’ other scholars have suggested that
“Neo-Hindu thinkers merely exploited the same “inclusivism” found
within traditional Hinduism.”6
Inclusivism is defined as “claiming for, and thus including in,
one’s own religion what really belongs to an alien sect” (Olivelle,
1986: 867, citing Hacker, the first scholar to apply this concept to
Indian traditions). As Halbfass (1988: 411) notes, Hacker “suggests a
deep affinity between non-dualism and inclusivism,” and while there
are some problems with applying this consistently to ancient advaita,
the two certainly work together in Neo-Hindu movements. More
generally speaking also, “inclusivistic arguments characterize the
attitude of new and younger religious traditions vis-à-vis older and
more established ones” (Olivelle, 1986: 867, citing Albrecht Wezler).
And something of this is certainly evident among a number of gurus
popularly and academically identified as belonging to the “Indian
New Age,” with their penchant for “adopting old, often foreign
and ‘other’ traditions, … co-opting, re-shaping, re-packaging, and
commodifying ancient ideas from diverse sources for the current era”
(Rudert, 2010: 629–630).
This “diversity” of sources should not, however, be overemphasized.
Forsthoefel and Humes (2005: 8) contrast “egalitarian inclusivism,”
in which: “All [religions] go to the same goal,” and “an inclusivism
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 153

(all religions have value) with an exclusivist subtext (while all religions
have value, all find their ultimate meaning and value in Hinduism).”
And the latter is by far the more prominent in the Indian New
Age. Palmer (2005: 105–106) writes for example that “while one
may mistakenly gather that Satya Sai Baba is sharing a message of
universal acceptance, he is, in essence, calling for a return to Vedic
religion.” This is, nevertheless, somewhat complicated by a sense in
which some of the “Hindu texts and traditions” cited by many Hindu
gurus are themselves “foreign and other.”
Bharati (1981: 273–274) famously framed this as a “pizza-
effect”—so named after the “new tastes” acquired by the pizza
(originally a simple baked bread with no trimmings) in America,
which contributed to a “new status” for it upon its return to Italy
with Italian-Americans. The implication here is that the version
of “Hinduism” expounded by many Neo-Hindu thinkers never
really existed in its fully fledged sense until it was objectified via the
Western Oriental Renaissance and provided with new status as it
reimpacted on India. Bharati saw the beginnings of this “effect” with
the emulation by Indian scholars of the early European Indologists,
extending to include an unprecedented Hindu Renaissance emphasis
on the Bhagavadgītā due to its popularity in the West.
White (1972: 878), perhaps influenced by his own inclusivistic
Theosophical ideals, disagreed with this last point, arguing that
the Bhagavadgītā was “important in ancient times, as exemplified
by the commentary on it of Śaṃkara and other philosophers.”
And subsequent scholarship has questioned Bharati’s more
general conclusions (Hatcher, 1999). But the category of “Hindu
Renaissance,” which Bharati opposes to “grassroots” Hinduism, and
other similar distinctions at least provide a vocabulary by which
scholarly debate can proceed, even if (like the preliminary idols of
traditional advaita) they must ultimately be transcended. Interestingly,
White also took Bharati to task for presuming that a reputation for
“miracles” garnered by Sathya Sai Baba is merely a testament to “[t]
he seemingly boundless gullibility of the modern devotee.” Again,
whatever the ultimate conclusion may be, the idea of miracles is so
prominent amongst modern gurus that it is deserving of at least some
scholarly consideration.
154 Michael James Spurr

Miracles and Mischief

Something of a “pizza effect” is evident in the case of the Theosophical

Society, founded in 1875 by Russian occultist Helena Blavatsky
(1831–1891), and operating to this day from its headquarters
in Chennai. Initially basing its teachings on Western esoterism,
Theosophy adopted a number of Buddhist and Hindu ideas via their
representations in the products of the Oriental Renaissance. It formed
an early alliance in India with the Neo-Hindu Arya Samaj, founded
by Dayananda Saraswati (1824–1883), finding resonance in his ideas
of Vedic Hinduism as a comprehensive and universal religion, but
Blavatsky and other Theosophy leaders soon struck out on their own,
being unable to accept Dayananda’s personalistic conceptions of the
Godhead, intolerance of Buddhism, and aspirations to supreme guru
status. They attracted large numbers of both Indian and European
followers with their occult practices and syncretic appropriation of
Hindu ideas (Johnson, 1994; Godwin, 1994; Bevin, 2000).
Not all were enamored of this new flavor of Hinduism however.
Vivekananda, for example, was adamant that “Hindus … do not stand
in need of dead ghosts of Russians and Americans,” and he lamented
the prominence of the Theosophical Society in representing Indian
culture to the West (De Tollenaere, 2004: 40). And the Theosophists
themselves were soon struck by internal controversy, with accusations
of faked miracles, and an investigation by the London Society for
Psychical Research concluding Blavatsky to be “one of the most
accomplished, ingenious, and interesting impostors of history”
(Aravamudan, 2006: 108). Blavatsky and other Theosophists claimed
to receive remote guidance from spiritual masters, often referred to in
a type of reverse Guru English (“Spiritualist Sanskrit” perhaps) by the
Sanskrit term mahātmā (“great-souled”). If nothing else, this provoked
a response from Müller (1898: 1), who chided them and others “whose
powers of admiration are in excess of their knowledge and discretion”
for their credulity in being swayed by “very silly miracles.” Müller
presented Ramakrishna by way of contrast as “A Real Mahâtman.”
Not that Ramakrishna was without his own share of miraculous
folklore, and Müller (1898: 60–61), in his request for a biographical
account from Vivekananda, “warned him repeatedly” away from
what he saw as the “mere fables” about Ramakrishna that he had read
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 155

in other sources. Vivekananda, sympathetic to modern standards of

objectivity, was only too happy to oblige, albeit that he finally fell short
of the mark in Müller’s estimation due to “a natural unwillingness,
nay, an incapability, to believe or to repeat anything that might place
his master in an unfavorable light.” Fortunately, Müller could refer
to other contemporary sources more “aloof from the propaganda
carried on by Râmakrishna’s disciples,” although the worst he was
able to come up with were frownings upon Ramakrishna’s sometimes
“abominably filthy” language and his “neglect” of his wife in favor of
spiritual pursuits.
Many scholars would at least agree with Müller’s ideal of attempting
to penetrate beneath the layers of hagiographical reverence and tales
of miracle-working that permeate popular accounts of modern gurus
(cf. Srinivas, 2008: 334). In the case of living gurus, however, it is much
more difficult to simply dismiss these as products of retrospectively
applied devotional fancy. Indeed, they have attracted attention from
academic parapsychologists. Haraldsson (1997: 222) studied Sathya
Sai Baba’s famous “miracles” over the course of a decade, repeatedly
interviewing him and many eyewitnesses, and “in spite of a long
lasting and painstaking effort … found no direct evidence of fraud.”
More aggressive, if less well-qualified skeptics have since come to the
opposite conclusion, flooding the internet with much direct evidence,
but it is difficult to generalize on the basis of either of these conclusions
(Spurr, 2007: 41–54). For those versed in the appropriate methods
and willing to undertake the necessary fieldwork, this remains an
interesting and potentially fertile area for future research.7
When focus shifts from the guru to the movement as a whole,
issues of the true biography of the guru and veracity of miracles
become less important. Babb (1986: 162) observes that “[a]t this
level, the extravagances of hagiography are not an impediment, but
an important aid to discovery.” His point is that it is primarily the
persona of the guru and the meaning of purported miracles, rather
than the question of their being miraculous, that animates devotees’
beliefs and behaviors. He notes that many people who are neutral to
Sathya Sai Baba and even many of his severest critics do not doubt
the veracity of his supposed ability to perform miracles, but simply
disagree with his followers that such miracles are valid evidence of
spiritual greatness. Aravamudan (2006: 109) goes a step further,
glossing over the Theosophical Society miracles as being akin to
156 Michael James Spurr

“special effects” in modern movies; that is, retaining some power and
attraction even if revealed to be non-miraculous in nature.
At issue here is Weber’s view that progress toward modernity is
characterized by a progressive “disenchantment of the world”; Babb
(1986: 200) suggests that, in the case of Sathya Sai Baba at least, mir-
acles present “something of a Weberian reversal, an example of the
re-enchantment of the world.” McKean (1996: 20–23) puts this even
more strongly: “Sathya Sai Baba’s miracles offer India’s monied con-
sumers a self-indulgent, guilt-free experience of the magicality of ob-
jects.” But Urban (2003a: 85) points out that,

if Sai Baba appears on the one hand to be a kind of icon of materialism

and consumerism—the magic and fetishism of the commodity incar-
nate—he is also quite strikingly on the other hand one of the greatest
critics of Western materialism and consumerism.

My own research indicates that, far from promoting commodity

fetishism, Sathya Sai Baba’s “miracles” are usually angled at instilling
in his followers a sense of the impermanence and worthlessness of
worldly objects, as contrasted to the need for perpetual remembrance
of the transcendent divine.
In addition to claims of faked miracles, accusations of sexual
impropriety are also commonly leveled at gurus, and responses
from followers range from outright denial to tantric rationalizations.
Some scholars have addressed, and also failed to sufficiently address,
this issue. Urban (2003b: 244–248) criticizes a number of scholarly
practitioners of Siddha Yoga for ignoring in their collected volume on
the movement “the intense controversy” and scandal” involving the
“alleged sexual practices” of Siddha Yoga guru Swami Muktananda
(1908–1982), “which, many claim, drew naïve young women into
esoteric Tantric rituals.” Rudert (2010: 640) notes that “the Siddha
scholars’ agenda to write a “theology” of the movement in which they
were a part was entirely transparent,” but at least some of the scholars
involved have expressed regret at their omissions.8 What is clear is
that scholars who are also devotees tread a fine line in their writing
when they combine their two identities. Srinivas (2008: 333–335), for
example, a follower of Sathya Sai Baba, invokes the “ethics of studying
a community of living believers” as setting “some limits” on the scope
of her study, choosing to make no mention of the fact that Sathya Sai
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 157

Baba too is accused of (homo)sexual abuse, but admitting the existence

of lesser allegations of fake miracles and “textual inconsistencies.”
Reverent silence on such issues is perhaps less than ideal, but the
opposite extreme, when scholars become the instigators of allegations,
also has its problems. Srinivas alludes to scholarly portrayals of
Ramakrishna as a latent homosexual (Kripal, 1995) as having “driven
a wedge between outsiders and those within” the movement. The
more serious issue for followers and scholars alike, however, seems
to be with Kripal’s questionable translations and neo-Orientalist
approach (Urban, 1998). Nevertheless, sex scandals surrounding
modern Hindu gurus are the rule rather than the exception, and there
is a role for scholarship to play in elucidating some of the traditional
paradigms that are sometimes invoked by guru movements and their
critics in this regard (Hawley, 2004). More could also perhaps be done
on the sociology and psychology of followers’ reactions to scandals,
including perhaps a comparative study of anti-guru movements
started by former followers of scandalized gurus.9 A lot has already
been done on the more general socio-dynamics of guru movements.

Charisma

Central to much debate in this area is the idea of “charisma” much

popularized by Weber, who defined “charismatic authority” as being
“based on the exemplary character, sanctity, and heroism of an
individual person” (Ketola, 2008: 26). Von Stietencron (2001: 18–20)
questions how applicable Weber’s formulation of charisma may be to
Indian traditions, in which

the notion of charisma is first and primarily linked to the king … cha-
risma was conceived of as a kind of subtle, luminous substance that
could be conferred on a deserving person by a God or by ritual action
… Later Indian mythology also sees royal charisma as a property of
the divine, particularly of Viṣṇu.

But the two conceptions of charisma are not necessarily mutually

exclusive, nor does the latter fall completely outside of Weber’s
scope (Riesebrodt, 1999: 2), and indeed both resonate with aspects of
modern guru movements.
158 Michael James Spurr

Smith (2003: 172) observes that the guru often “may behave like a
king,” be “addressed as ‘Maharaj’ (‘Great King’),” may “sit on a throne,
and spend extravagantly.” Von Stietencron (2001: 18–20) notes the
relevance of the traditional “concept of prādurbhāva or avatāra,
according to which the God Viṣṇu himself “becomes manifest” or
“descends” and incorporates himself, or part of himself, on earth.”
Most modern Hindu gurus are regarded by their followers as avatāras,
and there is a significant traditional overlap between the paradigms of
king and avatāra (Spurr, 2007). To Smith’s observations, I would also
especially add those of Gonda (1969: 77–78), that the daily audiences
granted by ancient Indian (divine) kings in some sense prefigure the
daily darśan (lit. “viewing”) given by many Hindu gurus, by which
they are believed to optically bestow their grace upon their followers
(see, e.g., Cornille, 2004: 136–138). Also perhaps significant is the
phenomenon traditionally and popularly referred to as śaktipāt(a),
a “descent of spiritual energy” via the touch of a guru, this being
reasonably common within modern guru movements, and sometimes
reported by followers as an experience of an influx of light. There is
some scholarship on this phenomenon,10 but room also for further
investigation, especially in a contemporary comparative context.
While śaktipāt may in some sense be a direct transfer of charisma,
the more general display of paranormal powers by a guru is seen by
some scholars as “a secondary rather than a primary sign of charisma;
it serves to validate and support a religious role, but cannot initiate
it” (McDaniel, 1989: 262). Keyes (1982: 4–8) sees religious leaders’
possession of intuitive religious knowledge as being more important
than miracles in this regard, and he notes, further to this, that “[t]he
actions of a person working against extraordinary odds to achieve
some desirable social goal have from time to time been taken as
signifying that the person is charismatic.”
Both of these apply to most modern gurus, many of whom have
undertaken significant social, educational and health projects. But
“miracles” are also important, and certainly in the case of Sathya Sai
Baba they served to initiate his religious role.
Also controversial is the common position articulated by Keyes
that it is only “in the context of a crisis situation, [that] people are
motivated to turn toward those who appear to embody a conjunction
of the sacred and the worldly.” As Warrier (2003: 222–229) notes,
in the case of India’s “urban middle class”—from whom Neo-Hindu
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 159

gurus are usually considered to draw the bulk of their following—

scholars “invariably point to a perceived lack of one kind or another
in their lives which they purportedly seek to compensate [for] by
participating in a guru faith.” She gives various examples of this,
including the suggestion that “[b]y invoking the certitudes and
simplicities of an idealized past, religion bolsters the individual’s
capacity to face up to the uncertainties of fast-paced city life.” She
concludes, however, that any suggestions of a “lack” on the part of
devotees are “sweeping generalizations,” and do not apply to the
followers of the contemporary guru Mata Amritanandamayi that she
interviewed. Their quest, rather, is for deeper religious “meaning,”
beyond the “‘mechanical’ and ‘ritualistic’ religious observances and
‘blind faith’ of their parents.”
Furthermore, rather than experiencing the fast-paced changes of
modernization as stressful, Warrier’s (2003: 231) informants testified
to “the hope of increasing possibilities and multiplying opportunities
… a growing awareness of multiple choices in every sphere of life,
including that of religion.” The spiritual crisis model proposed by
Keyes is not at all in evidence here—Warrier (2005: 118) concludes
that “[t]he appeal of popular gurus like the Mata lies in their ability
to facilitate, rather than restrict, this process of individual creativity
and innovation.”11
A recent study of a number of prominent contemporary Hindu
gurus with followings in America divides them into two basic types:
“those taken to be basically an exceptionally wise human being, a
respected teacher of age-old traditions, and those considered first of
all to be an instance of the embodied divine, somehow superhuman
and distinct from ordinary mortals” (Gold, 2005: 220–221).
This more or less parallels a distinction made by Weber between
“traditional” and “charismatic” authority, the former being “based
on an established belief in the sanctity of immemorial traditions”
(Ketola, 2008: 26). Charismatic authority is by far the more prevalent
in modern Hindu guru movements, but Weber never intended his
ideal types to be mutually exclusive, and indeed some sort of mix-
ture is usual. Ketola (2008: 6), for example, observes in relation to the
founder of the Hare Krishna movement:

Prabhupāda did not exemplify pure charismatic leadership. His au-

thority rested to a great extent on his being properly initiated into the
160 Michael James Spurr

tradition of Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism. He regarded himself as a missionary

of a venerable tradition, not as a founder of a new religion … yet in the
eyes of his western followers, Prabhupāda did not gain legitimacy so
much on the basis of tradition, but on the basis of his personal quali-
ties. The new cultural context turned him into a charismatic leader …
He was not even a typical Hindu guru, since he rejected the monistic
Advaita Vedānta taught by most of them. (Ketola, 2008: 6)

In this last regard, Prabhupāda lined his commentaries on

traditional scriptures with a plethora of rejoinders to Neo-Hindu
advaitic “impersonalism,” while at the same time, ironically, heavily
plagiarizing Neo-Hindu influenced English translations of the texts
of traditional scriptures (Lorenz, 2004: 117–119). Weber (1922: 243)
often characterized charismatic authority with words attributed
to Jesus: “It is written … but I say unto you,” but Prabhupāda’s
discourse was more often of the form: “Worldly people or scientists
or impersonalists think … but it is written in the canons of Gauḍīya
Vaiṣṇavism.” As Ketola (2008: 139) puts it, “in the midst of a
technological race to conquer space, Prabhupāda believed in Purāṇic
cosmology with absolute certainty.” Either way, it is the fact that the
guru often seems to be a “counterintuitive being” that is attractive to
followers,12 along with the air of “unshakeable conviction” with which
gurus are invariably imbued (Copley, 2000: 6). In Prabhupāda’s case,
the “pizza effect” is also significant, as his Indian followers are often
drawn by “his success in bringing the Hindu tradition to the world”
(Rochford, 2004: 188).
Ketola (2008: 30, 211–212) summarizes previous scholarly
explanations of charisma as being of four kinds: “(1) those that
put primary emphasis on the social situation or context of crisis;
(2) those that emphasize the mental states of potential followers;
(3) those that emphasize the message; and lastly (4) those that
emphasize the leader.” To this he adds his own approach, drawing on
principles of cognitive science that operate independently of cultural
conditioning. Gurus produce “frame violations,” exposing followers’
“deeply and unconsciously held expectations.” They also evoke from
their followers spontaneous essentialist conceptualizations of agency,
as well as associations with ritual activities that produce “basic
emotional responses and even more unusual forms of neural activity,
resulting in some religious experience.” While Ketola concludes
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 161

that there is ultimately something ineffable about charisma, there is

certainly more room for analysis in this area; cognitive science is a
young and rapidly evolving field, and may yet produce more insights
that add to our understanding of guru movements.
There are also opportunities here to shed some light on broader
religious phenomena. Aravamudan (2006: 225) observes that “[i]
f some religions are personality cults with centuries of institutional
history, gurus are living instances of religions-in-the-making.”
Weber ultimately viewed charisma as “inherently unstable” and
saw an inevitable tendency for new religious movements to become
“institutionalized or routinized.” This has already taken place to a
large degree in some modern guru movements, prompted especially
by the demise of the guru, but occurring also to some extent while the
guru is alive (Collins, 2004: 215–216). Modern guru movements thus
provide an opportunity for comparative studies of the ways in which
this transition is made, and how this may reflect on or contrast with
what we know of the history of older religious movements.13 One
significant difference lies in the awareness that the new movements
may themselves have of the progression outlined by Weber,
prompting them to deliberately seek ways of avoiding the negative
aspects of institutionalization.14 Another area in which it is likely that
there will be significant differences, is in the treatment of gender, and
this further presents its own opportunities for insight and study.

Gender

It is notable, if hardly surprising given their strongly patriarchal

cultural history, that most modern Hindu gurus are male. Some, such
as Prabhupāda, are also overtly chauvinistic. Lorenz (2004: 122–123)
concludes from a quantitative analysis of references to women in his
works that:

56 percent of all statements concern women as sex objects

8 percent are statements about women’s class, status or position
9 percent are restrictions that state that women should not be given
any freedom
7 percent are statements about women having bad qualities
162 Michael James Spurr

This of course needs to be balanced by attention to practical reali-

ties; Erndl (2004: 248) notes that Prabhupāda’s “International Society
for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON) does not currently recognize
women as gurus, but in response to a growing feminist voice within
the movement now appoints women to its governing board and as
temple presidents.” Nevertheless, Lorenz’s figures are representative
of wider cultural prejudices, and Prabhupāda’s views may generally
be classified as traditionalist.
While there are some traditional precedents for a more elevated
status for women and in particular for female gurus, the emergence
into the public domain in the 20th century of a significant number
of influential female gurus was a genuinely new development—even
“the word guru does not accept a feminine form” (Pechilis, 2004: 6).
Western influenced Neo-Hindu gurus like Dayananda, Vivekananda
and the Theosophists, strongly promoted women’s welfare, perhaps
paving the way for this development, and Sarada Devi and “the
Mother,” wives of Ramakrishna and Aurobindo, respectively, took
on prominent roles as guru figures for the movements that initial-
ly formed around their husbands (Srinivasa Iyengar, 1978; Rüstau,
2000). Pechilis (2004: 5–9) writes in the introduction to her edited
volume on modern Hindu female gurus that many of them “partici-
pate in the classical guru tradition by taking instruction and initiation
from a male guru.” While some had female gurus or were self-initiat-
ed, “as a general rule female gurus follow established, male behavioral
modes for guruhood, even if they did not take initiation from a male
guru.”15 What is most challenging for female gurus, she says, is often
not the fact that they choose to become gurus but rather the fact that
they may not live up to “received social expectations … the Hindu so-
cial norms of womanhood, which are marriage and bearing children.”
One way in which this is overcome is through identification of
the guru with the Goddess, or a specific goddess, and, even when
not encouraged by the guru herself, such identifications are almost
invariably made. Alternatively, a guru may be understood to be a
reincarnation of an earlier female guru—contemporary guru Sree
Maa is believed to be Sarada Devi reincarnate (Biernacki, 2004: 181).
Received social expectations die hard, however, and even when a
female guru or ascetic successfully rebels in creating a religious role
for herself, she may promote to others “the dharmashastra ideal for
women that her life contradicts” (Hallstrom, 2004: 104). And most of
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 163

this also applies to males; it should not be forgotten that, especially

in urban contexts with the rise of capitalism in the modern era, the
dominant received social expectations for young men also point
to career and family rather than guruhood. Sathya Sai Baba often
encourages his male followers to marry and pursue worldly careers
rather than following the path of early renunciation that he himself
took, even when they express aspirations to renounce.
In any case, despite following predominantly male paradigms,
some Hindu female gurus do fulfill a unique role in that, due to
traditional cultural predilections for segregation of the sexes, they
are more accessible to women than are male gurus (Hallstrom, 2004:
92–96). They may establish women’s ashrams and schools for girls,
minister to widows, and generally promote welfare for women, albeit
usually retaining some traditional feminine ideals and restrictions
(Anderson, 2004: 73–78). In spiritual matters, guru’s themselves
may sometimes disregard such restrictions; Raj (2004: 214–216)
reports that Mata Amritanandamayi (Ammachi) “embraces, hugs,
strokes, and kisses her devotees with total disregard to their gender,
moral condition, and physical purity,” although this may partly
be a reflection of her own low-caste status. Raj nevertheless sees
Ammachi’s darśan guidelines as restrictive, in that they require
women “to cover their shoulders and to wear dresses or skirts [and]
not wear see-through dresses or tight dresses that reveal the shape
of the body.” But I would note that equivalent and often more
extreme restrictions apply to the male followers of gurus who place
an emphasis on the virtues of celibacy (Alter, 1997). This is not so
much a case of restricting the freedom of one gender more than
the other, as a case of seeking to minimize opportunities for sexual
desire to manifest, and this in the interest of promoting focus on
spiritual pursuits. Taken to an extreme, problems can arise in this
regard (Bryant and Ekstrand, 2004: 352, 398), but these affect both
males and females.
Another key issue facing female guru movements, and indeed guru
movements in general, is that of succession. Erndl (2004: 247–249)
postulates a typology of modes of succession for female gurus, and
this again could apply equally to males: “succession from guru to
disciple, what is in Sanskrit called a parampara, an unbroken lineage”;
“sideways succession … a disciple become a guru of a lineage that is an
offshoot”; “ambiguous succession … a disciple has received training
164 Michael James Spurr

from a recognized guru and may function informally, though not

officially, as a guru”; “spontaneous succession … the guru has no
human guru … divinity is revealed to her, and subsequently to others,
spontaneously;” and the often overlapping category of “posthumous
visionary succession … the disciple is initiated and given transmission
in a vision by his or her guru after the guru’s death.” Erndl also suggests
that a number of other typologies be investigated as possibilities for
future research: the international and ethnic makeup of the movement,
“the degree to which feminine images of the sacred are privileged, and
the degree to which feminist values and practices are emphasized.”

Out of India

Hindu gurus are not only found in India, and many who originated
in India, also have followings elsewhere in Asia.16 While interaction
between India and the rest of Asia dates from ancient times, even
in Southeast Asia, where other forms of Hinduism are common,
it is only comparatively recently that anything resembling the
modern Indian guru movement is in evidence, and this mostly due
to offshoots of India-based movements. Such movements usually
seem to find the bulk of their followings among ethnic Indians, to the
extent that differences between them and their Indian counterparts
are often minimal, especially if there is a constant flow of persons and
communication to and from India. Inevitably, however, some degree
of cultural, religious, or geographical localization takes place. Sathya
Sai Baba, for example, has some Buddhist followers in Sri Lanka who
consider him to be Maitreya—the next Buddha (Fuller, 1992: 179).
In 1880 CE, the Theosophical Society founded a lodge in Java,
drawing its membership primarily from Dutch colonials and from
the traditionally Hindu-inclined Javanese aristocracy, who were
identified by the Theosophists with the supposed ancient Aryan
invaders of Indonesia. The appropriation of Hindu terms and ideas
by Theosophy was by no means always (or even mostly) in keeping
with traditional Indian interpretations, and it drew some criticism at
the time in this regard from other modern Indian religious groups.
But, while its membership remained small, it nonetheless played a
significant role in disseminating at least the semblance of Hindu ideas
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 165

outside of India (De Tollenaere, 2004), and has followings today in

most Asian nations.
The closest extra-Indian cousin of Indian Hinduism is found to
this day in traditional Balinese religious beliefs and practices, but
early Muslim and Christian missionaries and Indonesian government
authorities, seeking to promote their own religious ideals, initially
classified these as primitive “animism.” This provoked a reaction
from some Balinese Hindu intellectuals, who, inspired by Theosophy
and a visit in 1927 by the famous Hindu poet Rabindranath Tagore,
founded reform organizations in an effort to align Indonesian
Hinduism more closely with Neo-Hindu visions of its Indian ancestry
(Ramstedt, 2000). This cause was taken forward in 1950 by the Arya
Samaj missionary Narendra Dev Pandit Sastri (1920–2001), who
settled in Bali and was instrumental in founding the government-
sanctioned “Parishad Dharma Hindu Bali” as a local analog of the
Indian Vishva Hindu Parishad (Somvir, 2004). Other early Neo-
Hindu groups also established contacts with Indonesia (Ramstedt,
2000), and more recent movements include ISKCON, the Sathya Sai
Baba organization, and a couple of groups inspired by the ideals of
Mahatma Gandhi (Somvir, 2004).
The emergence of the Sathya Sai Baba movement in Bali around
1980 was facilitated by decades of “Hinduization” of the pre-colonial
Balinese traditions along the lines just described, but the emphasis on
charisma and miracles in this movement presents a stark contrast and
strong appeal in comparison to the highly ritualistic and impersonal
forms of traditional worship. Howe notes that,

[it] is represented as the rediscovery of an ancient religious tradi-

tion which focuses on the fundamentals of religious faith and belief
by stripping away the allegedly superfluous accretions of customary
religious practices … But it is also seen as a modern form of worship,
tailored to the demands of a fast-paced society and more in tune with
new ideologies of individualism, democracy and personal achieve-
ment. (Howe, 2004: 182–183, n18)

Successful healings and exorcisms also seem to add to the

attractiveness of the movement, as well as spiritualized exegesis
of traditional rites and strong humanist elements, including
criticisms of traditional caste hierarchies. Sathya Sai Baba
followers tend to come from the educated classes and, in contrast
166 Michael James Spurr

to state-sanctioned Hinduism, Sathya Sai Baba’s widespread

international following creates the impression of participation in
a wider global identity. Other factors not to be overlooked include
simple curiosity and chance encounters with the Sathya Sai Baba
movement (Howe, 2004).17
All of this, I would note, also applies to the Sathya Sai Baba
movement in India and most other places, although there are a few
notable contrasts in some of these. Ackerman and Lee (1988: 114)
write that Sathya Sai Baba’s movement in Malaysia is not “concerned
with reforming or reinterpreting Hindu beliefs and practices,”
and Mearns (1995: 267), in another study of the Sathya Sai Baba
movement in Malaysia, likewise suggests that many of “the rites
pertaining to Baba reinforce and recodify familiar and accepted
Hindu practices.” But these perceptions are probably due to the
fact that the movement’s Malaysian Hindu milieu lacked the strong
Brahmanical basis of Balinese Hinduism, and, drawing its following
predominantly from middle-class ethnic Indians, had already been
strongly influenced by earlier Neo-Hindu movements. There is,
nevertheless, a growing contingent of Chinese Malaysian followers
of Sathya Sai Baba, and this has already seen a rift in the movement
as some Chinese followers are unwilling to subordinate themselves
to the Hindu ideals of the somewhat overbearing middle-class Indian
leadership of the movement (Kent, 2005: 30–31, 154–161).
Kent (2005: 157) notes that there is little data on the Chinese-
educated Chinese Malaysian following of Sathya Sai Baba, and
this therefore presents an opportunity for future research. Indeed,
there is very little scholarship on Hindu guru movements in Asian
cultures outside of India and Southeast Asia, and this thus provides a
potentially interesting area for future research. There are, for example,
Sathya Sai Baba organizations in China, Japan, Taiwan, South Korea,
Nepal, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Kazakhstan, Russia, and the Ukraine.
Another gap is in the lack of quantitative data on the size and spread
of different movements. Srinivas (2008: 347–351) reproduces a list of
overseas Sathya Sai Baba groups, giving numbers of members where
available, but more research into the official statistics gathered by the
Sathya Sai organization and other modern guru organizations could
be illuminating.
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 167

Conclusion

The number of modern Hindu guru movements is large and

constantly increasing, presenting ongoing opportunities for novel
scholarship. While modern Hindu gurus may not necessarily identify
themselves as “Hindu” or as “gurus,” they can usually be distinguished
from non-Hindu religious leaders, and can usually be analyzed as
taking on the role of a spiritual teacher. While they may not consider
themselves to be “modern,” or to found new religious “movements,”
they share a number of features that first appeared in India with the
dawn of colonial rule, and they usually present an agenda of religious
change—even if this is only an imagined fundamentalism. Scholars
have approached this topic from a wide variety of disciplines and
in a wide variety of manners, and there are unique opportunities
in studying such a modern religious phenomenon. Scholars may
contextualize their works with reference to popular culture, mass
media, official statistics, and fieldwork. Or they may themselves even
be followers of gurus, something that may both limit and enhance
their studies.
Various typologies and characterizations of modern guru
movements are proposed by scholars. Traditional, transitional,
or grassroots gurus, are opposed to Neo-Hindu, acculturative, or
Hindu Renaissance movements, exemplifying Weber’s ideal types
of traditional and charismatic authority, respectively. An “Indian
New Age” is posited, alongside a “theolinguistic” episteme of “Guru
English,” and the idea of a “pizza effect,” by which Hinduism became
established and embellished in the West, enhancing its status back in
India. True to their advaita underpinnings, modern movements may
be strongly eclectic and “inclusivistic,” adopting religious forms from
diverse sources, yet may retain a privileged place for Hinduism among
the world’s religions. Common guru scandals involve allegations of
faked miracles and sexual abuse, and scholars have been criticized
for both avoiding and advancing issues in these areas. Properly
considered, there is a role for scholarship to play in this regard, and
there are opportunities in this for further study.
Ideas of “charisma” are perhaps the most theorized aspect of the
study of modern guru movements, but even here there are opportu-
nities for novel contributions—from advances in cognitive science
168 Michael James Spurr

to the simple fact that guru movements are prototypical “religions

in the making.” Similarly, while there has been a significant amount
of recent scholarship, primarily undertaken by female scholars, fo-
cusing on female gurus and gender issues, there are opportunities to
expand this to better categorize degrees of international and ethnic
variety, feminine content, and feminist practices. Other opportuni-
ties in this and indeed all areas of our topic lie in more detailed quan-
tification of the extent and spread of guru movements and in quanti-
tative analysis of their textual outputs. As Srinivas and Lorenz show,
these can provide some interesting characterizations and insights.
Given that most modern movements keep membership records and
that the literature produced by such movements is extremely prolific
and often readily available on the internet in an easily searchable digi-
tal format, these are very promising means of future research. Finally,
with a few major exceptions, Asian guru movements outside of India
remain largely unstudied, and this presents another opportunity for
research, especially for those able to undertake fieldwork or access
written material in local languages.

Notes

1. Scriptural touch-points for these etymologies include the purāṇic Gurugītā,

the yogic Advayatārako-paniṣad, and the Pāṇini sūtras (see e.g., Mlecko, 1982:
33–34; Ralston, 1989: 54; Rigopoulos, 2005; and with due caution the Wikipedia
article “Guru”).
2. Martial gurus and gurus for music and other performing arts are probably the most
common examples of this and, while there may be explicit spiritual elements to
these disciplines, at a more popular level the term is also used of school teachers,
parents, and other elders or seniors (cf. Storr, 1996: xi).
3. Saha (2007: 493–494) refers to a couple of good examples of such movements,
further observing that because the gurus are orthodox Brahmans, they observe
traditional scriptural injunctions forbidding travel across the oceans, but are still
able to maintain significant diasporic followings through the use of television and the
internet. On the “electronic presence” of gurus, see also Srinivas (2008: 104–108).
4. Aravamudan (2006: 17) presents a more sophisticated variant of this periodization.
5. For example, Srinivas (2008) analyses “Architecture as Rhetoric” and “Encrypted
Spaces” in the Sathya Sai Baba movement; Smith (1978) critiques idiosyncratic
gestures of Ramakrishna and Sathya Sai Baba in his “notes on a minor
iconographic tradition.”
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 169

6. Beckerlegge (2004: 308). Hatcher (1999) discusses this at length in a broader critical
context and under the broader heading of “eclecticism.”
7. For some of the traditional Indian context around paranormal phenomena, and
a good overview of relevant research and methods, see Braud (2008). Perhaps the
most famous popular account of guru miracles is Paramahamsa Yogananda’s
Autobiography of a Yogi, on which see Aravamudan (2006: 59–61).
8. Who Speaks for Siddha Yoga? A Book Review of Meditation Revolution (December
31, 1999), http://www.leavingsiddhayoga.net/book_review.htm (accessed on
January 13, 2011).
9. Cf. Cowan (1999), who compares American Christian anti-cult groups.
10. White (1974); Williamson (2005: 150). For some of the traditional and modern
theological background, see Sen Sharma (1990), Brooks et al. (1997).
11. Babb (1987: 186) suggests something very similar in relation to Sathya Sai Baba.
12. There is “oppositional charisma” at work here, see Waldman and Baum (1992).
13. Hatcher (1999: 166–169) comes at this from another angle when he casts
charismatic gurus as “poets” and sees their followers (not necessarily
institutionalised) as “literalists,” lamenting that “Vivekananda’s metaphors have
today become ‘axiomatic features’ in the presentation of Hinduism.”
14. For example, Brzezinski (2004) and Peter Heehs (2000: 221) notes that Neo-Hindu
guru Sri Aurobindo (1872–1950) sought to avoid “the error of all ‘Churches’” with
the suggestion that his followers “remain open to ‘new outpourings’ of the founders’
spirit.”
15. An exception to this is the Brahma Kumari movement, which Babb (1986: 139)
regards as being genuinely feminist (albeit founded by a man).
16. There are a number of studies of Hindu Gurus in American and other western
settings, but this fall beyond the scope of this chapter.
17. Howe (2004: 267) contrasts the Sathya Sai Baba organization with a number of
largely unstudied in-digenous (tantra-like) movements that arose in Bali around
the same time. While language may be a barrier, he notes that some primary source
material has been collected, and there is an opportunity in this also for further study.

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Suggestions for Further Reading

Babb, Lawrence. 1986. Redemptive Encounters: Three Modern Styles in the Hindu
Tradition. L.A.: University of California Press. (A comparative study of the
Radhasoami, Brahma Kumari, and Sathya Sai Baba movements, drawing on
anthropological fieldwork and theories of social psychology.)
Beckerlegge, G. 2000a. The Ramakrishna Mission: The Making of a Modern Hindu
Movement. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press. (An analysis of the early
endeavors of this major modern guru movement.)
 Modern Hindu Guru Movements 175

Forsthoefel, Thomas and Humes, Cynthia (eds). 2005. Gurus in America. Albany: State
University of New York Press. (A collection of essays on a number of modern
gurus, most of whom also have followings in Asia.)
Hallstrom, L. L. 1999. Mother of Bliss: Anandamayi Ma (1896–1982). New York:
Oxford University Press. (This study of an important modern guru includes a good
presentation of traditional understandings of the role of the guru.)
Haraldsson, Erlendur. 1997. Modern Miracles: An Investigative Report on Psychic
Phenomena Associated with Sri Sathya Sai Baba. Mamaroneck, NY: Hastings
House. (Based on more than a decade of fieldwork, this is a fascinating analysis
of biographical, psychological, and parapsychological issues surrounding India’s
most influential modern guru.)
Hatcher, Brian A. 1999. Eclecticism and modern Hindu discourse. New York, Hong
Kong: Oxford University Press. (Most modern gurus are eclectic; this is essential
background reading for understanding their discourse.)
Heehs, Peter. 2008. The Lives of Sri Aurobindo. New York: Columbia University Press.
(The definitive biography of this important modern guru.)
Jones, K. W. 1989. Socio-religious Reform Movements in British India. Cambridge, New
York: Cambridge University Press. (A thorough descriptive history.)
Kent, Alexandra. 2005. Divinity and Diversity: A Hindu Revitalization Movement in
Malaysia. Copenhagen: NIAS Press. (A study of issues faced by the Sathya Sai
Baba movement in Malaysia.)
Ketola, Kimmo. 2008. Founder of the Hare Krishnas as Seen by Devotees: A Cognitive
Study of Religious Charisma. Leiden: Brill. (Provides insights on religious leadership
from the field of cognitive science. Includes an analysis of previous interpretations
of charisma.)
Kripal, J. 1995. Kālī’s Child: The Mystical and the Erotic in the Life and Teachings
of Ramakrishna. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. (An important and
controversial work to be read in conjunction with subsequent debate and its own
second edition [1998].)
Pechilis, K. 2004. The Graceful Guru: Hindu Female Gurus in India and the United States.
New York: Oxford University Press. (A collection of essays on the most prominent
contemporary female gurus. Includes a general introduction and epilogue.)
Ramstedt, M. (ed.). 2004. Hinduism in Modern Indonesia: A Minority Religion. London:
RoutledgeCurzon. (Includes a number of essays on Hindu guru movements
in Indonesia.)
Srinivas, Smriti. 2008. In the Presence of Sai Baba: Body, City, and Memory in a Global
Religious Movement. Leiden: Brill. (A diverse and interesting sociological study
of the Sai Baba movement in Bangalore, Atlanta and Nairobi.)
Warren, Marianne Elizabeth, 1999. Unravelling the Enigma: Shirdi Sai Baba in the Light
of Sufism. New Delhi: Sterling. (Insights into the life and teachings of an influential
modern “Hindu” guru with a strong Muslim background.)
Warrier, M. 2005. Hindu Selves in a Modern World: Guru Faith in the Mata
Amritanandamayi Mission. London, New York: RoutledgeCurzon. (A fieldwork-
based analysis of the large transnational following of one of the most high-profile
modern gurus.)
 Chapter 8
Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground?*

Aditya Malik

While the study of Hinduism as a discipline within the field of religious

studies began with the translation and interpretation of classical texts
written in Sanskrit,1 in recent years, there has been a turn toward
a study of Hinduism in its modern manifestations. These latter
scholarly interests are marked by a desire to understand Hinduism
in its regional expressions, finding a focus on vernacular languages
and literatures as well as on the alterations and new configurations
within Hindu thought and practice that arise in the encounter with
the West during the long period of colonization primarily by the
British and other European imperial powers. These new or “modern”
forms include Hindu reform movements or “neo-Hinduisms” of
the 19th century, more recently in the 20th and 21st centuries, the
rise of Hindu fundamentalism, or as the eminent historian Romila
Thapar terms it “syndicated Hinduism” (Thapar, 1997: 54–81). These
academic concentrations in Hinduism rooted, on the one hand, in
the philological analysis of texts in the classical languages of India

* There is a degree of overlap in the use of “folk” and “popular” in the scholarly
literature on Indian civilization and Hinduism. Clearly, while “popular” religion
may refer to urban, even modern forms of religious narrative and practice and “folk”
would seem to refer to “traditional,” rural expressions of religion, the boundaries
between the two categories are blurred at least in one direction. Thus, for example,
“folk” can also refer to social classes, narrative forms, and ritual performance that
occupy both urban and rural spaces in the South Asian context. It is because of the
defining aspect of “folk” as a nonelite cultural and social form that spans both rural
and urban contexts, as well as because of its accompanying ideas and practices that
have a deeper regional and historical spread, that the term “folk” is being used in
preference to the term “popular” in this chapter. See also, section entitled “Folk
Hinduism: Contents and Communities.”
 Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground? 177

and, on the other hand, in regional and “modern” manifestations

are, to an extent, well entrenched in the way in which institutions
of higher education teach Hinduism. Thus, for example, German
universities, which have had a sustained interest in Indian culture and
history since the early 19th century,2 have departments that provide
curricula and research opportunities in either “Classical Indology” or
“Modern Indology,” which in a British or North American context
would translate into Classical and Modern Indian or South Asian
Studies. This division is also reflected, for example, in the structure
of the Handbook, whose first two sections broadly deal with ancient
and modern manifestations of Hinduism. The present third section
with its focus on “contemporary,” “popular,” or “folk” Hinduism
steps outside of the usual framework in that it acknowledges that
there is a vast variety of primarily oral narrative traditions and ritual
practices that are not covered by the neat classification of Hinduism
into classical or modern forms.

Defining Folk Hinduism

The definition of what exactly constitutes contemporary and folk

Hinduism is, however, a somewhat difficult and complex task. As
Martin Fuchs, a sociologist and scholar of Indian Religions at the Max-
Weber-Kolleg at the University of Erfuhrt in Germany, points out:

[F]olk religion occupies an eccentric status. As a latecomer in the

conceptual fold of Indian religious studies it forms a kind of residual,
supplementary category. It is a category of a different kind than,
for example, renunciation (samnyasa), devotion (bhakti) or even
Brahmanism (priesthood), and it is still to find a secure place in
the broader context of religious studies: it has to be located within
a framework which it shares with those other concepts, within a
common frame of reference. (Malik, 1997: 18)

Clearly, “folk” religion is a conceptual category, just as Hinduism

itself is in part academic and in part social construction. As David
Shulman, a scholar of southern Indian history, literature, and
languages, writes:
178 Aditya Malik

It is certainly true that “Hinduism” is an analytical construct, more

an “etic” than an “emic” category. The very term is foreign and can be
approximated in Indian languages by various modern neologisms …
None of this need bother us unduly. The same could be said for many
similar concepts … The more important questions relate to the proper
content of the construct … it is not a “thing” out there … but genera-
tions of scholars have shared an intuition of cultural unity. (1989: 7)

Thus, folk Hinduism, like its parent concept, is also an analytical

construct, emerging out of a particular appreciation that a large
area of religious practice and social life is excluded when we restrict
ourselves to the study of Hinduism through the categories of the
“classical” and “modern.”
But where does folk Hinduism lie within the established conceptual
framework of the classical and modern? We could argue that folk
Hinduism, by default, is that aspect of Hinduism which is neither
classical nor modern. But saying this does not leave us with a concrete
understanding of the material contents, so to speak, of folk Hinduism
nor does it tell us anything about the interrelationships between
classical, modern, and folk Hinduism. Robert Redfield (1955), Milton
Singer (1972), and McKim Marriott (1955) from the University of
Chicago, who produced highly influential theoretical frameworks
for understanding Indian Civilization between the 1950s and 1970s,
used an important distinction between “Great and Little Traditions”
to understand complex cultural flows in South Asia. According to
this perspective, South Asian culture, society, and history could be
explained through movements between “Great Traditions” that had
certain linguistic, textual, and social signifiers like Sanskrit, written
texts, and compendiums such as the Puranas, Dharmashastras,
Shrauta-Sutras, and Vedas, and accompanying “pan-Indian” deities
such as Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, Durga, or Lakshmi, and rituals
performed by high-caste Brahmans. “Little Traditions”, on the
contrary, were marked by a different set of linguistic, textual, and
social signifiers: regional or vernacular languages and dialects, oral
narratives embedded in a local or regional landscape (rather than in a
distant “imaginary” divine or mythological landscape) that were told
and listened to by local singers and audiences, deities whose origins
and life stories were closely linked to smaller, local, or regional
communities, their language, and sense of social history, and a set of
 Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground? 179

rituals based again on local chronologies, conducted by priests and

ritual mediators who did not belong to the high caste of Brahmans,
but often to lower, nonelite communities, and even women. Redfield,
Singer, and Marriott were prominent in creating the modern study
of Indian civilization not only by identifying “Great and Little
Traditions,” but by offering a penetrating analysis of the dynamic
and continuous linguistic, narrative, religious, ritual and social flows
and exchanges between “Great” and “Little” traditions in an ever-
changing, shifting, and adaptive, rather than bounded and fixed,
landscape of cultural meaning, as pointed out by Kapila Vatsyayan.3
One crucial distinction between Great and Little Traditions, and in-
deed in our understanding of “classical” and “folk” traditions within
Hinduism, is between written texts and oral narratives. Here again, the
distinction is not absolute, as Indian civilization, while having an ex-
traordinarily rich—perhaps even overwhelming in contrast to written
texts—variety of oral narratives in different genres,4 never was an exclu-
sively oral culture: Writing and orality existed side by side, each exhib-
iting an awareness of the other, while producing a variety of vectors of
interchange.5 Yet, in pursuing an understanding of “Little Traditions”
or what we are calling “folk” Hinduism, it is critically important to un-
derstand not only the intricate content of oral narratives but also their
form, structure, delivery in performance and ritual, as well as who is
telling them, for whom, and why they are being told. Thus, oral narra-
tives, perhaps more so than written texts in Sanskrit, contribute inti-
mately to the undulating creation and re-creation of local and regional,
caste and community-based social, geographical, and historical iden-
tities. Any deep appreciation of folk Hinduism must, therefore, take
into account the widespread existence through both time and region
of oral narratives, without which neither the creation nor the disper-
sion, transmission, and transformation of ideas and practices within
the broad context of Hinduism can be grasped.
Common sense would indicate that folk Hinduism is a contem-
porary phenomenon, signifying the existence of ideas and practices
in what is sometimes called the “ethnographic present.” But, then
modern and even certain classical forms of Hinduism also occupy
the present time. If the difference between these forms is not to be
found in distinct temporalities, then where does the real difference
lie? Is there a real difference? Or are we only creating divisions within
something that has inner coherence for the sake of conceptual and
180 Aditya Malik

academic clarity? As Kapila Vatsyayan, a scholar of Indian classical

and folk dance, critically states:

We have thus to re-examine both the Indian tradition as also critical

writing in the English language which has constantly categorized the
Indian tradition into the textual and the oral, the highly Brahmanized,
Sanskritized and the vernacular, the sophisticated, the literate and the
illiterate, and finally the classical and the folk. Our analysis will have
shown that at no point within the tradition, were these seemingly
binary categories really considered opposites. They were certainly
differentiated categories but placed either into a continuum or, as I
have said earlier, placed merely as segments of a circle rather than a
line. (1994: 47)

Vatsyayan discusses the important Indian categories of marga and

desi that would seem to translate into the classical and the folk. Marga,
she points out, derives from the Sanskrit root mrg which means “to
chase or hunt, especially by tracking.” Marga, thus, denotes a highway
along which, according to the earliest Hindu text, the Rigveda, one
tracks the scent of hidden light, “hunting down” divinity in other
words. Marga then is the highway or path that leads to the hidden
light that elicits liberation. Desi, on the contrary, is derived from dis
meaning “region,” “quarter,” or “local.” Furthermore, terms derived
from desi such as desa-vyavahara, desacara, and desya denote “local
custom,” “way of world,” and “native,” respectively. In sociological
terms, marga can, in the view of Indian theoreticians, be equated
with nagara or town/city and desi with gram or village (ibid.: 32–
35). However, Vatsyayan, following the highly influential work of
the art historian Ananda Coomaraswamy, states that there is a clear
difference between the categories of marga and desi, on the one hand,
and classical and folk, on the other:

Coomaraswamy … clearly sees the logic of the marga as the dug path, a
highway which is constantly on the move but in a particular direction
with a specific purpose. It may perhaps be more appropriate to see
what Coomaraswamy calls desi or a “by-way” … as the circumscribing
or limiting of eternal universal paths into the mannerisms and styles
of a region or a given time situation. Indeed, from this point of
view the two terms appear to connote not levels of society but only
universalization and specificity. This is certainly not what the terms
 Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground? 181

“classical” and “folk” in common parlance denote … The cognisance

of the possibility of the margi becoming the desi at any given moment
is inherent in the very nature of their relationship. (ibid.: 42)

Thus, according to the view outlined by Vatsyayan and

Coomaraswamy, the marga and desi—loosely translated as classical
and folk—have the capacity to swap around, replace each other, and
to be related through equivalence rather than difference. There is no
firm, impermeable boundary between classical and folk. To this list of
“endocentric” categories can be added the well-known term dharma
and its counterpart desadharma to, respectively, indicate universal
or local “religion” and “duty”; the classification of deities and their
rituals as being either saumya (“peaceful,” “auspicious,” “pleasant”)
or ugra (“strong,” “fierce,” “powerful”); and also Sanskrit to denote
“refined,” “perfected,” “adorned,” “ornamented,” and Prakrit to mean
“unrefined,’ “vulgar,” “provincial,” “vernacular ” (Sontheimer, 1997:
306).

Context Sensitivity and Reflexivity

Following in the same vein as Vatsyayan, Ramanujan (1989, 1990), the

late poet and linguist who taught at the University of Chicago, states
that the interrelationships within different elements of Indian culture,
in general, and between classical and folk streams, in particular, are
organized around (a) context sensitivity and (b) reflexivity. Ramanujan
borrows the idea of “context sensitive” and its contrasting notion of
“context free” from the rules of grammar and applies it to explain
cultural or civilizational attitudes found in India and in the West, and
also in modernity as it takes hold in non-Western cultures. The idea
of “context sensitivity” is particularly evident in the case of dharma in
the sense of law, justice, or duty. The Dharmasastras or law treatises
emphasize that the practice of justice, particularly in its punitive sense
and in its sense as duty, is contextual, depending, for example, on
social status, material and historical circumstance, and so on. This can
be contrasted, for example, against the western (and modern) notion
of the categorical imperative outlined in the highly significant work
of the German philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) who states
182 Aditya Malik

that there are intrinsically valid, and thus “context-free,” moral actions
based on unconditional obligations or duties. A similar view is echoed
more recently in the “transcendental” view of justice developed by John
Rawls (1921–2002), the Harvard philosopher of moral and political
philosophy, who states that justice and its enactment are universal and
independent of circumstance. However, according to Ramanujan:

The main tradition of Judeo-Christian ethics is based on such a

premise of universalisation—Manu will not understand such a
premise. To be moral, for Manu, is to particularize … In India the
context-sensitive kind of rule is the preferred formulation … In an
illuminating discussion of the context-sensitive nature of dharma in
its details, Baudhayana enumerates aberrant practices peculiar to the
Brahmins of the north and those of the south. (1990: 47)

Thus, not only is the application of the idea dharma—roughly

rendered as justice, duty, and morality—by definition in texts such
as the Dharmasastras, “context sensitive,” the meanings of so-called
“endocentric” categories outlined above alter depending on the social,
historical, and religious context we view them from. For example, a
“low” or folk deity may be described by high-caste observers as being
“ugra,” that is, a deity which is “ferocious,” “ogre like,” “appalling,”
or “shocking.” But from a low-caste devotee’s perspective, the same
deity, though may also be described as “ugra,” would be considered
“mighty,” “noble,” “high,” and “powerful” (Sontheimer, 1997: 306).
According to Ramanujan, the second principle, reflexivity takes sev-
eral forms: “awareness of self and other, mirroring, distorted mirror-
ing, parody, family resemblances and rebels, dialectic, antistructure,
utopias and dystopias, the many ironies connected with these respons-
es, and so on” (Ramanujan, 1989: 189). From these two organizational
principles of “context sensitivity” and “reflexivity,” there constantly
emerge new cultural, ritual, literary, and linguistic configurations:

What we call Brahminism, Bhakti traditions, Buddhism, Jainism,

Tantra, tribal traditions and folklore, and lastly, modernity itself, are
the most prominent of these systems. They are responses to previous
and surrounding traditions; they invert, subvert, and convert their
neighbors. Furthermore, each of these terms, like what we call India
itself, is “a verbal tent with three-ring circuses” going on inside them.
Further dialogic divisions are continuously in progress. They look like
single entities, like neat little tents, only from a distance. (ibid.)
 Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground? 183

Ramanujan critically points out that both scholars and nonscholars

tend to reproduce the viewpoint of a single tradition, social
community, literary stream that then results in a biased, monolithic
conception of a cultural and religious tradition that is “indissolubly
plural” even while it is conflicting and contested:

Stereotypes, foreign views, and native self-images on the part of some

groups all tend to regard one part (say, the Brahminical texts or folk-
lore) as the original, and the rest as variations, derivatives, aberrations,
so we tend to get monolithic conceptions … Reflexivities are crucial to
the understanding of both the order and diversity, the openness and
the closures, of this civilization. One may sometimes feel that “mirror
on mirror mirrored is all the show.” (Ramanujan, 1989: 190f)

It should be apparent by now that not only is folk Hinduism a

complex, if not problematic, category that we should resist trying to
essentialize, but that the moot question is how the different expressions
of Hinduism, whether folk, classical, or modern, interact with each
other, creating an ongoing series of new reflexive configurations,
although modernity and the processes of modernization create a
rupture in the cultural flows of the subcontinent by upholding the
“context free” over the “context sensitive,” and compartmentalizing
off interconnected realms: “Print replaced palm-leaf manuscripts,
making possible an open and egalitarian access to knowledge
irrespective of caste. The Indian constitution made the contexts
of birth, region, sex and creed irrelevant, overthrowing Manu”
(Ramanujan, 1990: 55). Similarly, even while such “context-free”
trends may dominate today, it is important to keep in mind that there
is no “privileged” or singular view from which to judge and define
what Hinduism is, even though the perspectives of both scholars
as well as members of diverse Hindu communities may seek to
appropriate the meaning and scope of the religion, thereby producing
skewed, monolithic conceptions.

Folk Hinduism: Contents and Communities

Christopher J. Fuller, an anthropologist based at the prestigious

London School of Economics, states that: “By ‘popular Hinduism,’
184 Aditya Malik

I conventionally refer to the beliefs and practices that constitute

the living, ‘practical’ religion of ordinary Hindus” (Fuller, 1992: 5).
Again this brief definition involves categories that require further
explanation. What is “practical” religion? Who are “ordinary”
Hindus? “Practical” religion suggests a form of religion that is rooted
in ritual practices that themselves are directed toward dealing with
“practical” matters, that is, matters relating to the everyday concerns
that people have such as health and well-being, material prosperity
and success, the resolution of injustices, and so on. It also implies
a form of religion that is not particularly concerned with concepts
and ideas. In other words, the primary concern is with traditional
practices rather than with being self-reflexive as are other, more
theological elements of a religion. But the view that folk religion
is in some way “unconscious” or “unreflexive” may itself mirror a
bias that both scholars and “higher” elements of a religion carry
toward “lower” or “folk” religion. The term “ordinary” Hindus can
again mean different things. In simple terms, “ordinary” describes
those Hindus who do not belong to an elite social group. “Ordinary”
Hindus may be situated in rural or urban communities. Middle class
Hindus living in sprawling urban centers by virtue of their social
and financial status can also be classified as being “ordinary.” But
since they live in modern cities, are their religious practices to be
considered “modern,” “popular” (or “folk”), or perhaps both? In
the modern Indian context, we must distinguish between the term
“ordinary” as signifying a social class in the urban situation versus
caste in both an urban and rural situation. Thus, while the term
ordinary Hindus can mean middle or lower class members of urban
communities, it can also in no insignificant terms mean members
of low-caste communities that occupy a lesser status within the
hierarchy of various jatis which, in a literal sense, means “species.”
Thus jati, while commonly translated as “caste,” is primarily a Hindu
institution in its origin, non-Hindus such as Muslims, Christians,
and Sikhs are not only included but may also differentiate between
various sub-groups within their communities based on the idea of
sub-castes or jatis (Fuller, 1992: 13f). In theory, jati represents a
system of social and cosmological classification that is universally
encompassing. When we talk about popular or folk Hinduism as
stemming from the practices of ordinary Hindus, we mean low-
caste Hindus including communities that identify themselves as
 Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground? 185

dalit, pastoral groups, farming, fishing and hunting communities,

and even Muslims, Sikhs, and Christians that feature in the histories,
narratives, and ritual practices of Hindu castes.
Fuller continues to point out: “Popular Hinduism can be
distinguished from ‘textual Hinduism,’ the ‘philosophical’ religion
set out and elaborated in the sacred texts that are the principle subject
matter for Indologists, Sanskritists, historians of religions and other
textual scholars” (1992). In a more emphatic tone, Fuller states:

Obviously, I take it for granted that popular Hinduism is an authentic

religion, equal in standing to any other, and that it would be sheer
prejudice to dismiss it as superstition. In particular, the view that
popular Hinduism is degenerate textual Hinduism … is completely
indefensible in the light of the ethnographic evidence. (ibid.: 6)

Although, as Fuller points out, the ethnographic reality clearly

shows the existence of “popular” or “folk” Hinduism, the conceptual
and material contents of this category remain tenuous. The late
historian of Indian religions from Heidelberg, Gunther-Dietz
Sontheimer, links folk Hinduism to four other “components” that,
according to him, constitute Hinduism, namely, the teaching of
Brahmans, bhakti or devotion, asceticism and renunciation, and tribal
religion (Sontheimer, 1997). For each of these four components, he
supplies descriptive criteria while positing the interconnectedness,
both historically and in contemporary religious practice, of the
components “as presenting a continuum and as interacting among
themselves in a fluctuating process over thousand of years” (ibid.:
305). As in the case of the other four components, Sontheimer
provides an outline of the elements of folk Hinduism. He emphasizes
the fact that “a crucial ingredient in folk religion is the immediate
presence and access to a god or a goddess in the form of a murti …
The god exists ‘here and now’, is earthbound, and does not live in
some puranic svarga.”6
The immediate presence of a folk deity is also noted in the
observations of classical texts such as the Purvamimamsasutras
that “define” a deity (devata) as possessing corporality (vigrahatva
devata), consuming food offerings (devata bhunkte), being pleased by
offerings (prasadati devata), rewarding the devotee (prita sati phalam
prayachati), and being an owner of property (arthapati devata). The
186 Aditya Malik

deity in the form of a murti seems “as it were a living personality and
is treated as a living person” (ibid.).
Sontheimer points out that apart from the observations made on
the nature of folk deities from the perspective of classical Sanskrit
texts, there are other terms in regional languages that indicate a more
extensive “checklist” of qualities. These terms “form an unwritten
inventory of folk cults. They point to a pervasive, coherent and
conservative system of folk religion which is spread all over South
Asia and which can never be expected to have been reproduced in
its original form in Brahmanical texts” (Sontheimer, 1997: 316).
Among these terms are those that refer to the deity “possessing” the
body of a devotee or medium, the participation of the deity in ritual
performance or “play,” and in ritual processions, and also terms
that refer to a deity that is “alive, attentive, heedful and responsive.”
The deity responds to the material concerns or wishes of his or her
devotees by way of granting children, cattle, and being instrumental
in healing. Moreover, the deity is “attentive” by also responding to
issues of jurisprudence facing his or her devotees by deciding on legal
cases (Malik, 2010a; Sontheimer, 1997).7

Folk Deities and Their Cults

An understanding of folk Hinduism can, as the discussion above

shows, be successfully approached from the perspective of a folk deity
involving an appreciation of several elements: (a) the communities
who worship the deity, (b) the rituals performed for the deity, (c) the
written and oral narratives told about the deity, and (d) the kinds
of concerns or goals that are addressed and resolved by the deity.
To this can be added the analysis of the connections that folk deities
and their cults manifest toward both classical and modern forms of
narrative, ritual, theology, politics, social justice, and governance.
Thus, for example, a folk deity may, from the perspective his or
her devotees, be a local or regional expression of a “classical” god
or goddess such as Shiva, Vishnu, or Devi. The localization of the
deity is invariably explained through orally transmitted narratives
in a regional or local language told by priests or ritual specialists
belonging to non-Brahmanical castes in specific ritual contexts.
 Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground? 187

Similarly, a folk deity may resemble the figure of a traditional Hindu

king, presiding over a kingdom comprising of both a physical
territory marked off by a region and a social territory marked off by
a community of devotees usually consisting of several caste groups.
The deity’s relationship to his or her devotees is, like that of a king,
defined horizontally as one between ruler and subjects, with the
ruler providing protection and physical and mental well-being to
his or her subjects, with the subjects in turn offering physical and
emotional surrender in the form of devotion and loyalty and also in
material offerings and gifts of money, grains, cooked and raw food,
domestic animals for sacrifice, and so on. As mentioned earlier, the
deity may also reside over matters of justice, the resolution of which
is sought through ritual and other means providing an alternative
route to the avenues of social and criminal justice supplied by secular
courts of law that exist as part of the modern institutional framework
of democracy in India. The multiple dimensions of folk deities and
their cults are evident in many examples all over India, such as the
worship of Khandoba in Maharashtra (Sontheimer, 1997), Draupadi
and the Pandavas in Tamil Nadu and in Garhwal (Hiltebeitel, 1989;
Sax, 2002), Pabuji and Devnarayan in Rajasthan (Malik, 2005;
Smith, 1991), and Goludev in Uttarakhand (Malik, 2010a, 2010b;
Sax, 2009). Thus, for example, Khandoba is a local manifestation or
avatar of Shiva, Devnarayan of Vishnu, and Goludev of Bhairava,
the terrifying, raging form of Shiva. Pabuji is a local manifestation
of Lakshmana, one of the central characters from the Ramayana;
Draupadi and the Pandavas are localized expressions of the main
figures from the Mahabharata. While a particular community may
identify itself as forming the “core” group of devotees of a folk
deity—in the case of Khandoba and Devnarayan, for example, it is
the pastoral communities of the Dhangars and Gujars, respectively—
there are usually also other communities that identify themselves as
devotees through narrative histories and ritual practices that bring
these communities into relation with the deity and vice versa. Thus,
in the case of Khandoba and Devnarayan, devotees also belong to
merchant, “robber,” warrior, leather-worker, potter, and even
Brahman castes. In the instance of the widely worshipped, powerful
goddess Draupadi in Tamil Nadu, her primary devotees, in terms of
mythology and ritual space, are Pottu Raja, a “multiform” of Bhairava
and Mahishasura (the buffalo–demon slayed by the Goddess in
188 Aditya Malik

puranic texts such as the Devi-Mahatmya), and Muttal Ravuttan,

a Muslim horseman or trooper (Hiltebeitel, 1989). Similarly,
one of the important characters in the oral epic of Devnarayan is
Kalu Mir Pathan, a Muslim general in the service of the former’s
arch-enemy, the Rana or Rajput chieftain of Ran Shahar (Malik,
2005). Devotees of the central Himalayan deity Goludev, once
again, belong to various communities: Rajput, Brahman, and Dalit.
Thus, although Goludev’s main temples in Kumaon are managed
by Brahman priests, rituals that are performed in order to embody
the deity in human mediums are invariably conducted by members
of Dalit communities. According to the deity’s life story that is
performed orally in a ritual context, Goludev himself belonged to
the Rajput or Thakur community, being the son of a king. Goludev,
like Khandoba and Devnarayan, is a king who rules over a territory,
in this case, the “kingdom” or province of Kumaon in the central
Himalayan state of Uttarakhand. But Goludev is also explicitly
the “God of Justice” (nyaya ka devta). The adjudication of justice
through the deity provides a significant example of how the classical,
folk, and modern intersect, crossing themes and boundaries, creating
“hybrid” forms of ritual, narrative, and justice. Thus, while Goludev
as a folk deity is “modeled” along the classical notions of the Hindu
king presiding over a kingdom of diverse subjects whose welfare is
his primary responsibility, Goludev’s temples are perceived along the
lines of Indo-Persian courts of law. His temples are given the broad
appellation of darbar meaning “court” in the sense of both royal court
and court of law; quite specifically, however, his temples are classified
according the hierarchy of modern, secular courts into “supreme,”
“high,” and “district” courts. Devotees from towns and villages
nearby his temples, and also from other districts within Kumaon
and even far-flung places such as Delhi and Kerala offer written
petitions to the deity. These are called manauti (surety, pledge) or
fariyad, a Persian term denoting “plea,” “complaint,” “grievance,”
or “petition.” The petitions are publicly accessible being hung on
the outside of a temple. They deal with a variety of issues ranging
from land and property disputes, health, marital well-being, financial
success, careers, criminal cases, travel, business, relationships, and so
on. In many cases, devotees offer the petitions in the knowledge that
the secular courts may not expedite the perceived injustice in a timely
or fair manner. The language of the petitions is also often a “hybrid”
 Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground? 189

one, criss-crossing between devotional and legalistic terminology, as

well between English, Hindi, and Kumaoni. An example of a petition
is provided here:

[In Hindi]
Victory to Goludevta
at Chittai Temple8—my salutations to you.
I heard your name and I am present in your court. I have heard that
you sort out everyone’s (problems), sort out mine too. I was told at
the Jageshwar Temple about the Chittai Golu Temple. [I was told]
you get rid of everyone’s problems, get rid of mine as well.
My problems (are):

[In English]
Divorce.
Health.
Financial situation.
Father’s health.
Love & affection amongst the two brothers.
Job which would follow the divorce or as you wish.
When all the samasyas [problems] are resolved I will return from
Delhi and sacrifice a goat as liked by you, and hand [in] a bell, and
give a shell. 6 months. First I will come to Jageshwar where I will
complete the Mahamritunja [puja]. I will come to your temple. If I
don’t come after 6 months after completion of my work my witness
is Rakesh Chand Verma.
Anand Sharma
[address in New Delhi]
[signature of witness]
25-2-08

The petitioner (whose name has been changed here) uses both
English and Hindi for different sections of the petition. The first
section in Hindi directly addresses the deity with salutations,
indicating how the petitioner has come to know about Goludev
while he was visiting another important sacred site in Kumaon.
The petitioner also refers to the temple as a court and to Goludev’s
well-known ability to resolve difficulties. What follows is a section
in English listing various matters, both personal and pertaining to
190 Aditya Malik

family including divorce, financial circumstances, job, health, and

well-being. The petitioner, who is from Delhi, promises to return
within a stipulated time of six months to Jageshwar where he will
first perform an elaborate puja, and then to Goludev’s temple in
Chittai where he will offer a goat, a bell, and a shell to the deity in
return for the resolution of his problems. The petition is explicitly
transactional: The petitioner pledges to make certain offerings in
return for successfully obtaining what he wants from the deity.
In keeping with its “legal” nature, the petition also carries the
signature of a witness. The content and tone of the petition is, thus,
both personal and devotional, but its format is public and legal,
producing a document that is “hybrid” in its use of Hindi and
English, and also in its usage of the language of religious and secular
frameworks (Malik, 2015).

Folk Hinduism and Modernity

Thus, we have here a continuation of classical and folk ideas con-

cerning ritual, narrative, justice, and religion within the ideological
framework of modernity and its secular institutions. Clearly, the
modern instances of secular justice have not done away or dissolved
the “traditional” or folk forms of justice. If anything, these contin-
ue to thrive alongside modern institutions while acutely critiquing
the workability and viability of the latter to provide fair and expe-
ditious justice. One of the important questions facing current and
future scholarship is, therefore, how folk religious ideas and prac-
tices concerning justice, health, environment, medicine, commu-
nity, history, and identity continue to exist and perhaps even flour-
ish within the context of the modern nation state. The assumption
being that modernity with its emphasis on technological growth,
industrialization, democracy, egalitarian ideals, western medicine,
rational thought and individualization would result in the gradual
yet progressive displacement and disappearance of the nonrational,
superstitious, nonsecular, religious, and traditional. However, while
modernity and modernization have certainly brought about changes
in “tradition,” “traditional” practices of healing, social justice, ritual,
narrative, community formation, and so on have not disappeared, as
 Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground? 191

predicted in so-called modernization theory (Sax and Basu, in press).

It is unconvincing and highly problematic to label these expressive
forms as “premodern,” “nonrational,” “superstitious,” etc., since this
assumes that the universal validity and indeed teleological arrow of
modernity and its institutions which in many senses, both theoretical
and material, are confronted with failure and breakdown in today’s
world. As Ramanujan insightfully points out, modernity—rather
than representing a rupture and ending of “tradition”—itself must be
viewed as one of the many competing and fluid components of a re-
flexive, self-generating culture, of which folk and classical Hinduism
are but parts.

Notes

1. This interest was made evident in the translations of early Sanskrit works such
as Abhijnanasakuntalam (the poet Kalidasa’s famous play) by William Jones
(1746–1794) whose research into classical languages brought about the new dis-
cipline of Indo-European Studies; the Bhagavad Gita by Jones’s colleague Charles
Wilkens (1749–1836); the Upanisads by Friederich Max Mueller (1823–1900)
who subsequently initiated the mammoth 50 volume production of the “Sacred
Books of the East” that consisted of English translations by various scholars of
what were considered seminal texts of Hindu, Buddhist, Jain, Zoroastrian, Islamic,
and Chinese traditions.
2. August Wilhelm von Schlegel held the very first chair in “Indological” studies
at the University of Bonn in 1818. In the 19th century and the first half of the
20th century, culminating with the end of World War II, more research was
conducted on India, particularly its textual traditions, at German universities than
at other European and American universities combined. This research included
the translation and analysis of works relating to Vedic, epic, and Puranic texts,
grammars, classical poetry, science and medicine, law and politics, history, art,
music, as well as Buddhism, Jainism, and “modern” or regional languages and
literatures (Stache-Rosen, 1990).
3. See the following discussion for a further elucidation of Vatsyayan’s perspective
on this matter.
4. For example: oral epics, folktales, heroic ballads, children’s stories, songs sung by
women (for women), ritual chants, and so on.
5. See, for example, the excellent work of Ramanjan and Blackburn (1986).
6. Murti denotes an image; svarga means divine abode or heaven (Sontheimer,
1997: 315).
7. On the “juristic personality” of folk deities, see Sontheimer (1964) and
Wagle (2005).
192 Aditya Malik

8. This is the name one of the three main temples of Goludev, often referred to as
his “supreme court.”

References

Fuller, Christopher J. 1992. The Camphor Flame: Popular Hinduism and Society in
India. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Hiltebeitel, Alf. 1989. “Draupadi’s Two Guardians: The Buffalo King and Muslim
Devotee.” In Alf Hiltebeitel (ed.), Criminal Gods and Demon Devotees, 339–372.
Albany: SUNY.
Malik, Aditya. 1997. “Hinduism or Three-thousand-three-hundred-and-three Ways
to Invoke a Construct.” In G. D. Sontheimer and H. Kulke (eds), Hinduism
Reconsidered, 2nd revised edition, 10–31. New Delhi: Manohar.
____. 2005. Nectar Gaze and Poison Breath: An Analysis and Translation of the
Rajasthani Oral Narrative of Devnarayan. New York: Oxford University Press.
____. 2010a. “In the Divine Court of Appeals: Petitions Before the God of Justice.” In
Timothy Lubin et al. (eds), Hinduism and Law, 207–214. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
____. 2010b. “Is Possession Really Possible? Towards a Hermeneutics of Transformative
Embodiment in South Asia.” In Fabrizio M. Ferrari (ed.), Health and Religious
Rituals in South Asia: Disease, Possession and Healing, 17–32. London: Routledge.
____. 2015. “The Darbar of Goludev: Possession, Petitions, and Modernity.” In William
S. Sax and Helene Basu (eds), The Law of Possession: Ritual, therapy, and the Secular
State. New York: Oxford University Press.
Marriot, McKim (ed.). 1955. Village India: Studies in the Little Community. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
Ramanujan, A. K. 1989. “Where Mirrors are Windows: Towards an Anthology of
Reflections.” History of Religions 28(3): 187–216.
____. 1990. “Is There an Indian Way of Thinking? An Informal Essay.” In Mackim
Marriot (ed.), India Through Hindu Categories, 41–58. New Delhi: SAGE
Publications.
Ramanujan, A. K. and Stuart H. Blackburn. 1986. Another Harmony: New Essays on
the Folklore of India. Berkley/Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Redfield, Robert. 1955. The Little Community. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Sax, William S. 2002. Dancing the Self: Personhood and Performance in the Pandav Lila
of Garhwal. New York: Oxford University Press.
____. 2009. God of Justice. Ritual Healing and Social Justice in the Central Himalayas.
New York: Oxford University Press.
Sax, William S. and Helene Basu (eds). In press. The Law of Possession: Ritual, Therapy,
and the Secular State. New York: Oxford University Press.
Shulman, David D. 1989. “Reconsidering Hinduism: What I might have said (in part)
if….” In G. D. Sontheimer and H. Kulke (eds), Hinduism Reconsidered, 1st edition,
7–10. New Delhi: Manohar.
 Folk Hinduism: The Middle Ground? 193

Singer, Milton. 1972. When a Great Tradition Modernizes: An Anthropological Approach

to Indian Civilization. New York: Praeger Publishers.
Smith, John D. 1991. The Epic of Pabuji: A Study, Transcription and Translation.
Cambridge (UK): Cambridge University Press.
Sontheimer, Guenther-Dietz. 1964. “Religious Endowments in India: The Juristic
Personality of Hindu Deities.” Zeitschrift für vergleichende Rechtswissenschaft
69(1): 45–100.
____. 1997. “Hinduism: The Five Components and their Interaction.” In G. D.
Sontheimer and H. Kulke (eds), Hinduism Reconsidered, 2nd revised edition,
305–324. New Delhi: Manohar.
Stache-Rosen, Valentina. 1990. German Indologists: Biographies of Scholars in Indian
Studies. New Delhi: Max Mueller Bhavan.
Thapar, Romila. 1997. “Syndicated Hinduism.” In G. D. Sontheimer and H. Kulke
(eds), Hinduism Reconsidered, 2nd revised edition, 54–81. New Delhi: Manohar.
Vatsyayan, Kapila. 1994. “Sastra and Prayoga: Marga and Desi; On conceptual frame-
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Society in Eastern India, 15–48. Bhubaneshwar: The Eschmann Memorial Fund.
Wagle, Narendra K. 2005. “Customary laws among the non-Brahman Jatis of Pune,
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the Company of Gods. Essays in Memory of Gunther-Dietz Sontheimer, 283–328.
New Delhi: Manohar.
 Chapter 9
Hinduism and Healing

Fabrizio M. Ferrari

South Asia is home to a rich healing culture that, in different ways,

has strived to preserve health and to counter the cultural, as well as
personal, perception of sufferance. An immense corpus of rituals,
narratives, and beliefs has been transmitted from Vedic times across
South Asia to favor well-being and counter illness. Notions of health,
however, are not universal, and the healing practices to which
Hindus have recurred to may be radically different. While a study on
the Hindu way of healing and Hindu understandings of health and
disease is simply unrealistic, familiarity with some recurring patterns
and distinctive features is essential to grasp how Hinduism developed
in South Asia. The chapter will be divided into sections exploring
medical knowledge, myths, and rituals in Veda, Āyurveda, Tantra,
and in folk and devotional culture.

Magical Medicine in the Vedas

References to healing practices in the Vedas are contained in the

Ṛgvedasaṃhitā (ca. 1500–1000 BCE) and, more emphatically, in the
Atharvavedasaṃhitā (ca. 1000–800 BCE). The bhaiṣajya (medical)
section of Kauśikasūtra (the ritual part of Atharvaveda [AV]) is the
main source of information on healing (Bahulkar, 1994).1 Incantations
are attributed to ritualists such as the āṅgirasas, bhārgavas, and the
ātharvaṇas—three classes of priests initially unwelcome or unfit,
to conduct Vedic śrauta (solemn) rituals and marginalized by the
specialists of the Trayī (the Vedic “triad”: Ṛgveda [RV], Samaveda,
and Yajurveda).2 Powerful mantras were later integrated with hymns
 Hinduism and Healing 195

and formulae from RV and “[w]ith the help of such ‘acceptable’

sorcery hymns, the Atharvavedins could gain a position as the fourth
main priest at the śrauta rituals, where they silently watch over the
whole procedure and rectify mistakes” (Witzel, 1997: 279).
Along with such classes of ritualists, the oral tradition preserved in
the Vedas bears evidence to the presence of skillful medicine men: the
bhiṣáj. They are described as male professionals whose work was aimed
at mending men, animals (mostly cattle; see AVŚ 2.32 and 6.141), and
crops (AVP 5.15.7) after the attack of demons. The bhiṣájs are variously
called dancers or shakers (vipra), and are known as chanters or poets
(kavi). Their diagnosis was seldom preventive, rather it was about
casting away, or relocating, harmful demons/gods.
Illness was believed to be inflicted as a form of punishment for
breaking vows, wrongdoing, failure to honor the gods and disrespect
toward others. Negotiating health is a matter of contrasting the negative
influence of presences such as gods, demons, evil eye, and aggressive
spirits. The healing process is meant to identify a primary cause, to
untie the knot between a powerful nonhuman force and its victim,
and ultimately to relocate the demon/disease. This was primarily
achieved by means of powerful and coercive incantations and the
rituals accompanying them. The unfavorable god/demon was to be
transferred in the bodies of competitors (e.g., by using love charms),
enemies, or faraway people (AVŚ 5.22.1-14) in the waters, under the
ground, or in the body of animals (RV 1.50.11-13).3
Although there are hymns that suggest that the practice of the
medicine man included some sort of empirical knowledge of the
human body and its anatomy (AVP 4.15), the duty of the healer was
to assess symptoms, to identify their origin4 and to make them go away
by means of a complex ritualism made of mantra, dance, offerings
(water and fire), preparations of amulets and remedies from herbs
and animals (AVŚ 1.2.9; AVŚ 3.7.1; ŚB 3.2.2.20).5 In Vedic medicine,
health is defined by the absence of a particular demon. Early references
to healing rituals confirm that in Vedic culture,

the idea of health in a positive sense is wanting […]. Any notion of

the concept is to be found in the negative or the opposite of what
was understood to be disease, or more specifically in the absence of
particular disease-causing demons, of injuries and damages and of
toxins. (Zysk, 2009: 8)
196 Fabrizio M. Ferrari

As per the healing process, this is built on three core elements, namely
the power of mantra, ritual, and intentionality (Zysk, 2002). There is
no evidence of transcendental aims. Magical medicine in the Veda is
a function of the signifying activity of the human being who affirms
himself as the subject in his history. Further, Vedic medical lore
makes a case for a discussion on magic as a progressive performance
whose place in society is a technical moment but, at the same time,
competes with other social spaces.
Medicine men, primarily because of their association with fringe
sectors of the population such as heterodox ascetics and tribal people
(from whom they gathered and exchanged medical knowledge), were
a dysfunctional presence.6 Unlike the physicians of the post-Vedic
tradition, bhiṣájs gathered their knowledge from the observation of
animal sacrifices or natural phenomena (e.g., decomposition of bodies
in the open)7 (Jha, 2004: 30–37). Although Vedic literature abounds
with passages where healers are disdained on virtue of their impure
practice and inconvenient frequentations (ŚB 4.1.5.14), medicine men
were an established presence, and a much needed one. In RV, a whole
hymn (10.97) is dedicated to the therapeutic power of herbs and the
skills of the bhiṣájs in managing them. Healers are mentioned in RV
“in the middle of a threefold list of skilled professional that included
carpenters (tàkṣan), healers (bhiṣàj), and priests (brahmàn). Like the
uneducated carpenters, healers repaired what was injure or broken,
and like the learned priests, they commanded esoteric knowledge”
(Zysk, 2010: 21).8
The training of the bhiṣájs is unclear. Vedic sources treat them as
a professional class and mention healers as a corporation. With all
probability, medical knowledge was transmitted by elders or more
experienced healers to younger apprentices. Although we lack sufficient
information to speculate whether being a bhiṣáj was an inherited
profession or it was subject to the authority of teachers who initiated
disciples, there is sufficient material in later sources pointing at a fairly
clear understanding of their work (CaS. Sūtrasthāna 30.21).
The range of diseases treated by bhiṣájs is vast. In particular, AV
highlights three groups of illnesses and their treatment: (1) external
diseases, such as swellings, tumors, abscesses, fractures, and wounds;
(2) diseases resulting from the assault of demons and “graspers,”
such as mental disorders and fevers; and (3) diseases resulting from
poisoning. Furthermore, a number of unfavorable conditions required
 Hinduism and Healing 197

the intervention of the bhiṣájs, such as warms, dropsy, cough, epilepsy,

the charm of sorcerers, frustration/depression, infertility, baldness,
prevention of miscarriage, jealousy, love charms, irregular dentation,
bad breath, war trauma, nightmares, protection from ominous animals,
and so on.
The actions of the bhiṣáj were aimed at the identification of the
disease, the pronunciation of the demon’s name in either mantra or
stories celebrating its might (and thus its dangerousness), and finally a
coercive performance aiming at warding off its presence. Therapeutic
exorcism required the use of herbs (RV 10.97), water (AVŚ 1.2.3;
1.6.24; 1.6.91), amulets (AVŚ 1.2.4; 1.6.85; 1.19.34-35; 2.4.10, 3.10.3;
4.6.81), sympathetic magic (AVŚ 1.1.22; 1.7.116), dancing, recitation
of mantras, and the capacity to experience visions. Although Vedic
mantras and hymns in both RV and AV suggest that healers were
profoundly aware of the implications of diseases, these are believed
to be nothing but living—nonhuman—presences.
Vedic charms do not just reflect a belief in magic. They show a
concern with human suffering as a social issue. A member of the
community who is stricken by a temporary lack of fortune, disability,
or disease is a threat to the family, clan, etc., because he/she is no longer
productive. The same applies to the householder under whose authority
rest wife, offspring, land, cattle, etc. Especially in small-scale societies,
the threats of poverty, malnutrition, indebt, expropriation, further
diseases, and marginalization are frightful occurrences. Remedies were
prepared to avoid the negative influx of gods, demons, and evil eye,
whose action represented a threat not just to the individual but to his/
her network (RV 10.42.10).
A wide range of nonhuman beings is believed to control, grasp, possess,
break, scar, and devour the body. Vedic literature indulges in discussions
and descriptions of dangerous gods, goddesses, and demons whose
presence and attacks determine various diseases. Gods such as Takmán
(Fever), Amīvā (a female domestic demon causing disease resulting from
poverty and hunger), Rápas (a nonspecified infirmity), Hṛdroga (Angina
Pectoris), Balāsa (Swelling), Harimán (“Yellowness”; Jaundice), etc., were
feared but also praised as the mightiest gods for their power to heal (AVŚ
1.2.9.5-6).9 Along with such demons, there exists a group of dangerous
goddesses who are not specifically related to a particular symptom or
disease: the three Nirṛtis (lit. disorder; nir-ṛtám).10 These are defined by
198 Fabrizio M. Ferrari

their overall destructive character and relation with the ineluctability of

death. Another source of illness, and the object of powerful exorcism, is
evil eye (dṛṣṭi),11 almost invariably linked to the action of a human external
agent (witch or sorcerer) who has the power to summon malignant forces
and bind them to the chosen victim12 and various malignant beings. These
include piśāca (flesh-eating demons), yakṣa (semidivine beings who can
turn into malignant demons), asura (demons, anti-gods), rākṣasa (ghouls),
kimīdin (flesh eaters and Brahman haters), yātudhāna (sorcerers), sadānvā
(female spirits infesting households), arāya (malignant spirits), and
durṇāman (spirits acting like black magicians).
Although distant in cultural and historical terms, the know-how
of Vedic medicine men will inform later empirical medicine, the
establishment of the medical profession as a respectable sector in
public life, and ritual forms of healing in Tantra, vernacular folklore,
and devotional culture (bhakti).

Classical Indian Medicine: Āyurveda

From ca. the 1st century CE, with the systematization of a vast
materia medica, the “science of long life,” Āyurveda, is paralleled to
śruti (lit. “hearing,” the Vedas) (CaS Sūtrasthāna 30: 21) and medical
treatment is equated to mantra (SuS Cikitsāsthāna 1.75-76).13 A series
of innovative and original medical texts appear. Early compendia
include Carakasaṃhitā (ca. 1st–2nd centuries CE), Suśrutasaṃhitā
(ca. 3rd–4th centuries CE), and Aṣṭāṅgahṛdayasaṃhitā (attributed to
Vāgbhaṭa, ca. 6th–7th centuries CE). Later works belonging to the
classical tradition are: Mādhavanidāna (attributed to Mādhavakara,
8th century CE), Śārṅgadharasaṁhitā (ca. 13th–14th centuries), and
the Bhāvaprakāśa of Bhāvamiśra (16th century).14 Other relevant
Ayurvedic compendia are the Bhelasamhitā (ca. 1st century) and the
Kāśyapa Saṃhitā (7th century, almost entirely dealing with pediatrics
and gynecology).15
In Āyurveda, health is primarily a matter of balance, or equilibrium,
between bodily humors (doṣa). The human body (śarīra), it is posited, is
crossed by three humors (tridoṣa): wind (vāta), bile (pitta), and phlegm
(śleṣman or kapha).16 The balance between these humors ensures the
correct functioning of the body’s digestive processes and development of
 Hinduism and Healing 199

bones, marrow, tissues, blood, etc. Healing is a process meant to achieve

the state freedom from disease (ārogya) and longevity (āyus). Conversely,
disease (roga, vyādhi) is a form of imbalance or chaos (adharma).
The affirmation of medical practice as a respectable profession in
Indian society had several social consequences. The consolidation of
the profession of the physician (vaidya) as an occupation for upajātis
(members of the three upper castes), more often brāhmaṇas, is one
of them. Although social status seems not to be an issue, prospective
physicians are male, should have sufficient wealth, and are recruited
among brāhmaṇas, kṣatriyas, and vaiśyas. The profession of vaidya
seems not to be a natural choice for śūdras, although Suśruta suggests
that “śūdras may in fact be initiated into the profession, albeit without
using mantras at the ceremony” (Wujastyk, 2012: 76). In practice,
Āyurveda establishes social boundaries as per those who are welcome
into the medical profession. However, medical science should neither
be a trade nor a hereditary profession. Students must be accepted
by a qualified teacher and prove themselves worthy by means of an
irreprehensible moral conduct and commitment to study.
Along with physicians (and their trainees), medical personnel
include the attendant (nurse), the wet-nurse, the midwife, other
experienced women (Leslie and Wujastyk, 1991), staff kitchen,
and “those who know plants” (ibid.: 59–67). Although there is no
evidence of a specialized class of herbalists, Āyurveda bears witness
to the valuable knowledge of people otherwise invisible in most
medical literature. Such individuals are deemed necessary to medical
practice for their knowledge of the territory, even though they were
unmistakably reminded of their social subordination, illiteracy, or
impurity (CaS Sūtrasthāna 1.120-123). Farmers, herders, hunters, and
“forest-dwellers who eat roots” (SuS Sūtrasthāna 36.10) are invaluable
sources of knowledge. This comes as no surprise, since villages of
tribal people and also the retreats of ascetics and monasteries were
well-known centers of medical knowledge and places where a rich
pharmacopeia developed (Zysk, 2010).
From Vedic magic to the empirical study of medicinal plants in
classical Āyurveda and the recent establishment of the National Medicinal
Plants Board in India (AYUSH, i.e., Ayurveda, Yoga and Naturopathy,
Unani, Siddha, and Homoeopathy), herbal medicine has continued to
thrive (Khare, 2004).17 But plants are not the only sources of medical
treatment. Remedies obtained from animals abound in Āyurvedic
200 Fabrizio M. Ferrari

compendia.18 The duty of the physician is to ensure health and long life.
If animal meat, or drugs derived from bodily parts of animals, is needed,
then killing is inevitable (e.g., SuS Sūtrasthāna 46.53-138, but cf. Svoboda,
1992: 242 on side effects). As the Bengali commentator Cakrapāṇidatta
says about CaS Sūtrasthāna 8.29: “For the rules of āyurveda do not teach
the achievement of righteousness. Rather, they teach the achievement
of health.”19 Early Āyurvedic literature records some 300 animals whose
body parts or products were used in medicine (Jha, 2004: 98; Wujastyk,
2004: 833–836).20 SuS is the most accurate compendium in terms of
animal meat as medicine.21 Although the vast majority of the animals
listed were probably never used (hence the interpretation of the text
as a “zoology”; Zimmermann, 2011: 98), there is an undisputable link
between medicine and animals that goes back to the Vedic culture. The
preparation of remedies containing animal blood and meat/fat or making
of amulets from animal bones, horns, skin, and hair is justified in Indian
medical culture. The rationale behind this practice is the belief that every
species has qualities (guṇa) and savors (rasa). The animal, its flesh, parts
of its body or its products are then used in a compensatory way, that is,
to give what the patient (rogin, ātura, vyādhita) lacks.
Āyurvedic physicians distinguish themselves from ritual healers
for their profound anatomical knowledge and a more empirical
approach to diagnostics and therapeutics. With time, a medical ethos
develops and it will inform the systematization of Āyurveda in India
and beyond. Indian physicians “recognised a healthy life as being of
fundamental, even primary importance, since without it no other
goal of life would be possible. In various ways and with different
arguments, they subordinated the quest for dharma to the quest for
health” (Wujastyk, 2004: 838).

Tantric Healing

Tantric medicine emerges from the early medieval Indian teachings

in the Śaiva religion (c. 400–1300 CE) (Sanderson, 2009) and slowly
penetrates various strands of Indic ritual culture. Early texts with a focus
on healing include the Kriyātantras (sorcery texts) and its subgenres,
like the Bhūtatantras (on demonic possession, e.g., Netratantra
and Īśanaśivagurudevapaddhati), the Bālatantras (on childhood
 Hinduism and Healing 201

demonic possession, e.g., Kumāratantra)22 and the Garuḍatantras

(on snakebites, e.g., Yogaratnāvalī of Śrīkaṇṭhapaṇḍita).23 Unlike
Āyurvedic compendia, Tantric texts are ideologically and politically
constructed on influential philosophical traditions (Sāṃkhya,
Yoga, and Vedānta) and theistic doctrines (Śaiva, Śākta, Vaiṣṇava,
Bauddha, and Jaina). Suffering (duḥkha) is, thus, imputed to the lack
of nondual awareness, which in turn permits to transcend limits.
The liberating teaching underlying most tantric texts and practices is
one culminating with the merging of the subject and the object, the
overcoming of any oppositional vision, and the accomplishment of
the supreme knowledge (vimarśa) that grants self-awareness.
Tantric texts combine ritual, alchemical, and medical elements
(Meulenbeld, 1992: 107). Healing is a process leading to self-awareness
by means of self-realization or accomplishment, and self-recognition
(pratyabhijñā). Śiva himself is believed to be the highest expression
of medical knowledge (MNT 4.7), and his teachings are essentially
directed at correct envisioning, that is, awareness that suffering is
generated by ignorance that the self is identical to God (Timalsina,
2012: 32). This knowledge implies an equation between the gross
body (sthūla śarīra), the microcosm, and the universe (brahmāṇḍa),
the macrocosm. To heal the body (an ever-changing reality called
“mass,” piṇḍa) and its components, the healer acts on its foundations
(ādhāra) and voids (vyoman), and facilitates, or restores, the passage
of winds or breath (prāṇa) through a series of channels (nāḍī) that
intersect sites of energy (cakra) variously positioned in the human body
(cf. Samuel, 2013: 40–41).24
Diagnostics responds to the idea that the subtle body (sūkṣma śarīra)
is inhabited by several deities.25 When the flow of various beings (bhūta)
toward the central deity (Śiva, i.e., the self) is disrupted, an event
signaled by various marks (lakṣaṇa), the tantric specialist intervenes.
His performance is featured by jñāna (knowledge), icchā (volition),
and kriyā (ritual action). Tantric healers are knowledgeable siddhas,
accomplished teachers and masters in arts such as magic spells and
mantras, powerful diagrams (yantra, maṇḍala), gestures (mudrā),
alchemy,26 iatrochemistry, and (haṭha) yoga. Their practice is a coercive
exercise of power and a ritual negotiation aiming at facilitating the flux
of praṇa and the dispelling of unfavorable presences such as rūpikās and
apasmāras (who cause the collapse of mental and physical equilibrium),
dūṣikās (blood poisoners), cumbikās and patralekhikās (vampire-like
202 Fabrizio M. Ferrari

creatures), grahas and rudraḍākinīs (who cause madness and mood

variations), ḍāmarīs (who suck vital breath), piśācas (predator demons
who inhabit the cremation ground), and various classes of yakṣas,
rākṣasas, yoginīs, mātṛkās, vināyakas, and bhūtas (here in the common
acceptation of ghosts).
As we learn from the tantric literature, especially early grimoires,
the remedial arsenal of healers is constructed on the knowledge of
the power of plants, resins, and animal substances, and their use
in a ritual context. In addition, from ca. the 13th century, tantric
texts—Kriyātantras in particular—bear witness to the influence
of the Indian and Tibetan alchemical tradition (White, 1996: 130;
Mason, 2014), a trend which radicalizes with the medicalization
of alchemy.27 Along with an array of remedies made from various
animal, botanical, and mineral substances, their combination and
offering at powerful sites (e.g., cremation ground, crossroads, etc.), the
installation (nyāsa) of mystic syllables or ritual shielding (kavaca) are
among the most common practices. The healer is known as mantrī, or
mantra practitioner, and his expertise is core to the healing process.
Mantras are deities created by powerful gods (e.g., Śiva or Bhairava,
his fierce aspect)28 and manipulated by skillful mantrīs who use them
as weapons or armors (Sanderson, 1986: 174–176).29 Their role in a
healing context is exemplified by the fights between Śiva and all sort
of dangerous demons. Just like Śiva, the lord of yogins, the healer is
a conqueror: fixing the flow of praṇa is a struggle that requires the
acquisition of power (siddhi), withdrawal of the senses (pratyāhāra),
and visualization (dhāraṇā) of Śiva as Bhūtanātha (lord of beings) and
Mṛtyuñjaya (conqueror of death).

External Agents of Illness: Health and Possession

An important aspect of South Asian healing culture, whether medical

or ritual, is the belief that human beings can be possessed by benign
and malevolent presences.30 On the contrary, there is also a “positive”
possession. Ritual specialists summon deities or benevolent spirits
who enter their own body or that of health seekers and suggest
therapeutic strategies, foretell the future, give practical advice, or
help healers to counter the demonic presences (illness) afflicting
 Hinduism and Healing 203

their customers. Knowing how to be possessed is often conducive

to various phenomena of social inclusion. The healer is considered
a seat of a God/dess and, for that, is respected regardless of social
status.31 Negative possession, conversely, is an event explained as the
unwanted visitation of a malignant entity (deity, spirit, ghost, demon,
etc.) that causes sufferance, illness and, if not properly treated, death.
Negative possession often generates social stigma and ostracism,
which extends to the victim’s kin (Dwyer, 2003; Barrett, 2008).
Earliest references to possession appear in the Vedic literature
and are associated to mental illness. In AV, madness (unmadita)
is caused by the infringement of social order and is believed to be
treatable. Demonic possession (unmatta), conversely, is a negative
event that can be controlled but not eliminated.32 Descriptions of
possessing presences can be found in early Vedic sources (RVid
1.101) and in a number of protective charms (AVŚ 3.1.16). This is
a pervasive pattern in Indian medical culture. Āyurvedic physicians
slowly, but resolutely, disengage from the divinization of disease
and explain possession as mānasika roga (mental illness). Āyurveda
substantially agrees in differentiating untreatable madness resulting
from external agents (āgantuka) and madness imputable to internal
(pathological) causes (nija), and therefore treatable. Vaidyas had charts
listing: (a) the agents of possession responsible for the overpowering
(abhidarṣayanti) of the individual; (b) their effects (symptoms); and
(c) various therapeutic actions (CaS.Ci. 6.9.16-21; AHS.Utt. 4.1-44).
In Āyurveda, possession is discussed within bhūtavidyā, the “science
of the beings” or “demonology” and in the bhūtatantras, sections
specifically investigating the doctrine of beings.33 According to this
tradition, the uncaring observation of one’s svadharma (individual
duty) attracts unfavorable presences (bhūta) and, particularly, a class
of beings known as seizers or graspers (grahas).
Descriptions of the power and dangerous nature of graspers are
ubiquitous in Indic texts and their pernicious affliction is variously
called graharoga or grahapīḍā.34 Graspers and seizers, who can be male
(graha) or female (grahī),35 are generally, but incorrectly, identified
with “planets”36 and are believed to manifest by means of negative
possession.37 Treatment varies. It is generally meant as a form of
exorcism where powerful substances (blood, liquor), pungent herbs
(KKG 30.79-82), and symbols of offence (blades, iron pegs, etc.) are
204 Fabrizio M. Ferrari

presented in the dead of the night at crossroads, river confluences, or

cremation ground (cf. SuS Uttarasthāna 27–36).
Given the popular identification of grahas with “planets,” familiarity
with astrology/astronomy (jyotiṣā) is mandatory for the knowledgeable
healer. The origin of Jyotiṣa(from Sanskrit jyotis, “light”) and its
relation to health and wealth goes back to the first millennium BCE.
A Vedic hymn for general well-being and prosperity praises celestial
bodies and planets (AVŚ 19.9.7) and suggests that the idea of good
health was somehow related to a correct (or auspicious) alignment of
stars and planets.38 In Jyotiḥśāstras, the observation of stars and planets
serve to determine the features and character of the newborn (jataka),
to foretell events related to a particular year (varṣaphāla); to investigate
the influence of celestial bodies (praśna); to calculate the exact time
when to perform rituals (muhūrta); and to predict astronomical events
and their consequences (e.g., droughts, calamities, and epidemics).
In both Āyurveda and Tantra, Jyotiṣa is functional to health and to
protect from the unfavorable alignment of grahas. Two aspects are
particularly emphasized: prediction of the duration of life (āyus) and
the destiny of a person (niyati).39 This is done by means of the study
of natal horoscope (kuṇḍali).
Other applications of Jyotiṣa can be appreciated within the context
of folk healing, where it survives in a simplified form in the practice
of magicians, healers, oracles, and fortune tellers. While providing the
authoritative background for the interpretation or prediction of the
degree of inauspiciousness (aśubha, amaṅgala) of a particular moment
in the history of the clients’ current or past life, astrology is subsidiary
to performance (dance, oracular possession, incantations) and the
ritual presentation of offerings (including the sacrifice of animals).
One of the main differences with jyotiṣīs is that folk astrologers
are primarily specialists in horary astrology. Their performance is
intended to answer the questions (praśna) of a customer on his/her
past, present or future. The answer is derived from an interpretation
of the alignment of planets, rather than on the consultation of the
customer’s kuṇḍali. Methods vary. Some astrologers are helped by
trained animals (monkeys, bears, parrots, kites, etc.) or may associate
the planets to particular stones, gems, cards, etc. It is, thus, not unusual
that an astrologer is also a healer or works along with healers to
establish a therapeutic strategy. Reading the destiny, inviting fortune,
and countering evil eye have developed as important areas of specialism
 Hinduism and Healing 205

of folk astrologers and healers, who look at grahas as potentially

dangerous deities and, at the same time, powerful allies.

Folk Healing: Ritual, Magic, and

Territorial Knowledge

Pluralism in South Asia has contributed to the implementation of

multifarious healing strategies (Sujatha, 2007), each depending on
territorial understandings and conceptualizations of illness (cultural
discomfort) as opposed to disease (organic dysfunction) (Hahn,
1984: 2).40 It seems, thus, appropriate when discussing folk or
vernacular culture to stress the importance of localism. With this in
mind, I will refer to folk culture as āñcalik saṃskṛti. The term, which
is derived from the Hindi word āñcal (lit. “the hem” [of a sari]), is
used to indicate both the peripheral position of a territory (village,
district, and neighborhood) and its belonging to a wider map. In this
way, I wish to stress the uniqueness of every āñcal and the impact of
āñcalik culture, a reality built on regional and local mores (ācār), on
Hinduism in general.
As per folk healing, this is a loose label, grouping together medical
science, healing rituals, therapeutic narratives, territorial knowledge,
and technological applications disseminated by modernization,
colonialism, migration, urbanization, industrialization, and
globalization. Hindu āñcalik culture is a reality defined by seats
of power (tīrtha), human and divine hierarchies (varṇa and jāti),
foundational narratives (Purāṇas, kathā), and a variety of ritual
practices, from daily offerings (pūjā) to animal sacrifice (balidāna),
vows (vrata), pageants (yātrā), and big festivals (melā, utsava). Local
deities, often unique to the āñcal, are addressed in vernacular idioms.
Although Sanskrit is the liturgical language of official occasions, folk
culture highly values “the place to which one belongs” and emphasizes
its order (dharma) with respect to the outside (Wadley, 2007: 429).
The process of defining folk religion, folk culture, and folk logics is,
thus, an exercise in pluralism and a way to understand the interplay
of charisma exerted by human (gurus, sages, ascetics, devotees,
saints, etc.), nonhumans (deities and spirits), and geographical sites
206 Fabrizio M. Ferrari

(temples, places of burial, shrines, etc.) of power. In other words, it

is a hermeneutics of dissonances.
The conceptualization of health and the production and
transmission of healing strategies—including the modification,
renovation, and obliteration of selected practices—in an āñcalik
context is of the greatest importance. If folklore is “community life
in which face-to-face relation predominate” (Chatterji, 2003: 567),
then healing rituals make us reflect on the persistence of established
norms and rules, their interaction with different sociocultural milieus,
and the way in which they respond to times of crisis. Narratives,
devotional practices, ritual offerings, and forms of renunciation (as
in votive culture) reflect the need of health seekers to understand the
source of pain. This is done by creating, enacting, and transmitting
exemplary stories (myth), thereby, in turn, informing micro-history.
The complex dynamics of presentation and counterpresentation
core to ritual healing are forms of information exchange, ultimately
aiming at control and satisfaction.
The healing process is a highly competitive one. This results in
an actual medical market in which politics and strategies of self-
promotion, and also of discredit,41 are enacted at all possible levels
and across all categories, that is, physicians, vaidyas, tantrikās, and
folk healers such as bhagats or ojhās. By actualizing contingent and
contextual needs through performances rooted in local language, logics,
and aesthetics, folk healers give their clients the possibility to respond
to what is perceived as injustice (i.e., pain). The authority exerted by
“official” medical systems, however, is not to be underestimated. Health
seekers and folk healers maintain a holistic approach where different
specialists from different faith and scientific traditions work together
in a frame defined by Mark Nichter as “masala medicine” (Nichter
and Nichter, 2002: 206). The struggle against smallpox in India well
serves to illustrate this.
One of the deadliest diseases ever, smallpox was endemic in India
and—along with pneumonia, cholera, and malaria—it represented a
major threat to the indigenous and colonial population. Indigenous
and Western medical systems failed to develop an effective cure
and, apart from quarantine, there was no prophylaxis. The only
efficacious measure was variolation (or inoculation), a practice
jealously administered by the ṭīkādars (marking doctors), a class of
 Hinduism and Healing 207

folk healers from Hindu upper (brāhmaṇa) and lower classes (e.g.,
garland makers, mālin, and barbers, nāpit). This consisted in an
intracutaneous injection of infected dried pus extracted in advance
from human smallpox victims’ scabs or pustules. The inoculation
was expected to result in a milder form of smallpox and, ultimately,
in the immunization of the patient (Coult, 1731 and Holwell, 1767 in
Dharmapal, 2000). Although variolation enjoyed an enormous success
among all religious communities of the Indian population (even among
the British), from 1802, it was systematically replaced by the more
effective Jennerian vaccination (Ferrari, 2014: 132–145).
Most Indians, however, especially in rural areas, refused vaccination
and continued with the practice of inoculation even after its
banishment in 1880. The reasons are manifold. It has been speculated
that the less-educated population of villages looked at vaccination
as an offence to a particular set of goddesses.42 The rural population,
however, was not adverse to vaccination per se. Arnold (1993: 156)
and Bhattacharya (1998: 50–51) have demonstrated that a two-tiered
system of vaccination was in place in India from 1850. While the
urban vaccination scheme was informed by the latest technologies,
the vaccination program in rural areas was less reliable. Calves’
lymph was not always available, as cattle owners were reluctant to sell
farming animals.43 Further, when the lymph was extracted, this was
often damaged during transportation or by the hot climate. When this
happened, humanized unattenuated lymph was used. Side effects were
inevitable, and peasants, who could not afford to miss work in a critical
moment of the year (vaccination campaigns were generally scheduled
during the harvesting season), refused vaccination (Ferrari, 2014: 136).
Marking doctors too were concerned about the loss of prestige and
income, and tried in all ways to resist the governmental ban. From
around mid-19th century, variolation was increasingly presented as
pūjā, an act of worship whose nonobservance—it was suggested—
could cause the rage of the goddess (i.e., infection). Variolators were
no longer healers, but became pūjārīs—or worked alongside with
Brahman ritualists.
As the case of variolation in India illustrates, healing is a way
to interpret and translate any catastrophe in the ways of the āñcal.
Medical folklore promotes ways to challenge global forms of injustice
(illness) and makes healing knowledge accessible and understandable.
208 Fabrizio M. Ferrari

But folklore is not just contents, it also is transmission. In South Asia,

many categories of professional healers have formed. Different as their
techniques may be,44 illness is interpreted as a manifestation of power.
A healer is an individual capable to control the power of imbalance
by means of negotiation. The basic scope of healing is to recreate a
situation of acceptable rather than absolute balance. Although there
may be consensus on diagnosis, other etiologies converge in what
can be explained as a competitive diagnostic process where the most
successful performer gains social prestige and validation of his/her
method and tradition.
Beside naturalistic explanations, many Hindus continue to believe
that illness either results from wrongdoing or is the manifestation of an
irate/disappointed deity. The academic literature has reported widely
on such beliefs. Most works, however, have contributed to perpetuate
a major error, that is, the identification of a disease with a deity (or vice
versa). A quick survey on religion and disease in South Asia shows that
goddesses like Śītalā, Māriyamman, Parṇaśavarī, Durgā Mahāmarī,
Kālarātrī, etc., are almost invariably called “disease goddesses” or,
more specifically, the “goddess of” pox fevers, plague, cholera, etc.
The same applies to male deities (e.g., the “god of” fever, skin diseases,
etc.). Such labels have been used so pervasively that Hindus too, when
speaking in English, use them. In fact, this terminology does not fully
reflect indigenous cultures. To paraphrase Lincoln (1996: 225), “The
conjunction ‘of’ that joins the two nouns [god/dess and disease] is not
neutral filler. Rather, it announces a proprietary claim and a relation
of encompassment.” Gods and goddesses are not disease. With the
exception of Vedic literature, where—for instance—fever is Fever (the
demon Takmán) (cf. AVŚ 1.6.20), diseases are manifestations of the
power of deities and spirits. For instance, The Bengali goddess Olāi
Caṇḍī is not cholera; she controls and protects from cholera (Ferrari,
2015). Similarly, the North-Indian “pox goddess” Śītalā is not the pox;
she has power over pox viruses. Although her presence may cause
pox fevers, she is a cooling goddess, as her name eloquently indicates,
and a destroyer—or remover—of sufferance (sarvaduḥkhāntakāriṇī
or kaṣṭaharanī) (SkP 7.1.135: 1–3. Cf. the Śītalavijayastuti and the
songs included in the Dasāśvamedhamāhātmya which I translated in
Ferrari, 2014: 15 and 32–33).
Healing narratives and rituals are not the incoherent response (com-
mon sense) to uneven development, as theorized by much Marxian
 Hinduism and Healing 209

anthropology. Folk healing gives voice to the need to control, and react
to, what is perceived as iniquity. The healing process in āñcalik culture
aims at countering relative injustice and negotiating balance so as to
achieve relief at individual and social level.

Beyond Magic and Empiricism: Bhakti as Medicine

Parallel to the development of medical knowledge, whether ritual,

empirical, or spiritual, other therapeutic strategies have affirmed in
Indian culture. The Indian narrative tradition shows us the affirmation
of worldviews that borrow from the devotional culture (bhakti). Large
sections in the Purāṇas, and also in the great epics (Mahābhārata
and Rāmāyaṇa) and normative literature (dharmanibandha)45
bear witness to a body of rituals and narratives revolving around
the scheduled worship of gods and goddesses for the promotion of
health and well-being. Such performances are given in the language
of devotion (bhakti) and faith (śraddhā), and are primarily observed
by women. Core to these practices is fasting (vrata), a mild form
of renunciation attached to storytelling (kathā), singing (gīti),
pilgrimage (yātrā), worship (pūjā), meditation (dhyāna), and mental
resolutions in the form of promises to the gods (mānasika).46
Devotional vrata manuals and pūjāpaddhatis are central to what
I have elsewhere discussed as “devotional medicine” (Ferrari, 2014).
Unlike the various medical traditions discussed so far, bhakti healing
requires no specialists. Auspicious gods and goddesses are healers,
as clearly indicated in textual sources and a vast material culture.
Devotional moods like love, piety, suffering, and repent—along with
devotional possession—are cultivated and serve to the purpose of
attracting the attention of a deity and to give voice publicly to personal
sufferance. Unlike mystical or theological bhakti, devotees do not aim
at various forms of liberation. In fact, they give voice to a belief system
that objects—or is simply not concerned with—the teaching of non-
attachment. Although the authors of law digests have tried to edit such
popular culture by adventurously interpreting mokṣa (liberation [from
rebirth]) as the ultimate aim of women’s rituals, the materialism of
devotional culture clearly transpires.
210 Fabrizio M. Ferrari

Equally important is the altruistic rationale of women’s rituals. We

know from legal texts that strīdharma is about taking care of male
relatives, that is, father, brothers, husbands, and sons. But in a vrata
context, women look at their performance as a total rite that gently
heals their existence. This explains the active participation of women
who are widowed or did not generate. Devotional healing should be
read as the holistic manifestation of protective deities. The devotional
service enacted on both scheduled festive occasions or voluntarily
becomes a way to express various concerns. The social context should
also be considered. Vrata culture, with its emphasis on healing, permits
devotees to literally take a break from daily routine, domestic chores,
labor and marital obligations. The mundane outcomes of devotional
service are too important to be jeopardized. It is so that the space
dedicated to Mā (the “Mother” [goddess]) becomes, quite literally, a
safety net. Not only does it protect from disease and the fear of being ill,
it also provides a niche for sanity and a place for one to be an actively
critical individual (Ferrari, 2013).

Conclusion

In this chapter, I have surveyed different aspects of healing culture

within Hinduism. From early Vedic magic to the affirmation of
indigenous medical systems and the spread of an enormous corpus of
ritual tracts on health and well-being, the religious and philosophical
traditions forming “Hinduism” have proved capable to variously,
and efficaciously, respond to the crisis that is represented by disease,
illness, and death. To this, one should add the ramification of āñcalik
culture and the penetration of non-Indic diagnostic and therapeutic
approaches. While there are aspects of well-being that are universal,
others continue to be defined by culture and localism. As far as healing
is concerned, four key aspects can be isolated. First, illness continues to
be variously explained as a condition resulting from actions interpreted
as contrary to the established norm. Second, the harm resulting from
the above has been persuasively discussed as the presence of powerful
other than human beings. Third, health is a precarious condition.
Some illnesses are treatable, others are not. The efficacy of the remedies
 Hinduism and Healing 211

developed by knowledgeable medical practitioners and ritual specialists

has limits. Fourth, the healing process—whether performed by human
healers or gods—is always a pedagogical performance that intends
to inform the community and transmit knowledge. In that, healing
strategies in the Hindu context confirm themselves as an expression of
social willpower, innovation, and tradition.

Notes

1. AV contains non-śrauta rituals: (1) sorcery hymns (black and white magic, includ-
ing healing instructions); (2) speculative hymns, often indicated as mystical; (3)
discourses on gṛhya (domestic) and royal ritual (particularly marriage and death);
and (4) appendixes of various genres (Witzel, 1997: 277–278).
2. The ātharvaṇa priest specializes in pacificatory (śānta) rituals but he also takes part
in fire and soma sacrifices. The āṅgīrasa, conversely, is often discussed as a master of
the art of black magic (ghora), witchcraft (yātu), and evil spells (abhicāra). Beneficial
substances such as herbal remedies are, thus, listed as ātharvaṇic, whereas demonic—
and therefore dangerous—preparations are āṅgīrasic (Rotaru, 2013: 17, n. 94).
3. Alternatively, healers summoned the gods for forgiveness. In this case, the bhiṣáj
used to invoke the name of the afflicted person, the symptoms of illness, the names
of the demon(s), and the name of the god(s). The rite was understood as an experi-
ence in which the grasp of the demon was simply neutralized (AVŚ 4.13.1-7).
4. In Vedic texts, there is no difference between the name of the demon/god and that
of the disease.
5. Animals are also used to carry away disease (KauS 26.18 or 32.17).
6. The same criteria of exclusion were applied to the Aśvins twins, the physicians of
the gods (TS 6.4.9.2).
7. The Vedic bhiṣáj, because of his impure profession, was not allowed to perform
rituals (cf. Manu 3.152). The use of anatomical terminology was borrowed from the
hymns pronounced by the hotṛ (the specialist of ṛk formulae) and the observation
of their rituals.
8. With the normalization of dissenting categories (saṃnyāsins [Vedic renouncers,
Brahman by class] and śramaṇas [lit. strivers, non-Vedic renouncers]) from ca.
the 6th–4th centuries BCE, the bhiṣájs joined various classes of mendicants and
monks (Zysk, 2009: xiv–xv), thus facilitating the transmission of a large body of
medical knowledge.
9. See the worship of Takmán (fever) in AVŚ 1.6.20. Zysks reports:

Homage is paid to it [Takmán] along with Rudra and King Varuṇa (AVŚ 6.20.2);
it is called the son of Varuṇa (AVŚ 1.25.3); it is given the epithet the thousand-
eyed immortal (P 5.21.7 = 13.1.4) which at AVŚ 11.2.3 is Rudra. It is associated
212 Fabrizio M. Ferrari

with Yama (P 19.12.11); it accompanies the gods (P 1.45.1) and it is extolled and
called breath at AVŚ 11.4.11. (2009: 34, fn 40)
10. The Nirṛtis are the Vedic goddesses of chaos. They are identified with destructive
forces (RV 10.36: 2, 4; 10.59: 1-4) and invoked by those who seek revenge or the
destruction of their enemies (AVŚ 7.70: 1-2). The Nirṛtis embody every evil aspect
of nature as opposed to the principle of order itself, ṛtám. Men offer to them black
pulses and black scarves (TS 1.8.1) to keep them away. In later Vedic literature,
Nirṛti, one of the three Nirṛtis (or perhaps their embodiment), became prominent.
Nirṛti, celebrated as the wife (or daughter) of Adharma (disorder) and mother
of Bhaya (dread, fear) and Naraka (a sort of hell), is associated with oldness,
barrenness, and diseases (AVŚ 1.2.10; 2.3.11.2; AVŚ 2.7.53.3). Along with Mṛtyu
(death), Nirṛti is the regent of the southern direction (TS 4.2.5), the abode of the
dead. The presence of Nirṛti is not a prominent one in Indic literature. References
to this goddess are limited to the Vedas and she virtually disappears in post-Vedic
Sanskrit and vernacular literature, although some of her distinctive features have
been passed on to goddesses like Alakṣmī and Jyeṣṭhā (Leslie, 1991; Zeiler, 2008).
11. The dangerousness of evil eye is still dominant in South Asia. This is widely known
in premodern and contemporary North India as najar (form Persian naẓar: “eye,”
“sight”) and in South India and Sri Lanka as tiṭṭi or diṣṭi.
12. Formulae to contrast the evil charm of sorcerers and evil eye are scattered in AVŚ,
particularly Book 3 (e.g., 1.7-8; 1.16; 4.17-19; 5.14; 5.31; 7.70).
13. Medicine becomes an upaveda (application) of RV, although SuS and BhPr indicate
that medical science is the upaveda of AV. For a comprehensive study of Āyurveda,
see the encyclopedic work of Meulenbeld (1999–2002).
14. From the 19th century, these texts will be divided in bṛhattrayī (great triad) and
laghutrayī (little triad).
15. Āyurveda is not the only medical system in the subcontinent. The Siddha medical
tradition of South Indian Tamil culture is a notable system built on the teachings
of 18 mythical yogis or siddhar. Their teaching is believed to be revealed, and
therefore there is no date available. However, it has been posited that the Siddha
medical tradition is not earlier than the 4th century CE (Weiss, 2009). Tibetan
medicine, built on Buddhist principles and indigenous Tibetan culture (but heavily
influenced by Tantrism and Āyurveda), developed across the Himalayan regions.
Traditional Chinese medicine is also found across India. Unani Tibb is practiced
by Muslim hakīms and is derived from the Greek–Arabic tradition (Attewell,
2007). Finally, “Western” biomedicine is now widespread and dominant across
the Subcontinent. For reasons of space, this chapter will avoid a survey of the
abovementioned medical traditions.
16. Along with tridoṣavidyā (science of the three humours), disease is also examined
as resulting from heredity (ādibala), congenital fault (janambala), offence against
wisdom (prajñāparādha), failure of the seven bodily supports (saptadhātu), divine
wrath (daivaroga), contact (upasarga), and the ruler’s immorality (rājayakṣmana).
On contagion, see Das (2000) and Zysk (2000).
17. One of the earliest evidence of the importance of plants as well as those who knew
their power is found in a late RV hymn (10.97). All sorts of plants are divine in
Vedic culture. Yet, unlike soma, which is male and used in major rituals, the plants
in this hymn are goddesses and mothers: óṣadhīr íti mātaras tád vo devīr úpa bruve
 Hinduism and Healing 213

| sanéyam áśvaṃ gāṃ vāsa ātmānaṃ táva pūruṣa || (RV 10.97.4). Plants are also
celebrated as healing goddesses in AVŚ 8.7.18-19, whereas soma is praised as a
healing plant in RV 8.72.17; 8.79.2; 10.25.11 and 10.97.18—see Zysk (2010: 139).
18. Cf. Vedic literature where animals are food (TB 3.9.8) or indispensable offerings
for sacrificial performances. In Manu too, animals can be killed, but only within
the sacrificial arena (5.39).
19. Translated by Wujastyk (2004: 836).
20. CaS Cikitsāsthāna 6.10.39-40; 6.9.50-52; SuS Uttarasthāna 6.60.29-37.
21. Animals are divided in jāṅgala (living in arid terrains), ānūpa (living in presence
of waters), and sādhārana (living in areas with mixed features), and classified as
mammals, reptiles, birds, fishes, and insects.
22. See the extensive study conducted by Filliozat (1937).
23. For a detailed list of text dealing with Garuḍa medicine, see Slouber, 2012: 20–85.
24. The theory of the cakras is absent in the classical Indian medical tradition, just
like yogic ideas at the base of much Tantric literature. The first reference to the
cakras can be found in the Mālinīvijayottaratantra (ca. 10th century) and the
Kubjikāmātātantra (11th century) (Heilijgers-Seelen, 1990; Flood, 2006: 158).
25. The subtle body in Tantrism is a practical rather than theoretical concept, and the
flow of “breaths” impacts not just on the development of the body, but on mental
processes, emotions, etc.
26. The āyurvedic term rasaśāstra is used to indicate mineral-based (mercurial) thera-
peutic practice, whereas ritual (tantric) alchemy is one aiming at the transformation
of metals (lohavāda) and the use of elixirs (dehavāda).
27. See the study of Puri (2003) on medical rasāyana (the “path of rasa”) as a process
to purify and promote tissues and bodily components (dhātu).
28. Cf. the creation of the mantra-gods Krodheśvara, Khaḍgarāvaṇa, Aghora, and
Jvareśvara from respectively Śiva’s fury (krodha), roar (rāva), bellowing (garjita),
and shaking limbs (dhutagātra) (KKG 9.28).
29. See the case of Bābā Kīnārām illustrated by Barrett (2008: 127).
30. The literature on possession is vast. Among recent studies, see Smith (2006) and
Ferrari (2011).
31. This pattern is rapidly changing. Healers and their clients are often the target of
nationalists (who promote one Hinduism for all Hindus) and radical socialists
(who see in folklore the source of superstitions suffocating the emancipation of
peasantry and the working class). The healing practices of Hindu minorities are
under constant threat in Pakistan and Bangladesh, where the rise of Islamism is a
consolidated phenomenon, in Sri Lanka, where state Buddhism is overly aggressive
toward Hindu (Tamil) religious practices, and in Nepal, where Maoist groups
show their intolerance toward folklore and religion.
32. Cf. Smith (2006: 477) who reports an unambiguous, yet isolate, hymn on the
treatment of madness in Veda: “I, being skilled, prepare the medicine so that he,
insane [únmaditam] because of a curse of the gods and demented [únmattam]
because of the rákṣas-demons, may become sane” (AVŚ 6.111.3).
33. One of the earliest references to bhūtavidyā appears in CU 7.1.2.
34. In Āyurveda, possession often afflicts weak individuals. It is, thus, a condition
primarily afflicting the sphere of children, and therefore it includes pregnant
214 Fabrizio M. Ferrari

women (especially, primiparae), puerperae, the fetus, and relatives of the newborn
(Wujastyk, 2003a: xxi). (Vedic literature on miscarriage does not seem equally
concerned with the possible wrongdoings of the mother-to-be. See RV 10.162.) This
is epitomized in the 7th-century Kāśyapasaṃhitā, a later compendium specifically
dealing with pediatrics (kaumārabhṛtya). The danger of demonic possession in the
case of new mothers and the infant is famously told in the story of the demoness
Jātahāriṇī, the “Seizer of the Born” (KāS. Kalpāsthāna 6: 8) (see Cerulli, 2012:
73–104).
35. Descriptions of nonhuman agents as dangerous “graspers” can be found in early
Vedic sources (RVid 1.101), and in AV, a number of charms against this form of
negative possession is listed (AVŚ 3.1.16).
36. The nine “planets”—Sun (Surya), Moon (Chandra), Mars (Maṅgala), Mercury
(Budha), Jupiter (Bṛhaspati), Venus (Śukra), Saturn (Śani), the northern (Rahu)
and southern (Ketu) orbital lunar node remain object of worship among Hindus
of all backgrounds in that potentially dangerous Śani is with all probability the
most feared, and revered, among the planets (Svoboda, 1997).
37. The Vedic goddess of chaos, Nirṛti, conserves a certain prominence in the “sci-
ence of the beings” (bhūtavidyā) or demonology. Although there is no direct link
between Nirṛti and the seizers, Āyurvedic compendia look at Nirṛti as the mother
of all seizers (SuS Uttarasthāna 60.25–26).
38. Vedic people knew how to calculate solstitial and equinoctial points. This was par-
ticularly important to determine when to perform certain rituals or sacrifices and to
secure health and well-being. VS 30.10 and TB 3.4.4.1 mention professional “observers
of the lunar mansions” (nakṣatra darśas), although nothing suggests that the obser-
vation of planets and stars was used for divination purposes. Thought healers “who
subsists by astrology” (cf. Manu 3.162) were with all probability considered impure,
and therefore “to be diligently avoided,” astrology/astronomy eventually became a
major discipline listed amongst the sciences, or “limbs” (aṅga), of the Vedas.
39. The latter is one of the most popular aspects of folk astrology and its application
to health issues.
40. Anthropological discourses agree in considering two forms of suffering: one based
on the universal notion of pain as a response to bodily disruption (e.g., tissue
damage) and one built on cultural notions (e.g., shame, impurity, mourning, etc.).
41. Healing is after all a business, often a profitable one, and the success of a healer
depends on entrepreneurship.
42. All across the Subcontinent, smallpox was associated to particular devīs whose
healing power was particularly sought after: Śītalā in north and central India,
Pakistan, Nepal, and Bangladesh, Āi in North-eastern India, Ṭhākurāṇī in Odisha,
Hāritī and Parṇaśavarī in the sub-Himalayan regions, Māriyamman in Dravidian-
speaking India and Sri Lanka and, scattered all across the Subcontinent, local forms
of Durgā and Kālī.
43. Separating cattle calves from their mother often resulted in the latter’s infertility
and incapacity to produce milk.
44. Healing specialists in āñcalik culture belong to different social sectors. They can
be male, female, transgender, or with no gender (as in the case of hijṛās); they
can be celibate, householders, or renouncers, and they can belong to non-Hindu
communities (e.g., Muslim Sufis or fakirs, Buddhist lamas, tribal shamans, etc.).
 Hinduism and Healing 215

45. See the vrata sections in Hemādri’s Caturvargacintāmani (late 13th century),
the Nirṇayasindhu of Kamalakārabhaṭṭa (early 17th century), the Vratārka of
Śaṅkarabhaṭṭa (late 17th century), and the popular Vratarāja of Viśvanātha (18th
century).
46. On women’s vrata, see McGee (1991) and Pearson (1996).

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 Chapter 10
Possession

Elisabeth Schömbucher

Performances of possession have fascinated scholars by their very

intensity. Watching a person in a state of trance, in which he/she is
talking (or rather shouting) in a kind of singing recitation for sometimes
more than an hour in front of a considerable audience, is one of the
most impressive events that can be encountered in any field research
in rural India. Such a possessed person might act as if completely out
of control and bystanders take care to prevent serious injuries. The
possessing entity might shout, cry, threaten, or insult the audience.
After the entity has left its human vessel, the person seems normal again,
just a little bit exhausted. Such observations have resulted in questions
like: “What exactly happens, when a person is believed to be possessed
by a spirit or a deity?” or “How do we explain that possession is still a
common phenomenon in South Asia, whereas in Western countries it is
of marginal importance at the most?” As a topic of research, possession
is far from being outdated. As recent publications show, modernity does
not make possession obsolete. The different forms of possession get
integrated into a pluralistic system of social, ritual, and medical practice
in today’s India (Schömbucher, 1999).
When we speak of possession, usually two forms are distinguished:
the term spirit possession refers to unwanted, uncontrolled states of
possession by ghosts and demons, which are harmful for the possessed
person, whereas the terms possession mediumship or oracular possession
refer to ritually induced and controlled states of possession by deities
or ancestors. Indian languages distinguish between the two forms, for
example, bhut badha (harmful effect of the spirit) and angat yene (to
come into the body) in Marathi (Stanley, 1988: 57), or upadra (trouble)
happened to so and so and darsana (seeing the divine) happened to so and
so in Tulu (Claus, 1984: 62). In the Himalayas, jagar (awakening) refers
 Possession 221

to a session of oracular possession in which the god comes or sits on the

head (sir pe ana/baithna) of a nacnevala (dancer) and speaks through
him/her to an audience (Malik, 2009: 83; Sax, 2009: 47). In South
India, a person in or on whose body a deity comes is called bhakturalu
(devotee) in Telugu and camiyati (god dancer) in Tamil (Schömbucher,
1999: 39). One might add a third form of possession that is enacted on
stage by a ritual performer, such as in teyyam performances in Kerala,
in which the deity is impersonated by a ritual specialist cum performer
(Freeman, 1993: 114, 1998). Smith (2006) has shown that various
forms of possession are already described in the Vedic and classical
literature of India. The Sanskrit term avesa (entrance into) is used for
the benevolent, controlled, self-induced form of possession, whereas the
terms pravesa (to enter toward) and grahana (to grasp, to seize) refer
to the uncontrolled, harmful form of possession by malevolent spirits.
The dichotomy between uncontrolled spirit possession and a
more controlled and enacted form of oracular possession has been
overemphasized by the Western thought. In Western societies, spirit
possession nowadays belongs to the realm of psychiatry and possession
mediumship to the realm of esoteric rituals. In India, on the contrary,
spirit possession can and often does develop into possession medium-
ship, as is shown in many case studies (Schömbucher, 1994a). One
example is the story of Somavati, who as a young woman had been
possessed by various malevolent spirits for several years. Obeyesekere
(1977: 240ff) met Somavati in 1969 at a local shrine in a Colombo
suburb in Sri Lanka where she was to be exorcized by a priest. She
was as that time 29 years old, and during the previous two years had
been possessed by several pretas and demons. Somavati was the eldest
daughter of a poor farmer. Her father owned no land, so he left his
natal village and earned his livelihood as a day laborer. Somavati was
given to her maternal grandmother when she was just a few months
old. At the age of 7, she was taken home by her parents, where she
was to take care of a number of smaller siblings. At the age of 18 years,
she married a 25-year-old mason despite the initial objections of her
parents. In the coming years, Somavati gave birth to two children.
She was frequently beaten by her husband who had turned out to be
an alcoholic. Finally, she went back to her parents and got divorced.
Back in her parents’ home, her situation became eventually
unbearable. She had no income of her own and depended completely
on her parents. In this situation, she became possessed for the first
222 Elisabeth Schömbucher

time. This first possession by a preta did not occur arbitrarily, but
during an exorcistic ritual, in which the preta had been exorcized
from another woman. It is considered extremely dangerous to attend
such a ritual, since it is well known that an exorcized spirit tries to
find another victim immediately. Somavati, however, had been asked
to be present by her father’s employer and could hardly object. Her
situation was indeed perfect for the attack of a spirit. Her state of
mind was extremely unbalanced. In terms of social status, she was in
a liminal state (divorced, a mother of two children, and still dependent
on her parents); moreover, she was asked to go out at dusk (a favorable
time for malevolent spirits) and attend an exorcistic ritual. Thus,
she predisposes herself to become the victim of a spirit’s attack. In
the following two years, other pretas took possession of Somavati.
Eventually, she was also possessed by demons, such as Riri Yaka,
the blood demon, and Mahasona, the great demon of the graveyard.
Different exorcists had tried to rid her of these spirits and demons,
but had succeeded for only short periods of time. The same or other
spirits had come back. Finally, it was decided that the demons and all
the pretas should be exorcized at a temple. An exorcistic ritual was
arranged for Somavati and another possessed woman at a local temple
of the goddess Pattini. It lasted the whole night and attracted a fairly
large audience who had come to witness the struggle between the pretas
and demons, impersonated by Somavati on the one side and various
gods and goddesses impersonated by two priestly media on the other
side. The media were possessed by the deities Skanda, Dadimunda, and
Kali, who finally succeeded in convincing the demons to leave. Despite
this successful exorcism, Somavati stayed on at the temple. One week
after the exorcism, the goddess Pattini announced through the priestly
medium that she would take possession of Somavati and prevent
malevolent spirits from tormenting her as long as she worshiped the
goddess. Pattini also announced the exact date, and four months after
the exorcism, Somavati was initiated into the Pattini cult, becoming
possessed by the goddess during the ritual. Somavati was now able to
become possessed by Pattini regularly. She was also entitled to have her
own shrine in the temple compound and to act as a priestly medium
and oracle of the goddess Pattini. This brought Somavati high social
prestige but obliged her to lead a somewhat ascetic way of life. In
point of fact, Obeyesekere noted that in the four years following her
initiation, she became irregularly possessed by Pattini. She worshiped
 Possession 223

her as her protective deity, but did not develop medial and divinatory
abilities (Obeyesekere, 1977: 235–295; Schoembucher, 1993: 239–267).
Somavati’s story is unusually long when compared with other
anthropological case studies. It shows that there is, of course, a
distinction between the two forms of possession, which is also made
by the people themselves, but there is also continuity rather than a
dichotomy between the two forms. Somavati was first “patient” or
“victim” and then became “medium” or “oracle.” What looked at first
like illness turned out to be a potential for ecstatic religious experience
that could be developed into divine possession. The emphasis on
dichotomy has had an effect on the anthropological interpretation
of possession in other cultures. It is rooted in the cultural notions
of possession among Western observers. Anthropologists, who are
supposed to represent a culture from its indigenous point of view,
are so much entangled in their own cultural concepts of person that
it is difficult for them to consider other ideas of personhood. The
notion that a person can be “possessed” by external, supernatural
beings runs counter to Euro-American concept of person. The
Western, pathological model of possession, which has played the most
important role in the interpretation of possession, cannot comprehend
developments such as those in Somavati’s life story. The concept of
person in South Asian culture sees the self as an unbounded entity that
can be interspersed with equally unbounded divine or demonic entities
(Schömbucher, 2006: 45f). In order to show how Euro-American
ideas about possession have changed over time and how they have
influenced the interpretation of possession cults in India, I will present
the most famous possessed woman in Europe and then go on to discuss
possession in South Asia.

Possession and Religion

The most well-known European possessed woman is Soeur Jeanne des

Anges, who lived in the 17th century in France. In the year 1632, Soeur
Jeanne des Anges was possessed by a demon for the first time. She
was then 27 years old and the prioress of the convent of the Ursulines
founded in 1627 in the town of Loudun in central France. She was the
highly educated daughter of a wealthy and influential family belonging
224 Elisabeth Schömbucher

to the higher nobility. After two years of suffering, which manifested

itself in convulsions, hallucinations and fainting, as well as pain in
different parts of her body, it was beyond doubt that seven demons had
possessed Jeanne des Anges. They were Asmodi, Leviathan, Behemot,
Isaakaaron, Baalam, Gresil, and Haman.
Two years later (1634), the bishop of Poitiers ordered that the Jesuit
Father Jean-Joseph Surin, a well-known mystic of the time, should be
her exorcist. In the following years, numerous exorcisms were held in
the churches of Loudun. Her exorcisms were large, impressive public
performances. An elevated stage was erected in front of the altar, so
that the audience could see the spectacle of the battle between God
and Satan. The stage was padded with mattresses so that the possessed
woman would not hurt herself during her convulsions. After only seven
weeks, in an exorcism attended by 6,000 people and in the presence of the
bishop and other high-ranking persons, the first three demons (Asmodi,
Gresil, and Haman) left her body, leaving three wounds beneath her
heart (Soeur Jeanne, 1989: 83). The exorcisms of the other demons took
another three years and were marked by severe illness and suffering.
Isaakaaron, the demon of unchastity, was felt to be the most pertinent
intruder. He came at night, and “he invoked the most indecent images
to be imagined” (ibid.: 104). Isaakaaron’s nocturnal attacks caused a false
pregnancy, which lasted several months. During an exorcism where the
bishop, several doctors and “a mass of other people” were present, the
demon was forced to throw up the “whole amount of blood that he had
accumulated in her body.” After this exorcism, all signs of her pregnancy
disappeared immediately (ibid.: 102).
With ascetic exercises, such as flagellation, fasting, sleep deprivation,
sitting in cold water, extended prayers, wearing an iron belt, and rolling
over hot coals, Jeanne des Anges fought against her demons. Her strict
daily penances were finally successful. On November 5, 1635, during
a great exorcism, Leviathan, the demon of arrogance and vanity, left
her body, leaving a red cross on her forehead, which was visible for
a few weeks. In the course of the following weeks, two other demons
left her body. Behemot, the demon of blasphemy, was now the last
remaining demon in her. He tried to prevent her from praying, and
during the exorcisms uttered blasphemies against God. Another year
of exorcisms, penances, flagellations, fasting, and bulimic attacks fol-
lowed. On January 1, 1637, another exorcism was performed, despite
 Possession 225

her reservations because of her bad health. After this exorcism, she
contracted a “lethal illness,” with high fever, blood vomiting, and chest
pain, which was diagnosed as pleurisy (Soeur Jeanne, 1989: 167–169).
Five weeks later, Extreme Unction was performed for her. At death’s
door, Jeanne describes, she fell into ecstasy and again had a vision of
St Joseph, who put a fragrant ointment on the parts of her body that
hurt. Jeanne des Anges got off her death bed and was cured immedi-
ately—to the amazement of the doctors.
Her life now changed completely. After the miraculous cure, Jeanne
had received a reliquary: On her chemise, there remained five stains of
the fragrant oil with which she had been healed. When applied to the
body of sick persons, it could perform miracles. She also had permanent
stigmata—the sacred names of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and Francis de
Sales, written bloodred on her left hand—which renewed themselves
from time to time. She made a long and triumphant journey through
northern France and to Paris, where thousands of people wanted to see
her stigmata. For that purpose, she was seated in a specially constructed
wooden container-like room where she could display her hand on a
pillow through a small window. In Paris, she was received by King
Louis XIII, his wife Queen Anne of Austria, and Cardinal Richelieu.
After the public excitement about her miracles and stigmata had
calmed down, Jeanne des Anges spent quiet years in her convent. Her
stigmata were renewed regularly, and she had almost daily visions of a
beautiful, blond young man, whom she refers to as her “good angel,”
who acted as a mediator in her desire for mystical unity with God. She
wrote her autobiography as well as numerous letters about her mystical
experiences. After her death in 1665, the Ursuline nuns of her convent
constructed a shrine, in which were kept her head, her chemise, and a
drawing of her last exorcism. She was venerated as a quasi saint. Only
in 1750, 85 years after her death, did the Bishop of Poitiers order that
the shrine be dismantled.
What does the story of Jeanne des Anges, her demonic possession,
her exorcisms, her miracles, and her mysticism tell us? It tells us first
of all, that, like today, in the 17th century, people were fascinated by
possession. To an outside observer, it was not possible to comprehend
the experience of possession. It was not possible to know exactly what
it meant and how it felt to be “possessed.” Exorcisms were spectacular
performances that attracted the nobility as well as the masses. Jeanne’s
226 Elisabeth Schömbucher

accounts of her experiences made her an exotic other for her listeners.
The degree of fascination is made obvious by the fact that not only did
the publications on the events of Loudun increase during her lifetime,
her possession again became the object of several publications in the
20th century: Huxley (1952) wrote The Devils of Loudun; Certeau
(2000) wrote a historical treatise on The Possession at Loudun; several
translations of Jeanne des Anges’ autobiography were published
(Ewers, 1989); Oesterreich (1921) described her life in great detail in his
work Possession. Films such as Ken Russell’s popular movie The Devils
(1971) prove that she still inspires the fantasies of people in our times.
Second, the story of Jeanne des Anges tells us that there is not one
true explanation of possession. In fact, there were several possibilities
for society to deal with her’s. Jeanne’s possession states were not
judged unanimously. Different possibilities were considered. It could
have been a disease, which would have had to be cured with medical
treatment; it could have been fraud (which would have been punished);
it could have been a (negative) religious experience. In her case, it
was the royal court and the Catholic Church that protected Jeanne
and established the authoritative discourse. Jeanne des Anges’ time
was that of the Thirty Years’ War of religions between Protestants
and Catholics. It was a time when Huguenots constituted a majority
in Loudun and when the Catholic king in Paris decided to impose
centralist authority in the provinces. It was a time of plague epidemics,
when 3,700 out of 14,000 inhabitants of Loudun died in 1632 between
May and September. And it was still the time when political enemies
were convicted as sorcerers and sentenced to death on the pyre. The
priest Urbain Grandier was accused of publishing libertine ideas
about celibacy, of having sexual relationships with daughters of the
best families of Loudun, and of acting as a sorcerer, sending devils to
Jeanne and her nuns. He was burnt in Loudun on August 18, 1634.
Under these circumstances, Jeanne’s exorcisms were an opportunity
to strengthen Catholic and royal power. During her exorcisms,
representatives of the high clergy and high nobility not only displayed
curiosity, but also rendered political significance to possession and
exorcism. But at the same time, Jeanne was examined by a whole
series of physicians and surgeons from the famous medical faculties
of Paris and Nantes, and she was treated with drugs, purgatives, and
bleeding. Despite a few skeptics who saw the cause not in demons but
in a mental disorder, such as melancholy, hysteromania, erotomania,
 Possession 227

and the force of imagination (Certeau, 2000: 134f), the authoritative

religious discourse was confirmed by several doctors of medicine who
declared that “we judge (given the excesses that surpass the natural)
that there is possession by evil spirits, which appeared to us by divers
signs that we deduce as requested” (Certeau, 2000: 114–115).
Third, spirit possession was and is always “the attempt to free oneself
from it.” Such attempts may consist in “transposing it, repressing it,
[or] transferring it elsewhere” (ibid.: 227). After various unsuccessful
attempts to repress it, Soeur Jeanne’s possession was finally transferred
from a demonic possession to mysticism, from a negative to a positive
religious experience.

Possession and Anthropology

With Jeanne des Anges in mind, let us turn to anthropological studies of

possession in South Asia. An overview of the anthropological literature
on the topic shows that the possessed person is the paradigmatic “exotic
other.” The possessed person, especially if it is a woman, looking fierce
and acting wild, her eyes rolling and her hair flying, appears exalted
and dangerous to the observer. She performs a role that is the opposite
of what the decent, or even submissive, Indian woman is supposed
to play. Questions as to whether this behavior is to be considered as
pathological, or a genuine ecstatic experience, or merely a performance
enacted for an audience have occupied researchers for generations
(Bourguignon, 1976). As early as 1711, Bartholomaeus Ziegenbalg
(1926 [1711]), the first Danish protestant missionary in South India,
mentioned “devil dancers” in his Malabarisches Heidentum. He and
other missionaries could still imagine that personified evil powers,
such as the devils of Jeanne des Anges, could enter into human beings
and then had to be exorcized by ritual specialists. The missionaries had
no difficulties in seeing possession as an ecstatic religious experience,
although they condemned the belief in Hindu deities as superstitious
and pagan. Since the missionaries could not acknowledge Hindu deities
as gods, and since according to Christian demonology, only “devils”
could intrude into human beings, the camiyati (god dancer) in Tamil
Nadu had to be called a “devil dancer.” However, Ziegenbalg and other
missionaries of his time were convinced that “devils” exist, that they can
228 Elisabeth Schömbucher

possess human beings, and that they are quite powerful and destructive.
Missionaries, who are frequently perceived as the first anthropologists,
provided comprehensive reports on possession. Although their cultural
translation was restricted due to their Christian notion of demonology,
they shared the belief that supernatural entities existed and could enter
human beings.
Social anthropologists have had a much more ambiguous attitude
toward possession. Their search for a deeper meaning of possession has
resulted in a series of different interpretations (Boddy, 1994: 412). In the
following survey, it becomes obvious that “translations” of possession
from one culture to another run the risk of oversimplifying or even
misinterpreting the phenomenon. Anthropological interpretation
of possession cults started with the medical paradigm, according to
which possession is seen as an expression of mental disease or stress.
Jeanne’s possession took place on the verge of several epistemological
transformations. In her times, medical discourse was not yet dominant.
Religious discourse was still valid. But she was the last possessed person
to be treated in a religious manner. Her successors were all treated
(unsuccessfully) in psychiatric wards. Today, anthropological studies
on possession are also confronted with different epistemologies, but
the other way round. For a long time, anthropologists have preferred
medical discourse to religious discourse.
Many anthropological studies on possession can be subsumed
under the heading “rationalistic reduction,” in the sense that they are
reducing a phenomenon to a single aspect (Oesterreich, 1921). Starting
from a rational world view with the premise that nobody “really” can
get possessed by spiritual entities, for spiritual entities do not “really”
exist, possession is interpreted in medical terms—as a mental disease,
such as hysteria, epilepsy, or neurosis in the case of spirit possession or
as an indigenous therapy in the case of possession mediumship, with
the possessed medium acting as an indigenous healer.
Often-quoted publications on spirit possession by Freed and Freed
(1964, 1990), Kakar (1983), and Lewis (1989) argue that young women
are especially likely to become possessed by evil spirits because they are
oppressed by a dominant male society. In situations of stress, such as
marrying into a new family or the breakup of a marriage, women take
refuge in possession. This is seen as an “oblique strategy of attack” to
fight against oppression (Lewis, 1989: 105)—or as the manifestation
 Possession 229

of mental disturbances due to severe stress (Kakar, 1983). These

examples display anthropology’s skepticism about native explanations.
When people of another culture say that a young woman is possessed
by spirits, in the eyes of anthropologists, she really undergoes some
mental crisis, which she enacted in accordance with cultural concepts
of spirit possession.
The American anthropologist Peter Claus, who carried out research
on possession in south India, demanded in the 1980s that ethnography
on possession should not be problem oriented, but should concentrate
on the explorative method (Claus, 1984). This demand resulted in
a number of ethnographies in which indigenous interpretations
of possession and corresponding actions are presented. The most
important aspect is the recognition of different concepts of person.
Ideas of personhood vary widely among cultures. In India, possessed
persons usually are not perceived to behave “as if” (although there
are of course cases of fraud). A different concept of person provides a
different experience of the world. Deities and demons are not perceived
as “disembodied symbols” but are considered to be “divine persons”
(Moreno, 1985: 119). Accordingly, essential aspects or elements of
human and divine persons “can disaggregate, transmute and relocate
back and forth among various kinds of animate and inanimate
embodiments” (Freeman, 1999: 151).
In the interconnectedness of divine and human spheres, possession
is one of several possibilities of divine manifestation in humans. On
all levels of religious practice, not only priests are filled with divine
substance or consciousness (caitanyam) during rituals (Kjaerholm,
1982: 191), but divine power is also highly present and accessible
to devotees during festivals or rituals. Anybody can be possessed by
divine power during festivals, although not all qualify to be a medium
(Sontheimer, 1976: 139–140). Performers in the sacred theatre in South
India, for example, are transformed into the deity by gazing into a
mirror (Freeman, 1998). Similarly, the demonic can manifest itself in
humans if certain preconditions (such as neglecting the gods, ritual
impurity, or sorcery) are fulfilled.
Another important aspect in these explorative ethnographies is a
different attitude toward the state of trance. Trance, the altered state
of consciousness, is an important (and obvious) feature of possession.
Since it is accompanied by amnesia, it has been seen for a long time as
230 Elisabeth Schömbucher

a state of dissociation, in which self-control and a sense of reality get

lost. Several studies have shown that altered states of consciousness
need not be pathological. Neurophysiological changes that induce
trance states can be evoked with certain stimuli. Overstimulation by
hyperkinetic mechanisms, such as music, dance, rhythm, or drums,
or understimulation by monotony or meditation, can induce trance
states. However, neurophysiological alterations are only a common
basis; different cultural concepts are more important for the individual
psychological reaction, as has been shown with peyote experiments
(Ludwig, 1968; Prince, 1966; Walker, 1972: 146). In many non-
western societies, so-called “normal” people can easily enter altered
states of consciousness. Numerous examples of spontaneous trance
states during rituals or religious processions show that this is not an
exceptional (or pathological) behavior (e.g., Inglis, 1985; Kapadia,
1995, 1996; Sontheimer, 1976; Stanley, 1988).
Ethnographies on possession in South Asia show that when a young
woman gets possessed, certain actions are taken to free her from this
unwanted condition. We can distinguish three different types of
attempts to free a person from possession: exorcism, medical treatment,
and the acknowledgement of ecstatic abilities and their development
into controlled possession or possession mediumship. A woman who
shows symptoms such as fainting, hearing voices, speaking insultingly,
or other strange behavior is not necessarily assumed to be possessed
by unwanted and harmful spirits. The possibility of a mental illness
is always considered. Bruce Kapferer has provided many examples
of young women who were treated simultaneously in hospitals and
by exorcists, as the story of Asoka’s possession shows. She was eight
years old when she suddenly awoke close to midnight, complaining
of a headache and severe stomach cramps. She also heard a voice. Her
mother identified this voice as the ghost of her deceased elder sister
who had died almost exactly on this day a year ago. She summoned
a local exorcist to her house. He supported her interpretation and
also elaborated it. He suggested that Asoka could also be possessed
by the demon Mahasona, since she had eaten prawns for dinner
before the onset of her illness. He tied a thread to keep away ghosts
and demons that would be effective for three days. In the meantime,
Asoka’s mother’s elder sister came by and insisted that Asoka be taken
to a hospital. Medical tests for meningitis and other diseases proved
 Possession 231

negative. While Asoka was in hospital, her mother summoned another

exorcist. He reconfirmed the initial diagnosis and tied another thread
for three days. Asoka’s symptoms reappeared after three days. At this
point, another elder sister of Asoka’s mother intervened. She supported
the exorcist’s diagnosis of an attack by the demon Mahasona. She
also raised the possibility of sorcery. She could convince everybody
that not only Asoka was affected by the demon, but that the whole
family would be suffering unless an exorcism for Mahasona would be
performed. In the end, the family started preparing for an elaborated
and expensive exorcism ritual (Kapferer, 1991: 89–96). With many
similar examples, Kapferer could show that the diagnosis is a complex
process of negotiations among exorcists, the patient, family members,
relatives and neighbors on how to interpret a “demonic illness.”
Different interpretations compete with each other for some time, and
it is in this discursive process that the demonic eventually is shaped
and constituted within a certain context (ibid.: 105).
If neither exorcism nor medical treatment is successful, the
possession states are controlled in a different way. Gananath
Obeyesekere has provided us in Medusa’s Hair with many examples of
women like Somavati, described above, who were initially possessed by
unwanted and harmful spirits, such as pretas and bhuts. After several
unsuccessful exorcisms to banish the spirits, they were converted
from malevolent into protecting beings. The possessed women could
eventually, after an initial period of suffering and crisis, develop their
potential for divine possession. As ecstatic priests, they are able to
control their possession states. Thus, in Obeyesekere’s words, “[i]n a
ritual of exorcism demon, priest, patient, god, parents, and community
are all involved in a grand cosmic drama put together from existing
myth models into a larger grammar of meaningful action” (1981: 102).
Another example is the Siri cult in south India. The initial possession
of the goddess Siri is perceived as a threatening new experience by
the affected young woman. Only after her family acknowledges her
as a vessel for the deity and makes arrangements for regular worship
of the deity in her temple does this negative experience develop into
a positive one (Claus, 1984).
New insight into the phenomenon of possession has been provided
by Smith’s (2006) book The Self Possessed. In this comprehensive study,
Smith analyzes Indic literature from all ages—the earliest Vedic texts,
232 Elisabeth Schömbucher

the epics, devotional literature, and Sanskrit drama, to mention just

a few. He identifies several forms of possession in Vedic and classical
literature that correspond with the distinction made in modern
Indian languages: the benevolent, controlled, self-induced form of
possession (avesa) and the uncontrolled, harmful form of possession
by malevolent spirits (pravesa and grahana). A comparison of Sanskrit
texts and modern ethnographies shows a long tradition of consistent
experiences of possession in the cultural tradition of South Asia. Smith
shows that possession occurred in all regions and in all social strata
of the subcontinent. He also found that already in Vedic texts, more
women got possessed by evil spirits, whereas the positive self-induced
form of possession was mainly reserved for men. There is no reason
given for that in the texts and Smith’s cautious interpretation agrees
with the anthropological findings: As weaker persons, women are more
susceptible to negative possession, whereas men have more access
to ritual practices, and therefore self-induced possession. With his
diachronic study of possession, Smith is able to show that, for thousands
of years, positive possession is the most common form of spiritual
expression in India. It exists side by side with the negative, disease-
producing possession. For Smith, possession, in the widest sense, is a
“state of mind characterized by intensity, emotional excitement, and
desire” (2006: 590).

The Cultural Translation of Possession

With these examples in mind, let us turn to the level of cultural

translation. We have to ask, how can we interpret possession in the
21st century without reducing it to the symbolic manifestation of some
psychic disorder, and without saying that “the other” is superstitious,
irrational, unsophisticated, using folk concepts, or acting “as if”?
What are possessed persons? Are they hysterical, oppressed, and
manipulative—or are they religious specialists, ecstatics, mystics, who
are sensitive to a different reality that manifests itself as a positive or
negative religious experience?
Ethnography has shown that the interpretation of possession is
a complex undertaking. It is not enough to consider the individual
psychology; the social context and especially the concept of the person
 Possession 233

have to be considered as well. Even then, the cultural translation of

possession is accompanied by a process of desacralization. In analogy
to an icon, which is God for a devotee (Davis, 1997) but an art object
with aesthetic qualities for an outside observer, we tend to say that a
woman possessed by a spirit undergoes a crisis, and that a possessed
medium or oracle is a person (with communicative competence and
poetic talents) who, acting as if possessed, interprets problems of others
and can be considered as an indigenous healer. Does this mean that the
cultural translation of possession is not possible without desacralization?
Would it be more adequate to say that the possessed medium has access
to supernatural entities whose existence remains opaque to ordinary
people in their normal waking consciousness? Lévi-Strauss (1965: 297)
once said, “No common analysis of religion can be given by a believer
and a non-believer, and from this point of view, the type of approach
known as ‘religious phenomenology’ should be dismissed.”
To answer the question about cultural translation and desacralization,
I will consider my own research on possession mediumship among
the Vadabalija, a Telugu-speaking south Indian fishing caste
(Schömbucher, 1994a, 1994b, 1998, 1999, 2001, 2006). Whenever, after
a possession séance where the goddess spoke through her medium to
an audience of about 20 people, I asked, “What did the goddess say?”
more than one hour of recitation could be summarized with just one
or two sentences: “She said, you didn’t worship me. Therefore, I have
made your child sick. You have to worship me and make offerings.”
Although the answers were always correct and although similar answers
are obviously the basis of most anthropological writings on possession,
cultural translation has to take into consideration what else is being
said and how is it said in possession séances.
A performative approach to language as social action can avoid
desacralization (Schömbucher, 2003). It has been overlooked that
possession is expressed verbally, as stated by Nuckolls (1991, 1992). As
a speech event, it has to be seen as a cultural praxis in which contexts
of human lives are constructed and performed by linguistic means.
According to speech–act theory, language not only represents or refers
to reality, it also creates it (Austin, 1962). Divine or demonic presence
is created verbally, based on the assumption that gods or demons exist
as persons (not merely as symbols). Words in performances are not
only referential but they construct meaning. According to Foley (1995:
208), the power of words is derived from the performance as enabling
234 Elisabeth Schömbucher

event and a certain tradition as enabling referent. Foley has created the
term performance arena as “the locus where an event of performance
takes place, where words are invested with their special power” (Foley,
1995: 209). Words spoken through a possessed medium do not convey
meaning on their own. One important factor of the performance arena
is the audience, which gives words their illocutionary power. What is
spoken during states of possession is interpreted through listening.
Besides speaking, listening should be considered a cultural practice
influenced by cultural concepts (Burghart, 1996).
What do listeners hear when deities speak to them? As a
performative event, a possession séance among the Telugu-speaking
Vadabalija consists of three sections, which I call evocative, narrative,
and directive (Schömbucher, 2011: 83). Divinities are not just present
in humans, divine presence has to be created. Among the Vadabalija,
it is created in the evocative section with panegyric elements in
which the goddess praises her power and guarantees that she and all
the other deities have always protected the devotees. The language is
highly formulaic and repetitive. In the narrative sections, the goddess
recounts the reasons for individual misfortune, illness, etc. This has to
be specific. It has to fit individual experience as well as cultural models
of misfortune. In the directive passages, the goddess gives instructions
for future actions, very often saying that people should worship her
more or make specific offerings.
While the evocative passages bestow the power of the divine
utterances, it is the narrative passages that make the divine words true.
In the narrative passages, the goddess proves that she knows everything
and that everything she says is correct. The third section, in which the
goddess gives directives to her devotees, is developed in a dialogue with the
audience. The audience may protest at the beginning against the demand
of a sacrifice and it is negotiated between audience and goddess to what
extent her demands are justified and acceptable. Only mutual agreement
makes the divine demands obligatory (Schömbucher, 2006, 2011).
It is the audience who gives authority and efficacy to the divine
words. When the Vadabalija summarized the divine words for me,
they would mention the directives, the demands of the goddess. If I
insisted long enough, they gave an account of the narrative passages
in which the causes of misfortune were explained. Interestingly, here,
the audience heard more and different things than what I could find
 Possession 235

in the translations of the texts. Often, their own versions were mixed
with the divine version. They never mentioned the evocative and
panegyric elements with which divine presence had been created.
There was no need for that because divine presence and power are
accepted beyond doubt.
In the course of the “linguistic turn” in the social sciences during
the 1990s, possession has come to be perceived as a performance in
which meaning is created with verbal and other performative devices.
The new approaches allow us to look at possession not as an event in
which the possessed person acts “as if,” but as one in which a certain
reality is created by the performer as well as the audience. In their
studies on possession cults in the Himalayas, both Sax (2009) and Malik
(2009) add a new dimension to performativity. According to their
observations, it is not only the words of the songs that cause possession,
but the appearance of the God is also a matter of embodiment rather
than of language: The God dances (nacna) or is made to dance (nacana)
by the exorcist in the body of the oracle. Therefore, Sax concludes that
an interpretation of possession would need a hermeneutics of the body
rather than a hermeneutics of the text (Sax, 2009: 47). Similarly, Malik
concludes from his fieldwork on possession rituals:

[T]hat the jagar can be more fruitfully described as a ritual of

embodiment rather than a ritual of possession or trance—since the
category of possession itself carries within it a considerable amount of
cultural bias and theoretical implications suggesting a duality of body
and consciousness or spirit. (Malik, 2009: 92)

New Approaches to the Study of Possession

Possession is still a widely prevalent cultural practice in the Indian

subcontinent. A wide range of different forms of possession can be
witnessed. Regarding spirit possession, the tormented person shows
various signs of physical or mental disorders. Regarding the more
controlled forms of oracular possession or spirit mediumship, we can
observe various processes. In some instances, language might be the
most important medium for invoking the deity into the human body,
236 Elisabeth Schömbucher

in others, it is the rhythm of drums, and again in others, looking into

a mirror completes the transformative process by which a divine entity
enters the human body of a performer. Naturally, each researcher
stresses as important what he or she has observed. A comparative
approach that encompasses different forms of possession enables us
to crystallize some common features.
Each form of possession needs two protagonists. In the case of
spirit possession, there is always a victim possessed by spirits and an
exorcist who is trying to free the tormented person from malevolent
spirits (Schömbucher, 2004a). In the case of oracular possession or
spirit mediumship, there are ritual specialists, priests (or gurus, as
in the central Himalayas) who invoke and control the possessing
entities and oracles or mediums who are able to embody these entities
(Schömbucher, 2004b). A guru, according to Sax,

is summoned in order to control spirits of affliction; to exorcize them,

to turn their curses into blessings, to compel them to do his client’s
bidding. He must show no fear, [he must be] self-assured and in
control of himself as well as the gods and spirits. (2009: 112)

Possession cults are cults of affliction and healing in which the

disturbed family unity is restored. The typical object of ritual healing
is the group and not an individual (Kapferer, 1991; Sax, 2009). Still,
as Krengel observes:

[S]pirit possession is a very complex institution, which is

simultaneously concerned with a whole range of issues […] jagars are
not just held for the purpose of healing, but provide a stage for active
discourses on past, present and future affairs of the local society. A
jagar resembles a journey, for which an actual problem or symptom
is just the starting point. The oracular communication with the divine
(evil spirits and deities) leads to misdeeds that have no connection
with the symptoms and deeds of the person suffering. (1999: 287)

Despite its dramatic appearance, which at first sight is emotionally

overwhelming to an outsider, possession states are verbally constructed
events whose structures are well ordered and can be anticipated by
the audience. Besides the two types of protagonists mentioned above,
a third element is needed in possession, the audience. Words spoken
in a state of possession cannot be efficacious on their own. Despite
 Possession 237

the ritual setting in which they are spoken and the communicative
competence of the possessed person, they need an addressee who
makes them efficacious. Speaking alone does not provide words with
illocutionary power, but merely acts as a presupposition for listeners
to do so (Schömbucher, 2011: 82–85).
From the perspective of an indigenous listener, possession
mediumship is an occasion in which human beings (medium and
audience) can create divine presence for a short while. From the
perspective of an external listener who acknowledges speech–act
theory, the possessed media are extraordinarily gifted persons who are
able to create divine presence and interpret the world by their specific
communicative competence and poetic talent. Their interpretations
are only efficacious if acknowledged by the audience.
For both kinds of listeners, possession is not primarily a healing
ritual, although illness is a frequent topic; possession is not primarily
divination, although questions concerning the future are answered.
For indigenous listeners, possession is an occasion to worship the
gods, be near them, and talk with them. Accordingly, in a case of spirit
possession, indigenous listeners create a performance arena where
the demonic words are invested with special power. Viewed this way,
possession is not a premodern way of explaining things, but one of
several possible discourses to explain personal misfortune, illness,
etc. In terms of efficacy, divine words are comparable to other forms
of discourse.
Is possession really possible? How does it work? Are possession
rituals efficacious? If so, why? Anthropological research still revolves
around these crucial questions (Goodman, 1988, 1990). One way of
answering these questions is the performative approach to language,
according to which, divine presence is created verbally. Another way of
answering the same questions is Malik’s proposal of a hermeneutics of
embodiment or rather embodied consciousness, instead of considering
“trance,” “ritual,” and “oracle” as the center of investigation (Malik,
2009: 80). If we perceive possession as rituals of embodiment, we could
speak “of a system of ‘knowledge and practices’ rather than ‘beliefs and
practices,’” since embodied consciousness is knowledge (ibid.: 92).
Both approaches have brought us closer to the events experienced by
the actors themselves, with fewer Western presuppositions about the
reality of the experience.
238 Elisabeth Schömbucher

References

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Boddy, J. 1994. “Spirit Possession Revisited: Beyond Instrumentality.” Annual Review
of Anthropology 23: 407–434.
Bourguignon, E. 1976. Possession. San Francisco: Chandler.
Burghart, Richard. 1996. The Conditions of Listening. In C. J. Fuller and J. Spencer
(eds), Essays on Religion, History and Politics in South Asia. New Delhi: Oxford
University Press.
Certeau, Michel de. 2000. The Possession at Loudun. Chicago/London: University of
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 Chapter 11
The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in
Contemporary Indian Society

Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

The Hindu arranged marriage is one of the oldest surviving cultural

practices in the world. In this chapter, I have ventured to explore the
dominant sociocultural discourses1 that have shaped and are currently
shaping the urban Hindu arranged marriage. This chapter discusses
the importance of the traditions of the Hindu marriage amongst urban
middle- and upper middle-class Hindus. It briefly traces the roots and
origins of the ideals in conjunction with the ideological constructs
shaping the Hindu woman. While examining the strategic role played by
the institution of marriage in the functioning of the Indian social system,
the chapter simultaneously discusses the importance of the extended
family system in India. The influence wielded by the extended family
within the Indian social discourses has to be understood in relation to
arranged marriages, as they are usually inextricably linked. The roles
of caste and class within the urban Hindu arranged marriages are also
focal points within the chapter. This analysis is conceptual, and therefore
based completely on literary study. In no way does this discussion claim
to have covered all required ground; but it attempts to give a broad
general idea of the social, historical, cultural, and other factors that go
into the making of a contemporary Hindu arranged marriage. It also
briefly touches upon possible directions for contemporary and future
research scholars with regard to this ancient institution.
Examining the often paradoxical nature of the Hindu marital
culture in urban India and the traditional norms governing the
origins of marriage as a social institution, the use of cultural sanctions
as means of patriarchal control through social and religious traditions
is touched upon within the discursive analysis. This research is
242 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

focused on India’s urban middle and upper classes, and generally the
upper castes. It lays no claims to scholarship with regard to arranged
marriages amongst Dalits, rural Hindu India, or the economically
disadvantaged dwelling across India. This has been done keeping in
mind the limitations of scope of the analysis and, most importantly,
the insufficiency of my scholarly knowledge with regard to the
abovementioned issues. This study delves into historical comment but
does so only to connect its relevance to the contemporary discourse
regarding marriage that is the issue under analysis.

The Traditional Hindu Marriage

In India, marriage or vivaha, as it is termed in Sanskrit, is the single

most important event in the lives of individuals. It continues to contain
almost all the ancient features from its time of origin. The history of
Hindu marriage can be traced back a few millennia. H. N. Chatterjee
(1972), the Sanskrit scholar and historian, in his study, Studies in the
Social Background of the Forms of Marriage in Ancient India, comments:

Marriage to the Hindus is a religious institution to which the famous

definition of marriage in Roman Law is fully applicable. It is indeed,
as in ancient Rome, an association for life and productive of full
partnership, both in human and divine rights and duties.2 To them
marriage involves sacred and onerous duties. (Chatterjee, 1972: 4)

The Vedas set out in detail the ritualistic importance of the nuptial
ceremony and the significance of each ritual attached to it.3 The rites
of the Hindu marriage ceremony are very complex and have not
undergone much simplification over the years. Pandit Bhaiyaram
Sarma, the Indian historian and classical scholar, writes:

Ceremonial rites and rituals occupy a place of utmost importance in

the life of a devout Hindu … any average religious Hindu Society,
however urbanized and unorthodox, has not been able to ring out
the old when every little work in the Hindu home, sacred or profane,
begins with the performance of appropriate rites according to the
prescribed code. (Sarma, 1993: vii: Introduction)
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 243

Ancient scriptures outline various forms of marriage. Some are

not totally acceptable; others are very much in evidence even with the
passage of a few thousand years.4
Within the rituals of the traditional Hindu marriage were embed-
ded certain concepts that are very much a feature of the contempo-
rary Hindu nuptials. The wife as Ardhangini is one such important
concept within Hindu norms. In ancient Hindu tradition, a man’s life
was not considered complete without a wife, his ardhangini or other
half. H. N. Chatterjee writes:

The high conception of marriage in India may be traced back to the

age of the Vedas … the Satapathabrahmana emphatically declares
that a wife is half of one’s person and therefore before getting a wife, a
man cannot be said to be complete. (Chatterjee, 1972: 13)

Contained in Reverend J. E. Padfield’s 1908 book, The Hindu at

Home: Being Sketches of Hindu Daily Life, one of the earliest books
on the subject and now increasingly rare and expensive, is Sir Monier
Williams’ (who was Boden Professor of Sanskrit at Oxford University)
translation of a passage from the Hindu epic, Mahabharata:

A wife is half the man, his truest friend;

A loving wife is a perpetual spring
Of virtue, pleasure, wealth; a faithful wife
Is his best aid in seeking heavenly bliss;
A sweetly-speaking wife is a companion
In solitude, a father in advice,
A rest in passing through life’s wilderness.5 (Padfield, 1908: 48)

The occasionally paradoxical nature of the traditional Hindu view

of marriage is observed when one compares the above translation
with the assertion from the Manusmriti6 that contradictorily states
that a wife is subordinate to husband’s will at all stages. In Chapter 5
of Professor George Buhler’s (1886) translation of the The Laws of
Manu, one comes across a decree stating, “Though destitute of virtue,
or seeking pleasure (elsewhere), or devoid of good qualities, (yet) a
husband must be constantly worshipped as a god by a faithful wife”
(ibid.: 154). In contrast is a proclamation by the female goddess in the
Rigveda that goes, “I am the banner and the head, a mighty arbitress
am I: I am victorious, and my Lord shall be submissive to my will.”7
244 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

Also, according to R. C. Majumdar and Pusalker, the marriage

hymn in the Rigveda (RV 10.85.26) claims that the wife “should
address the assembly as a commander” (1951: 424). They also
suggest that Rigvedic verses indicate that women were free to enter
marriage at a mature age (Majumdar and Pusalker, 1951: 394). But
again in the Manusmriti, there are Rigvedic verses demeaning to
women. For instance, in the Rigveda, one comes across a verse that
proclaims, “Indra himself hath said, the mind of woman brooks not
discipline. Her intellect hath little weight.”8 These Rigvedic hymns
are probably the earliest references to the position of women in
the Hindu society. A. L. Basham, the noted Indologist, refers to the
dharmashastras (Instructions in sacred law) in his book, The Origins
and Development of Classical Hinduism, and with regard to the status
of women in ancient India comments that “the woman’s status in
ancient India was always inferior to that of the man, her punishment
for wrongdoing being, according to the law books, equivalent to that
given a sudra” (1989: 105).
Another important feature of the Hindu marriage was the concept
of Stridhana. In ancient India, women were given gifts that were termed
Stridhana and were her property alone. As Basham (1967: 179; 1989:
105) explains, they were passed on to her female offspring. Stridhana
was not property received by the wife from either her father-in-law or
her husband. Kautilya, the ancient Indian philosopher in the court of
the Mauryas, in his political treatise, Arthashastra, discourses on the
woman’s right to property or Stridhana, as does the self-contradictory
Manusmriti. Such property belonged to the wife alone and was not to
be touched by the groom or his parents except in emergencies such
as ill-health, famine, performing religious ceremonies, and so on. But
simultaneously, the Manusmriti confusingly declares that a wife has
no property and the wealth earned is for the husband (Buhler, 1886:
VIII.416).

The Marriage Rituals

The Hindu marriage bond is considered unbreakable and amongst

most Hindus there exists a spiritual belief that if the couple remain true
to each other, marriages being preordained like all things, the same
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 245

couple will reunite in all births through eternity. Although customs

vary according to factors such as region, caste, community, sect,
and such other factors, there are certain basic features of any Hindu
marriage such as the Kanyadaan or giving away of the virgin bride
by the father to the groom, the Panigrahana or the acceptance of the
bride’s hand by the groom, as well as the very essential Saptapadi, the
seven steps around the holy fire that with cited promises and vows bind
man and woman together as husband and wife for all eternity. But
present within these rituals are many complexities and ambiguities,
demonstrating the existing pitfalls, if a layman attempts to practice the
rituals without the presence of the priests, who are considered to hold
all keys to the ambiguities.9 Chatterjee (1972: 3) is of the opinion that
the extreme complexity of the rituals of Hindu marriage has evolved
because of the contribution of “the great masses of people and races
with divergent levels of culture” whereas Paul B. Courtright, scholar
of Religious and Asian Studies, in his introductory essay on the section
on Hinduism in Sex, Marriage and Family in World Religions states:

Constructing a history of Hinduism in general or its views on sex,

marriage, and family in particular, presents important challenges.
While Hinduism is arguably the oldest continuing religion in the
world, dating back to at least 1500 BCE, it has developed in many
directions while maintaining a core identity. (Courtright, 2006: 227)

The Hindu marriage ceremony is dominated by traditional mores that

wrap the wedding ritual in excessive pomp and ceremony. Very few
brides or grooms undergoing the ceremony have prior knowledge of
the scriptural meanings. A specific feature of the Hindu marriage is
the ritual of conducting the entire ceremony in Sanskrit. The mantras
are chanted by Brahman priests and the Saptapadi are the seven steps
taken around the fire by the bride and groom together, their garments
joined, citing vows, symbolizing their unbreakable future ties. The
urban Hindu couple mechanically intones the mantras after the priest.
C. J. Fuller’s view in his anthropological study on Hinduism, The
Camphor Flame, is that although the Hindu man–wife relationship
reflects “hierarchical ideology” and is “institutionalized inequality,”
yet a sexually mature woman as wife exercises “ritual power” over
a man akin to that of the goddess in Hindu mythology (1992: 24).
Courtright also observes:
246 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

In the context of family lineages and social identity passed through

males, the female’s capacities and powers in shaping marriage are
often more difficult for outsiders to see. Traditionally, the outer world
of field, commerce, sacrifice, and battle has been the locale of men;
the inner world of the home, food, children, and health has been the
province of women. (Courtright, 2006: 229–230)

Dr A. S. Altekar, historian, archeologist, and numismatist from

Maharashtra, and one of the earliest Indian experts on Hinduism,
in his work, The Position of Women in Hindu Civilization: From
Prehistoric Times to the Present Day, explains that a father who does
not get his daughter married at the right age is considered a sinner in
traditional Hindu ideology (1956: 8). A daughter’s marriage based on
factors of caste status and social prestige, accompanied by rigid ritu-
als to solemnize the union, did and still does occupy immense impor-
tance within Hindu discursive ideology. Altekar, like Basham, bases
his research of Classical Hinduism within the ideological discourses
of the upper castes. Similarly, Courtright commenting on premodern
India states, “the parents of the bride and groom have the obligation
to arrange the marriage on behalf of the family, a family that includes
ancestors long deceased and descendants yet unborn” (2006: 271). It
is important to note that the concept of marriage led to the presence
of settled homes, curtailing the instability in society. Sarma (1993: x)
comments that “the Hindu society, though thoroughly supersti-
tion-laden was not promiscuous, it was a society well-regulated and
strictly ordered.”
The basic philosophy governing Hinduism has always stressed the
importance of the stage of householder and family relations in an
individual’s life. A. L. Herman, philosopher and author of A Brief
Introduction to Hinduism, explains the householder or Grhastha
stage in a person’s life as dictated by Hindu rituals:

The householder takes wife and children and since he supports

the other three asramas,10 lives out the prescribed period of his life
working at the vocation inherited from his father … The asramas were
also open to qualified women. (Herman, 1991: 76)

A young Hindu girl is traditionally reared on myths of Savitri11 and

Sita,12 and not really on tales of Kali’s destruction of the oppressive de-
monic world, and is thus socioculturally indoctrinated into accepting
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 247

the man as her superior. C. J. Fuller points out that “the status of her
family and caste also depend heavily on a woman’s sexual conduct.
An unmarried girl who is unchaste and wife who is unfaithful bring
dishonor” (1992: 21).
In his highly regarded work, The Wonder that was India: A Survey
of the History and Culture of the Indian Subcontinent Before the
Coming of the Muslims concerning marriage rules in ancient India,
Basham (1967: 167) writes that “the couple were usually of the same
caste and class, but of different gotras and pravaras,13 if they were of
high class.” After studying certain Hindu ideas on the subject, the
anthropologist Mary Douglas, in her study titled Purity and Danger:
an Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo, observes that
within many social groups, the woman is considered the entry point
of all pollution; thus, her purity appears to ensure the purity of the
race. With regard to Hindu social groups, she comments:

The caste membership of an individual is determined by his mother,

for though she may have married into a higher caste, her children take
their caste from her. Therefore women are the gates of entry to the
caste. (Douglas, 1966: 126)

It has to be noted that this system is not so prevalent now, as the current
Hindu social system is distinctly patrilineal. The lineage of the offspring
is traced from the father.
Growing instability within the Hindu society in the 6th century
due to rise of other religions such as Buddhism led to increasing
Sanskritization14 and the growing dominance of Brahmanism lead
to further subordination of women and the need to protect family
property and lineage through the birth of sons. Basham states, “From
the earliest hymns of the Rigveda sons were looked on as great
blessings. At least one son was almost essential, to perform funeral
rites for his father and thus ensure his safe transit to the other world”
(1967: 161).
The historical subordination of the Hindu woman is commented
upon by International Studies scholar Anand A. Yang in his essay
“Whose Sati?: Widow Burning in Early-Nineteenth-Century India,”
as he writes, “although the characterization of the Vedic Age between
1700 and 500 BC as a ‘golden age for women’ is debatable, the decline
in their status in the centuries thereafter is a matter of dispute”
248 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

(2008: 21). In her study on the Indian women across all walks of life,
the American journalist, Elisabeth Bumiller, discusses the importance
of a woman’s fertility and the insistent need for male progeny, even in
the India of the late 20th century. Bumiller’s (1990: 10) account takes
its title from the traditional blessing still used for a new bride, “May
you be the mother of a hundred sons.”
The concept of the pativarata, the ideal devoted Hindu wife,
though often satirized in modern India through media and cultural
mores, was and to some extent is a fundamental concept within the
Hindu marriage. C. J. Fuller writes, “Throughout India, the ideal
Hindu woman is symbolized as auspicious Lakshmi, who as Vishnu’s
consort, is commonly represented as the perfect woman and wife”
(1992: 201). The figure of the mother goddess looms large in the
Hindu psychoanalytical and sociocultural patterns prevalent at all
times. Although the idea of the modern Hindu woman as an idealized
pativarata may sometimes be a subject of mockery within the
contemporary social discourses in urban India, Courtright’s assertion
still holds validity that “stage of life, social position, occupation, and
gender shape what dharma is appropriate at a particular moment”
(2006: 228).

Caste and the Traditional Hindu Marriage

Basing his discussion on the historical perspective in Caste and Race in

India, sociologist G. S. Ghurye observed that “castes were groups with
a well-developed life of their own, the membership whereof … was
determined not by selection but by birth” (1969: 2) and in her essay,
“Caste in Contemporary India,” historian Eleanor Zelliot writes, “the
classic texts also offered an explanation for one’s birth into a certain
caste” (2004: 243). The caste system maintains its stranglehold, even
in urban areas, using the traditional discourse of purity as opposed
to pollution. It plays on the psychological need of the upper caste
Hindus to maintain what they consider their unpolluted or in case of
Brahmans their “twice-born” status. On the basis of the theories15 of the
French anthropological scholar Louis Dumont, whose specialization
was Indian cultures and societies, the Reverend Professor Frank
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 249

Whaling, a Religious Studies and Gandhi scholar, in his recent work,

Understanding Hinduism, observes:

The Brahmins are the highest and purest varna, and the Dalits are the
lowest, in that they are outside varna and are impure altogether. The
other varnas rank in between. Pollution occurs in different ways …
Thus marriage and sex have to function within the correct set of jātis
in the correct varna. (Whaling, 2010: 75)

The issue of the upper castes’ deeply ingrained fear of pollution is

further explained by Zelliot’s statement that “a chandala is the offspring
of a Brahmin woman with a Shudra man and the lowest of the low”
(2004: 245).
In the historical context, the lower caste woman enjoyed more
physical freedom than the upper caste ones; but Fuller (1992: 22)
notes, “high caste women derive the benefits of subordination,” like
the aristocratic women of Europe in earlier days. Even today, the
upper caste urban Hindu woman has definitely benefited most from
the empowerment of women that has taken place in post independent
India. Fuller also observes that although higher caste women maintain a
deferential veneer of subordination to patriarchy, many vital decisions
within the homes are actually in the hands of the wife (ibid.: 21–22).
Caste-endogamy perpetuates a system whereby individual
subjugation to societal and group needs is paramount. Caste has rigid
rules that often facilitate a high degree of familial patriarchy. Within
the Indian social structure, marriage is considered a union of two
families rather than individuals with factors such as lineage, heredity,
dowry amongst others to be considered. Therefore, intercaste or
interreligious marriages are not the norm in arranged marriage
situations, as they constitute a loss of status in the caste hierarchy.
Fuller stresses that “castes are normally endogamous” and intercaste
marriages are usually hypergamous (ibid.: 14).

Social Discourse within the Urban Hindu Marriage

Within the traditional Hindu marital discourse, the Hindu male is

habitually supposed to display a lack of interest in his newly wedded
250 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

wife. Yet, the often contradictory scriptural discourse tradition

decrees that a man’s life is not considered complete without a wife,
his ardhangini or other half. Such ideals are not really seen in practice
in average urban Hindu lives. In fact, Sudhir Kakar and Katharina
Poggendorf-Kakar in their psychoanalytical work, The Indians: Portrait
of a People, have found that within the modern Hindu marriage, the
average Indian woman is left with the fantasy of the perfect couple that
never manifests itself in reality:

The central image of this dream is the couple or jodi. The couple, of
course, exerts a universally powerful pull on the human imagination,
given our deeply buried wish to be seen by the spouse as god might
have done—that is, with absolute love and total understanding. It is
telling that in spite of the social consensus in favour of joint family
and widespread praise of its virtues, the couple continues to remain
a lodestar in the cultural imagination of Indian women. Iconically
represented as mithuna (sexual intercourse) couple in medieval
temple structures, its highest manifestation is ardhanarishwara—the
Lord who is half woman, visualization of the jodi as a single two-
person entity. (Kakar and Poggendorf-Kakar, 2007: 64)

Certain sections of the Hindu urban middle-class society are strong

advocates of hegemonic norms. This is also observed through certain
discourses in such families, which regulate behavior patterns between
married couples along rather unnatural and stifling patterns. In the
course of her study of Punjabi families, titled “Masks and Faces: An
Essay on Punjabi Kinship,” anthropologist Veena Das comments:

a newly married couple ignore each other completely during the

day. For instance on arriving home in the evening, the husband may
exchange greetings with everybody except his wife. Similarly, the wife is
required to abstain from showing any interest in his presence. The myth
is sustained that his wife is a stranger for a man. (Das, 1994: 207–208)

Das’s ideas are supported by Kakar’s analyses in The Inner World: A

Psycho-analytic Study of Childhood and Society wherein regarding
Indian family situations, he observes:

Any signs of a developing attachment and tenderness within the

couple are discouraged by the elder family members by either
belittling or forbidding the open expression of these feelings. Every
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 251

effort is made to hinder the development of an intimacy within the

couple which might exclude other members of the family, especially
the parents. Oblique hints about “youthful infatuations,” or outright
shaming virtually guarantee that the young husband and wife do not
publicly express any interest in (let alone affection for) each other; and
they are effectively alone together only for very brief periods during
the night. (Kakar, 1981: 74)

The contemporary urban Hindu couple would be justified in

questioning the religious discourse that considers man and wife to be
inextricably intertwined for all time. Why is the husband supposed to
display a lack of interest in the wife whose presence completes him
spiritually? Such contradictions are visible in the scriptures themselves,
as most religious texts have been formulated over centuries and are
thereby confusing. Courtright observes that “While individual love and
attraction are worthwhile, one of the goals of life, they are subordinate
to the larger concerns of the family and lineage” (2006: 230). Within
families advocating a very conservative arranged marriage system,
the opinion of the younger generation is sometimes not solicited
on the grounds that for children, parents personify living gods and
respect for elders follows automatically. This socioreligious hegemony
continues to ensure the obedience of the younger generation and the
women, by inculcating a culture of discouraging critical analysis of
time-honored sociocultural traditions. Even in postmodern India,
the “commodification” of women is an intrinsic aspect of the Indian
sociocultural value system.

Family in India

Within the arranged marriage system, the extended family as a

whole exercises enormous control over most aspects of the lives of a
young married couple. Patricia Uberoi, the Australian-born Indian
sociologist, in her essay “Family, Household and Social Change”
explains that a joint or extended Hindu family, in legal terms, is
an Indian sociocultural concept deriving from “Hindu legal texts
and is concerned with defining coparcenary property relations and
regulating matters of ritual, marriage and inheritance” (1994: 387). In
sociological terms, it implies “a household composed of two or more
252 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

married couples” (ibid.) including the offspring of the couples and

mostly the spouses of the male offspring. India is one of a handful of
nations where many marriages are still arranged. The Indian society
distinguishes sharply between “arranged” versus “love” marriages. In
the context of this discussion, the term “extended family” does not
always refer to a joint family, as living in the same premises is not a
prerequisite for the exercise of cultural hegemony. This chapter also
examines the patriarchal control exercised by extended families over
young married couples. The Canadian sociologist, Aileen Ross, in her
work, The Hindu Family in its Urban Setting, commented that there
was evidence that city life does not always lead to disintegration of the
joint family system (1961: 21). Half a century later, in spite of growing
industrialization and urbanization, the urban Hindu marriage still
labors under the cultural hegemony of extended family pressures.
A close scrutiny of the above arguments substantiates the idea that
in the life of a Hindu, family and community are prioritized over
marital bonds. This seriously compromises the position of the Hindu
woman in the contemporary society. In their study, “Introduction:
On Hindu Marriage and Its Margins,” anthropologists Lindsey
Harlan and Paul Courtright emphasize the importance of the works
of Louis Dumont in shaping the contemporary understanding of
Hindu society:

Dumont argues that whereas Western society tends to be individualistic

in outlook, Indian society tends to be holistic: it understands the
cosmos as a whole, of which society is a constituent part. As society
plays its role within the natural order of the universe, so people play
roles within society, but these people are not individuals with strictly
discrete identities. Rather, they are interdependent parts of society.
(Harlan and Courtright, 1995: 5)

Harlan and Courtright further explain that “because a marriage affects

the status of the entire family and its lineage, it is deemed too important
a decision to leave to the persons actually getting married” (ibid.).
The strength of patriarchy is further observed in the complaisant
manner in which most educated Hindu urbanites undergo the
wedding ceremony. The older generation, particularly the parents
of the individual spouses, can be viewed as perpetrators and
staunch upholders of this system. The motivational factor appears
to be an urgent desire to control the lives of their offspring in order
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 253

to consolidate their own superior position within the cultural

tradition, relegating their offspring to a subordinate status. The
patriarchal Hindu discourse has always functioned along such lines.
The Sociologist Murray Milner in his study, Status and Sacredness:
A General Theory of Status Relations and An Analysis of Indian
Culture, provides relevant insights, as he states that “since status is
relatively inexpansible, some must lose status if others are to gain
status” (1994: 112). Similarly, Kakar and Poggendorf-Kakar (2007:
45) also point out that the Indian society at large is undemocratic
and all relationships are automatically conducted on lines of
superiority and subordination.
Even in modern urban India, the older women in the family often
have a vital role in the initial shaping of a new marital relationship.
Veena Das’s analysis of these women as “female patriarchs” is highly
relevant:

Despite the patriarchal character of the Indian family, there exists an

independent community of women which evolves as a result of the
taboo on the interaction between the sexes. This community which has
already internalized patriarchal values now ensures the conditioning
of the female child into her social role of docile daughter/wife/mother
... Das, describes these women as “female patriarchs,” old women who
may often speak on behalf of men. (Das, 1985: 3)

In an extended family situation, the older Hindu women often be-

come the main advocates and executors of patriarchal hegemony. As
Kakar and Poggendorf-Kakar (2007: 60) observe, “The much-ma-
ligned mother-in-law, besides (or even because of) being animated
by her own possessiveness in relation to her son, is no more than the
family’s designated agent preventing the build-up of a ‘foreign’ cell in
the family body.”

Marriage and Family within a Contemporary

Discursive Ideology

In extended families, the older generation often use the already stressed
lives of the younger generation to further manipulate them. A fear of
criticism from elders also leads to younger married couples passively
254 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

accepting the hegemonic pressures in order to maintain domestic

harmony. In an extended family situation, if a boy disobeys parental
dictates, the blame is immediately transferred to the wife. “Attractive
young women are often accused of having done tona or jadu (magic
or spells) to their husbands” (Das, 1994: 208). The Hindu arranged
marriage does not stress the union of two different entities, namely the
bride and groom who are discouraged from forging themselves into
an independent and mutually supportive unit. As discussed earlier,
the core feature of the Hindu marriage is the supreme importance of
the extended family.
For newly wed Hindu couples, marriage usually implies taking on
further duties and responsibilities, especially within the framework of
arranged marriages. Pleasure in most forms is considered a negligible
aspect of the new marital relationship. Familial attitude makes it clear
that marriage is for fulfillment of duties and obligations. As Aileen
Ross points out “romantic love” between husband and wife “could be a
disruptive element” (1961: 154) in the context of extended family ties.
Kakar’s 2007 study of Indian society shows how the situation remains
largely unchanged within the contemporary cultural discourse when
compared with the past. This is ironic within a culture that supports
the second largest film industry in the world churning out endless
tales of romantic love. Within urban educated families, constant
monitoring of the lives of young married couples is often disguised as
attempts to alleviate the loneliness of the new bride and incorporate
her as a member of the family. As Kakar (1981: 73) reminds us that
she occupies the lowest rung of the family hierarchy, and therefore
it is easy to prevent her forming a close bond with her new husband.
The anthropologist Henrike Donner in her ethnographic study,
conducted in Kolkata, titled Domestic Goddesses: Maternity,
Globalization and Middle-class Identity in Contemporary India, has
observed that

In private discussions young people in particular would speak very

emotionally about their expectations regarding love and marriage
and would often use a lot of vocabulary that is associated with
companionate marriage, for instance the English word “soulmate”
(or its local equivalent sathi lit. a companion) representing an ideal
partner. (Donner, 2008: 65)
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 255

But in reality, the strong opposition faced by married couples in

their efforts at identifying strongly with each other as partners and
fostering their own unit, with privacy and space being allotted for the
strengthening and growth of the marital relationship, is highly visible
within the cultural system. In particular, the prime importance of
the groom’s natal extended family is constantly stressed. In certain
instances, this role is usurped by the bride’s family, especially if
it occupies higher rungs of the socioeconomic hierarchy. The
consequence in both cases is that the husband–wife relationship lags
behind in order of importance, and hence may not emotionally deepen
at all, leading often to hidden depression or strife between the married
pair. Sometimes, both families in different ways exercise equal controls
over the man and woman.
In such circumstances, coupled with the shortage of suitable
and adequate accommodation in India’s larger metropolises, it is
sometimes nearly impossible to nurture a nuclear unit with strong
ties between the spouses and their own children. Das in her studies of
Punjabi joint families observes:

One of the very noticeable facts of life in a joint family is that parents
of young children hardly ever fondle them in the presence of others
… to fondle one’s own children and to respond to their demands
immediately, is also to cast aspersions on the ability of the family to
love them or look after them. (Das, 1994: 209)

So that extended family may remain socially intact, young children are
often deprived of much-needed physical contact with their parents.
If the parents attempt to transgress norms laid down by the family, it
may lead to exhibition of great displeasure in the form of taunts, snide
comments, and even lead to family quarrels.
The Hindu sociocultural structure presents many arguments
stressing the need for the constant presence of extended family in
the lives of newlyweds or younger married couples, as that entails
help with childcare, housework, finances, and so on. But many such
arguments are rendered null and void, as a large number of children
reared under grandparental supervision are usually very spoilt and
often feature as booty in the conflict between warring generations,
paying a heavy emotional price in the process. In her 1961 study
of Indian families, Aileen Rossstated, “[c]hildren … can be just as
unhappy in joint families as in smaller ones” (1961: 17). Five decades
256 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

later, Indian child psychologist, Dr Sushma Mehrotra asserts that

“most ‘unhealthy’ children come from joint families because they
live together out of compulsion and not out of choice.” She further
comments that children reared in joint families are not really adept
at sharing. “It is always assumed that children from joint families
are more likely to share their things as they interact on a daily basis
with so many people. However, if the family atmosphere is hostile, it
can have an adverse effect on children.”16 Housework is rarely ever
decreased with additional family members, but the cultural myth
is perpetuated as is a pattern of exploitation. The interests being
served are usually those of the extended family, and those of younger
married couples suffer the most.
But reverting to the analysis of the “exclusion” treatment meted out
to the daughter-in-law, it can be considered that it often stems from
the fact that she is regarded very much as an outsider in her husband’s
family. Cultural dissimulation is finely tuned to lay constant stress on
the daughter-in-law’s faults coupled with complete denial on the part
of her in-laws that they have ever made her feel like an interloper within
their family. In an interview with Martin Jacques, cultural theorist
Stuart Hall says, “We never acknowledge that tight-knit communities
are founded on exclusion.”17 The Indian family and kinship system
works on a similar principle, which shifts into place with greater force,
with the presumably ‘threatening’ presence of a new bride.

Cultural Burdens of Obligation

Hindu children, rarely if ever, escape the debt of birth. Most offsprings
come into the world carrying what can be termed the “cultural milk
debt.” Here, as a “cultural insider,” I am paraphrasing from cultural
phraseology in Bengali (my mother tongue) whereby a child always
has to fulfill his/her dudher hrin (dudh = milk; hrin = debt). Bollywood
cinema resounds with instances of the traditionally garbed self-
sacrificing Hindu mother claiming back her doodh ka karz (in Hindi,
doodh = milk; karz = debt) from her grown offspring. The father
and extended family also reap the benefits of this debt by default.
The young Hindu male, in particular, carries this burden with him
all his life. This debt originates in the very act of being born, as this
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 257

act puts the child in debt to those who have given him/her the gift
of life. Within the sociocultural discourse, it would be considered
highly improper if the offspring ever raised the issue of the parents
deriving satisfaction from the birth and rearing of children. It insists
that parents be accorded a semidivine status as people who have
undergone endless sacrifice to ensure their children’s welfare. Duty
is the key phrase in these interactions and these cultural norms are
mostly thematically validated by the Bollywood cultural discourse
and are often ably supported by the regional Indian cinematic
discourse as well. The ideology inherent within this discourse refuses
to acknowledge the gratification found in the act of parenting. This
denial raises a cultural paradox in a society in which lack of offspring
is a matter of social and emotional disgrace.
This discourse accords the Hindu male a definite social status,
generally superior to his female counterpart. As a consequence, the
males within the family develop a clear sense of self and sometimes
during the entire process, selfishness to an unusual degree. Kakar’s
studies conclude that

custom, tradition and the interests of the extended family demand that
in the realignment of roles and relationships initiated by marriage, the
roles of the husband and wife … be relegated to relative inconsequence
and inconspicuousness. (Kakar, 1981: 74)

As observed earlier in the chapter, the notion of shame is used

very strongly in the effort to weaken the marital bonds, so that family
control over the couple may remain intact.

Social Changes in Urban India

There is an ongoing struggle in the urban Hindu woman’s mind
between inherited traditions and the constant flux of social changes.
She is torn between the education and new knowledge available to her
and the equally strong pull of ingrained patriarchal dictates. While
studying Indian arranged marriages of the 1990s and women’s roles
in India, Elisabeth Bumiller noted:

The “new” Indian arranged marriage is something of a breakthrough

after all. The middle class has essentially created an odd hybrid by
258 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

grafting the Western ideal of romantic love onto the traditions of

Hindu society—yet another example, perhaps, of the Indian talent for
assimilating the culture of a foreign invader ... In the end, the result
is something completely and peculiarly Indian, including the notion
that it “works.” (Bumiller, 1990: 42)

The matrimonial columns in the leading English dailies provide

ample proof of the eternal cycle of human demands and expectations
controlled by hegemony. New terms such as “convented” have been
coined by Indian advertisers in their intensive search for the right match.
The term “convented” contains within it many nuances. Its technical
interpretation is that it is desirable for the bride to have completed
her schooling at a convent/missionary school where English is the
medium of education, and girls hailing from such schools have greater
fluency in English. Also, the fees charged by such schools are higher
than ordinary state-run schools and this denotes the secure financial
status of the family and this is also a matter of prestige. Furthermore,
the so-called “convented” girls are more conversant with Western
customs and norms of behavior, thus making themselves suitable
spouses for educated boys, especially for the upcoming “yuppies” and
prospective Indian grooms based in Western countries.
The dichotomy inherent in such requirements by the grooms’
families is that there is an assumption that the girl’s exposure to
Western education and knowledge of English has not in any sense
led to an intellectual application of such learning and infused her
with liberalized ideas moving beyond the dictates of cultural urban
hegemony. Such parochial pragmatism coupled with an emphasis on
financial considerations exposes the negative aspects of the discourse
governing urban arranged marriages. Kamala Ganesh in her essay,
“Patrilineal Structure and Agency of Women: Issues in Gendered
Socialization,” analyzes that:

The capacity to adjust, given so much importance in the socialization

of girl and women, does not consist of acceptance alone, but includes
the acquisition of negotiatory skills. The overall outcome of such
negotiation may not often be in their favour due to the relations of
power in patriarchy, relations which are reflected in patrilineal kinship
and operationalized in the household. (Ganesh, 1999: 236)
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 259

Bumiller (1990) details interviews she conducted with young urban

Indian women about to enter marriage, shedding further light on
certain common factors influencing particularly the female psyche
in India with regard to arranged marriages. She recounts the accep-
tance in the attitudes of the young, qualified urban women whose
marriages had been arranged by family:

Women routinely told me that they had decided to marry a man-half-

an-hour after the first meeting because they felt it was “meant to be.”
“It’s the biggest gamble of one’s life,” said Ritu Nanda. “So why not
just leave it to destiny?” (Bumiller, 1990: 33)

At times, it is also total acceptance of an immensely subordinate status in

another family and a complete subjugation of individual will and desire, a
total surrender through consensual control. This acceptance is what drives
the belief in destiny; the first is used as a rationalization for the second.
“Destiny” is easier to openly accept than one’s explicit subservient status.
It is also a disavowal of personal responsibility. Even in contemporary
India, the sociocultural discourse assumes that a daughter is born to be
married, bring honor to her family, and yet be culturally subordinated
unless she becomes the mother of sons. Across all strata of Indian society,
the male offspring is the most coveted. Nobel laureate and economist
Amartya Sen in his essay, “Economics and the Family,” emphasizes
that “the low female–male ratio in the Indian population and the lower
life expectancy of women are matched by evidence of serious extra
deprivation of women in terms of other basic capabilities” (1994: 459).
A modern twist is lent to the issue of female “commodification”
when the urban Hindu woman’s qualifications and earnings serve
to enhance her worth as a commodity in contemporary India. As
Rama Bijapurkar, one of India’s most respected leaders of thought on
market strategy, wryly observes:

While it is true, by women’s own admissions, that mothers-in-law

are more tolerant and husbands less repressive, and she has equal
voting rights on family issues, it isn’t social evolution that is driving
this change as much as the state of the economy. In other words, we
have God (or Goddess?) EMI or equated monthly instalment to thank
for driving this change. The concept of family has changed from a
predominantly social unit to an economic unit. The new truth about
260 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

Indian marriages is the old truth—that its business model is around a

pragmatic “life business” partnership rather than around romance.18

With regard to the urban Hindu arranged marriage, economic interests

are, unfortunately, often a vital motivating factor. In postmodern
India, they occasionally tend to override other traditional governing
factors such as caste or subcaste membership. In a society devoid of
welfare benefits, parental expectations often focus on male offspring as
sources for future social security. While daughters have traditionally
been treated as subservient upholders of caste and class endogamy,
with the recently changing socioeconomic factors, families without
male progeny often burden daughters with similar expectations of
being able to contribute to the overall family income.

Changes in Urban India

Young Hindu women from the urban middle classes face enormous
challenges due to constant changes within the urban Indian
socioeconomic discourse. There are large numbers of Indian girls and
women from the cities and towns pursuing academic qualifications
and financially lucrative careers in India and overseas who feature as
“favorites” in the “matrimonial market.” Urban Hindu women today have
carved a niche in most professions. In “The Family and Reproduction of
Inequality,” Andre Beteille, one of India’s leading sociologists and writers,
says that “Change is also coming about in attitudes toward the education
of girls; certainly they continue to be prepared for marriage, but more
and more of them are being prepared simultaneously for careers”
(1994: 443). But these women face a real dilemma. They are culturally
coerced into “Superwomen” moulds, which are highly stressful on both
personal and professional levels. It is very much the norm for urban
Indian women of particular age groups to combine highly competitive
careers in medicine, management, engineering, and other demanding
professions with marriage and motherhood, simultaneously juggling
the eternal roles of the docile, hardworking daughter-in-law and dutiful
daughter. It is, yet again, another sacrifice of personal needs and time
on the part of the Hindu woman within a discourse that commits them
from birth to constant adjustment and compromise.
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 261

Education for women has become a very important issue in India.

But it does not always guarantee certain fundamental rights that
women, especially married women, have often been denied. Bride-
burning by in-laws or suicide due to dowry harassment is an extant
social evil in India. A Times of India report on February 21, 2011 reads:

Recently, 28-year-old R Sushila was admitted to the burns ward of the

Kilpauk Medical College Hospital (KMCH), Chennai after she tried
to immolate herself. When she died a week later with 90% burns, it
was recorded as a suicide. However, nurses said she had told them she
committed suicide unable to bear the pressure and harassment from
her husband and in-laws for dowry. We get around eight burns cases
every day and of those five are women and they are mostly reported as
cases of accidents or suicide.

As per a TIME magazine report, dowry deaths in India have gone up

15-fold from 400 cases in 1980s to 5,800 in 1990s. National Crime
Bureau of the Government of India reported 6,000 dowry-related
deaths in 1995. These are official figures, reality must be petrifying.19
An educated woman is definitely at an advantage in her marital
home in comparison to her uneducated counterparts. In urban
India, within certain sections of society, education of both sexes has
assumed a position of paramount importance. Sadly enough, for the
Hindu women, the focus is not always on positive reform; it is often
the mere addition of a bargaining tool in the matrimonial situation
or a creation of a parental pension fund in the event of lack of sons.
In a recent article, the feminist thinker and academic, Vrinda
Nabar highlighted the modern woman’s dilemma originating from
the hegemonic cultural discourses:

What is more remarkable is how little attitudes have changed even

among the middle class ... I ran into an old school friend who told
me her daughter was doing occupational therapy. “She couldn’t get
into medical school, but it’s just as well. Girls should do what they
can make time for once they’re married … This woman was herself
a trained doctor. Was something of her own frustration contained
in that statement? Or was she submitting to the juggernaut of social
conditioning? Why is it that the older generation has done little to
promote a paradigm shift in such perceptions though many of us
262 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

came of age during the most rebellious and iconoclastic phase of the
post-War era? (Nabar, 2009)

Certain traditional patterns are now being rearranged with the onset
of urbanization, the influence of westernization, and increasing
levels of female education. But on certain levels, change has not really
occurred so much as the same pattern has merely refashioned itself
along different lines. Discourses of expectations and control systems
are still very much in place, sometimes under different headings with
altered subtitles. The occasional impatience of the better-educated and
highly stressed younger generation is usually dubbed as insensitivity
and a total lack of consideration for elders.

Hindu Marriages in the Diaspora

With regard to the urban diasporic Hindu arranged marriage,

Donner writes:

[T]he idea that virtual strangers can be matched is currently experiencing

a revival of sorts, as many parents of young, well-educated but not affluent
women cannot resist the temptation, if the opportunity of marrying a
daughter to a migrant working either in the Gulf or in the US, presents
itself. In these cases, the so-called “dollar brides” are often not able to meet
the precious groom before he flies in before the wedding, and whether or
not parents arrange for virtual contact via video links or at least email,
depends entirely on the individual case. (Donner, 2008: 70–71)

Diasporic marriages amongst Hindus open up an entire new field

of study which in turn contains many multicolored cultural strands.
Some of these marriages that take place amongst Hindu migrants in
the first worlds are very tradition bound, whereas others are completely
outside the scope of parental desires. Others might be exogamous but
not interreligious conducted with parental blessings. Many urban
diasporic Hindus are caught in the usual conflict between the first- and
second-generation migrants. Cultural anthropologist and economist,
Professor U. Kalpagam, in “‘American Varan’ Marriages among Tamil
Brahmins: Preferences, Strategies and Outcomes” (2008: 98), discusses
the neglect in Indian sociological studies of the “diasporic terrain’ as well
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 263

as changing forms of marriage and “transgressive behaviors” such as

intercaste marriages. She also goes on to state that in a study of arranged
marriages, it is vital to focus on “community specific matrimonial
studies” and “how diasporic opportunities redefine social status within
cultural groups” (ibid.).
When we speak of the diasporic Hindus, it has to be remembered
that we are dealing with a vast majority of people of different castes,
classes, and communities influenced by individual family cultures.
Again, the term urban Hindu marriage in the context in which it
is discussed in this chapter may not apply to many of them. With
regard to the second- and third-generation Hindu migrants, in
Hinduism Today, Stephen Jacobs (2010), media and cultural studies
theorist, comments that the question to be addressed is whether
the relationship with the “perceived homeland/sacred land” for the
second-generation or third-generation or later-generation migrants
becomes so attenuated that the term “diaspora community” does not
really apply to them. He also indicates the formation of other distinct
Hindu identities such as British Hindus and American Hindus, and
so on (ibid.: 107). These issues are being focused on in sociological
and other studies and there remain enormous research possibilities
in these arenas.

The Future of the Arranged Marriage and

Family in India

In the 21st century, social discourses in urban India have undergone

significant changes and in order to strengthen the social fabric
and better the conditions for women and families in general, it is
necessary that conditions are facilitated for the formation of strong
marital relationships within arranged marriages without undue family
interference. Within many sections of urban Hindu society, there is
already a positive attitude to “love marriages,” wherein the individuals
choose their own future partners. As Courtright observes:

Maybe because of co-education or other social opportunities, the boy

or girl may have thought of someone else to be their spouse. Parents
264 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

are usually inclined to consider the situation favourably unless there is

something that they feel is undesirable. (Courtright, 2006: 271)

Another new phenomenon is the evolution of what can be

referred to as the “new Hindu urban male,” educated, not fixated
on gender models, and open to new ideas, who along with the
“new urban Hindu woman” is challenging and slowly bringing
alterations within the traditional discourses, helping them evolve
into positive stabilizing not stifling forces. These nontraditional, yet
culturally aware, individuals are making themselves strongly heard
in metropolitan India. It is not that they do not exist in smaller
towns or villages. It is just that the hegemonic discourse holds
greater sway within smaller communities in nonmetropolitan areas.
The rise of this new urban youth has seen changes in many social
mores. For instance, with noted Indian designers and chefs such as
Tarun Tahiliani and Sanjay Kapoor around, fashion designing and
the culinary arts have begun to be coveted careers for males without
hindering their matrimonial prospects in arranged marriages.
Similarly, girls doing MBAs also are no longer dubbed “bad wife
material.” But Bijapurkar’s analysis seen earlier in the chapter
answers many questions regarding such changes.
Meanwhile, vital issues such as marital rape and emotional abuse
are slowly being prioritized, especially after changes in Indian laws
during 2005–2006. India was one of the last countries to pass laws
on marital rape. Sociologist Kalpana Kannabiran points out that the
19th century “problematized” women’s issues within Hinduism.
Prepubescent marriage, female infanticide, restitution of conjugal
rights, and marital rape were central issues (Kannabiran, 2004:
275) and they still are major factors within the Hindu sociocultural
discourse. New research is bringing fresh perspectives to bear on
these matters, but there are vast opportunities for exploration of
these issues within the Indian cultural discourse.
In the words of American Indologist, Wendy Doniger, “Hindus
nowadays are diverse in their attitude to their own diversity, which
inspires pride in some and anxiety in others. In particular it provokes
anxiety in those Hindus who are sometimes called Hindu nationalists
or … right-wing Hindus…” (2009: 14). The rising phenomenon of
Hindutva, a movement which Amartya Sen terms “the promoters of
a narrowly Hindu view of Indian civilization” (2005: ix–x) as well as
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 265

a militant and fundamentalist aspect of Hindu culture is a relatively

new phenomenon in Indian society. It has caught the popular
imagination in urban areas and while it is instrumental in fostering
communal tensions, it also opens up a research direction for future
scholars, as this social discourse is bound to be detrimental the status
of the Hindu woman and have a regressive impact on the Hindu
discourse in the long run. This is because exponents of this dogmatic
ideology prefer the rigid and fundamental aspect of man–woman
relations that arose due to the Sanskritization of ancient India after
500 BC.
In conclusion, it can be said that the ancient system of the Hindu
arranged marriage has proved its strength by surviving centuries of
political, cultural, historical, and social change and upheaval. But it
faces its biggest challenge in contemporary Indian society. Whether it
can adapt and survive, and perhaps even find enrichment in a rapidly
changing world remains to be seen. But as an institution it offers
challenges, sometimes unfair ones, especially from a female perspective.
In such a situation, the convention-bound hegemonic discourses can
often stifle the efforts of couples working hard at building a strong
relationship. A fulfilling and loving relationship between married
couples is always an inspiration to their future generations. Any
obstacle in the course of such a path should be tackled and resolutions
to problems sought by logically analyzing the sociocultural discourses.
But Kakar and Poggendorf-Kakar issue a warning:

Only the future will tell whether the Indian woman’s long cherished
wish to constitute a ‘two-person universe’ with her husband will not
degenerate … into a mutual ego boosting, a joint self-centredness, a
folie a deux of a special kind. (Kakar and Poggendorf-Kakar, 2007: 70)

Notes

­  1. “[D]iscourse” is widely used in social theory and analysis, for example in the work
of Michael Foucalt, to refer the different ways of structuring areas of knowledge
and social practice … Discourses do not just reflect or represent social entities
or relations, they construct or “constitute” them. Different discourses constitute
key entities … in different ways, and position people in different ways as social
266 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

subjects … and it is these social effects of discourse that are focused upon in
discourse analysis. Another important focus is upon historical change: how
different discourses combine under particular social conditions to produce a new,
complex discourse. (Fairclough, 1993: 3–4)
2. H. N. Chatterjee (1972/1974: 4) provides as a footnote, no. 11 of the Chapter on
general observations (1–91), the Roman Law in Latin: “Nuptiae sunt conjunctio
maris et feminae et consortium omnis vitae divivi et humani juris communicatio.”
3. Vedas are the earliest of the Indian scriptures and are collated into four volumes,
namely, the Rigveda, Yajurveda, Samaveda, and Atharvaveda. They were later
overcome by the Upanishads. The word “Veda” means knowledge. The Vedas
generally stand for rituals.
 The Rigveda is only the first constituent of a great body of literature known as
Vedic by Western scholars and classed by Hindu tradition as “sruti”, “that which
has been directly heard”, as distinct from later religious literature, such as the
epics, the Puranas and the Dharmashastras, which are known as “smriti”, “that
which has been remembered” The latter class is considered less sacred than the
former. (Basham, 1989: 27)
4. In Indian sources, most information about marriage as an institution is found
in the Dharmasutrasv and sastras, or the manuals of religious law, of duties and
rights and of castes and life stages. The ritual manuals (Grhyasutras) give a detailed
exposition of the ritual of marriage according to different Vedic schools. Here, the
most important piece of information is that in addition to the basic Vedic rites,
various customs of different countries and social groups must be observed.
  The dharma authors defined eight different forms of marriage,
variously acceptable to different classes. Most often, these are quoted from
the Manavadharmasastra, but these are also found, for instance, in the
Yajnavalkyadharmasastra, and even in the Asvalaynagrhyasutra. According to
Manu, the first four are permissible to the Brahmans and include the rites of
Brahman (brahma), the gods (daiva), the rsis (arsa), and prajapati (prajapatya),
that is, giving the daughter to a man learned in the Veda, to an officiating priest,
against a formal gift of cow and bull, and to a suitable bridegroom. The Ksatriyasv
are also permitted the rite of Raksas or the forcible abduction of the girl and that of
the Gandharvas or mutual agreement of the bride and the groom. The rite of the
Asura or purchase of the bride is hesitatingly allowed to the lower classes, while that
of the Pisacas (paisaca) or seduction of the girl during her sleep, intoxication, or
confusion is proclaimed forbidden. It has been pointed out that the less acceptable
sorts of marriage are perhaps included in the system to give the status of married
women to the victims of such acts. This is the classification of the Dharmasastra,
but even these eight forms are by no means exhaustive. One immediately thinks
of the Swayamvara, a contest of warriors with the bride’s hand as the reward
(Kattunen, 1998).
5. Brahminism and Hinduism, p. 389 cited in Padfield (1908).
6. Manusmriti or Manusamhita are the ancient law books that formed the basis of
the Hindu law. The Laws of Manu from somewhere between 200 BCE and 200
CE is considered the oldest and one of the most important texts of this genre.
 The Urban Hindu Arranged Marriage in Contemporary Indian Society 267

Scholars are now quite well agreed that the work is an amplified recast in verse
of a “Dharmasutra,” no longer extant, that may have been in existence as early as
500 BCE. Manusmriti (Laws of Manu) is considered by some Hindus to be the
law laid down for Hindus (Buhler, 1886).
7. Rigveda Book 10 Hymn CLIX Saci Paulomi. Available at: http://www.sacred-texts.
com/hin/rigveda/rv10159.htm (accessed on September 29, 2011).
8. Rigveda Book 8 Verse 17 Hymn XXXIII Saci Paulomi. Available at: http://www.
sacred-texts.com/hin/rigveda/rv10159.htm (accessed on September 30, 2011).
9. It is indeed difficult to determine which of the ceremonies is essential and
conclusive. The task is fraught with further complications, as there are diverse
customs, varying from place to place and even from family to family. But there
are common features. Asvalayana accordingly states in his Grhyasutra that most
common of the ceremonials should be observed in marriage. Manu is of the opinion
that mantras of marriage ( as are pronounced at the time of Panigrahana—grasping
of the hand of the bride by the husband) lead to wifehood no doubt, but marriage
finds completion in the performance of the rite of the Saptapadi. Medhatithi
stresses the importance of the verse of Manu when he observes that consequent
to the observance of the rite of Saptapadi, a marriage cannot be annulled even if
the bride is found to be insane (Chatterjee, 1972–1974: 18).
10. Asramas denote stages.
11. “Savitri … like the Greek Alcestis, followed her husband Satyavant when he was
being carried away by the death-god Yama and so impressed the god with her
loyalty that he released her lord” (Basham, 1967: 182).
12. “Sita … faithfully accompanied her husband Rama into exile and endured great
hardships and temptations for his sake” (ibid.).
13. Gotras: “The Brahmans of the later Vedic period were divided into exogamous
septs (gotras), a system which was copied in part by other classes and has survived
to the present day” (Basham, 1967: 140). Pravaras: “In the Brahman’s daily worship
he mentioned not only the name of the founder of his gotra, but also the names
of certain other sages who were believed to be the remote ancestors of his family”
(ibid.).
14.  The caste system is far from a rigid system in which the position of each
component caste is fixed for all time. Movement has always been possible,
and especially in the middle regions of the hierarchy. A caste was able, in a
generation or two, to rise to a higher position in the hierarchy by adopting
vegetarianism and teetotalism, and by Sanskritizing its ritual and pantheon.
In short, it took over, as far as possible, the customs, rites, and beliefs of the
Brahmins, and adoption of the Brahminic way of life by a low caste seems
to have been frequent, though theoretically forbidden. This process has been
called “Sanskritization” in this book, in preference to “Brahminization”, as
certain Vedic rites are confined to the Brahmins and the two other “twice-
born” castes. (Srinivas, 1952: 32)
15. Based on Dumont’s classical work Homo Hierarchus: The Caste System and its
Implications (1980).
16. Available at: http://www.indiaparenting.com/raising-children/129_256/parenting-
in-joint-families.html (accessed on August 21, 2010).
268 Reshmi Lahiri-Roy

17. Martin Jacques’ Interview with Professor Stuart Hall. 21.5.03. Available at: www.
usyd.edu.au/su/social/papers/hall1.html
18. Available at: http://www.ramabijapurkar.com/indiamyland/new_ind_women.
php (accessed on March 19, 2007).
19. Available at: http://www.youthkiawaaz.com/2011/03/dowry-deaths-in-india-the-
story-of-the-powerless/ (accessed on September 14, 2011).

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 Chapter 12
On Hinduism and Caste

Vinay Kumar Srivastava

With reference to the relationship between Hinduism and caste, one

hears from Indians, lay and academic, two sets of opinions.
The first is that the “spine of Hinduism is caste system”; without
it, it is nothing but a battery of abstract propositions and spiritual
thoughts about divinity and the ways of life, beyond the wisdom and
comprehension of laypersons, of interest principally to the literati,
philosophers, and religious scholars. Many consider Hinduism, a
term gaining popularity in the 19th-century British India, as a “school
of metaphysics” whose objective is to transform a person into “a
perfect human being” and to make “him one with the ultimate reality
(paramātmān)” (Basu, 1990: 3–4; Sarma, 1953: 3). The centrality of
Hinduism to the present-day discourse, in academic world as well as
the popular, owes to the practices and considerations of inequality
that have come to prevail, and are also regarded as legitimate, as a
result of the adherence of Hindus to the caste system.1
Here, we may recapitulate the oft-quoted Srinivas’s (1952: 213)
opinion that caste system is the “structural basis” of Hinduism, meaning
thereby that it is the principle of Hindu social organization. To escape
unequal treatment, sometimes horrendous and gruesome, at the hands
of the upper castes, many communities of lower castes in the past have
embraced the religions, both indigenous and externally introduced,
promising the equality of all humans before the divinity, but, to their
utter dismay, they have found that their preconversion social status has
continued to haunt them along with their new identity. They may be
equal before god, but not so in the world of men. Moreover, even the
converts to the other religions have caste-like gradations among them.
So, there are “upper caste Muslims” (barī zāt ke musalmān) as well
as “lower caste Muslims” (chotī zāt ke musalmān); although members
272 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

of both these categories share the same platform in the mosque, they
neither have the ties of matrimony nor commensality among them;
in fact, the general interaction between different groups is highly
limited and instrumental. Ipso facto, each of these categories—or the
subdivisions among each one of them—constitute(s) a bounded unit
in a hierarchically arranged system. Equality in some social spheres
does not automatically guarantee equality in the others. Against this
backdrop, Srinivas (1952: 231) notes that the caste system “survives
conversion to Christianity or Islam.” Although Srinivas mentioned
these two religions, the story of the other religions in India (Buddhism,
Jainism, Sikhism, Judaism, Zoroastrianism, and “tribal practices”) is also
the same; castes (and groups akin to caste) have been ethnographically
reported among each one of them, and one of the research interests
of students from different social science disciplines is to describe caste
system among non-Hindus and enunciate their differences in practices
and thoughts from Hindu communities (Ahmad, 1973; Mandelbaum,
1962; Singh, 1977).
The other opinion, expressed vociferously, is that caste has brought
disrespect to Hinduism. We are so overwhelmingly embroiled
in understanding caste system that the other salient aspects of
Hinduism have been relegated to the backseat.2 The excessive
importance that caste received from the outsiders, particularly the
colonial administrators, has led many to believe that “Hinduism
is nothing but caste religion, the religion that decrees inequality
between people,” which may not be true. Although caste is not a
colonial construct, as tribe is, the colonial discourse about India (and
South Asia) made it a central institution of Hinduism. The legacy
of the colonial administrators and scholars was carried forward by
their counterparts of Indian origin, with the consequence that not
only people from other countries but Indians also believe that caste is
pivotal to Hinduism. The whipping that Hinduism has received from
various quarters, particularly the social workers and activists, is all
because of caste.
This line of argument takes two forms: one, to rebut with the
authority of the textual tradition the centrality of caste to Hinduism
(Nadkarni, 2003; Sharma, 2000: 132–180) and, second, to eliminate
caste and its practices from everyday life. Subscribing to the idea that
change comes from below and people should themselves harbinger
change, instead of depending upon the state and the other agencies
 On Hinduism and Caste 273

of the civil society, there are cases of Indians refraining from

using their surnames, for these may reveal their respective caste
identities. Many Indians also avoid any public discussion on caste,
for they think it is a sensitive issue capable of fueling the emotions
of people, leading to a state where daggers may be drawn between
communities; and some believe that caste can be transcended by
encouraging intercaste marriages.
Some also believe that when we speak of a subject, we create its
“discourse,” and the more it is talked about and discussed, thus,
becoming a part of the public parleys, the more conscious we become
of its existence. I have heard sociologists and social anthropologists
say that they became aware of caste and its reality after reading about
it in their books and articles. Before that, they told me, having been
brought up in cities and metropolises, they were hardly aware of
their respective castes as well as of the others. They scarcely followed
the particularistic criteria (of caste or any other primordial tie) in
evaluating the others or establishing their relations with them. Being
mutual interpretations of cultures, the disciplines of sociology and
social anthropology help one know oneself in relation with the
others. The general implication of this argument is that once we stop
talking about caste—consciously avoiding it from our discourse—the
“subject of caste” will bear a retreat.
Whichever opinion we subscribe to, the truth is that caste
continues to be an important institution and also, a subject of
discourse, in contemporary India, although it may have taken a new
avatāra (incarnation), a new form, as Srinivas (1996) summed it up
in the title of his edited book. Being Hindu automatically implies
that one is born in a caste, whether or not one follows its occupation
or the way of living and whether or not one is aware of one’s caste
identity, its history, and its place in the hierarchy. This, however, is
not the case with those born to the folds of those religions that do not
have caste or those that emerged as a vehement reaction to caste. For
instance, a Muslim is born to a religion and a Hindu to a caste. An
Indian Muslim acquires a caste because of his “historical mooring”—
the preconversion status—a Hindu, because of his religion. This
relationship between Hinduism and caste—whether caste is the
structural principle of Hinduism or has discredited Hinduism—is of
tremendous research interest and is being explored below.
274 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Each society is organized in accordance with one or the other

principle, or a set of several principles.3 Traditional societies—
and India is one of these—hold the principle of birth (or what is
technically termed “ascription”) in high esteem. Distinction between
the gentry and the commoner or the patrician and the plebeian is on
the basis of birth, and it can be seen in many parts of the world; but
nowhere in the world has the principle of birth gone to such an extent
as it is in India and also in some parts of south Asia (Beteille, 1977).4
The Indian society displays social inequality in its most explicit,
extreme, elaborate, and manifest form, the outcome of which is
that the Indians are most conscious about their rank and position
in the society, which they unabashedly flaunt in public gatherings
and expect obeisance from those inferior to them.5 This would also
explain why certain social practices in India systematically “exclude”
the lowly placed groups and communities from the “mainstream,”
that largely comprises the superiorly graded, advantaged, and
privileged sections, the decision-makers, who monopolize key
positions in coveted professions, bureaucracy, business, corporate
sector, academics, army, and politics.
A set of concepts that has gained considerable currency in
contemporary political and intellectual discourse in India is of
“exclusion and inclusion.” The goal of development and planning is
defined as bringing within its fold, as early as possible, the hitherto-
deprived and excluded people of the country (Sen, 2000).6 An
oft-quoted phrase that has acquired popularity with the present
United Progressive Alliance (UPA) government is of “inclusive
development,” which means that directed and planned changes
should bring all, unexceptionally, within its fold. The critics of the
contemporary model of development in India often say that it is
“exclusionary,” as the upper crusts largely monopolize its benefits,
which do not percolate to lower and deprived sections of the society.
What has made India a hierarchical society? Why are Indians
overly conscious of their rank? Why in some parts of the country,
children, since beginning, are tutored that the only worthy job
in India is of a civil servant and they should aspire to clear the
prestigious Indian Civil Services Examination, for it would give them
power, status, wealth, and renown?7 One may agree with Kakar and
Kakar (2007) that inculcation of the principle of hierarchy has its
origin in early socialization, when children interiorize the subtleties
 On Hinduism and Caste 275

of rank and titles and the concomitant behavioral patterns. However,

the question remains: Which principle of social organization makes
Indians “ranked beings,” “status-conscious,” and “status-contestant”?
The answer to this may be explored against the background of
two paradoxes. First, whilst Indians have become fully aware of the
fact that they are hierarchical and want the disabilities concurrent
with the system transcended, they are dead against sacrificing a
modicum of their own privileges, the advantages, and profits that
accompany their status. Second, whilst they wholeheartedly support
that discriminations in society be alleviated, they want their private
worlds to remain intact, as these have been from the past.
Many scholars think that the key to understand India—and
particularly, why Indians are Homo hierarchicus—is to examine its
system of social organization and stratification famously known as
“caste,” a term derived from the Portuguese word casta, first used
in 1563 by Garcia de Orta (Mathur, 1964: 59).8 Meaning “species”
and “breed” in biology and “tribe,” “clan,” “race,” “family,” or
“kind” in social study, this term was used for groups found among
Hindus where distinction was made between people of “greater or
lesser dignity” (Basham, 1988: 148; Marriott and Inden, 1985: 348).
In addition, the early travelers noted an important fact about the
hierarchical system in India: It was not only Hindus who were so
divided but even people professing other faiths were also treated
similarly. For example, the Christians were accorded a low status
and a Hindu of higher caste refrained from eating or drinking with
them (Hutton, 1946). Khushwant Singh (1966: 568), a leading Indian
littérateur, noted that in Punjab, as the converts to Christianity were
mostly from low castes, Christians came to be almost synonymous
with the category of scavengers (those who were called “sweepers”).
That the Hindu lower castes embraced Christianity and Islam is
commonplace knowledge among higher caste people, so instead of
viewing the converts as the followers of other religions, equal to their
own, they see them as downwardly placed “lower castes,” with whom
they behave as if they were in the Hindu caste system (Beteille, 1972;
Mandelbaum, 1962).
This tells us that the word “caste,” and the behavior associated
with it, is extended to encompass the other non-Hindu groups. The
Hindus view the world around them, including both the coreligionists
and the others, as divided into castes, and each one of them is ranked,
276 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

that is, occupies a place in the hierarchy. It is not only the Hindus
but the others also view the world as ordered into strata, one placed
upon the other. However, it is not a situation of mechanical placing,
as is the case with the earth. Each stratum defines its position with
respect to the one placed above and below it, and enjoys a differential
combination of privileges and deprivations. Those placed high are far
more advantaged than those occupying the lower rungs of society.
The caste system is a system of social inequality.
The early scholars were interested in finding out the geographical
spread of the caste order (Blunt, 1931; Dubois, 1906; Hutton, 1946;
Ketkar, 1909). In a narrow sense, it was described as pan-Indian;
in a broad sense, it was seen as occurring in several parts of south
Asia and also in all those areas of the world where the Hindus had
settled down. So, castes would be found in Fiji, Mauritius, the islands
that constitute the West Indies, the Indian neighborhoods in Great
Britain, the United States of America, and the continents of Australia
and Africa. Within India, caste profiles and practices differed
greatly when we moved from one part of the country to the other.
For instance, stringency of caste system was highly pronounced in
the states of south India.9 A practice wherein the lowest castes were
expected to carry bells and ring them periodically, announcing their
arrival in public places, lest they caused defilement to castes superior
to them, thus earning their wrath and reprimand, was reported from
south India, so was the consignment of lowest castes to a nocturnal
existence. They emerged out of their households when people
above them in the ranked order had retired to bed and would not
be in public places to risk an exposure to ritual contamination that
might entail their excommunication from their community. Castes
were also classified as of the “right hand” and the “left hand,” and
they had “factious rivalry, leading to frequent clashes” among them
sometimes on trivial matters (Bayly, 1999: 107–108; Hutton, 1946: 59,
143–144).10 In north India, caste system was far from being so severe;
and many areas in northeast India were free from the grasp of caste.
In Punjab, the rise of Sufi cults frontally attacked caste practices and
rituals. The result was a weakening of the caste system, despite the fact
that today’s Punjab has the maximum population of the Scheduled
Castes in India.
One of the anthropological interests was to describe the institution
of caste in different parts of India and also in the world. In the latter,
 On Hinduism and Caste 277

the aim was to discover what happened when castes were planted
elsewhere. In research works dealing with Hinduism abroad, one
of the domains of study was caste, and we learnt that people who
participated in the secular and caste-free world as “individuals”
became “caste-beings” (or “collective beings,” to use words from
Dumont [1980]) when home or in the midst of the others from their
caste (see essays in Burghart, 1987). All this led to the conclusion
that an obituary on caste would not be written, since this practice
and its way of thinking have a resilience of its own and would thrive
notwithstanding the vast changes in the other institutions of society.
Caste would never be an artifact of the bygone time; it would endure
in the consciousness of people, influencing and, in some cases,
conditioning the quarters of their lives.
The point to be stressed here is that the multifariousness of caste,
which intensive studies brought to the fore, poses problems about
its definition and conceptual understanding.11 Moreover, the model
of caste constructed on the basis of an objective understanding
of intercommunity interactions is different from a people’s
comprehension of their caste. If the former is an “external” perspective,
based on “what people do,” the latter is “intrinsic,” for it rests on “what
people think.” The positivists have emphasized the former, since
behavior can be observed but not the thoughts and ideas of people; the
interpretive thinkers have given an equal attention to people’s notion
of their grouping and how they think it differs from that of the others.
As the matters become complicated because of the diversity of
caste system and the dialectics of the “lived-in” order, as opposed to
the “thought-out,” many scholars of caste have avoided entering into
the quagmire of the definitions and attempting a suitable one, but deal
with what caste does and the form it has taken in present-day India.
They begin with the assumption that India has a large number of
communities, most of which are castes; they are viable and demand
a particular kind of behavior, deportment, and attachment from their
members.12 Although castes have weakened in urban India, they play
an assertive, and sometimes aggressive, role in villages and small towns;
and this nature and vehemence of caste demands an intensive study.
The other opinion, to which I also subscribe, “what caste is”—its
definition—is as important as “what it does” (Dube, 1968: VI). Just
because a phenomenon is complex and diverse does not imply that
the attempts to define it are given up. Definitions, it is well known,
278 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

systematize investigations. Keeping this in purview, caste should be

distinguished from the other principles of social ranking found in
India and elsewhere. Notwithstanding the fact that the word caste
continues to be used loosely to denote any “closed” or “homogeneous”
category, by social scientists as well as biologists, we may not be
able to make any headway in social studies unless we have a clear
conception of what it is and the manner in which its bearers use it.13
India is a literate civilization (Das, 1982: 1–2). A vast corpus of
the literature dating back to not less than 1500 BCE is available on
Indian institutions and thoughts (Kane, 1946). Before all this was
committed to writing, it was orally transmitted in families and
temples from one generation of learners to the next. Before printing
press came into existence, one of the foremost meritorious duties
(especially of priests, seers attached to temples and monasteries, and
religious apprentices) was to copy the texts and make its multiple
copies, with the result that today, in archives and museums as well as
repositories of the places of worship, we have a rich collection of texts
that tell us about India, its people, their institutions and thoughts.
Even today, when printing technology has advanced a great deal, in
Jain upasharey (places where renouncers stay, particularly during
the monsoon) and Hindu mandir (temple), one may see the newly
initiated members meticulously copying the religious and moral texts
in their spare time.
Although sociologists and anthropologists are overwhelmingly
concerned with the “field view” of the society, its existential reality,
in the context of India, they cannot ignore the “book view,” which
is central to the historian’s craft. In fact, Dumont (1980) says that
a proper understanding of Indian society lies at the confluence of
Indology (the “book view”) and sociology (the “field view”). In case of
literate civilizations, the questions to be answered are: How far does
the “book view” influence the conceptualization and functioning
of the institutions at the ground level? And, does the “book view”
of a society change over time against the backdrop of the actual
functioning of institutions?
Historians tell us that caste emerged in the middle of the 1st
millennium BCE not as a description of the actual society at that time
but as an intellectual idea of what the ideal society should be, which
tasks (vocations, duties) should be performed by its members, and
how they should aspire to live (Omvedt, 2003). A term used in Rigveda
 On Hinduism and Caste 279

(1500–900 BCE), varna, meaning “color,” initially used to distinguish

the speakers of Indo-Aryan language, who being of Caucasoid stock
were fair complexioned from the dark-complexioned Dravidian
speakers, also called dāsa (slave) and dasyu (robber), was employed
in Satapatha Brahmana and subsequent texts for the four categories
of humans who emerged from the body of the primeval (the “first”)
being in an act of sacrifice.
Let us expand on this theory of the creation of caste. Consisting
of 1,028 hymns and composed somewhere in northwest India,
Rigveda, the first in the category of Vedic literature, is divided into 10
books (mandala) (O’Flaherty, 1988). The 10th book is of particular
importance, for here we come across the “Hymn of the (Primeval)
Man (purusasukta)” (Rigveda 10, 90). It begins with the conception
of a “mighty giant” (Purusa, the “first Purusa”), a cosmogenic figure,
the first being to come into existence, who is believed to be larger
than the entire universe. In the course of time, this being suffers
from a feeling of loneliness and solitariness, and resolves to divide
itself, and thus produces its feminine component, one who comes
to be known as Viraj. Basham (1989: 24) tells us that a verse in the
Brhadaranyaka Upanishad says that Purusa (the “first Purusa”) and
Viraj mate, producing another Purusa (the “second Purusa”), and
then are produced the gods.
At one point of time, the gods decide to offer a sacrifice to their
father, the “first Purusa,” and for this they choose his eldest son, the
“second Purusa” (ibid.). This another “gigantic victim,” the “second
Purusa,” is slain and dismembered, and from the parts of his body,
the universe, including its human dwellers, is created. The “Hymn of
the (Primeval) Man” informs us (ibid.: 25):

When they divided the Man,

into how many parts did they divide him?
What was his mouth, what was his arms,
what were his thighs and his feet?

The Brahmin was his mouth,

of his arms was made the warrior (Rajanya, Kshatriya)
his thighs became the Vaishya,
of his feet the Sudra was born.
280 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

The Rigveda initially mentions two elite sorts—the poet priests

(Brahman) and the warrior chiefs (Rajanya); the rest are the
commoners called Vish, who are later divided into Vaishya and
Sudra (Das, 1982). Each of these four types is called varna; and
the model of Hindu society, religiously and textually ordained, is
known as chaturvarna (four varna). It may be noted here that the
term varna has also been translated as “caste” in some works, whilst
some have retained varna as it is and translated the term jāti as
“caste.” My submission is that both these concepts provide a key
to understand Hindu hierarchy—varna is textual (book view),
for the idea of four social categories is laid out in texts; jāti is
contextual (field view), for it is the term that people use for different
occupational and endogamous groups in their everyday life. Thus,
instead of utilizing the blanket term “caste” for them, we should
use the local words that the texts and the people employ, and the
mutual interpretations of these terms would guide us how ideas and
actions are actually ordered. To sum up: By jāti, we understand the
“locally structured endogamous and occupational group that stands
in a hierarchical relationship with other such groups”; and by varna,
the “religiously sanctioned professional division of labour in society
culminating in the emergence of hierarchically placed groups for
cosmic perpetuity and fulfillment.”
Building up on the purusasukta hymn (in Rigveda), Manusmrti
(or Mānava-Dharmasāstra) (1.31) says that after creating
the world, its resources, and inhabitants, “for its growth and
prosperity” (1.31), “for the protection of this whole universe”
(1.87), the Lord “produces from his mouth, arms, thighs, and feet,
the Brahmin, the Kshatriya, the Vaishya, and the Shudra (1.31)”
(Raghavan, 1953: 280–281).14 Besides human forms, there emerge
from the body of the primeval being gods, plants and animals,
elements, seasons, planets, and others (Marriott, 2005), all those
which have been created and those which would be created. I once
saw a calendar that carried a pictorial representation of the vision
of the cosmic form, the colossal image (virāt swarūp), that Krishna
manifested before Arjuna, based on Chapter XI of the Bhagavad
Gita. It showed the entire cosmic manifestation. From the mouth
of the god, the Brahman (shown as a man carrying sacred book
in his right hand) was shown emerging along with fire and cow,
 On Hinduism and Caste 281

implying the equivalence of all the objects that were caused by the
same part of the body. The Kshatriya (or Rajanya) was shown as
carrying a weapon (pharsā) in his hand, the Vaishya, with a long
account book (bahī), and the man materializing from the feet, the
Shudra, was shown half-bent, almost at an angle of 90 degrees.
The calendar pictorially signified the professions (or the duties)
that each of these humans was expected to perform.
Manusmrti (1.88–91) delineates the activities of each of these
varnas (Table 13.1).

Table 13.1: Activities of Varnas

S. No. Varna Activities
1. Brahman Reading and teaching the Veda, offering and officiating
at sacrifices, receiving and giving gifts (or alms)
2. Kshatriya Protecting the subjects, giving gifts, offering sacrifices,
reciting the Veda, avoiding attachment to sensory objects
3. Vaishya Tending cattle, giving gifts, offering sacrifices, reciting
the Veda, trade, money lending, cultivation of land
4. Shudra To serve meekly and ungrudgingly the above three classes

Common to the first three varna are three activities: reciting Veda,
offering sacrifice, and giving gifts, and distinctive about Brahman is
teaching Veda, officiating at sacrifices, and receiving gifts (or alms).
The upper three varna share the concept of “dual birth,” the biological
and the social, the latter marking the commencement of the process
of learning, because of which they are called “twice-born” (dwija);
they are also termed suvarna (good varna). The Shudra have only
one birth—the biological. Manusmrti also clearly says that there is
no fifth varna.
According to Manusmrti (1.92), a man is believed to be “purer
above the navel.” The Lord, therefore, has declared “the purest part of
him to be his mouth.” As the Brahman springs from the “loftiest part
of the body,” and he is also the first-born, possessing the Veda, he is the
“lord of the whole creation” (Manusmrti, 1:93-5).15 The chief good of
the subservient classes—particularly the Shudra—lies in serving the
Brahman with their full might. About the Shudra, Manusmrti says
that they may earn their living by working for a powerful Kshatriya
282 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

and a wealthy Vaishya, but the reward in terms of an elevation of his

status in the following birth will result from his serving the Brahman
dedicatedly (9.334-5; 10.121-3).
That the Brahman priest is a representative of God on earth is
one of the popularly shared beliefs in rural India (Babb, 1975; Lewis,
1958). Honorifically addressed as “Brahman devtā” (a form of god),
before the commencement of any ritual, his feet are washed with
water and this water that supposedly carries the “purity of his feet”
is euphemistically called the “nectar of the feet” (charanamrita).
Ideally, it is meant to be drunk by the receivers of his ritual
services.16 The Brahman priest’s feet are touched by all classes of
people, barring those who fall below the line of purity, irrespective
of their economic and political statuses.17 To quote Manusmrti
(2.135) in this context: “A ten-year-old Brahmin and a hundred
year old king, one should know, stand with respect to each other
as a father to a son; but of the two, the Brahmin is the father.” It is
because for Manusmrti (2.136-7), the grounds of respect arranged
in a hierarchy are knowledge, ritual life, age, kin, and wealth. Not
only because of the theory of creation, but also since the Brahman
is the fountainhead of knowledge, carrying out the functions of
teaching, contemplation, and cogitation, he occupies the highest
position in the universe and is worthy of worship. Obviously, as one
goes down, the privileges are reduced; in Table 13.2, some of the
sociological parameters from Manusmrti that show how different
classes are distinguished are presented.18

Table 13.2: Differences in Classes

S. Parameters Brahman Kshatriya Vaishya Shudra
No.
1. Name given to auspiciousness, strength, wealth, disdain,
the male child happiness. protection. prosperity. service.
should connote
(2:31-2)
2. Vedic initiation eighth 11th year 12th year no Vedic
to be carried out year from from from con- initiation.
in the (2:36) conception. conception. ception.

(Continued)
 On Hinduism and Caste 283

(Continued)

S. Parameters Brahman Kshatriya Vaishya Shudra

No.
3. Water purifies it reaches the it reaches it is taken it touches
when (2:62) heart. the throat. into the the ex-
mouth. tremity of
his lips.
4. When meeting he is doing well. he is all his prop- he is in
a person of right. erty is good
a particular secure. health.
varna, one
should ask
whether (2:127)
5. Seniority knowledge. valor. wealth age.
depends upon in grain
(2:155) (and other
goods).
6. A man can have four wives, one three wives, two wives, one wife,
(3:13) each from the one each one from from
lower three from the the lower his own
varna and one lower two varna and varna.
from his own. varna and one from
one from his own.
his own.
7. When marrying not applicable an arrow, a goad the hem
a man of upper (Brahman indicating (spiked of her
class, the bride woman only her status. stick). husband’s
of lower class marries garment.
should take endogamously.)
hold of (3:44)
8. Period of im- 10 days. 12 days. 15 days. one
purity lasts for month.
(5:83)
9. The judge ad- making him by his by his by all the
ministers oath swear by his chariot or cattle, sins caus-
to a class by veracity. the animal seeds, and ing loss
(8:113) he rides on gold. of caste.
and by his
weapons.
284 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

(Continued)

S. Parameters Brahman Kshatriya Vaishya Shudra

No.
10. (1) Punishment (1) not (1) fined (1) fined (1) to
for assailing applicable. 100 panas 150 or 200 suffer
a Brahman (copper panas. corporal
(8:267) coins). punish-
ment.
(2) Fine (2) not (2) 50 (2) 25 (2) 12
imposed on applicable. panas. panas. panas.
Brahman for
abusing (8:268)

Besides being religiously proclaimed, what distinguishes the varna

and jāti system from the other systems of ranking found in the world is
that it is holistic, and as Dumont (1980: 43) says, the “whole is founded
on the necessary and hierarchical coexistence of the two opposites,”
the pure and the impure. Temporary states of purity and impurity
have been reported from many communities (Dumont, 1980: 50–51;
Sinha, 1965). People are expected to acquire purity when approaching
their pantheon and they lapse into pollution when death occurs in
their family or a birth takes place. In some communities, pollution is
incurred on seeing a corpse or on sighting a bird (such as the crow) or
a functionary (such as the funeral priest [mahābrahmin]) associated
with death. Women are also polluted during their menstrual periods;
some communities also have outhouses for confining menstruating
women for the entire period of their pollution. The period and the kind
of pollution terminate with the performance of the purificatory rituals
but it does not imply that after the ritual is over, the participants enter
into a state of purity. The states of “temporary purity” and “temporary
pollution” are polar categories, which persons occupy depending
upon the context they are in; when performing ritual, they are in a
state of purity, and at the time of death, it is the state of impurity; both
purity and impurity are ephemeral deviations. Ordinarily, they are in
what Srinivas (1952: 106) calls, the “normal ritual status.”19
By comparison, cardinal to caste is the belief that certain communities
are “permanently pure” and some “permanently impure,” in a system
of relationships, and no ritual or transcendental practice can have any
effect on these states, that is nullifying the effect of any one of them. As
 On Hinduism and Caste 285

one moves down the hierarchy of castes, purity decreases, becoming

cipher at the bottom, whereas impurity increases; and as one moves up,
increase in purity accompanies a concomitant decrease in impurity,
although all are equally affected by the circumstances of temporary
purity and impurity. For instance, a Brahman may lapse into a state of
“temporary impurity” when death occurs in his family, but even then he
is pure with respect to the castes below him. His “temporary impurity”
exists independently of the status of “permanent purity.” However,
when in a state of “temporary impurity,” he will not perform any rituals
(including the funeral) for his clients, for ritual performance demands
sacredness on the part of the performer. To distinguish marriage rituals
(or any other that are auspicious) from the funeral (or those that are
inauspicious), since both of them require sacredness, Srinivas (1952)
distinguishes between two forms of sacredness: One that accompanies
marriage rituals is “good sacredness” and one that goes with death
is “bad sacredness,” but the Brahman priest, who officiates at these
rituals, should not be in a state of “temporary impurity.”
It is not just human beings, but all entities in the world—animate
and inanimate—are arranged hierarchically on a scale of purity and
pollution. Dumont (1980: 34) says that it is not only an outsider’s
understanding, rather the bearers of caste view the universe around
them in terms of this central opposition of the pure and the impure;
“caste is a state of mind.” It is an ideological system built upon the
Hindu ideas of the accumulation of the deeds of the past birth (karma)
that determine one’s present birth and living staunchly according to
the duties (duties) of one’s caste.
Within each of these groups, there are subgroups, which are also
hierarchically arranged. With respect to the Brahman, the Shudra
constitutes a monolithic group, but within it, there are several groups
that are arranged on the axis of purity and pollution. Beteille (1972: 418)
observes that untouchability is practiced by the lowest castes themselves.
Giving an example from Tamil Nadu, he says “Pallas do not draw water
from Paraiyan wells, nor do they allow Paraiyans to use their wells.”
Both the Palla and the Paraiyan are lower castes in Tamil Nadu.
There have been a plethora of debates with Dumont’s position.
Although my intention is not to take up these here, I wish to point
out that one of the major issues in these debates pertains to the place
Dumont gives to power (economic and political) in his highly ambitious
thesis, which presented the Brahmanical perspective on caste, pivoted
286 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

on rituals and purity. Yes, the power the Brahmans wield is “to perform
rituals,” “to offer the exegeses of texts,” “to indulge in occult lore such as
astrology and palmistry,” “to teach the wider public the ideas of morality,
ethics, and spirituality,” and “to cosmically legitimize the Kshatriya
rule.” The Brahmanical power—despite the fact that the rulers kowtow
before the priests—is highly confined, for all its decisions are limited to
the domains of religion and ritual. The kings exercise what may be called
“general or overarching power,” take decisions about all ambits of social
and spiritual life, direct priests to perform rituals to vouchsafe their
interests and maintain cosmic harmony, and for all this, the rulers render
expensive gifts (including land and villages) to Brahman priests (Nath,
2000). Although Brahmans become fabulously rich because of Kshatriya
patronage, they as well as the rulers know that once the Brahmans start
managing the wealth, they will be distracted from the nontransferable
intellectual and ritual functions, and if this ever happens, the entire
universe will lapse into disarray. Keeping this in mind, the rulers advise
the Vaishya and Shudra to look after the wealth of the priests (Das, 1982).
Albeit the power of the Kshatriya, the varna model places the Brahman’s
ritual power over all the other powers (political or economic).
Those outside the scheme of varna were called Panchama (the
“fifth”), a put-all-it-in category that comprised the excommunicated
groups, those who had depressed in this for violating the duties
(dharma) assigned to them in the varna order, or who did not abide
by the rules of marriage and pollution, and those who lived in jungles,
away from the centers of civilization, such as the tribal populations.
The varna model (which also includes those outside it, the Panchama)
may be summarized in the Table 13.3.
Table 13.3: The Varna Model
Varna Within/Without Twice- Power Ritual Points
Hierarchy Varna Category born Performance Earned
Brahman + + + (religious) + 4
Kshatriya + + + (temporal) − 3
Vaishya + + − − 2
Sudra + − − − 1
Panchama − − − − 0
Notes: + denotes yes; − denotes no.
 On Hinduism and Caste 287

Those who earn the maximum points occupy the summit of the
hierarchy. The designation “caste Hindu” applies to those who are
within the varna scheme; the Panchama are the “out-caste.”
By contrast, as was spelt out previously, jāti is a “lived-in” system—
caste as practiced and experienced in everyday lives of people. Indians
(including those in remote villages) know about the four (five)-fold
division of their society and also that there are multiple jātis and in
future, many more may be created.
In the past, historians tell us, before the formal structuring of
Hindus in four varna took place, there existed a myriad of servicing
groups, each trying to acquire some sort of specialization over an
occupation, in a system where groups were interdependent. Thus,
varna was a paradigmatic attempt to think about the functions that
must be performed to create a society in balance with the entire
cosmos (the natural and heavenly forces), which could guarantee
salubriousness to human survival. An ideal society would require the
lawgivers, law executioners, and the goods producers, in this hierarchy,
and there should be a class of people (the service renderers) to serve
them. In this theory of social structure, the lawgivers (and Manu was
one) are religious personnel, specializing in performing rituals that
are expected to have cosmogenic effects; and since religion is the
principle of social organization, they are at the top of the hierarchy,
although they may lead a life of flagrant poverty, and ideally they are
supposed to renounce the world (Biardeau, 1989; Dumont, 1980).
The “field view,” however, acquaints us with a different picture.
Those who control economic resources also get their hands on
political power. The varna-wise supreme, Brahman priests, succumb
to their instructions and commands, abbreviating their rituals if they
so desire. The political and economic facts may be “residual” and
“secondary” in varna hierarchy, but not in jāti, the understanding
of which will require concepts like “secular status” and “dominant
caste” that Srinivas (1959) had given in his study of the village of
Rampura in Karnataka.
Both varna and jāti have a set of similarities. As pointed out earlier,
why a person is born in a particular caste is explained in terms of his
deeds (karma) in the last birth. If in this birth, one adheres to one’s
caste duties and follows the righteous path, doing well to others, one
will improve upon one’s position in the next birth.20 The aim of life
should be to consistently improve upon one’s position in subsequent
288 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

births, so that finally one is released permanently from the incessant

cycle of birth and death. The world (sansār) is seen as a theatre of
sorrows (dukh), from which one should aim to seek liberation forever
to be in a state of eternal bliss.
The jāti system has multiple social categories, some of which are
only locally found, whereas some have an all-India representation.
Brahmans, for example, are an all-India caste; the Shakka (those
bearing water in leather bags) is highly local. Each region,
therefore, has its own hierarchy, and one of the occupations of
field anthropologists is to determine it making use of the principles
of attributes and diacritical signs that castes use and the actual
interaction and the norms of proximity that operate between them
(Marriott, 1959, 1960).
This middle level of jāti hierarchy shows a lot of blurring, with
each of these castes claiming to be “slightly superior” to the other
(Marriott and Inden, 1985). In both varna and jāti hierarchies, the
Brahmans are the “purest”’ and at the lowest level are those who are
believed to be the permanent abettors of impurity; Gandhi called
them the “children of god” (Harijan), and today, the term dalit
(meaning “suppressed,” “crushed,” “broken to pieces”), coined by
Jyotirao Phule in the 19th century, is used for them (Mendelsohn
and Vicziany, 1998: 4). They, in villages, where there are no latrines,
remove dead animals, work with leather, clean public spaces and
remove garbage, carry petroleum lights on ritual occasions, and
produce music. In small towns and cities, where flush latrines have
yet not been installed in houses, these castes (often termed “sweeper,”
mehtar, bhangī, achuta) remove excrement from dry latrines and
carry it in buckets or baskets as loads on their heads, which is the
main reason of their being treated as an “untouchable group,” in spite
of the legal abolition of the practice of untouchability. According to
a recent survey that the Safai Karamchari Andolan (Movement of
Manual Scavengers) conducted, there are not less than 1.3 million
people engaged in cleaning of other people’s excreta, often with bare
hands, of which 95 percent are women. The worst aspect of this is
the discrimination meted out at schools to the children of manual
scavengers, where they are made to perform cleaning and scavenging
work. They are so demoralized because of the stigma that continues
that they drop out from schools and start helping their parents in
their work.21 More than 50 years ago, Dr Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar,
 On Hinduism and Caste 289

the “architect of the present reservation policy” (Thorat and Kumar,

2008: 1), had said that the first step toward the liberation of the
untouchables was to withdraw collectively and permanently from
menial occupations. In this context, he gave the slogan: bhangī, jhārū
choro (the sweepers, leave the broom) (Prashad, 2000: 168).
In a nutshell, the mutual opposition of purity and impurity is
explicit in both varna and jāti.
The important observation is that people are aware of the existence
of both the hierarchies, of varna and jāti. Although they may not
use, they are not unaware of the term varna, thanks to its use (and
of many other words of Sanskrit origin) by priests and discoursers
(kathāvāchak).22 For instance, Manusmrti is hardly read by general
populace, by comparison to the epic of Ramacharitmanas and the
Bhagavad Gita, but its salient ideas are known to them, for they figure
in various religious discourses. The attempts to fit a wide mass of jātis
in different varna categories, to make the grotesquely diverse order
of jātis look neat and nonoverlapping as varna, have taken place in
past, but hesitancy surfaced when the jātis that were neither ritual
technicians, nor warriors, nor agriculturists, and businesspersons had
no option but to be classified as Shudra. So, the caste of the scribes—
the Kayastha—became Shudra, so did the caste of the genealogists
(Rav, Jagga, Bahi-bhat) and so did the caste of the goldsmith—the
Sunar; such a “refugee status”—since one cannot be accommodated in
the first three, the only option is the last category—was not acceptable
to them.
Over a period of time, jātis have become conscious of their
identities; in the contemporary politics of assertion, jātis opt for
solidifying their unity, rather than seeking a place in varna system or
trying to move up in ritual hierarchy. The process of upward ritual
mobility, which Srinivas (1952) called Sanskritization, is on decline.23
Caste has moved into the realm of politics: From a socioreligious
institution, it has become political, and it seems that its ties with
Hinduism have become tenuous. Beteille (2012: 135) writes, “It would
not be too much to say that democratic politics has given a new lease
of life to caste.” Castes are alive in contemporary India, but if it still is
the “structural basis” of Hinduism, as Srinivas (1952: 213) said, and I
quoted him earlier, is a question that demands close attention.
India is so diverse that any attempt to give a set of general
propositions about it is fraught with risk. City dwellers (particularly
290 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

those from the metropolises) experience caste differently than those

from villages, especially interiorly located. Take two instances.
For Punjabi-speaking families in Delhi, which are not from the
merchant caste, the social universe is divided into two types: the
Khatri and the Arora. If you ask the Punjabis what these groups are,
some would regard them as jātis, whilst others may be skeptical of
using this term, although they would say that these are “like jātis.”
The Khatri consider themselves as superior to the Arora and the latter
also concede this. The Khatri also say that they are not just confined to
Punjab, their brethren are also dispersed in Uttar Pradesh, where their
lingua franca is Hindi, not Punjabi. They prefer endogamy, but would
not resist marriage with the Arora. Barring that these two groups
have different surnames and think in terms of biological differences
between them—the Khatri are believed to be fair complexioned, tall,
with sharp features—there are no other social and cultural indices—
purity and pollution included—that distinguish one from the other.
When I interviewed middle-aged and old respondents from these
communities about their experiences of caste, two points surfaced.
First, they recalled that separate vessels (made of glass rather than
metal) were kept for offering food or water to “touchable” servicing
castes (such as laundry persons, house and utensil cleaners, barber),
which also had access to the houses. Second, the manual scavengers,
the latrine cleaners, were out of bounds of the main house. They
were expected to finish their work in the morning and then return
in the early afternoon for a daily gift of a couple of leavened bread
(rotī) from each house they served. At the end of a month, some little
monetary compensation was also made. On ritual contexts, they were
gifted money and clothes, and on occasions of feast, their work was
to remove leaf plates in which food was served, collect the garbage,
take away any leftover food, and at the conclusion of the communal
eating, food and money were also given to them.
I learnt that whilst the first practice still continued in some
households, the second had become a relic of past. Its decline began
after flush latrines were installed, but even after that, for some time,
the manual scavengers used to come to clean, for which they were
monetarily paid rather than in kind also. Then came a time when
the householders started cleaning the toilet pots themselves. Great
improvement had also taken place in the quality of detergent liquids
and the technical gadgets for cleaning the toilets. All this led to a
 On Hinduism and Caste 291

situation where service relationships with the caste of sweepers have

almost ended once and forever. Today, the erstwhile sweepers who
served individual houses are largely employed by the municipal
corporations for cleaning the public spaces. The paternalistic ties
between the individual households and the sweepers working for
them are now a social fact of the departed time.
This was the caste experience of my urban respondents. Compare
it with the situation from the villages of Rajasthan, where each jāti
has a separate quarter comprising all its households. Aside the law,
the practice of untouchability is rampant in rural India and also in
small towns (Jodhka and Shah, 2010; Sheth, 2004;).24 Lower caste
people are expected to pay deference to the dominant caste of the
Rajput. Lower caste men and women are supposed to remove their
shoes when they walk through the streets where Rajputs live.25 In the
past, I learnt the lower caste men were supposed to bow, with their
torso bent, whenever they passed through Rajput neighborhoods. In
a wedding procession, the bridegrooms from lower castes were not
supposed to mount the mare. If they did, they must dismount the
animal when they reached closer to Rajput houses. In earlier days, the
use of gold ornaments was also denied to lower castes.
Many of these practices have changed in some villages as a
consequence of the efforts of the local leaders, but in many, they
still continue. Stories of the crusades led by nongovernmental
organizations to fight the disabilities are well known. Nevertheless,
the cases of discrimination and injustice abound.
For urban Indians, caste is an artifact that enlivens at the time of
searching a spouse, as the other institutions (such as clubs, pubs),
where young men and women may meet up and decide about their
“living together” and marriage, have yet not developed the way
they have done in west. The hold of families on the matrimonial
alliances of their children, particularly girls, is still robust. However,
at the same time, matrimonial advertisements that appear in national
newspapers frequently mention “caste no bar,” implying their
readiness to marry intercaste; and such marriages have become
common in upper, educated, and professional classes. Still, a bulk of
marriages is parentally arranged from within the caste, although a
meeting of the prospective spouses is arranged so that they have an
opportunity to “see” each other before they are bonded in matrimony;
292 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

in this way, the families accommodate to the individualism of their

children. Intercaste and intercommunity marriages may not be so
rare, but to the best of my knowledge, marriages between “twice-
born” persons and those at the lowest rungs of caste hierarchy (such
as leatherworkers, manual scavengers) are quite infrequent.
When our attention turns to village India, three facts strike us. First,
people are conscious of their caste as well as of the others, although
intercaste relations (or, the jajmānī ties) have declined in comparison
to what used to be, say, 50 years ago.26 With the rise of the backward
class movements, many occupational castes have started withdrawing
from hereditary relations of interdependence (Raheja, 1988; Singh
and Harit, 1960). Against this backdrop, Srinivas’s conclusion in his
posthumously published paper of 2003 that contemporary India has
castes but not “caste system” (a system of interdependent castes) is
worth examining. Second, castes are emerging as “cultural bodies,”
each having its own congregation of “artifacts, structures, and
agencies” that endeavors to create its integration and unity.27 This is
happening against the setting of castes playing decisive role in local
and state politics. In addition to each jāti emerging as a “cultural
body,” jātis sharing the same location in the local social structure
come together to form what may be termed a “cluster” or “bloc” of
castes, and such a federation also creates its own set of distinguishing
cultural characteristics.28 This would also explain the rise of the cults
of several caste-linked deities.
Third, the policy of compensatory discrimination, in accordance
with which the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes get material
benefits from the state, has led to a refiguring of jātis into two grids—
the “beneficiaries” and the upper strata, those who are not covered
by this provision. Relations between these two groups have become
acrimonious over time, especially after 1991 when the government
accepted the Mandal Commission Report that recommended
measures of positive discrimination for the “Other Backward
Classes” (Bayly, 1999: 294–300). Cases of caste antagonism and
hostility are reported from different parts of the country. In private
conversations, one group heaps vitriol on the other.29 Atrocity on
lower, depressed castes is increasing; about one hundred thousand
of its cases are pending action (The Indian Express, May 17, 2012). It
is also increasingly seen that in some parts of India, upper castes find
 On Hinduism and Caste 293

it difficult to digest the fact that the lower castes are able to do well,
and surpass them, in various activities.30 What was considered at one
time as an exemplification of organic solidarity is now a system in
which jātis compete and conflict, consolidating them as “vote banks”
against the others. The process of upward ritual mobility has been
replaced by the twin processes of creating one’s cultural identity and
participating in the democratic politics, for in this way, one’s interests
might be met.
Caste associations have emerged in all parts of India, but the
functions they perform in cities and villages are different. In former,
they are truly voluntary, lacking sanction. Unthinkable in Indian
cities and metropolises today is an episode like the one Gandhi (1927:
37–39) described in his autobiography. Gandhi’s caste (Modh Bania)
folks were agitated about his travel abroad for study. The headman of
the community argued that since his religion forbade voyages abroad,
Gandhi was instructed to abandon his plan; but when he resisted the
interference of caste in this matter, he was excommunicated.
That was century before last. Caste associations in cities today
work toward building the “social capital” of people, extending their
networks and providing them with a readymade group to choose
their spouses, besides instilling in them a sense of identity. Many
of these associations also publish their respective periodicals,
some regularly, some, erratically, all depending upon their
financial situation, to be sent out to their members and dignitaries
of the area, free of cost. The content of these magazines may be
conveniently divided into four sections. The first deals with write-
ups on the caste’s glorious tradition and past; the second, its
prominent people and their achievements; third, the matrimonial
advertisements, for the insertion of which the community people
make nominal or no payment; and lastly, short articles and poems
that members contribute. Besides being viewed as an act of social
service, these periodicals apprise its readers with the happenings in
the community, thus strengthening their sense of belongingness.
In villages (and small towns), caste bodies take the form of a
“council,” involuntary and punitive, and in some cases, repressive.
Not only do they take up the cases of dispute among its members,
providing them with solutions that are binding, but also reinforce
the cultural practices that the caste believes to be of its definitional
value. Umpteen instances can be cited from north India where
294 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

caste panchayats have prohibited sagotra (intraclan) marriages,

village endogamy, intercaste marriages, and cases of hypergamy and
hypogamy, with dreadful consequences. These councils have also
prohibited the use of western dresses, especially by women.
Caste is one of the few institutions of the world that has received
severe criticisms and denigrations in the last two and a half thousand
years. At the center of these appraisals has been the question: How
can God—the most merciful and just—create a system in which a
large mass of people is consigned to lead a despicable existence at the
brink of dehumanization? By definition, God cannot be unfair, so the
texts that legitimize caste system, making it sacrosanct, were de facto
composed by people—the priest intellectuals—who wanted to ensure
their supremacy, control over resources and labor, in times of come.
The foul the text composers played was their claim that the division
of labor and the hierarchy of orders were divinely decreed. Human
beings share the same life, pass through similar stages of existence,
and have common predicaments and fortitudes, and therefore an
ideology that causes discrimination among God’s highest creation
(that man is) is rebuttable.
This was the tenor of arguments that the critics of caste have
launched right from 600 BCE when Buddhism and Jainism started
making their presence felt. The protagonists of religions that
came to India from outside (such as Christianity, Islam, Judaism,
and Zoroastrianism) attacked caste system, making available an
alternative, where all could attend the place of worship without
prohibition. The 15th-century religion, Sikhism, reiterated the same
point about human equality and equality of all before God. The desire
to be treated at par with all humans attracted several lower castes
to embrace religions that promised equality. The devotional (bhakti)
saints and movements also criticized caste system, contending that
it has brought disrepute to the otherwise transcendental religion
of Hinduism. Some of these saints—like Kabir—distanced them
from formal and institutionalized religions, and spread the message
of human equality. Sur Das, a 16th-century devotional poet and
singer, cited umpteen examples in his poems in which Lord Krishna
preferred the “company of the lowly and outcaste to that of the pure
and well-placed” (Hawley, 1984: 137).
 On Hinduism and Caste 295

The interesting observation is that whilst these saints rejected caste,

they expressed their profound love for Hindu gods and goddesses,
implying that the glory and veracity of Hinduism were eclipsed by
caste system. The 17th-century Marathi poet, Tukaram, says the
following in one of his abhangs (verses in devotional poetry):

Brahmins do not lead their lives according to the tradition;

They commit thefts and instigate others.
Like Muslims, they wear pyjama and [things made of] leather.
They occupy high positions and let the people die of hunger.
They even punish the innocent,
Kings torment the ruled; unhesitatingly loot them at pilgrim centres,
Vaishya and Shudra are lowly placed [so they cannot do anything],
O Lord! Aren’t you seeing the oppressors, the Brahmins and Kings?
Are you sleeping? Come soon [to save us from the state of
oppression].31

In another abhang, Tukaram says that God’s (Ram) name (nām) can
be recited by everyone, irrespective of his varna, and by “sailing in the
boat of god’s name, one can go across the world of birth and death and
seek oneness with god” (Seth, 1979: 144).
Against this backdrop, another important change is in terms
of the consolidation of the caste-specific deities of the lower
castes (Srivastava, 1997). Since all-India Hinduism (or Sanskritic
Hinduism) has been solely responsible for generating and legitimizing
inequalities, the lower castes intend to distance them from it. Thus,
instead of worshipping the deities of caste Hindu, they want to repose
their firm faith in their own caste deities. This would explain the
popularity of Balmiki, the dacoit-turned-saint, who composed the
Ramayana, among the Dalit communities in India, or the rise of the
cult of Ramdev among the Meghwal (the weaver caste) of Rajasthan.
Exhibiting the properties of both hydra and banyan tree, Hinduism
has the ability to branch out, incorporate in its womb multitudinous
pantheons, and allow its adherents to follow any sect, cult, god-figure,
folk hero, depending upon their likes and historical traditions.32
Those who worship Balmiki describe them to be so, but they do not
call them “non-Hindu”; they are, thus, Hindus who worship Balmiki
and not the upper-caste gods and goddesses.
296 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Against this ethnographic backdrop, my submission is that in these

discourses, caste system was dissociated from Hinduism. Disrespect
to Hinduism, which is an ancient religion, has primarily been caused
by caste practice. This line of submission is discernible among both
medieval and modern thinkers, and has been summarized well by
Swami Vivekananda (1893) in the following sentence: “everyone
made the mistake of holding caste to be a religious institution and
tried to pull down both religion and caste all together and failed.” Since
many scholars thought that caste and Hinduism are inextricable, they
have favored renouncing the portals of Hinduism to embrace one
or the other caste-free religious stream. Dr Ambedkar, for instance,
“turned to Buddhism as personal faith and as an ideology that offered
an alternative to Hinduism” (Rodrigues, 2002: 16). Caste system, he
thought, annihilated the individualism and stripped people of the
ability to judge a person on merit (Ambedkar, 2002a: 275). Hindu
society needed to be reorganized on the basis of the principles of liberty,
equality, and fraternity, and for achieving this objective, Ambedkar
(2002b: 307) thought, “caste and Varna must be destroyed.”33
Many Indians would agree with Dr Ambedkar. They want
freedom from caste. Mass media are leaving no stone unturned in
familiarizing people with the evil of caste practices. That an Indian
Administrative Service (IAS) officer was constrained to resign from
the coveted service because of caste discrimination was recently in
news when this officer appeared on national television and said that
in the service he was “first a member of the caste of leatherworkers,
then an officer.”34 Also in the same program was a college lecturer
narrating the practice of untouchability and discrimination in
the hostel of a prestigious university where she read for a higher
degree. Such episodes fill Indians with revulsion. They want, as said
previously, a caste-free society. However, the fact of having been
brought up in a caste society, and internalizing it for a long time,
hues one’s consciousness, which would explain why there are caste-
based matrimonial advertisements or why in a sperm bank in Bihar,
tubes filled with spermatic fluid carry caste stickers (Tewary, 2012),
because caste figures as one of the considerations in people’s decision-
making ventures. In the television program mentioned above, one of
 On Hinduism and Caste 297

the dignitaries said “jāti kabhī jāti nahīn hai” (jāti is one that does
not go away).35
Caste awareness is also age related. Young Indians are
comparatively free from caste scourges. Caste has come a long way
from being a principle of social organization to be an element of one’s
consciousness, which is largely activated on life-cycle occasions. A
common observation in urban India is that when people meet for the
first time, they usually enquire about the place (region) from where
they hail rather than the castes to which they belong. Since caste has
an adaptive structure (Gould, 1963: 429–430), it has been able to find
a place in politics, but more and more people are realizing its perils
for India’s future development and democratic tradition.

Notes

­  1. Although I have not done a survey on the number of articles and books published
on caste each year, my general impression is that hardly a day passes in India
when a case of caste atrocity does not occur and is not reported in national
newspapers. Academic writings on caste have not declined as was speculated
when the study of agrarian structures was gaining prominence; however, the body
of contemporary works “interrogates” caste from the perspective of inequality
(Jodhka, 2012: X), rather than just dealing with a description of “caste systems
in different parts of India.”
2. One may quote Mahatma Gandhi (1987: 12) here, “Caste has nothing to do with
religion … it is harmful both to spiritual and national growth.”
3. It is not only a sociological way of putting the ideas. People in India often speak in
terms of the niyam (principle, rule) according to which they think their social living
is (or should be) organized. Many ills in society (such as crime against women,
financial corruption, telling lies, female feticide and infanticide, etc.) are explained
as caused by a feebleness of the niyams; so, when a council (panchayat) in Uttar
Pradesh decided that women below the age of 40 would not use mobile phones,
a violation of which would lead to their punishment, it justified its decision as a
“return to the rule of tradition,” one that has weakened in the face of “western
modernity” (pashchami ādhuniktā) (The Hindu, July 17, 2012). Notwithstanding
their limitations, the concepts of tradition and modernity help us greatly in
understanding contemporary India.
4. Many early writers on India were struck by caste practices in India. Baines (1912)
writes, “It needs but a very short time in the country to bring home to the most
casual observer the ubiquity of the institution [caste].”
5. Kakar and Kakar (2007: 8) write, “Indians are perhaps the world’s most
undemocratic people, living in the world’s largest and most plural democracy.”
298 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

6. Incidentally, one of the units of research and specialization, funded by the

University Grants Commission, which has been added to Indian universities in
the last seven years or so, is the Centre for Study of Social Exclusion and Inclusive
Policy. The aim of this center is to understand the process of exclusion in society,
critically examine the inclusive policies that have come into existence, thus
contributing to the creation of a just and egalitarian society.
7. Civil servants are sometimes tauntingly called in India “modern Brahmans.”
8. Gupta (2005: 409) says, “Although tribes and religious distinctions exist in other
societies as well, what sets India apart is the prevalence of the caste order.”
9. Ghurye (1932: 8) writes, “The ideas about the power of certain castes to convey
pollution by touch are not so highly developed in Northern India as in the South.”
10. Castes grouped in “right hand” would regard themselves as superior to those in the
“left”; thus, a lower caste person in “right hand” would place him/her as superior
to the Brahman of “left hand.”
11. “[A]ny attempt at definition [of caste] is bound to fail because of the complexity
of the phenomenon” (Ghurye, 1932: 1).
12. The People of India Project that the Anthropological Survey of India undertook
in the 1980s counted 4,635 communities in India, of which 461 were tribal. See
Singh (1994).
13. Barth (1960), for instance, translates quam as “caste”; but these quams are devoid
of rituals and religious status. If there are crucial differences between Hindu castes
and the Swat “castes,” as Barth has also noted, then one would wonder why the
term caste is used for the Swat case. Why cannot term like “ethnic group,” “social
class,” or “social category” be used for stratification among the Swat? All this
directs us to delineate the diacritical characteristics of caste. I have also come
across zoological writings wherein the term “caste” is used for the species of ant.
14. For Manusmrti, I have relied upon its translations by Bühler (1886) and Olivelle
(2006). Prabhu (1940: 286) says that Purusha—in the purusasukta hymn—is
“described as being himself ‘this whole universe, whatever has been and whatever
shall be.’”
15. Hutton (1946: 60) says that in South India, the Brahmans are spoken as mahajanan
(of great birth) and they are regarded as belonging neither to the “right” nor to the
“left” hand castes. However, that is not true of all areas of South India (Srinivas,
2003: 456).
16. In both rural and urban India, I have seen the performance of this ritual—I have
myself done it on umpteen occasions—but I have never come across people
drinking the “nectar” that follows from washing the Brahman priest’s feet.
However, water (or any other liquid preparation) in which idols of gods are bathed
(or washed, dipped) is commonly drunk by the devotees. I think the conception of
hygiene is there at the back of the mind of people; they know that the priest’s feet
are soiled and the water collected after washing these is unsuitable for consumption,
but since it is “sacred,” it should not be drained out. A common practice is that this
water—the “nectar of the feet”—is offered to a plant. In this way, the sacredness of
the water is kept intact. Idols, by comparison, are least soiled, and so the liquid in
which these have been dipped is less threatening to health and can be consumed
without fear.
 On Hinduism and Caste 299

17. In case those who “fall below the line of purity,” that is, the untouchables, touch
the Brahman, it is the latter who is defiled rather than the untouchable acquiring
purity. The belief is that impurity is highly contagious.
18. In addition to these, there are many others. I have selected these to give an idea
of the nature of differentiation and hierarchy. Prabhu (1940: 289) notes that there
are variations with respect to how different “twice-born” castes should recite the
Gayatri Mantra, a hymn, and how, for instance, sacrifice should be conducted.
19. Srinivas (1952: 106) defines the “normal ritual status” as the “status which a person
enjoys most of the time.”
20. Marriott (2005: 357) says, “The idea that acquired characteristics are heritable
aligns Hindu thought with Chevalier de Lamarck rather than Charles Darwin and
distinguishes it from purely genetic racism.”
21. The Safai Karamchari Andolan is a voluntary association concerned with the total
implementation of The Employment of Manual Scavengers and Construction of
Dry Latrines (Prohibition) Act, 1993, which has banned manual scavenging. See
The Tribune (September 6, 2000), Frontline, 26 (3), (2009), The Hindu (March 24,
2012).
22. Freed and Freed (1966: 679) note that in a north Indian village, people know
Veda; they read Ramayana and Mahabharata. The village also has formal religious
storytelling sessions. Households often invite the priest to recite the Satyanārāyan
kathā (the story of Satyanarayan, i.e., Vishnu). Also see Babb (1975).
23. Lynch (1969: 213) writes that the “Jatav [the caste of leatherworkers in Agra]
may give up Sanskritization for political participation.” Mobility on the “axis of
power” (politicization) has replaced one on the “axis of status” (Sanskritization)
(Beteille, 1967).
24. The state of Rajasthan recorded the highest incidence of registered atrocities against
dalits across the country in 2010 (The Hindustan Times, May 3, 2012). Also see
Mendelsohn and Vicziany (1998).
25. I observed this during my fieldwork in Rajasthan in the 1980s; a recent report from
a village in Karauli district (Rajasthan) shows that this practice is still existent (The
Times of India, August 12, 2012).
26. When speculating the caste of an outsider becomes difficult, the villagers
unhesitatingly ask his/her caste, for this will direct future interactions with him/her.
27. Atal (1968: 235) recorded a verse that was the highlight of a pamphlet that the
leatherworkers issued in one of their meetings. It ran like this: jisko nā nij gaurav
tathā nij jāti kā abhimān hai/voh nar nahin, hai pashu nirā aur mritak samān hai.
(One who is not proud of his honor and of his caste/is not a man; he is mere beast
and like dead.) The aim of such meetings is to create unity among caste members
and make them acutely aware of their problems so that they can all join hands.
28. It is not individual jātis that contest elections, rather it is an alliance of different
jātis, formed for political purposes. It is quite likely that these jātis may have
relations of hostility among them. Ishwaran (1968: 155) observed that in Shivapur
(a village in Karnataka) “when, by political maneuvering, one caste is in the process
of dominating the village, the other castes tend to combine against it.” Individual
jātis have a smaller size; that is the reason why they join with others for political
goals. See Gupta (2000: 171–176).
300 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

29. Sometimes it becomes public. On Rahul Gandhi’s visits to the colonies of dalits,
Mayawati, the former chief minister of Uttar Pradesh and a dalit leader, said, “I
have also come to know that when this prince [referring to Rahul] returns to his
home in Delhi after meeting and eating with dalits, he is given a bath with a special
soap and he goes through purificatory rituals with incense and incense sticks”
(India Today, July 19, 2008).
30. See Jodhka (2010) on dalit businesspersons. The Hindustan Times (July 19, 2012)
carried a news item on the incidents of violence in a Punjab village after an upper
caste man was defeated in the game of wrestling by a lower caste person.
31. See Seth (1979: 244). The English translation is mine. Pyjama is like a pair of
trousers and is believed to have been introduced by Muslim rulers.
32. About Hinduism, Gandhi (1987: 5) wrote, “One and indivisible at the root it has
grown into a vast tree with innumerable branches.”
33. The inaugural issue (February 11, 1933) of Harijan, the weekly journal of Harijan
Sevak Sangh (Servants of the Untouchables’ Society), founded by Gandhi, carried
Dr Ambedkar’s statement, which succinctly summed up his position:
 The out-caste is a by-product of the caste system. There will be out-castes as long
as there are castes. Nothing can emancipate the out-caste except the destruction
of caste system. Nothing can help to save Hindus and ensure their survival in
the coming struggle except the purging of the Hindu faith of this odious and
vicious dogma.
34. The Aamir Khan’s Satyamev Jayate, Star Plus Television Channel, July 8, 2012.
The officer, Balwant Singh, resigned in 2000 from the civil service and later wrote
a book titled An Untouchable in the I.A.S. (The Tribune, September 6, 2000).
35. The word jāti means “caste” in this context; as a verb, it means “to go,” and is used
with feminine gender.

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304 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Further Readings

Beteille, Andre. 1969. “A Note on the Referents of Caste.” In Andre Beteille (ed.),
Castes: Old and New, Essays in Social Structure and Social Stratification, 146–151.
Mumbai: Asia Publishing House.
____. 2002. “Varna and Jati.” In Andre Beteille (ed.), Equality and Universality, Essays
in Social and Political Theory, 59–69. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Galanter, Marc. 1984. Competing Equalities, Law and Backward Classes in India. New
Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Ghurye, G. S. 1972. Two Brahmanical Institutions, Gotra and Charana. Mumbai:
Popular Prakashan.
Gough, Kathleen. 1960. “Caste in a Tanjore Village.” In Edmund R. Leach (ed.), Aspects
of Caste in South India, Ceylon, and North-West Pakistan, 11–60. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Inden, Ronald B. 1976. Marriage and Rank in Bengali Culture: A History of Caste and
Clan in Middle Period Bengal. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House Pvt Ltd.
Leach, Edmund R. 1961. Pul Eliya, A Village in Ceylon, A Study of Land Tenure and
Kinship. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Leonard, Karen Isaksen. 1978. Social History of an Indian Caste, The Kayasths of
Hyderabad. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Quigley, Declan. 1993. The Interpretation of Caste. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Risley, H. H. 1915. The People of India (Second Edition). London: W. Thacker and Co.
Srinivas, M. N. 1959. “The Dominant Caste in Rampura.” American Anthropologist
61: 1–16.
____. 1962. “Varna and Caste.” In M. N. Srinivas (ed.), Caste in Modern India and Other
Essays, 63-69. Mumbai: Media Promoters and Publishers Pvt. Ltd. (Reprint 2002.)
Tambiah, Stanley J. 1985. “From Varna to Caste through Mixed Unions.” In Stanley J.
Tambiah (ed.), Culture, Thought, and Social Action. An Anthropological Perspective,
212–251. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Wiser, William H. 1936. The Hindu Jajmani System: A Socio-economic System Inter-
relating Members of a Hindu Village Community in Service. Lucknow: Lucknow
Publishing House.
 About the Editors and Contributors

Series Editor

Geoffrey A. Oddie is Honorary Senior Lecturer, Department of

History, University of Sydney. He is a graduate of the Universities of
Melbourne and London where he received his PhD in the School of
Oriental and African Studies. He has lectured in the History department
since 1964 and has been a Visiting Fellow at the Australian National
University (1982); Visiting Fellow at the Jawaharlal Nehru University,
New Delhi (2007); and Visiting Professor at the United Theological
College, Bengaluru. Two of his books are Popular Religion, Elites and
Reform: Hook-Swinging and Its Prohibition in Colonial India, 1800–
1894 (1995) and Imagined Hinduism: British Protestant Missionary
Constructions of Hinduism, 1793–1900 (SAGE, 2006).

Editors

Will Sweetman is Associate Professor of Asian Religions, University

of Otago, New Zealand. He studied philosophy, religious studies,
and theology at the Universities of Lancaster and Cambridge. He has
taught at universities in London and Newcastle, and held research
fellowships at the University of Halle, Germany, and the University
of Cambridge. He has published three books and several articles on
historical and theoretical aspects of the study of Hinduism.

Aditya Malik is Professor and Dean in the School of Historical

Studies at the newly established Nalanda University, India. He was
trained in philosophy, archaeology, history, social anthropology,
and religious studies at St Stephen’s College, New Delhi; Deccan
College, Pune; and the South Asia Institute of the University of
Heidelberg, Germany. He received his PhD and Habilitation
306 Hinduism in India

(professorial degree) in Modern Indian Studies at the University

of Heidelberg. He has taught at the Universities of Heidelberg and
Canterbury in New Zealand. He was Head of Religious Studies (2002–
2004) at the University of Canterbury. He has been Senior Fellow of
the German Research Council, Heidelberg; Visiting Faculty, Institute
for Advanced Studies, Hebrew University, Jerusalem; Visiting
Professor, University of Delhi; and Fellow at the Max Weber Centre
for Advanced Social Science Research, Erfurt. He was founding
Deputy Director of the New Zealand South Asia Research Centre
(NZSAC) and Associate Director of the New Zealand India Research
Institute (NZIRI). He has numerous publications on pilgrimage; oral
traditions, ritual embodiment and performance; religion, law, and
justice; medieval and contemporary historiography; and secularism,
religion, and modernity in South Asia.

Contributors

Thomas Birtchnell is Lecturer in Geography and Sustainable

Communities, University of Wollongong, Australia.
Fabrizio M. Ferrari is Faculty, Department of Theology and Religious
Studies, University of Chester.
Robert Eric Frykenberg is Professor Emeritus of History and South
Asian Studies, University of Wisconsin, Madison.
Reshmi Lahiri-Roy is Faculty, School of Education, Faculty of Arts
and Education, Deakin University, Australia.
Timothy Lubin is Professor, Department of Religion, Washington
and Lee University, and Adjunct Professor of Law, Washington and
Lee University School of Law.
Ursula Rao is Director, Institute of Anthropology, University of
Leipzig, Germany.
Elisabeth Schömbucher is Adjunct Professor, Department of Indology,
University of Wuerzburg, Germany.
 About the Editors and Contributors 307

Michael James Spurr is Faculty Member, University of Canterbury,

New Zealand.
Vinay Kumar Srivastava is Professor, Department of Anthropology,
University of Delhi.
 Index

Āyurveda economics and Hinduism,

classical Indian medicine, 69–72, 87–91
198–200 cosmopolitan mediators,
81–86
caste and Hinduism development devotees, 86–87
awareness, 297 rebranded values, 78–81
Brahman priest, 282 sacred infrastructures, 72–75
Brahmanical power, 286 emergence and significance of
definition, 277–278 Hinduism, 1–2
differences in classes, 282– age of discovery, 8–9
284 Europe and Indian ocean,
different views, 272–273 7–8
diversity, 277 first use and, 9–12
Dr Ambedkar’s view, 296–297 Hindu in Hindu self-
geographical spread of, 276 understanding, 5–7
in village India, 292–294 ongoing Hindu public
jāti system, 287–290 controversy, use, 13–16
Khatri and Arora, 290 outsider comments, 2–4
multifariousness of, 277 postcolonial debates and
principles, 274–275 ideas of, 16–19
spine of Hinduism is caste
system, 271 folk Hinduism, 176–177
structural basis, 271 contents and communities,
Tukaram’s view, 295 183–186
varna, 278–279 folk deities and their cults,
activities of, 281 186–190
creation of caste, 279 context sensitivity and
elite sorts, 280 reflexivity, 181–183
model, 286 defining, 177–181
Panchama, 286 modernity and, 190–191

Dharmaśāstra and Premodern healing and Hinduism, 210–211

Indic Law Āyurveda, classical Indian
Hinduism and law, 43–45 medicine, 198–200
 Index 309

external agents of illness principles, 274–275

health and possession, spine of Hinduism is caste
202–205 system, 271
folk healing structural basis, 271
magic, 205–209 Tukaram’s view, 295
ritual, 205–209 varna, 278–279
territorial knowledge, village India, 292–294
205–209 healing, 210–211
magic and empiricism Āyurveda, classical Indian
bhakti as medicine, medicine, 198–200
209–210 folk healing, magic of,
magical medicine in Vedas, 205–209
194–198 health and possession,
South Asia, 194 external agents of
tantric healing, 200–202 illness, 202–205
Hinduism magic and empiricism,
caste and bhakti as medicine,
activities of varna, 281 209–210
awareness, 297 magical medicine in
Brahman priest, 282 Vedas, 194–198
Brahmanical power, 286 ritual of folk healing,
creation of caste varna, 205–209
279 South Asia, 194
definition, 277–278 tantric healing, 200–202
differences in classes, territorial knowledge, folk
282–284 healing, 205–209
different views, 272–273 law and, 41–42
diversity, 277 “Hindutva judgments,” 58
Dr Ambedkar’s view, beyond South Asia, 59–60
296–297 caste panchayats, 55–56
elite sorts varna, 280 colonial era, in, 47–50
geographical spread of, Dharmaśāstra and
276 Premodern Indic Law,
jāti system, 287–290 43–45
Khatri and Arora, 290 Hindu code bills, 52–53
model of varna, 286 independent India, in, 50
multifariousness of, 277 India’s constitutional
Panchama varna, 286 secularism, 50–52
310 Hinduism in India

religious status and moving gods and nation

conversion, 53–55 state, 124–128
state and customary, virtual deities, 129–135
45–47 modern Hindu guru
temple administration, movements, 141–143
56–57 categories of continuity,
media, 123–124, 135–137 149–153
moving gods and nation charisma, 157–161, 167–168
state, 124–128 gender, 161–164
virtual deities, 129–135 Hindu gurus, 143–145
modernity miracles and mischief,
colonialism, 23–31 154–157
five strategies of modern movements, 145–149
adaptation, migration, number of, 167
34–35 out of India, 164–167
Hindu Diaspora in Asia, typologies and
migration, 35–37 characterizations, 167
migration, 31–33
new homelands, possession
migration, 33 anthropology and, 227–232
cultural translation of,
law Hinduism, 41–42 232–235
“Hindutva judgments,” 58 new approaches to,
beyond South Asia, 59–60 235–237
caste panchayats, 55–56 oracular, 220–221
colonial era, in, 47–50 performances of, 220
Dharmaśāstra and religion and
Premodern Indic Law, Soeur Jeanne des Anges,
43–45 223–227
Hindu code bills, 52–53 spirit, 220
independent India, in, 50 story of Somavati, 221–223
India’s constitutional teyyam, 221
secularism, 50–52
religious status and sacred in modern Hindu politics
conversion, 53–55 Hinduism and Hindutva,
state and customary, 45–47 historical processes, 95–96
temple administration, 56–57 historiographies of reform
media Hinduism, 123–124, and reaction
135–137 Hindu reaction, 104–107
 Index 311

Hindu reform, 101–104 marriage family

historiography of contemporary discursive
“syndicated” Hinduism, ideology, 253–256
96–97 obligation
institutional integration, cultural burdens of,
99–101 256–257
intellectual and paradoxical nature
ideological examining, 241–242
integration, 97–99 rituals, 244–248
historiography of Hindutva, social changes in India,
107–118 257–260
state law and customary law social discourse, 249–251
Hinduism and law, 45–47 traditional, view
Chatterjee, H. N., 242, 243
urban Hindu arranged marriage Majumdar, R. C., 244
and family in India Pandit Bhaiyaram Sarma,
future of, 263–265 242
caste and traditional Hindu paradoxical nature, 243
marriage, 248–249 Pusalker, 244
family in India, 251–253 Stridhana, concept of, 244
in Diaspora, 262–263 urban India, changes in,
260–262

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